It was raining hard and so today, I was told it would take some time for the trains to ply. I knew I didn’t have much time but I could squeeze in sometime for Ravi and this place which had been the very place I was born and bought up. I sat down on the bench and looked at the porters grumble, mothers yell at their children, inefficient ticket lines, improper maintenance and dirt laying all over the floor. Oh my god my mind was Americanising. I noticed a McDonalds in the other side of the station got my French fries (hygienic and without beef as per my mom’s instructions) and saw the various counters of book stores, food outlets and ATM machines on this station. These were outsourced to the private players it seems since the government didn’t have the funds (we always heed the stick never the carrot). I came back saw the time on my plane ticket and pressed inside my coat. I could smell the same sweat that my dad had when he came back from work. It had to do something with the air I thought. I sprayed the deodorant and that was it.
Hello a coarse voice from behind me addressed in my direction. I instantly recognised who it was. Ravi I beamed and hugged him tight not noticing the scrubs of dust on his factory uniform. He was after all my chuddy buddy. The people around noticed this weird mixing of classes that they were not used to or comfortable with in this part of the red country. I was the bourgeois the very top echelon of society they hated (or worse were brainwashed to hate).
How has your day been he asked me? Well it was different I told him. Getting back to ones roots is always enthralling to the mind. I could remember my days on the stations with baba. He could relate to those memories too with a sense of nostalgia. He looked at me with my coat suit, articulate manners and briefcases. He seemed impressed by me initially but then gave a stare. I knew a vitriolic attack or a well disguised verbal volley would happen back and forth and so I decided to divert him towards the tea shop. This place was close to our hearts since we came for our packet of biddi here during our heydays. We were big rowdies amongst the kids of the area. Their organs would throb and shudder in their pants and they would wet their underpants if they even heard our breaths. They were themselves pretty well evolved creatures since they could smell us like sniffer dogs from a distance. These kids were travelling from the city and from more affluent families than ours but they lived in our vicinity in private hostels which was near their college. Ravi wanted to plunder them, grab their attractive belongings and give it to the poor in the chawls. I just took them home to adore them. I never used them, he did.
I remember my grandfather telling me the story of a lion-The king of the jungle. Do you know why it is the king he said mimicking the lions grunt to my six year old horrified face. Why? I asked him. Because he never devours the prey that is not killed by him. He always consumes the flesh that is gotten out of his own hunt (well also includes his lioness but you know when you are a couple it is never me it is always us). He refuses to touch any animal that is found lying dead on the mat. It goes against his dignity. Oh my god grandpa that is scary I said still not able to get over the trauma that a herbivore went though. That’s not scary he said that’s the life of a royal, the man at the top. Everyone wants to be that man on the top. Every animal wants to be a lion. Every poor wants to be rich. Every weak wants to be strong. Every have not wants to be a have. You know why? He asked me. Why? I asked him back. Because we seek to improve our position. But what if we reach that improved position grandpa, then are we satisfied and happy? No he said. Why? I asked him in return. Because we want to be better always, better than what we are right now, good enough to be better and better enough to be the best which is never. Contentment with our present would lead to discontentment in the future. I wondered just about a year later what position the vultures, eagles, crows etc occupied in this animal hierarchy? I wondered why no one would want to be a scavenger by choice and everyone would want to be a man (even the lion is unsatisfied with his throne).
Coming back to the biddi shop my friend offered me the biddi. I removed my Cuban cigar from the golden case box. He looked at me and said “its people like you who use foreign commodities that cause the death of the biddi workers in Mohar”. I felt bad but said at least it is less likely to kill me than what he was smoking. He didn’t seem satisfied with my lame retort and I converted it into an apology for a friendly jibe once again. I enquired after his family’s health (both our parents being dead by then). He spoke about his wife who was revolutionary in the farmer’s revolt in Mohar. He felt proud that by their persistence they had gotten water to the village (years after the mineral water revolution), setup a biogas plant to generate power (with intermittent power cuts and without solar or even hydel or thermal energy) and started a municipal school (with teacher absenteeism, student dropouts and large no. of them coming to just have their quota of the days’ meal). He was proud to have brought that change and I showed the same pride in his achievement as one of my friends did when I got my first Maruti after I got my first job. I now knew what it felt to be on the shiner side of the grass (and unlike the proverb I didn’t find the other side greener).
I referred to him as Comrade Ravi Verma and he felt proud. I asked him if I could set him up for a job in the blue blood citadel at Marine Drive (a place where free movement of people wasn’t forbidden and anyone could apply for jobs). He took this as a jibe and smiled. You think I suffer he asked me. I said no worse I think you make everyone suffer. He was horrified. What would you a big shot blood thirsty business man who feeds on the blood of the poor know about our suffering? I said “I do boy for I was just the same not long ago”. I asked him if he felt the government could solve all issues. He said no but it was the best bet for the country and soon he believed the whole city and the entire state would bow down to the red fever under the leadership of the cult figure Comrade Sawant Saheb. I wondered if red blood party members alone would rise to the top or a common man could do the same. He said there would be no common man as we know him. Every man would get food, clothing, shelter, healthcare and education. Every man would get his needs fulfilled. Every man would have a better quality of life he said. I asked him are you sure everyman. He looked at me and he said “well, definitely everyone except for the ones who already have them like you”. I smiled and said I am sorry I had all these riches since so long. I have much more and your common man would become more common once he enjoys the fruits of the red labour. Each man would be a clone of his neighbour and would have nothing of consequence to speak of about himself. He would just among the others. I asked him if by getting all those basic facilities this so called man would want to outgrow his basic needs or remain in the perennial cocoon of the state. Possibly the man who is party member though might benefit more from this arrangement. I looked at him. He gave me a cold stare. I had hit a little hard this time and possibly there were a few ruffled feathers in the vicinity that could have overheard us. He took me to the rest room. You don’t know this place. This is not the place to criticise us. You might land up in trouble. I thanked him for friendly concern but wanted to question him if it wasn’t treason to his social loyalty. But I decided to leave it to that. I guess criticism was quite non alien to me in blueblood country where we could get away with cartoon caricatures of our leaders if they made even the smallest mistake in their day to day affairs.
No comments:
Post a Comment