Congress and Corruption





Corruption is a fact. That it percolates from the top echelons to the down-the-ladder clerk is a fact that all Indians have internalised in their psyche. Independent India witnessed the surge in corruption making a peak through the licence raj era. Only after liberalisation set in and globalisation became a phenomenon that India, especially a young India looked at corruption as an evil that could be tamed, if not killed. Major corruption scandals dwindled in number barring an occasional Sukhram stashing money in flower pots or Jayalalitha having hundreds of shoes, just to cite a few popular examples.

However the second term of the Congress led government experienced three major corruption scandals in a very short span of time. Readers may note that this is not to spare the Madhu ‘Money’ Koda, but just to bring to light three scams rocking the nation at almost one point of time. The trio of Commonwealth Games, 2 G spectrum scandal and Adarsh housing society scam has taken corruption to new heights or I must say rock bottom. Interestingly these three scandals share the common denominator of involvement of congressmen or its ministers. A chief minister of a large state, a cabinet minister and a president of a sports body since as-far-as-your-memory-might-take-you have come out as the chief of the corruption orchestra.

The details of the scams are too gory and mind boggling. While commonwealth games hit the image of the nation hard, the 2G spectrum involving huge amounts of money, the Adarsh housing scam exposed the ever so disciplined army. The damaging acts of these three scandals brought to the fore three faces of Suresh Kalmadi, A. Raja and Ashok Chavan. Two congressmen and one congress ally is how people recognize them. What distinguishes these men is their blatant brush with power and the immunity they carry.

Behind these incidents lies a greater matter of concern which involves the people of power, which when translated are Sonia Gandhi, Manmohan Singh and Rahul Gandhi. There is a particular reason in the order of names. While Mrs Gandhi calls the shots, the Prime Minister Dr. Singh is the face of the government (though I would rethink on that statement given the surge of the next name) and the PM-in-waiting Rahul baba. Sonia Gandhi has had her knowledge of politics from her mother-in-law and imbibes many of her virtues. One who has seen how people in the corridor of power act, when the strings needs to be pulled, what is socialist, populist and what is monarchy, she understands like no other the art of power handling.

The noble yet toothless prime minister who was served the post on platter has been one of the cleanest figures of Indian polity. His admiration is pervasive of party lines in matter of integrity but where he falters is in playing an unquestioning comrade to the orders of his boss. Rahul Gandhi the official prime ministerial candidate believes in making you believe that he is the young crusader who will fight all evil and will be champion of the poor and downtrodden. Nothing wrong with that but what the nation expects at the face of such huge scams is these three people stand up for the cause of the country.

The socialist in Mrs. Gandhi could announce huge package for farmers’ loan waiver in a budget, could move Right To Information Act, could pass Right To Education but at the same time overlook corruption occurring under her nose in the house of which she is the undisputable leader. Reminds something of the original Mrs. Gandhi? A man of rare integrity, Dr. Singh has all the right ingredients to lead the nation, yet falters in it because where he lacks is the teeth to bite. Unassuming would be the best way to describe India’s most learned prime minister. Rahul Gandhi, need not be mentioned, has certain clout in south block and has many a times been instrumental in moving files of interest. Recently he has targeted corruption in a strong way but alas it has not gone unnoticed that they pertain majorly to non-congress ruled states.

The right time for these three leaders to show their substance is on hands. While timely and strong action against corruption can prove their mettle to the voter, inaction would prove them to be paper tigers. For the government to not end with a black patch of corruption, the cleansing act has to be done effectively and as soon as possible.

Temple and Mosque

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

Of what use will be a temple
To one who spends chilling nights on roads
Of what use will be a mosque
To one on whose back is sack of heavy loads

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

She doesn’t know what to cook for lunch and dinner
Her husband’s purse over the days have become thinner
Gold for her are the vegetables on display
Tough its getting to see through each day


Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

When will he get a job the question doesn’t let him sleep
In this quagmire how will he his sanity keep
Directionless he wanders, aimlessly, fruitlessly
He has to earn for depends entirely on him is his family

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

Unfailingly he rises each day before the sun rise
Only then to get a seat in bus his chances rise
Invisible wars in office throughout the day he fights
Only then two pricey school seats for his children he finds

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

Deadlines to be met, targets to be achieved
Facts and figures only to be believed
Where nights don’t count for there its day
There is sunshine, the corporate makes hay

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

A first day first show and there is a huge crowd
All hail the hero and they hail him loud
No one asks who is sitting besides
In entertainment no one any religious rules abides

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

On icy peaks they stand holding guns in their hand
Driven by ulterior aim to protect motherland
The bullet doesn’t ask their identities to them
Building an own house does matter to them

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

His crops ends up in flood when he waits for rain
Who understands the poor farmers pain
Ending his life burdened under loans
Countless such in agony they moan

Define what a temple is, define a mosque to me
What do we need to build today, can anyone tell me

We need more roads we need more dams
We need in country more lush green farms
We need health care we need better fare
We need the government to take more care

We do need a mosque, we do need a temple
No violence in thier names, we have had them ample!

Ram Mandir on Facebook

              
                This isn’t about politics. It is neither about preaching nor about practice. It is about being practical. Eighteen years after Babri Masjid was demolished, a thirty years year old activist then is close to fifty years and maybe has a voice but no tooth. A child born then is vying for a seat in a reputed college. And people not even ready to listen to Kalyan Singh, the then chief minister, who is failed to draw a decent crowd in his ‘Ayodhya chalo’ rally. The dynamics of the movement which witnessed the mobilisation of various forces, both constructive and destructive, has changed considerably. Instead of people carrying bricks from all over the country to build Ram Mandir at Ayodhya then, what would work today is some application on facebook like ‘donate/gift a brick for the temple’.


                   That the court is to sound its verdict on 24th of September, on a sixty year old litigation, has brought to the fore an issue that had been dormant since a long time now. Unprecedented security measures are being taken to avoid any communal disharmony. News channels in a welcome move have decided on self restraint by not playing sensitive videos of that fateful day of 6th December, 1992 (needless to say in all forms and round the clock). Religious groups involved have not yet issued inflammatory statements. And suddenly the passions that would have whipped up even on the mention of Ram Janmabhoomi seem to have died down. What has changed in all these years? Answer is too many things.

              Even though the debate of whether there was a temple over and on which the mosque was built is significant, what has become insignificant is the use of the debate to mobilise people to achieve an agenda. Adding political colour to the issue today has become difficult because vote bank politics today does not rely on playing religious card. It is the card of development, infrastructure and economics, that garners votes today in most of the constituencies, if not all. BJP the party which got associated with the issue and perhaps gained the maximum of it, did eventually realise the fact that Mandir in Ayodhya cannot provide stepping stones to Delhi. Demands of the inevitable coalition politics today sometimes (in very few occasions though) acts in a mutually beneficial way.

                The verdict is bound to upset one of the litigant and the larger group it represents. The case will then move to Supreme Court thereby automatically hitting a pause button. Communally sensitive areas might see some unfortunate action thanks to petty politics but the issue lacks the firepower anymore to kindle up larger emotions. All major parties want to steer clear of the matter. The BJP would do good in cornering the Congress government on minority appeasement issue, floundering Kashmir issue, and rising prices issue, rather than Ayodhya issue. The Sants and Qazis have nothing to gain either and have realised the fact in all these many years.

                 Disenchantment with controversial religious issues have taken place almost in entirety in uptown India and to a large extent in small town India. A youngster in Ayodhya today wishes to move to Lucknow or Delhi to land up in a decent job, rather than participating in the Mandir-Masjid issue whenever it rakes up. A software professional working in a MNC is least bothered what stands in Ayodhya. Young India today would rather click on the ‘like’ button for Mandir or Masjid at Ayodhya or better still join a virtual community ‘build a orphanage/hospital at the controversial site’, read e-paper on the verdict and post a comment on it, read couple of blogs (maybe this one included), and go about building their own dreams.

Chak de! India and India ...

                 
                There are some moments of a movie that stay on with you for a long time. The ones that defines the movie for you, sums up the message for you and evokes emotions in you. There is one scene in the movie Chak de! India which does the same for me. It is the registration for the hockey team scene. A general belief and have been brought forward several times that we are religion first, states first, linguist first and then a nation later, but has been put remarkably in that very scene. In relation to sports this fact takes altogether a different dimension.

                   The scene opens with arrival of the ‘railway’ goalkeeper. Playing for the railways or ONGC is considered most lucrative for just one reason; it earns a desk job and free or cheap accommodation. The hot headed Punjab player arrives getting into a tiff with the auto driver. Such fiery displays, not always of the sport, on field have on numerous occasions earned the country penalties. Then comes the Reddy from Andhra who for a north Indian passes for being Tamillian. For the fact that up in the north every south Indian is a ‘Madrasi’ basically. For the question ‘anyway what is the difference between Telugu and Tamil, the girl shoots back with an apt reply that just that much how different a Bihari and Punjabi is.

                   The viewer is then shown a patriotic Muslim family who for generations have served the country playing hockey. But the viewer also is made to witness that the family is a large one corroborating the general notions of shambles of family planning in Muslim families. The Haryanvi hockey player is shown with a father, who would today pass on for a liberal khap panchayat member, for that is what the image of Haryanvi Jat is carried on these days. The petite girl gives guys a run for their money, but is destined to spend lifetime in kitchen as the mother thinks it to be inevitable. Two girls from Jharkhand which many people consider jus to be a jungle also join the camp. One that many would not know that Jharkhand is a state in itself is true. The apathy for backward class and backward state is demonstrated when the Punjabi girl asks one from Jharkhand to sleep on the floor.

                    The neglected north-east is depicted in its right light. For their culture, their attires they pass on to be a partying lot by the bystander in the movie. And to add to that being called guests was a salvo that should hit hard at the south block. For it is the failure of successive Indian governments to get the seven states into the mainstream since more than six decades now. The Hindi heartland has never been able to or haven’t ever tried to be inclusive in growth and moving forward. The scene ends with the senior players coming in and displaying the typical attitude of we-know-it-all. It has been for the lack of fear of losing their positions that senior players have blocked places that could have easily gone on to more deserving junior players.

                   The movie addresses this issue by coming over these differences, bonding the diverse India together with a common string of nationality in achieving a feat which in the movie is winning the world cup hockey. The players which played for themselves, their states ended up playing for the country. Integration was facilitated and made possible. But without the cup to win, without a motivating coach, how integrated are we? What do we take pride in? In the culture, the traditions, the diversity, the temples, the exotic places, the IT revolution, the Azim Premji’s, the Ratan Tata’s, the remarkable growth story? Yes may be. Or the leaders (read politicians), the cricket team, the infrastructure, the IPL, the Ramalingam Raju’s, the commonwealth games, Kashmir? Maybe not.

                 Unity in diversity is a hallmark of the country is what we are all taught in schools. And by the time we grow up we have become diverse but we are not united. We stand united only when there is a attack by terrorists, we are united only when there is a famine, a flood or a cyclone. It is certainly good to be united then. But for a nation to grow we also need symbols of unity in times of peace. The country needs strong rallying points around which we can script stories of success similar to Chak de! India.

Movie Reviews - Couple of them!

                  The idea of writing a movie review has been stemming since quite some time but the trigger proved to be watching two Hindi movies, just three days apart in two theaters about seventy kilometers apart. Yes, 'Once upon a time in Mumbai' on one fine wednesday in Mangalore and 'Aisha' on saturday in Udupi.

Once Upon A Time In Mumbai:

                 Essentially a gangster movie featuring days of Haji Mastan the first underworld don of bombay and his protege Dawood Kaskar Ibrahim. The heart of the movie is in the right place with the story being interesting, with the sets and portrayal of Bombay of those days, with the styling sticking perfectly to the seventies and eighties and above all with the star cast which settles seamlessly into their characters.
                Good things first. The actors live the roles. Ajay Devgun (sorry its Devgn now) has done what he is best at, playing serious character oriented roles with a negative tinge. We have seen it in recent times in Rajneeti and sometime back in Apharan and Omkara. Playing a character somewhere bearing resemblance to Denzel Washington in American Gangster with a desi angle has worked wonder for the movie.
                Emraan Hashmi has played his part well portraying a no-moral-holding wannabe gangster. Kangana Ranaut despite her horrible hindi accent is a perfect fit with her styling standing out. Prachi Desai's character has no real bone in it and could possibly have been done away with. But her salwar suits and her ability to brighten up the screen, not to mention the 'julie' costume, comes in handy for the director.
              Where the movie could have been better is the opening scene. The scene looses its importance by failing to grip the audience. Randeep Hooda plays a good role but almost none of the dialogues he belts out convey the word meaning of them. The movie lacks strong sub plots and too much has been tried to incorporate int too little a time.
             The plot is strong, gripping most of the times but the sub plots seem to have not been stiched properly. There is a sometimes sense of disconnect between two scenes. The climax was a little hasty and expected. For the message to be sent that the evil has taken over Bombay and made it a hell at times in the history the ending could have been more powerful.
              In toto, a watchable movie and an addition to the library of gangster movies in hindi. But certainly leaves yearning for more.

Aisha:

                  Again a movie with the heart in the right place. Aisha is Sonam Kapoor who wears Gucci and Dior, who zooms past saadi dilli di sadke in a yellow VW beetle, who shops for half a lakh rupees and who takes up hobbies like animal rights activism and is big time into match making. The movie revolves around her as the central character.
The plot is an urbane, chic, upper class, suave, and thus in that capacity caters to multiplex and big city crowd. (when had people in smaller towns and villages heard of Dior or Louis Vuitton).
                   The supporting cast plays a fabulous role led by the character shefali played by Amrita Purie. Cyrus Sahukar plays Randhir Gambhir and he certainly has proved himself over a few movies to be a serious comedian (pun intended). The transitions, the dialogue delivery is just perfect for her. Abhay Deol is very natural and blends well into the role. And him dancing salsa is a delight to watch.
                   Plenty of girls of this age will relate to the movie. Branded wear, good food, rich friends, partying, are all in the working manual of a metropolitan youth today and the movie touches all these aspects very practically and in a precise manner.
                   The high point of the movie are its comic moment. They are the ones to which the youth can relate to. The dialogues are picked up from the daily conversation. The styling, portrayal of delhi and mumbai are the moments that remain with you. Performances are all prim amd precise which keeps the ineterest in the viewer going.
                    The movie lacks in portrayal of the chemistry between the two lead roles. It niether achieves the practicality nor the bollywood effect. A few scenes linger on for too long and is repetitive. The climax is clumsy and lacks the power. An apt review of the movie was given by a young girl whom i overheard while getting out of the theater - 'nice but a shallow movie'.

The Beep Show

Never ever has the ‘beep’ been in such extensive use in Indian television as it is today. This is courtesy the numerous ‘reality shows’ on TV today, which are just a blatant copy of successful shows abroad. The boom in the number of reality shows which some years back were restricted to music and dance competitions have now forayed into fields such as searching partners for marriage, to checking fidelity of a partner, to getting split from the partner. And in all these finds a noteworthy place, the beep. The beep sound cuts the volume off the vulgar words mouthed, which are unpalatable and unaccepted in an Indian family.


The blurring of line between morality and immorality is occurring at an ever increasing pace. It would be so unthinkable today to imagine that words of the song ‘sexy sexy sexy mujhe log bole’ were changed by a court order some years back to ‘baby baby baby mujhe log bole’! Though laughing over it at the moment would be the most probable reaction, a more concerning theme is the shift in the cultural ethos of the nation, that has occurred. The MTV generation is growing up being fed on shows where boys and girls are in skimpiest of clothes, has skimpiest of regards for the language used, and what appears to have skimpiest of morals. And these boys and girls are the topic of classroom discussions, social networking site forum discussions, they are followed, their fifteen minutes of fame envied, and they sometimes elevated to the status of role models. And the beep is just what makes it all so spicy.

The beep interestingly, has various forms and shapes. Sometimes the lip movement is seen making people able to figure out the expletive for themselves, raising unhealthy curiosity in children and a smirk or despise in the faces of who knows it all. A further angle raises the difficulty level, by adding blocking of the lip movements. The spectator is expected to fill in the blank. It also sometime happens that spoken words are interspersed within beeps and not the other way round. Interesting to note would be the role of print media in this. Role of beep is slightly different here. When a former prime minister used expletives for a present chief minister, a responsible daily reported it without mentioning the words, but a wide selling daily mentioned the words with asterisks. Which of these were actually following journalistic ethos?

As a counter argument validating or terming harmless the increasing dip in morality of such shows interlaced with beeps, many would term them as progressive, broadening of thinking, widening of horizon, maturing as society, rise in tolerance and many such sociological or psychological theories. But somewhere it is misconstrued. Progression should mean doing something in whichever small or large capacity to aid in the growth of individual and nation, broadening of thinking should mean to grow secular, widening of horizon should mean expanding once reach over diversified fields, maturing as society should mean being able to take every section of the society together in an upwardly mobile path, rise in tolerance should mean increased acceptance of every component of society. Does a show which brings together bunch of girls to compete, conspire, abuse, seduce and cat fight to win some guy in the end as prize serve any of the above mentioned causes?

Entertainment. Many would say it is just entertainment. Harmless one at that. One that would just give you a few moments of laughter, fun and frolic. It would be agreeable that we as humans are entertained by other humans, their actions and inactions included. With reality shows we are subject to an extreme form of pleasure derived from the enjoyment and tribulations of someone who is not faking it (at least they claim to be so). Yes we are entertained by three girls vying to marry who have been famous for all the wrong reasons, we are entertained by their preparedness until the last moment, brought in by vivid visual details on national television, yes we are entertained. But does anyone think of their plight? Do we place our daughters at those places? Or are we deriving a sadistic pleasure with not actually being there? Is the MTV generation and further growing to be prosti-tots (term borrowed from the TIME magazine) watching their celebrities in drunken brawls, in compromising positions, all in the name of entertainment?

This might take us to the debate of freedom of speech and expression. That it is discretion of the audience and spectator to imbibe and inculcate what they need for themselves, to choose from the wide range of content available. But is it justifiable on the other hand to target audiences who are barely ready to decide for them, who are at a crucial juncture of growing up, who do not have or lack the right environment to be regulated?

The use of expletives (an exclamation or oath, especially one that is profane, vulgar, or obscene) used for someone is after all an expression aimed to degrade, and thus is not taken with good flavor in the societal norms. Thus Joe Biden comes under scrutiny when he uses a expletive in conversation with Obama, even though it wasn’t directed to be derogatory. The beep doesn’t exist in real life, but what exists is what lies within the beep. A disturbing moment was when a school principal, known for being the best teacher, holding high morals, wrote in the annual magazine of the school raising concern for the rise in use of foul language by children, and very young ones on that.

A serious introspection is required at all levels beginning from parents at home, teachers at school, media barons, content regulators and all the target audience who are subject to various shows on television beginning from spiced up news to family drama to reality shows. Are the kinds of shows delivered to us worth their salt? Are we starting to look at things with the prism of what reality shows target at? Is our youth on the right path? Are we developing trust issues after watching a whole lot of people on TV to be cheating on? Are the beep shows making sitting together of a family over dinner making it uncomfortable? Are our children growing watching the right kind of shows on television? Well the answer for all the questions, today, could well be another beep.

Night at Railway Station - A True Story : Final Part

                 
                  Looking at that place a strange glimmer grew in my eye. There it was wrapped in layers of covers a fully furnished (as I would like to put it as) drawing room for us! There at one end of the platform where luggage to be transported was piled up. There were all sorts of packed goods beginning from the adornments of the drawing room, a motorcycle, machineries, and even carton loads of eggs, all waiting to board some train or the other to reach somewhere or the other. But we were not to board any train. We were not to go anywhere. We were to spend the night there. There in the station.


                    It was about eleven in the night then and the temperature had plummeted down aided by the gush of winter wind. Bijay and I settled under a dining table. A round wooden top with a stem at the centre of the bottom leading to a root like base, all of it wrapped with sack cloth, was a dining table among all the luggage. The round top was to be our roof for the night. Amlan sought refuge at a more open space close by on a hand cart which had a mattress of flattened carton boxes, his extra bit of fat probably helping him in insulation from the cold. Sleep was growing heavy but the settings were not conducive.

                    Train traffic during those days the was not heavy for that particular station, which resulted in no passenger trains arriving in the night. It was the rumble of the goods trains that interjected the night. There as we lay discussing various possibilities that were at our face tonight and the next day morning, I was wondering if we could have avoided the situation we were in. Would not it have been wiser to head back after not getting the ticket and closure of booking counter? Would not it have been more practical to come early in the morning? Would not it have been better in the first place to get some warm clothes? I knew that answering them would not lead to anything, but nevertheless we do have questions, for which there are no answers, don’t we?

                    Winter nights they say are longer and I could feel that. Every passing moment had its tell tale effect. Past one o clock in the night having half slept half awake all of us got off from where we were, for the cold was not letting us settle. We trudged along the cemented path to move to the front part of the station. Amlan and me decided to have a smoke, the logic being it helping in providing warmth, illogical but a general belief given the association with fire and smoke. The small cigarette finished in a few whiffs.

                      We discussed the situation all over again and reached at a conclusion that when in the following morning Siddharth arrives with other roommates of ours, they should get some warm clothes. We were missing the most cozy object in such nights, a nice warm blanket. Thus we decided to ask them to get blankets too. There was still some four hours for daybreak, and passing time seemed utterly difficult now. We were cold, we were tired, we were exhausted, we were bored. We moved about various parts of the station. A couple of hours passed. Some people started trickling by now to make a queue in the ticket counter to get tickets when the counter opens in the morning. Activities grew in the station and it was a relief to be discussing that and being a part of the activities.

                    A call was made to our roommates signaling that the time has come for them to start for the station. We got into the flurry of activities by now, looking for the man who would strike the deal of ensuring a berth in the air conditioned compartment for us. Such shady figures are usually easy to pick up, or rather it so happens that they pick you up. Such people are excellent face readers, who gauge your desperation, your worry and your urgency, just as simply as reading a newspaper. And thus a mutual cord strikes when the wanting meets with the provision. We met a couple of people who told once the counter opens they can obtain a ticket for us. Though we were convinced we could do it ourselves, we still wanted to believe, for this had been the purpose we had come all the way for. But we obtained tickets from the TTI of the train, as the train was travelling relatively empty. It was just a simple and short affair. Siddharth was finally to go home.

             By this time the first rays of the sun reached the station. It was a sight to cherish. The reddish hue of the sun, in a cool, slightly misty, November morning is definitely a lovely sight but the emotions heightened with a long day of ordeal just made the sight breathtaking. With sun came the warmth too, slightly bettering our state of lull. And by six in the morning the cynosure of all the action arrived along with couple of roommates and with them relief material in the form of warm clothes and blankets for us who had just passed a night at the railway station…

             Did it end at that? Well no. We saw him off. Travelled back covered with blankets in the auto rickshaw braving the cold morning wind. Slept till afternoon back in the room to wake up with sore throat and a bad cold which subsided only after due course of medication. All the experience, the ordeal, the travel, the excitement, the sleeplessness, the mission, and the fluctuating disappointment and elation, of that cool November night in Bangalore remains distinguishingly and distinctly etched in mind.

Night at Railway Station: A True Story - Part II

        
           A cloud of uncertainty covered us on the terrace of the building which housed the ticket counter. The uncertainty fuelled by the need to do something triggered us to take the decision of going to the destination station of the train. Though one part of me was debating about the futility of such an exercise (it is not a bus that you can put your luggage beforehand and claim your seat) the other was gripped in excitement and responsibility to think of the wiser. Thus Anand’s auto zoomed to the nondescript station called Yeshwantpur in that now increasingly growing cold November evening.

           On reaching the entrance of the station did we realize a few things. We realized that it was almost deserted, we realized that it was pretty far from the city and we realized that we did not have warm clothes to protect us from the cold. Bijay, Amlan and me rushed into the station to catch a glimmer of hope if any of securing a seat in the train for Siddharth which was due seven thirty the next morning, less than twelve hours from the then time. But there was none to be. Shutters in ticket counter was down. Any inquiry was met with nonchalance. The committee of three members then took a decision which was to make the rest of the night quite memorable and worth writing about.

          The decision was to stay put, wait for morning to break and people to come, catch hold of some middleman or someone who could ensure a ticket and see to the sure and safe departure of our friend. The following steps were then taken. Anand was first and foremost sent back, paying him was a non issue, because it would be done later. Also he would get the package, the person for whom the whole exercise was running, early next morning. And for the staying part of the decision, there were plenty of hotels in the area where we could put up. But, that was not to be. The reason? Simple. We did not have enough money! So that leaves us with a choice that millions of unfortunate face each day, to spend the night at the railway station.

             Now railway stations are usually away from the city built in vast expanse of land. That makes it susceptible to gush of wind which on that night was chilly. We were hungry and had food in a nearby restaurant by nine thirty. A nice hot dinner was really helpful and three of us were discussing about all sorts of permutation and combination possible about the equation we were facing. As a hotel stay was ruled out we got back to our home for the night, the station. As we got back we saw a motley crowd of people occupying various places which they had earmarked to spend the night at. As we did not have a ticket on any of us, the logical possibility of getting into the waiting room was out of question. So we scanned the whole station, walked several rounds to all nook and corner of it, to finally converge upon this place which would be our bedroom for the night...
(to be continued...)

Night at Railway Station: A true story - Part I

It was the cool Novembers in Bangalore. ‘I feel I should go home’ I heard Sidharth saying as I returned to the flats back in the evening. My suggestions of the same two days prior had fallen on deaf ears. I usually get irritated when such a circumstance arise when things that could have done comfortably take an unnecessary turn of events which brings complexity in its execution. Sidharth was diagnosed with mild jaundice two days earlier. He had put up a brave front and decided to stay back in Bangalore and battle jaundice out rather than going to the soothing confines of home sweet home.

Having known him for years together now, I had made the correct calculations that it was just matter of time when he would get perturbed by the situation and would long to go back home. ‘This is just the initial phase, jaundice would require some restrictions you better book the earliest ticket back home’, I told him. Though he told he would think on the matter I knew he was going to stay back to prove a couple of things.

Now that he has declared on his own that he would ‘anyhow’ go home now, rest of us got into emergency situation mode (such a situation was a favorites as it would bring about some action) to decide about how to get him back. But the punch came just a few moments later, when it was known to us that by the ‘go home now’, sidharth meant now as the next day!! ‘Take a flight’ came the suggestion in chorus. Amlan being the only among us having boarded a plane got a much longed for upper hand and spelt out the details of how to go about it. Where his suggestions got grounded was when it dawned upon everyone that a ticket for the next day would cost about ten thousand bucks! Sidharth did not have that much of money then (ATM’s were not that prevalent then), and neither rest of us were in a position to arrange for that kind of money. Flight plan terminated.

Taking the rail route was the only choice left, which in itself had quite a few sub choices. All information and experiences poured in a matter of time. Of all the only direct trains to Orissa, Yeshwantpur-Bhubaneswar, a weekly thrice train was scheduled for next morning departure at seven thirty in the morning. The train was to start from Yeshwantpur, a place twenty odd kilometers from our place. Obtaining a ticket for the next day was a tough ask, not because the seats would have got booked (the train ran almost empty), but because the time for booking was almost over. It was seven forty and the ticket counter, nearest one being in Indira nagar(eight kms away), would shut down at eight pm.

Wallets were scanned and a handsome seventeen hundred odd bucks arranged. A service of the transporter (read Anand) was called for. His auto rickshaw was there in five mins time. Volunteers for the job included Bijay, Amlan and me. The seriousness one shows and gets into those times is remarkable. You feel that you are not going for a mere ticket booking but on some James bond mission!! Anand was given a detailed narration of why and what we were going for on the way, not because he was inquisitive but he was a part of our matrix courtesy Amlan. ‘Faster bhaiya’, all three of was pressing him as the clock ticked towards 8. But the auto would not move any faster.

Finally we were there at the ticket counter to watch the shutters getting down. As every office would have a couple or set of brokers, middlemen, call them anything, here there was a person who would sneak inside to get your ticket faster and save you an hour or so for a mere fifty or hundred bucks (would a techie in Bangalore mind that!?). He was told about the situation in brief and handed over the money for ticket. He went inside the half closed shutters only returning after a couple of minutes with our money back. (Our collected money to be precise).....
(to be continued...)

Blur

I wake up in the morning with a head heavy as stone
With thoughts haunting, what actually have i done?
The light through the curtains, is piercing through the eyes
Sears a pain, like a needle prick, as to open when it tries.

I know not where I lie on, bed of roses or thorns
Lost I am in the deafening siren inside the head that honks.
Where am I lying, is it a room, does it have a door?
What’s besides me seems to me nothing more than a blur

The alarm goes off, it goes off and still goes off
I feel to bang it on the wall, kill it raw and rough
But the surge jus remains in the upper quarters
Doesn’t translate to the parts other

I want my arms to move, but the arms do not budge
The elbows I try to bend, but they won’t nudge
I try to lift my leg, make some movement
But frozen I am it seems, in the very moment

I attempt to see something, it’s just the walls closing in
Try to look up, I see the scary roof caving in
I sure know am all alone, no sign of life around
Am the only ride in this unstoppable merry-go-round

Through all this scratching thoughts, I take a moment to ponder
What is happening exactly, thoughtfully I wonder
Is it the approaching train or the end of the tunnel light
Is this the end of everything or just the end of the night?