MIRAGE OF A CRADLE

My posts were always elaborate and ‘overly descriptive’ primarily because most of them were about the insignificant things in our lives, things we see but don’t see. I tried to paint the same scenes which we were part of, where we failed to notice these insignificances. It is this attempt of painting, and lack of literary qualification which made me ‘go on and on’.  A ‘Sun set’ is two words, 6 alphabets, 6 key strokes and 2 seconds…but painting it, is not. Agreeing to the fact that, people with better ‘painting skills’ (literary skills) can paint these pictures more precise, concise and better…I humbly say..I’m not an artist..Just an admirer. 

“Induced insignificance is a sin”

I knew I was going to pay a premium for choosing such a place to dine. The’ ambience’ as they call it, was phenomenal. They built this restaurant on luxury, painted it with elegance and furnished it with royalty, not to mention the crew, who looked like professors from Cesar Ritz. I knew my pocket’s going to feel lighter, Guilt conscience a little heavier, taste buds enriched and for sure my tummy won’t feel anything. But then again, One needs to pamper himself once in a while…just to feel important.

The man in the Tuxedo wished me a good evening and asked me my name to check the reservation list. ‘Vishnu’ wasn’t fancy but I had no other choice, the fat ceramic Chinese man statue with a big tummy, which we see in all Chinese restaurants, smiled at me, it did comfort me because ‘vishnu’ wasn’t the only ‘not so cool’ thing around. The tuxedo man looked back at me and asked me to follow him, it was funny because I had not reserved any table. I knew I should not look at anyone else dining but I could only control my neck muscles and eye balls, not my span of vision, unless I manually cover them with my hands as blinders and I was not very sure if it was appropriate to do that. So I exposed myself to the forbidden sights and moved along. The lady nibbling away to glory, with her chopsticks made me loose control of both my neck and eye balls, I had to take a look at her one more time. This particular form of art, I have tried mastering over years and failed miserably in. Being a sour loser, I still think chopsticks are useless. For me it devours the very theory of evolution. Are we not blessed with 10 of those chopsticks resembling, control enabling, flexible-usable things called fingers. To come down from sophisticated and efficient 10 fingers to 2 sticks, control on which we again require the assistance and skill of the before said sophisticated signs of evolution, is stupid. Of course making things harder makes it worthwhile trying and promises a certain degree of exclusivity – the only reason I can think of.

The chair was pulled for me, and placed at a distance where my spinal chord felt least of the pressure and my rear end felt the most of the cushion. The waiter/ steward unfolded the flower like napkin and then folded it back in a rectangle shape and placed it in on my lap. One of the many things that does not make sense to me in ‘table manners and etiquettes’. It makes perfect sense to me, when one unfolds a folded napkin and hands it over to me..It gives me more surface area to wipe whatever I want to wipe, but folding it into a different shape and handing it over to me, makes the utility value of it the same as it was in the first place. Having said this, all these exercises make me feel part of a sophisticated process and that’s nice.

The food was served on a shiny white palate along with all the instruments I would require to eat it. The waiter transferred an ample quantity into my plate. I was hungry and wanted to pounce on it, but I looked at him and smiled and nodded- Thank You is what it meant. Thank you is what I never told her then. I sat on her laps, staring at a million things which were not just things but phenomenons to me. The most comfortable chair and the fluffiest couch in the house would not do, her lap is where I sit. She held a giant round metal piece in front of me, which at that time, if I knew, I would have described as one of those shields, sword fighters used. She called it a dining plate.I called her amma.I didn’t like the look of that plate, I didn’t know why, but I knew it wasn’t good. In a couple of seconds I understood why I felt this negative vibe from it, she was going to feed me. It was one of those dreadful times of the day when I had to eat, I didn’t quite approve of that exercise and I wasn’t shy in expressing it either.

‘How is the food sir?’ I looked at the Tuxedo man and said ‘nice, very nice’. He smiled back, nodded and left. I cut another piece of meat. I didn’t lie to him, it was quite nice. But what if I didn’t like it, would have I told him that or would he have done anything about it, probably yes . I did tell her I didn’t like what she was trying to do and she did try to do something about it. I pushed away the ‘palate of disinterest’ she was holding in her hands. My inability to control the scope of vision deceived me yet again,I tried to look away but I still could  see white round balls of something in the steel plate. I knew for a fact it was food, and I didn’t like it but I had a taste for geometrical shape. I stared at the process of her converting white grainy rice and yellow slushy dal into round solid toys. She kept talking to me in a sing song tone, which I never bothered about, but I must confess I developed an interest to the round little balls she made. What a mistake, she tricked me and fed me that ball of  interest. I stared at her angrily, she smiled back stupidly. The waiter stood there smiling stupidly at me, the moment I put down the glass after taking a minute sip from it, he ran and refilled it to the brim. I idiotically felt good. Service is an art and I could very evidently make out that these men have acquired it, probably from one of those major Hotel Management colleges. I could only imagine to what extent this art would develop in the future, just to make one feel good. I wasn’t feeling good at all about what my mom made me gulp down my throat. It looked round and interesting but not one of those things like a talcum powder cap or a battery that I would like to put in my mouth. I wont be tricked again and I made it evident.

The fisher man had a fancy horn to his cycle. He would stop and mock me for a while, he had a scary face and smelt of the beach. I was scared of him. I had my own reasons. I still am scared of The Russian Drug Mafia in North Goa, the scale differs, but the scare is similar and justified. I sit through his ugly gestures, because after that he squishes the green rubbery horn he has. It startles me, gives me an adrenaline rush and makes me happy. One has to pay a price for every form of entertainment he gets. He certainly didn’t look like someone who was trained in any form of art, let alone service. Fancying her chance, my mom tried sneaking in another ball into my mouth. Even amidst all this chaos, I still managed to pull back at the right moment; the evil ball missed my mouth by inches. I revolted orally and physically as much as I could. Hell! The ball wasn’t even a perfect round.  He got off his cycle and pushed it towards me, I didn’t approve of that either, but did not orally or physically revolt because my primary enemy right now is the evil ball, not the mafia fisher man and I didn’t want my mother to get confused of my revolting. He came very close to me and told me if I don’t eat the evil ball, he’ll put me in his basket and feed me to the dead fishes. Within moments I had to reverse my priorities. The fishes eating me by itself were scary and to top it they were dead! I declared primary hostility to the fisher man and formed an alliance with the evil balls. I had three giant mouthful of it and had to forcibly swallow it. The state of emergency was called off, once I saw the man climbing back on his combat vehicle.

He emptied the remaining half of whatever was left in the platter, politely into my plate. I could feel the tenderness and elegance with which he served. He kept the empty palate back on the table for a second and then seeked  permission to remove it off my table, I said ‘yes please’. He knew I wouldn’t eat the plate, then why did he ask me? It is this silly sophistication in process which builds the whole ‘premium feel’. My mom was in no mood of giving me a premium feel. I was just getting over the death defying experience with the mafia fisherman the previous day. We sat outside my verandah, next to the car park. She had the silver shield in her hands, yet again and I was already restless. But to my surprise, she did not do anything with the plate or its contents. She ignored it completely and spoke to me and played with me, of course in a language which didn’t make much sense to me. We were looking at things around our courtyard, that remained the same since I was born, ok.. not so long ago, but still. I wasn’t very amused by the majority of the things around, but at times you get to spot these strange creatures, which moves, makes noise and then disappears.  She even speaks to them. The crows, the cats and the squirrels are the common among these creatures. She told them how smart I am , how  good looking I am and how obedient I am. We have our own differences but I wasn’t a rebel and I don’t revolt against everything she says especially if it’s the truth. Then suddenly, she openly issued a challenge to those creatures, without my permission. As much as I disagree to such autocratic behavior, I wasn’t going to let down someone who believed in my capabilities and staked their pride on it. The battle was intense, the cats and the crows fought hard, they had an appetite of a monster, I wasn’t going to give up either.My mom kept feeding me and I kept swallowing it, just to beat the evil creatures. I was full, that’s when the steward asked me if I wanted desserts.

Even though I sat on one corner of the restaurant, I could see almost the entire floor. A whole bunch of people where eating, with a whole bunch of weapons in their hands. The knives were used more delicately than how a surgeon would, the spoons and forks barely touched the bottom. A very classy dining exercise was under process. I knew I had 1 more minute left, before the waiter would come and clear my plate. I wanted to bite that one little stubborn piece of meat, which refused to part from a dead chicken’s leg. I wanted it so badly but couldn’t. I cried louder and started bouncing on the floor. The elephant which came free with  Horlicks wasn’t big like they promised, neither would it talk. I couldn’t possibly climb on a 3 inch elephant. I didn’t care who was responsible for this atrocious act of betrayal. I couldn’t, obviously revolt against the multi million dollar conglomerate of Glaxo SmithKline, hence my dad was declared guilty. He tried defending himself by citing the impracticalities of packing a live elephant in a Horlicks pack, which I dismissed as utter rubbish. He tried his reasoning expertise and distraction tactics, which ofcourse does not work anymore because I learned to counter it with experience, from the best in the business- My mom and her crew of cats, crows, squirrels and the fisher man. My craving to get that last bit of meat in my mouth, made me try everything. I tried poking and jabbing until it made a loud noise. I thought, it was still worth it..I was ready to compromise for that one last bite. I wasn’t ready to compromise on my talking walking big elephant. I cried louder and practiced my pitching skills and my mom, her fetching skills with the little toy elephant. I didn’t want to embarrass myself more, I gave up on that last bite. I should understand the fact that I was seated among an elite class in a premium restaurant, and this is not good manners. The waiter moved away from the table with the plate having my last piece of chicken and my dad moved all across the hall , trumpeting like an elephant  with me on his back until I fell asleep.

The dessert was again delicately served on my table. The personal touch to it was very evident with the pattern of cream, chocolate and syrup over the ice cream and around the pie. I felt exclusive and very important. I better feel so , because they are charging me a bomb. I fetched the little round berry on top of the pie, with my fork. It was round and red and small, just a little bigger than a ground nut. I sat there staring at the ground nut my dad was holding onto. I had no idea what this man was doing with me, at my dinner time. This is the time of the day when my mom tries her scamming skills on me. She has lost her troop, because we have moved away from home to some alien land. Mom said we were here so that my dad could complete his post graduation – MD. I couldn’t care less. So, the MD student sat there with a tiny little ground nut in his hand, I later learned that it was his idea of ensuring high protein in my diet.But then again, Mr Doctor student doesn’t usually do things, he just prescribes the requirement to my mother who executes it on me. She was down with chicken pox, and was locked in an isolation room so that I don’t get it. My dad was in charge of being my mom. He had no one to help him because we were out here in some alien land and everybody else was back home. Serves him right, I had asked him to do his MD back home, from my kindergarten and he wouldn’t listen and laugh stupidly at me. He looked tired and worn out and knew I wouldn’t even nibble on the ground nut. He was talking about the Zoo visit we made last week, where we saw a lot of ugly looking mean alligators lying around with its mouth wide open and he promised me he will throw my enemy neighbor into the alligator’s mouth. He told me the ground nut was my enemy neighbor and he is the alligator, and made me promise we would alternate alligator roles. (I still consider this as my first marketing lesson, selling what I wont buy, but what I may need for my luxurious existence by inducing a sense of requirement triggered by a personal experience). Dad alligator was as clumsy as one could get, he would squish – peel   half the bowl of ground nuts all around the place but still nothing lands in his mouth. After covering our entire floor with groundnuts, he managed to get one in his mouth. It was my turn now. But I didn’t like alligators and I didn’t want to be one, I liked bugs bunny and I wanted to be bugs bunny. My dad said ‘ what’s up doc’ and told me the ground nut was now carrot and stuck it in my mouth. I signed below the four digit amount , in the credit card slip presented to me. The bill was heavy but holding the pen and signing it was easy. If only it was the same for my dad, when he had to appear for his MD final exam the following day, with a heavily bandaged index finger. It was the most troubled exam my dad ever wrote, he knew all the answers to the questions, but didn’t know bugs bunny bites hard on the carrot.

I tipped the waiter heavily and walked out of the restaurant, the Palace guard at the door greeted me again and opened the door for me. I waited at the valet parking desk, and saw the in house chauffer drive towards me. He opened the door for me and smiled , I calculated the 10 % of my bill and paid him a little lower than that. He guided me to the driver seat and closed the door. My legs did not develop enough muscles to push the pedals hard enough to set my vehicle in motion. It was my dad’s responsibility, as he was a man of science to push my tricycle along the theory of inertia. I only knew where I wanted to go and hence would only control the handle bar. We rode around the length and breadth of the house. Many of the times me and my dad were chased by Elmer, big bad wolf, evil scientists, coyote and many other scums of the Disney world. We had to drive very fast, swirl ad turn swiftly , jump across cliffs and do a lot more just to save ourselves and other Disney characters who are on board our super vehicle. My dad would get tired very fast and starts complaining about bending down to his knees to push my bat mobile.I knew the old man was not made for adventure, but a mans got to do what a man got to do. I refuse to give him a breather because the super villains were gaining on us. My dad sometimes pushes me to a track where there is a railway crossing and hence have to wait for 2 minutes for the train to cross, he sits down on the floor then.

I look at my speedometer as I climb on speed, I had a wonderful time at the restaurant, I loved the service and was proudly pampered. It didn’t hurt me to pay a premium for the experience I had, it was perfectly justified from both ends. Why would anyone serve you at that level, if there wasn’t a price attached. The tuxedo wearing man, elegance serving waiter, High priced crockery, ear soothing music, cream class diners and the well suited valet chauffeur, all played a part in this heavenly experience I had for past 1 hour or so. I felt and remember each and every one of those experiences, and none of them were insignificant to me, probably because they all came with a price tag. Every one who played a part in my growing up didn’t have a price tag attached though, each and every experience was heavenly, but more importantly , they are sinfully considered  insignificant. It’s an irony that the past is what defines us now and it’s the past what’s the most insignificant in our life. Borrowing a line- there are certain things money can buy, Everything else….is  insignificant ?

I recommend the restaurant to my friends….I write this for my child hood.

                                                          Caution: Overly descriptive, extremely tiring, absolutely insignificant

My car is the only thing in my life which adhered to a map, followed a plan, course of which I had control over and most importantly, the only thing in my life (so far) that ever reached its pre set destination. I’ve been driving around the Bangalore streets for nearly 5yrs now. They say the city streets are the veins of any city and they are the direct reflections of a city’s personality. I don’t disagree, never cared either. For me streets were means to my destination just like the car was. The sights and sounds were not events but occurrences. Driving was not about the ‘journey’ for me it was just the course to my destination. I hated traffic, traffic signals, pedestrians – everything about the city streets. The more I drove, the more I hated, and 5^th yr driving – I reached the peak of hatred.

Nearly a month back, I made a job change. I was required to drive 25 Kms-2 way, everyday, at peak traffic hours -spending nearly 4 hrs driving to and from office. 

The 8^th alarm set on the phone woke me up, its not that I didn’t hear the remaining 7 ring…I lost track of how many alarms I snoozed and worriedly woke up thinking I ran out of alarms to wake me up. I know this is the only way I could convince myself to wake up and is precisely why I set 10 different alarms on my phone, one of the many scams I pull on myself. I’m not very generous to myself in time allotment; hence I fast forward through myself getting ready, at the end of which I already get tired, before even starting my day

Sitting down on the driver seat of my car, I take the second breath since I woke up, which transforms itself into a gasp half way, when I think about the long 2 hour drive ahead. Today needn’t be like any other day, there could be no traffic, rush or chaos on the street today, everybody in Bangalore could have over slept , the roads could be empty, If only the gear knob I’m holding onto was a magic wand.

I wait at the gates of my apartment to open, refusing to honk and break the serenity of a beautiful morning, hoping the security could sense my presence at the gate.”HONK”!  I could see a bunch of dogs and a couple of cows on the other side of the road, the sight through the grills of the gate make them look like they are caged. The security opens the gate, the caged animals in my imagination are let loose, so am I. The first 5 minutes of my drive, if shot in an aerial mode would resemble one of those very famous – old time arcade game, PAC MAN.  My car eats up every single dot (pothole) on the street; finally I lose ‘a life’ at the main junction when I bounce on one of those volcanic craters. I decide to buckle up and drive more carefully, I wipe my face off lethargy, flutter my eyes tight and take a deep breath. I flip the rear view mirror to my face to confirm I have the ‘drive more careful’ look. As I set the rearview mirror back, I glimpse out to see if there is any change to the ‘Panchar ‘shop around the corner. Sadly no change, it’s a common sight all across Bangalore streets, its always ‘the panchar shop’, as a matter of fact I’ll be hesitant to go to a panchar shop if its spelt correctly, the max I could do with is ‘Punchar’ shop. I reach the main road.

I reach Hogwarts right in time for the Quidditch. The wizards and witches on their broomsticks zooming, bending, turning, angling and swirling. If only they were real wizards and witches and if only this was the Quidditch, but this is Bannerghatta road and between their legs, is not broomsticks but bikes. I drive across the lane to the left and dissolve into the lake of cars flowing to the right. Just like each city has a personality of itself, each lane of the city at different points of time will carry a definite personality. The personality of that lane is more or less dictated by the fleet of vehicles flowing through it. It takes only 5 minutes for any new entrant to that lane to assimilate and behave according to the personality of the lane .Sometimes the lane flows with a sense of urgency, some times its laid back and lazy but most of the time when I travel its angry and shouting, and this personality reflects in each and every vehicle, pedestrian, animal, weather, policeman …Hell!  Even the traffic signals.

The giant billboard across the street of a hair fixing salon does not fail in reminding me how grave my superficial future looks. The bald man (before) looks very happy and handsome (after) with lots of hair. However for some strange reason, that poster works in reverse order for me. I could only picture how happy and full of hair (Now) I am and how ugly and bald (later) I would look. My mom doesn’t have a medical/dermatological background, but all I can do now is trust her hair oil. I know what dermatologically proven Bipasha Basu guaranteed shampoo did to me. I check one more time if my rear view mirror is of international salon standards and if it can help me gauge how serious the hair loss problem is. Full of hair! Now… at least. This is when I reach the first pit stop on my way. There is no wheel changing, alignment checking or refueling, but there is a strict and scientific time based performance checking. The speed/rashness of my driving for the next 15 minutess depends on what time(early/ontime/late) I reached that point. Similarly I have assigned quite a few such points where I judge how late I am.

In no time, I reach the land of magical pedestrians. The ones who think they could diffuse right through any car and reach the other side safely. This is the heavily pedestrian populated part of the entire journey, since there is a small market, school and a bus stop stacked one on top of the other. School kids with jet packs on their back rolled around like marbles fallen out .The magical pedestrians float across the street, tactfully avoiding the zebra crossing and cursing a local bus for not having doors on both sides so that they could use it as a subway. They play Ring Around The Rosie with a bunch of rickshaws and glide to the center of the street, right in front of my car. It is at this point that they realize their magical power has faded off miraculously, they panic, take 2 steps to the front, 3 to the back and 1 again to the front, much more to their surprise, they find themselves  standing exactly where they were already standing! Battling these strange phenomenon’s, they immediately pull their sensibilities together and try communicating to me with their eyes. A communication portal error or a unique planetary alignment makes this a failure too. Blessed with extraordinary amount of composure, they now raise their right hand with atmost elegance and sign me to stop. It is this charm of the gesture, not like how a police man would do but more like how one of those Babas would bless his devotees, what gives me the confidence to attempt to stop a 60km/hr car at once. The car did stop, my concern ended when I heard the car behind me screeching to a halt too. Everything behind and beyond that is not my concern, as it would not cause any physical damage to my car or monetary damage to me. I pull down my window and stretch my hand out , as if I was going to take an oath, this is how  I apologize to the car behind. Through the rear view mirror I could see him reciprocate by pulling down his window and stretching his hand out. I didn’t look further because I knew his acknowledgement to my apology would not carry all the fingers of his hand, probably a preplanned and selected ‘one finger’ would be used.

My non verbal and telepathic communication to people around me was abruptly cut, with a loud Tyfon. A giant blue color ship on 6 wheels drifted past me. The length of the vessel added to its elegance. The subtle blue and white stripes on it were reflections of the mighty ocean. The ship came alarmingly close to my car and I had to stop and let it pass by. The sight of such a massive structure, so close across the windshield of my car reminded me of the first installment of the Jurassic series. A thick puff of smoke out its chimney, signed off its presence and I read her name as BMTC. This is not the first time I saw them this close, it happens all the time but still, each one of those instances would make your heart skip a beat and each of those massive vehicles snatch respect out of you with its humongous built, arrogant drive, rough and dirty feel, and more than anything else the evil history that this breed of BMTC buses have. I look around and see quite a few of them swimming around me, my car looked like a gold fish among the massive BLUE whales. It didn’t hurt my ego, since there were a lot of guppies around too.

Turning the jog dial to the right, I tried to imagine how she would look like. She’s got this amazing voice, accent and a cheer in her voice. She could actually single handedly lift your spirits up with her voice, even on a lousy Monday morning like today. I felt generous and smiled at the’ not so funny’ joke she cracked, her Co anchor laughed louder though. They fought a bit, pulled each others legs, made people call them, threw away a few vouchers, endorsed some night clubs and counted their way to number one song of the day. I sang along, RJ’d along and answered all the random trivia and polls. I could even dub some of the ads on radio, since I’ve been hearing it for over 4 hours every day- driving. Then came the extra terrestrially evil segment of the show, the segment where they read out the ‘current time’.  The guy who claimed to be the “time man” announced the time to be something which was supposed to be the time 30 minutes later. I jerked more than what a Bangalore speed breaker could do, immediately checking the time on my watch. But it was too late, the high power electro magnetic waves that the “time man” transmitted from the super secret satellite orbiting our planet has already reached my watch! He remotely tuned my watch to match the time he said. He did it…again.

Michael Schumacher did an impressive lap, close to beating his own record set a week back (the day when he overslept and got terribly late). There was no turning back now; the Ferrari zoomed at full throttle, maneuvering the curves with unbeatable expertise. It looked as if nothing could make me late today. I could see myself standing at the podium, uncorking a bottle of G.H. Mumm and shaking it and spraying all the jubilation around. I could picturize it, feel it ……hear it? The windshield of my car looked as if it’s got measles, the champagne drops all over it…No ,it was rain.. Car slowed down, traffic slowed down, everything but my watch slowed down. Even the rain was lazy on a Monday morning like today, it wearily fell on my windshield. The measled windshield suddenly looked cracked as the rain dots started connecting each other. The drops acted like liquid magnets, attracting and diffusing. I could see the traffic signal turn red, and the brake lights of the cars made these rain drops crimson and shiny.  The drops kept attracting, moving and joining. They wouldn’t stop accumulating until they become big, then they slide down the glass and perish. Cosmic law , I suppose. I always felt that the only theory binding the entire universe is Irony. The bigger you get, the more you crumble at your own mass. The higher you fly the less important you become to the standard you used to measure your height. The faster you run the lesser you experience. I had a million such stupid theories of my own, large enough to associate each drop to one. But the crimson faded away, and the drops turned green. My wiper cleaned the drops along with it, my thoughts.

It stopped raining so did my car, at the millionth traffic signal. As one of my professors at college once said “Restlessness was my name” now. Something interesting had to happen now, or else I would be another example of unexplained spontaneous human combustion. A black color car pulled over, right next to me. The signal started counting down from 180, I never watch it come down, because the strip tease would take longer if I stare at it. I looked around, the black car, it was a Bugatti ! I was not quite sure if this was the interesting event I was looking for. The car was elegantly black and polished. It laid low and sleek. It was still and silent but something about it shouted and proclaimed its presence. A million eyes fell on it, but I was stupidly proud that I had the best seat in the house. In 2 seconds I was sad, Jealous , envious and overtaken by a whole bunch of other emotions, precisely for which that machine was made. I could only imagine how my life would have been, if I owned one of those. I wanted that life…I really did…everyone around me did too..ok..I was really jealous. Last 30 seconds to the signal, and I decided to look at it for one last time, and there it was …my irony theory. An old bearded man dressed in rags – what looked like a caftan , limbed towards the Bugatti , hands crooked but outstretched as much as possible. I see hundreds of beggars in Bangalore everyday, but as clichéd as It may sound, Seeing him, I wasn’t jealous of the Bugatti no more. I was happy to not be the poor man. He walked towards the Bugatti , but interestingly did not dare to tap the raised window. He tried looking through it and gave up immediately, he then turned back to me. A One rupee coin lying on the dash board of my car, which otherwise would have gone missing in a couple of days time, made me the better man today.  As I raised the window, I looked at the Bugatti and smiled to myself, proudly.

One and a half hours into the ‘journey’ and already 5 minutes late, I still had another quarter of the distance to cover. It started drizzling again. I knew I was going to be late by at least 20 minutes, what I didn’t know then was , I still had a broken down bus to tackle, a ‘signal jump’ ticket to collect and also a drenched shoes to dry before I reached office.

It’s been 20 days since that Monday; similar scenes repeated itself 2 times a day for most of these days.  I cried and complained to every other person I saw, about the horrendous 4 hours drive each day. 2 days back, I sat behind one of my friend’s bike, who was generous enough to drop me. There were no angry commuters, no insane pedestrians and no sharp curves or pot holes to maneuver, I just had to sit back and relax. The bike covered the entire distance in less than half the time I normally take. My friend was also generous enough to offer to do this every day for me, if I wished to.

But

These 4 hrs of drive in the past 20 days, taught me the most important lesson of my life...It taught me how to Love things. I explored a totally different dimension of Love. I learned to love things which are not human or “love worthy”. I learned to love insignificances. For me this love affair, with these insignificances is the most meaningful. They say, it’s the tough times and the hardships that bind people together, for me its these “horrendous “ 4 hours a day, that bind me with my world around. The game of PAC man I play with the pot holes excite me, the magical pedestrians charm me,the bald man in the billboard worries me, the radio girl cheers me,the rain drops make me a philosopher while a Re1 coin makes me the richest man around. Each and every day I go through a million of these insignificances and by day I love them more. My life will never be empty because I could now see things I never saw before. I learned to love insignificances. These 4 hours taught me how to live with my life.

I call up my friend and politely refuse the offer….after all …My Love, I don’t share.