Archive for the ‘Real Incidents’ Category
The day I cried
What is the most passionate human emotion? Love, happiness, anger, sadness would be some guess perhaps. Well, not exactly. It would be tears. The singlemost, strong emotion on earth. You feel happy, Tears of joy. You feel sad, Tears of sorrow. You feel angry, unable to control yourself, Tears of madness. You fall in love, Tears of passion. You feel hurt, Tears of pain. You are caught red handed, Tears asking for forgiveness. When someone departs, Tears of loss. When your child excels, Tears of pride. The list is endless. Tears span all emotions.
Let me admit at the onset, I do cry sometimes. Not in public though. After all I have to keep my male ego going. I have never even imagined myself doing so. Would be a highly embarrassing moment. Or so I thought!
Last time I remember myself crying was when my grandfather died. I was in my hostel room when my sister called me. The tears just flowed, they were spontaneous. But it all got over with no one around.
This time it was an auspicious and public occasion. My sisters wedding. I was busy with arrangements and couldn’t foresee what was to come. It was the Ladies Sangeet function. Few words about this Ladies Sangeet. It is organized as a pre-wed ritual on a grand scale in North. Stage is set up. Professional dance and music troop is called. Everyone from the family is supposed to dance. However good or bad it might be.
I am not a type to dance or sing. So I decided to duck via what I could do. Say a poem. Little did I know that it would prove to be my nemesis. There wasn’t enough time so I jotted down a few lines and added tit-bits from my older writings. Everything seemed fine. I was through with most of the lines. I had just described an incidence from our childhood and there were awes all around.
As I reached the end where I chastised her for deserting us, something happened. I can’t describe it. I tried to resist myself, cautious of being on stage and eyes staring at me. Couldn’t help it. The tears followed. What a Man was I!
I managed to finish the poem just in time to see my crying sister rushing towards me. And the worst part, I was forced to dance too. Here is what I wrote.
कुछ सुनो तो कुछ में कहूं कहानी,
मैं बीच रस्ते चेंटा था,
कुछ हठ था भरा कुछ रूठा था,
मुझे था वही खिलौना लेना,
जिस में थे दो तोते और एक मैना|
पैसे थे चार जरूरतें थी दस,
मैं रो रो कर चिंघडाया था,
माँ ने भी थप्पड़ लगाया था,
तभी किसी ने प्यार से थपकाया था,
माँ मुझे कुछ नहीं है लेना,
भैया का बस चुप कर दो रोना|
वैसे भी ऐसा क्या मांगे वो,
बस दो तोते और एक मैना,
बस दो तोते और एक मैना|
…
…
आज तू बिदा हो है चली, बाबुल का घर छोड़ के,
बनाने चली तू नए रिश्ते, पुरानों से मुहँ मोड़ के,
कुछ और देर तक रहती तो, मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कुछ बात पुरानी कहता मैं, कुछ गम मिल-जुलकर करते कम,
कुछ और देर तक रहती तो (सिसक-सिसक), मिल बैठ के बातें करते हम,
कुछ बात पुरानी कहता मैं, कुछ गम मिल-जुलकर (सिसक-सिसक)…”
Cricket and my Grandpa
A: “Sachin plays for himself. I better, he stops playing”
B: “Hey! What are you saying? He is a great match winner”
A: “But don’t you think he is old enough to be pensioned?”
B: “He is still scoring tons. Isn’t he?”
A: “He is past his prime”
B: “Yeah with average of 50 during last year! I think your mind is sub-prime”
A: “Go to hell”
B: “You go to hell”
…
…
A: “Coffee?”
B: “Ok.”
This is what a cricket discussion in India sounds like. A general discussion suddenly gets focused on Sachin and from no where rival gangs sprout up. Pro and anti Sachin sentiments start flaring. Swear words and curses are thrown all around. Then there is truce. This cycle repeats itself day after day.
My earliest encounters with cricket date back to my Grandfather. He was a great cricket enthusiast and even greater Sachin basher. I reckon he lost a bet or two coz of Sachin and he remained pissed off with him forever. “Out ho gaya. Yeh bhi nahin socha ki mausa ji ke paise lage hain”, I remember him mumbling when Sachin got out stumped while chasing against NZ. Above statement is a classical example of raw humor of the oldies. It relates the player who got out to my grandmothers family. So the loss is blamed squarely on the player and my poor old grandmother. I tell you, these oldies can be quite cruel sometimes. The trick lies in not being over smart with them.
He was not a fan of what we call the purest form, the Gavaskar style of cricket. He adored Windies team of 70-80’s. “Lala, kaalon ka aakhiri khiladi bhi aata tha toh chakka maarata hua aata tha” (Even their last player started off with a six). The only Indian player of old about whom I heard anything positive from him was Kris Srikkanth. “Jab who ballebaaji karta tha toh bazaar soone ho jaate the” (Streets got deserted when he came on to bat). For all those who say that oldies preferred Tests to ODIs here’s the last salvo. “Are yeh paanch din ka khel humse nahin dekha jaata. Ghanton baithe raho, ek bhi chowka chakka nahin lagta” (Not a single boundary is hit for hours).
From the current era Jayasurya and Afridi (Afriki for him) were his favorites. Indian team was the most unreliable team as far as he was concerned. “Are inka koi bharosa nahin. Lanka ke khilaaf 200 kuch banana the, saala aaya raam gaya raam shuru ho gaya, aur sab ke sab 78 run pe simat gaye. Mausaji ka nuksaan ho gaya”.
I think T20 would have been the best format for him. Sadly it was during his last years that T20 got popular. It would have been wonderful to watch IPL with him. However he took off even before season one.
Regardless of what people are saying nowadays, I can never lose interest in and ODI game. I have grown up with it. It’s like a ritual to me. And of course it has memories of my grandpa. I remember one of his favorite quotes. Whenever Azhar played well, he used to say, “Captaan hai koi naayi ka launda thode hi hai” (He is not a commoner, he is the captain after all). So it goes for the ODIs.
My best friends wedding
Whenever I attended a wedding and was subjected to a barrage of vintage marriage songs, there was this one song that always caught my attention. It goes like, “Mera yaar bana hai doolha, aur phool khile hain dil ke, meri bhi shaadi ho jaaye dua karo sab milke…” (My friend is the groom, I am happy from my heart; pray that I too get married). Also the traditions like joota churai wherein the brides’ sister steal the shoes of the groom and ask for money (shagun) in return, and the talks about dulhan ki behen and doolhe ka bhai seemed too clichéd and filmy to me.
I mean why would a guy wish to get married only while attending his mates wedding? There are 365 days round the year when you could wish so. Why the same day? Why not just go along, enjoy the marriage and not try to steal your mates thunder. Joota churai too seemed funny and just filler to me.
I tell you what, I was totally wrong. No shame admitting it. Until you attend your best friends wedding; you can’t understand the feeling behind the said song. It comes from within. I am telling you coz last week I attended my best friends wedding and believe you me the lyrics of the song felt closer to me than ever before. While he was riding the horse with people dancing around, the nauchawar, the varmala, the feras and the vows, I could feel the sweet urge to get married too. The atmosphere is such that it’s difficult to abstain from such a phenomenon.
The joota churai which seemed childish to me matured that day. I found myself, hiding grooms shoes away from the reach of brides’ sisters and letting them have the shoes only after making them accede that they lost. Those were such wonderful scenes that I blush and smile simultaneously as I write. They are playing right in front of me.
About the dulhan ki behen and doolhe ka bhai. It’s a tradition to have a sort of nok-jhok among the two. Subtle flirtations included if they both are young, unmarried and of the same age. All in good spirit though. (All this time I keep going back to the old movies and how true they seem to me today.) Since groom had a married older brother, it was left to us (friends) to take over the baton of younger brother. Though I am not of the flirtatious kind I felt all game for such a nok-jhok. Sadly, the bore as I am, I couldn’t go the length. But still it was all fun.
Marriages are always nice and now that I can only attend them once in a blue moon owing to staying away from home, I tend to enjoy the ones I attend as much as I can. Finally just one request, “Meri bhi shaadi ho jaaye dua karo sab milke”.
The journey was jinxed! Not entirely my fault.
Blank Blank Blank. Tring!!! Tring!!! A pain burst across the head. What was the time? It has been just half an hour since I slept. Who could it be?
Me: Yes?
Caller: “@#$%^!!! what day is today?”
Me: Such a stupid question! “Why, I asked?”
Caller: “Today is 2nd Feb and you @#$%^!!! booked my ticket for 2nd of March. I am stranded like a fool at the airport.”
I came back to senses. What angered him more was that I burst into laughter. Dude, your journey was jinxed, not entirely my fault. I broke into laughter yet again. Let me give you some insight as to what happened earlier to understand my point.
The friend of mine in question was supposed to travel from Pune to his hometown. And since he is my school mate, my hometown as well. He booked train ticket for Friday afternoon. On reaching the station he found the train to be late by 6 hours. Indulging himself with the usual gallivanting, he came back to the station at night. Still late! When he finally boarded the train, it was running good 7 hours late. Hardly 10 minutes and the train came to a halt. It was a station at the outer. 10-15-30-45 minutes passed. His patience was running out. He caught hold of a pantry worker. “Sahib, the train will eventually be 12-13 hrs late“. He decided to call it a day. He was on phone with me when he got off. The train started off with a whistle just as he reached the station exit. Dude you made Jab We Met 2. Having nothing to do and getting a bit frustrated, he decided to travel to Mumbai on his bike. “Are you insane, it is 11 in the night and you have to travel whole 140 kms?” I am traveling was the reply.
I want to tell you that traveling at night is not safe even for a youngster on bike. The security checks would suck your pockets dry. On top of it, if your vehicle bears an outstation number, you are on your own. Street smart that he is, he reached Mumbai in record time nevertheless. He was so exhausted that he dreaded his decision to bike to Mumbai and was at wits end, how would he return?
A friend of mine from college had joined us too. I would spare you the details of the party that night. Next day I had to attend to some urgent work at office so I left them both at the house for around 2-3 hours. They called me at office that they have planned to leave for their respective home towns and since I have net accessibility at office, if possible to book their flights. There was some confusion and I ended up booking, a return ticket for my college friend and two tickets (going and return) for my school friend. Mumbai-Delhi-Mumbai. Their flight was to depart Monday morning. 6:45. They left at 5 am. I decided to retire into sweet-sweet sleep. Blank Blank Blank. Tring!!! Tring!!!
It turned out; I had booked 2nd -7th Feb for my college friend, but 2nd March and 7th Feb for the school friend. He got the ticket canceled, booked another one and ended up paying 50% more.
To begin with, his train got delayed. No sooner had he got off the train than it started again. He biked all the way to Mumbai fully exhausted, harassed at various checks. If these weren’t the signs, what are? Paulo Coelho would have written a book on this had he not written The Alchemist, so prominent were the signs. My plea is, what I did was not a mistake but the eventuality of various signs. The journey was jinxed. Not entirely my fault!
Hangovers!
You wake up in the morning expecting a fresh new day. Bright sunlight, marking the end of the past and a new path to the future. “Something doesn’t feel right”, you think. The head feels heavier than before followed by a flash of head ache. The nausea and the semi-vomit stage follows. You try to get the things into perspective. Where am I? Home, great! Where was I last night? Oh! Yes, I was dancing in the pub with friends. She dance real well…hmmm… A smile flashes across your face. Then the tough one! How did I get back home? No matter how hard you try, the answer doesn’t seem coming. The head spins faster. You rush to drink water. Had better done that last night after the party. Where is the lemon? Get me a Disprin. Let me try vomiting. How happy was I last night, dancing, partying, fooling around. Hangovers are really bad!
भूली बिसरी यादें
कहाँ-कहाँ से पकड़ से लाये,
कैसे करतब करवाने को|
बंद कर दिए एक पिंजरे मैं,
आपस मैं खोपड़ टकराने को|
तीन मोर और दो थी मोरनी,
नई-नई पहचान हुई|
पग-पग कर थी राह जोड़नी,
कच्चा था धागा टूटी थी सुई|
प्यार था उमड़ा जिन बातों पर,
वो बातें कड़वी याद हुईं|
एक हाथ से ताली नहीं बजती,
कहावत ये साकार हुई|
मोर-मोरनी लड़े औ झगडे,
अपनों का नाम खराब किया|
होते हैं जीवन में लाखों लफड़े,
पर हाय ये विष क्यों सबने पिया|
नजरें मिला पाओगे अब तुम,
दर्पण मैं अपने आप से क्या|
गिर कर भी उठ पाओगे क्या,
नजरों मैं अपने आप के तुम|
भगवान् इन्हें सदबुद्धि देना,
आगें करतब कुछ ऐसा करें|
सब देखें और गुणगान करें,
कि मोर-मोरनी हों तो ऐसे,
और सभी का ये सम्मान करें|
Stranger on Train: The Handwriting Expert
With the advent of discount airlines in India, frequency of my train travel had become lesser and lesser. I must admit that train travel is an experience of its own. More often than not you meet people who are far from ordinary. You find yourself in situations which you would never find during the normal course of life. Also with each train travel you find more grey hairs on your head, such is the learning you get.
Now that the air fare has sky-rocketed, train travel has once again come back to the fore. This Diwali, we boarded Goa Express from Pune to Agra. Now why didn’t I have confirmed seats and why were we standing through half the journey is a different story altogether and I will cover it up separately. For now I want to tell you about a stranger I met on the train.
Let’s start. I was lying on the upper berth when I heard someone spreading “Gyan”. Don’t ask me how and why, I just know it when some one is giving Gyan. There was this Guy Gyaaning a fellow passenger how to stop eating Gutkha through self control and self motivation. He was a middle aged lean person, whose bald head was shining in my eyes helped by the sunlight from the window. It was a hot day. Apparently, this person was able to study another person by his handwriting. Quite a few passengers were taken aback by his observations about their past and future.
A couple was sitting beside him. The husband in a bid to impress his newly wedded wife; took it upon him to bare the bald con man naked. He jotted down six different signatures of his and threw the challenge to now study him. I could see the wife was really impressed by his hubby’s brilliant stroke as she leaned closer against him. I couldn’t hear what the bald man’s observation were but I could clearly make out the brimming with confidence face of the husband getting paler and paler until he retreated behind his wife, who seemed not much amused now.
I called from above. “Chacha whats up! Whats this art all about”. According to him, this was a quite old American art revived in India by his Guru in Mumbai. He named a number of famous personalities including Sachin Tendulkar who have sought his Gurujis help. According to him Sachin has a certain flaw in his signature which reflects uncertain health issues thus causing frequent elbow injuries. Hmm…Impressive. So the guy knew his art well. I and my friend climbed down to test for ourselves. First me. I wrote down. “My name is Arpit Garg. Tell me something.” It was followed by my signature. He made me write down “dog”, “cat” and couple more of such short words. I was expecting some loose vague remarks, when the very first line he uttered left me shell shocked. I won’t go into detail of the remark as it was something personal about my family. I can only reveal that it was about a relative of ours who has wronged us. Had it been a remark about a vague relative, I would have understood. Instead he pinpointed who the relative was, i.e Chacha, Mama, Foofa, Tau etc. He made certain remarks about my laborious and sharp mind and such other things. By then I wanted to listen no more. When he was about to embark upon my future, I asked him to discontinue. In fact I don’t like predictions about my future in general. But his very first observation about me still lingers in my mind.
I can tell from the faces of people in my compartment that they were quite curious. Many wanted to know about their job prospects, success/failure in business, family, health etc. The usual. Was he a con artist, was he real, was he fake, was he a messenger, was he the Oracle or just a bug.
I have decided to travel by train as much as possible. Come with me. Just one thing. It should be the sleeper compartment. Coz therein lays the true mystic and majestic journey through India.
ArpitGarg's Weblog 