Category: Memoirs, stories, and poems

  • हैदराबादी प्रेम कहानी… जो हो ना सकी

    महिना था फरवरी का,
    समय था वोह अफरा तफरी का
    Placement का चल रहा था त्यौहार,
    क्योकि आजकल वही तो रह गया है प्रबंधन शिक्षा का सार.

    मैं बैठा था interview कक्ष मैं, सवालों से जूझता
    कभी हँसता, कभी लडखडाता
    अचानक मुझसे पुछा गया,
    आप लगते है कहानीकार
    हम देखना चाहते है आपके विचार.

    मैंने उठायी कागज़ कलम,
    सोचा प्रस्तुत करू हास्य रस, या फिर थोडा गम
    विचारों की धारा बहने लगी
    मेरी इस नौकरी को प्राप्त करने और हैदराबाद जाने की इच्छा बढ़ी.

    बिरयानी की आई महक,
    मन न जाने क्यों मेरा गया चहक
    चिरंजीवी का आया विचार,
    तेलुगु सिनेमा की जय जयकार
    वोह चावल का ढेर, पप्पू के संग,
    गोंगुरा का अचार जमाएगा रंग*
    चार मीनार की वोह गलिया,
    जहा पकेगा इश्क का दलिया
    पर इश्क के लिए तो चाहिए लड़की,
    तेलुगु सीखे बिना छाएगी कडकी
    सोचा मैंने यह सब करूँगा,
    तेलुगु सीख, लड़की पटा कर, शादी करूँगा.

    कुछ वक्त पश्चात आई यह खबर,
    मिली नौकरी छायी ख़ुशी इस कदर
    पर फिर मैं रहा गया मुंबई नगरी,
    न गया हैदराबाद न छायी प्यार की बदरी.

    आज विचार आया की काश कुछ ऐसा होता,
    मुह मैं डबल का मीठा और संग साथी अनूठा होता
    मुंबई की गलिया नाप नाप कर मैं हु थका
    यह था मेरा अनोका रिश्ता, जो हो न सका… हो न सका.

    * Pappu is thickish daal served usually in Andhra meals. Gongura is a super tasty pickle served along with rice and pappu and sambhar and the crispy veggies in an awesome andhra meal.

    This poem is dedicated to the wonderful lady who made me write this story in interview and all the awesome Hyderabadi/Andhra people.

  • टमाटर की व्यथा: Ketchup बनू या कटरीना का Body Wash

    गुमसुम गुमसुम…
    लाल लाल, नरम नरम,
    इस टमाटर मैं है बड़ा दम.

    जब टमाटर ketchup बन जाता,
    हर टेबल की यह शोभा बढाता.

    पकोड़े हो या पिज़्ज़ा, समोसा हो या आमलेट,
    टमाटर है कुदरत की एक भेंट.

    पर जब इंसान को हक है अपना जीवन जीने का,
    तो क्या टमाटर को हक नहीं अपनी राह चुनने का?

    किस्मत मैं था उसके की ketchup बन जाऊ,
    बच्चो बड़ो सबके दिल मैं समाऊ.

    पर उसे क्या पता था की वोह बन सकता है body wash कटरीना का,
    उस कोमल बदन पर छीटा गुलाब का.

    शीला की जवानी, टमाटर की रवानी,
    टमाटर लिखे प्यार की एक नयी कहानी.

    सलमान, रणबीर है किस खेत की मूली,
    जब खुद टमाटर खेले लाल रंग की होली.

    कटरीना भी हुई दीवानी,
    टमाटर की थी यही अनोखी कहानी.

    – अभिषेक देशपांडे ‘देसी’

    Refer:

    Ek Junoon- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KSsSM2IR2LY

    Inspirations: Rosesh Sarabhai

  • Rattu ka Dabba

    He could feel a few giggles right behind his back, he knew it was gone. Again!

    As Rattu turned back and put his hand into his bag’s tiffin box pocket, he felt plastic and not the usual steel, infact before the lunch break this is all Rattu did with his tiffin, as he always scared to eat it before lunch. He kept feeling his steel lunch box between the classes, and almost every day, he would find someone else’s tiffin box in his bag. A yellow colored plastic one, from the one for him (as declared by all his friends). His dabba was always swapped with his supposedly the one’s dabba which usually resulted in uncountable hours of leg pulling (aahhh…who would touch those beastly legs, like Wodehouse said long time ago) and Rattu going mad throwing his Milton water bottle all over his friends.

    But Rattu really liked what Vaifav Ghar usually did with his tiffin, mostly an omlette sandwich, it was always munched during the history period. Ghar used to stand as our history teacher looked somewhere else, showed the omlette bread to everyone, used to take a bow towards our history teacher and start hogging. Everyone giggled as the teacher talked about 3 points for 3 marks, 6 points for 6 marks and so on.

    Lunch break was always a nice time, there were different kinds of people, firstly the looteras. Loot lo iska dabba they said, and started running behind the ones with their dabbas intact. There was always a gang for whom lunch breaks meant playing leg cricket, it had been going on from very junior sections till almost Class 12th.

    As everyone did this Rattu with his group of friends usually used to enjoy our dabbas, saving them from the looteras on the open terrace. The paratha subjis, maggis, sandwiches, idlis, all of them being shared over general chit chat of cricket, entrances, studies, girls, new possible couples, boring classes, good classes, the smell from chemistry lab etc etc.

    Although there was always one weird thing about the lunch break, the girls were always quite. They used to finish off their dabbas, quietly, nicely sharing the stuff among themselves and then go back to the class mostly. Very peaceful. And unlike the boys they never had yellow oil stains on their uniforms.

    Talking of stains almost every bag had a very oily patch in the area where lunch box was kept. Speaks volumes about our Parathas, Subjis and Achaars.

    And then there was the case of Dabba not brought, which was then given to Dutta Bhaiya on the school gate later by the parents, and delivered in between a classroom by Dashrath Bhaiya.

    Rattu’s school never had a canteen once which was closed after cockroaches were found instead of aloo inside samosa.

    Post lunch break was the time for a nap, a slight nap. It was a deadly period to take for a teacher I assume. Much more challenging than anything to keep students awake at that time. Somehow Rattu never fell asleep in school, never ever, even after a nice lunch break. School was always so much fun.

    And so were the Dabbas.

    ————————————————————————————————————————————————–

    Do you have any memories associated with school lunch box?

    ————————————————————————————————————————————————–

  • Fear. Indifference. Awkwardness. Fear

    Past 2-3 months…

    It was that kind of a mad night, winter just about knocking on the door, truck flipping on road, tyre busting and finally a bang bang happening. Although I was happy that nothing happened, but something which still happened was enough to create a churn in my mind. And my head went bang bang for a few days. As always I crumbled under this one too, simply because history was behind me. I used to love history lessons back in school though, but this history I am referring to, is bad. I am afraid of history now.

    I don’t think she was stunningly beautiful or anything special, but as I observed her sitting there, I just felt that something. I am a very curious guy. I tried talking to her, but it didn’t work out. I love talking to people though, and I had a chat with her entire family, but not her. Then someone told me she is old, very old, well I left the case then. I hope she is happy doing whatever she is doing because I feel she is doing something really nice. I am very happy that I never talked to her.

    I hate encounters, I love them too, I love to meet people, new ones are good, old ones are better and then there are always the awkward ones. I have become an awkward person in the past few years. I used to be so comfortable for everyone before that. Maybe I was an awkward person even before that. I think I am ok. I think people around me are awkward. I don’t know when it ends. I know I don’t want that stupid awkwardness around me, it should be nice and simple. I love all my friends, and I think I have become really nice and simple around them. I am comfortable, awkwardly.

    I can go to Goa again right now. It’s the best place to be, and just be. I love the way they make omelets. Goa should be famous for omelets than Sea Food. I think most of the foreigners who visit Goa are beggars. I will buy Jenny an omelet if I meet her again. I should tell you that she wasn’t a beggar, she is decently educated. Few of my friends think they are not getting a girl on their life because I am around and I discourage them. I think they were talking about all the time, not just the time in Goa. I think they are all scared to have a girl in their life. I am scared too.

  • गीत नया गाता हूँ

    बचपन से ही मेरी राजनीति मैं काफी रूचि रही है। ९० के दशक मैं भारतीय राजनीति मैं खासे उलटफेर हुए, परन्तु उनमे से सबसे रोचक क्षण तब आया जब अटलजी ने प्रधानमंत्री का पद संभाला। बचपन में मैंने एक दिन पुस्तकालय से एक किताब उठायी, अटलजी की जीवनी जो रोचक भी थी, और काफी कुछ सिखाती थी। मुझे उनकी कवितायेँ पढना भी काफी पसंद आया। उनके बारे में समाचार पत्र में पढना, दूरदर्शन पर उन्हें सुनना काफी अच्छा लगा करता था।

    अब जब में उन दिनों को वापिस देखता हू, तो पाता हूँ की राजनीति से सारा रस ही छीन गया हैं। परिवारवाद और घोटालो से घिरी यह राजनीति में उन अच्छे वाद-विवादों, रस भरी कविताओं, अच्छे वक्ताओ, और इमानदार लोगो की खासी कमी है। ऐसा नहीं की उन दिनों स्त्थिथि कुछ बेहतर थी, परन्तु अटलजी जब तक इसका हिस्सा थे, तब तक एक उम्मीद थी, और भरोसा भी था। अटलजी का राजनीति से दूर होना, मेरे और मेरे कई मित्रो का इस विषय से रूचि खोने का भी कारण बना।

    २५ दिसम्बर को अटलजी ने अपना ८६वा जनादीन मनाया। मैं उनकी लम्बी आयु की कामना करता हूँ, और उम्मीद करता हूँ की भविष्य मैं हमें उन जैसे कुछ निर्विवाद, भरोसेमंद और प्यारे नेता मिले। अभी मैंने उनकी किताब मेरी ५१ कवितायेँ पढ़ रहा हूँ, सोचा मेरी पसंदीदा कविता के साथ इस लेख का अंत करू,

    टूटे हुए तारो से फूटे वासंती स्वर,
    पत्थर की छाती से उग आया नव अन्जौर,
    झरे सब पीले पट,
    कोयल की कुहुक रात
    प्राची में अरुणिमा की रेख देख पाता हूँ।
    गीत नया गाता हूँ।

    टूटे हुए सपने की सुने कौन सिसकी?
    अंतर को चीर व्यथा पलकों पर ठिठकी।
    हार नहीं मानूंगा,
    रार नहीं ठानूंगा,
    काल के कपाल पर लिखता-मिटाता हूँ।
    गीत नया गाता हूँ।

    Featured image by Wikicommons

  • Remembering Her

    As everyday I reached the school gates on a cold winter morning in Korba. The rush of students, tens of buses (the one which stood out was always the Coal India township buses, white covered with layers of Coal dust), kids with their hair well-oiled, the sight of green blazers all over (a few scholar ones-red and blue), and the pink lady-birds and the black MTBs which had become so popular on those days welcomed me. As always Dutta bhaiya was on top of his voice, screaming on the gates and always giving that awesome smile when I entered the gates. That day I had not entered, I was standing at the front-gate with few of my friends, a green FIAT halted near the gates. Her green fiat is something which I distinctly remember, just like her red-shawl (which wa snever to be missed during winters), her commanding voice, and her accent which was very unique and just stays on with us. She got off the car and said, “Deshpande, clean your blazer properly before you come”, and she walked away.

    I was a four year old when I appeared for an admissions interview to DPS Korba, I vaguely remember a young handsome Thapar Sir (very little imagery, but I think its mostly constructed from the conversations I had with her) accompanied by her. She was the in-charge of junior sections and the interview was held at the Pragati Nagar campus. I was asked about my favorite cartoon character and I had danced all over the place like HE-MAN, and the panel had a nice laugh. I was given chocolates and an entry to DPS Korba- 8810 it was.

    I met her last in 2004, she had lost a lot of weight, well that was the only thing which had changed, she looked the same, her eyes were still as expressive as always. She had made coffee and as she was talking about her new home at SADA and the change from the Yamuna Vihar home she suddenly mentioned, “Nowadays you don’t watch He-Man, they don’t show it anymore I believe?”.

    She was like that, she would recall the tiniest bits which would have happened, and bring them back to conversations. It was strange that despite being for my entire life in school I never got a chance to be her student. But I was fortunate it happened during my last year in school, Class 12th, it was just a coincidence that it was her last year too at the school. And as expected she was awesome, it was fun attending her classes, her voice modulations as she went through the English Literature stuff was brilliant, I vaguely remember the details, but it was a great feeling.

    And in that year came a forgettable day, where for the first time she became so angry at us (I don’t remember what had happened), she made the entire section stand and then she went and started punching back, this was not like her, she had become very angry with the behavior of few students in my section. Then as she finished the first column of benches, she came to one student and then she stopped (I believe it was Shameek or Swapnil) and then she cried. She then apologized for her actions, but conveyed how bad she had felt about the entire thing. Our entire class was not able to face her directly for a few days to come after that.

    She was strict, but she was much more loving than that. Her touch was extremely special, she knew everyone’s family in and out. Once in a while she would catch hold of me and ask me about home, about how my sis is finding the place, and am I enjoying my studies. She kept a tab on my studies as well that of 1000s others. I remember in Junior school Shameek used to be her favorite (or at-least that is what we presumed) and everyone wanted to be good in front of her. But she was never biased, she loved every student and really cared for us through all those years.

    Also few things which I have memories of are that of her speech during Annual Function (she used to present an update of Junior school), she leading the assembly in case B Singh sir was absent (or later our other Principals), her screaming out for Kalpana Didi and Dashrath Bhaiya (that was actually funny, both of them were always scared when they reached her), her annual trip to U.S. and stories from her trip during assembly (I remember her talking about Yellow Stone national park, and Disneyland).

    The last I had a really long conversation with her was in Dec, 2001. I was along with my family on a trip to South India and met her on Raipur airport. She was on the same flight with us to Mumbai (from where she was supposed to catch an international flight to Qatar maybe) and I took a seat next to her. This was my first flight ever, the first time I ever sat in a plane and I was lucky enough to experience my first flight with her. She talked about her trips, the years passed by in Korba, about her family in U.S. and a lot of other things. Even that was winter and she was wrapped in a red shawl.

    I sometimes feel that over the years I should have tried to connect back with her, I think I called her once in 2006, to tell her my engineering was done and I would be joining job at Bangalore. Be it the meetups with school friends, or teacher’s day or sometimes just like that, I would remember her and think that I should contact her. But I didn’t do it for a few years, something which I would always regret.

    We would all remember her, always…

  • Wedding Bells!!!

    This weekend came with a strange feeling, its not that I haven’t attended a few weddings offlate, but this one was different. I have spent a considerable part of my life with him, those childhood days, stupid teenage discussions, my weird spin bowling and his super quick pacers, and just staying next to each other for so many years. And then we moved to different places, but those letters (one of which almost got me into superbig shit at school), STD calls, mobile calls, mails, and then reuniting properly after so many years at Gurgaon last year.

    I don’t think I will ever think about stupid concepts which have been introduced to the friendship lingo off-late with him, like having personal space, having a connect or a disconnect, the need to meet each other every other week, or to discuss the same old crap, it just stays simple and nice as it always was.

    And I was nervous, I don’t know why, but from the time he climbed the ghodi I suddenly had this feeling of how much things have changed, he is getting married, we have grown up, things have started changing. And even during the wedding when I was with him, we just needed a couple of words to convey whatever is going on, I hope it stays so nice and uncomplicated with everyone around me. The period between the jaimala and phere was full of nostalgia, lot of thoughts, tonnes of pineapple juice and mega tonnes of awesome Indori food.

    And by the time it ended, I had realized maybe its time to change gears, maybe not marriage, but something which as we discussed brings isthirtha to life.

    I don’t know, with so many people around me getting married, how much more will I think, maybe Feb’11 in Kerala would be another such affair, I am clueless about the changes happening around me, maybe its the age for change, maybe its just that one desires a break from the routine, or maybe its just the way wedding bells have been ringing all around which makes me think. I meet a few people around me and I feel there life is changing, the topics of discussion are changing, and they are changing for the good. They have moved a couple of steps ahead in life, I am as always on the same page.

    Whatever it is, its a fascinating and a happy period for me and my loved ones, and I hope it stays forever happy.

  • Main meebo hoon…

    Eeeeee…it hurts. Its so strong, so bright, so yellow. And he closed the eyes. He tried again.

    Ufff…too much. I will wait.

    He was sitting, he had opened his eyes for the first time and found it difficult to just keep it like them. The sun was just too strong for him.

    He opened them again, it was beautiful, it was all green now, all that was yellow had turned into a deep orange hanging somewhere on top. He felt happy. He tried to stand, he fell. He couldn’t stand, his legs were just too weak. But he sat there, he felt comfortable in the greens around him. He was sitting next to two white long rods, on the other ends he saw some beautiful colors dancing around, blue, red, pink, black, lots of colors. A little later they all went away, and it started turning black, the beautiful orange amongst the blue was gone. He was scared and he closed his eyes again.

    He woke again, too tired, his throat was dry, he needed something, he tried to stand again and this time he stood, and stood there for sometime. He started moving away from the pole and he fell. He tried again and it worked this time. He was walking.

    He started walking, he saw a spray in the middle of the green, he went towards it, a bit of that went into his mouth. He felt good. He had more of it, and he felt even better. He felt he was ready to move. All this time he was missing something, he didn’t know what, but he was missing something for sure.

    There was a pool of that liquid created on the ground, and the sun was shining brightly on top of it. And he saw someone in it. He was scared, so he walked away, and so did the someone. He realized that it was him, he had seen himself for the first time, pale, four legs, weak, two ears which stood up, and slightly yellow as that light which he had first seen. But not that bright.

    He started walking towards the end of the grass, there were green trees on top he crossed a sort of a mound and heard a few screechy sounds…”bow, bow, eeeeeeee….” suddenly a similar voice burst out of him, maybe they were the ones he was looking for, they were the ones missing. He started running towards the sound. He saw two of them much larger than him being dragged into a wooden box, and there two more, exactly looking like him being dragged into a wooden box by two tall brown people. They were shouting, but they moved inside a blue big box which whizzed away on the clean grey roads.

    It all seemed grey, maybe he knew who they were, but maybe he will never know them, and he didn’t know who he was, all that he saw was grey in front of him and he felt a growing heat under his feet so he started walking. He found trees around him and on his left he found a path which was white he moved onto it.

    It was nice and cool there, there large white and cream colored structures on both his sides, and pavement which was fitted with white and brick red tiles, on the three way he took a right and walked. There were tow large buildings on both his sides and he saw green again in front of him, he jumped there again and he closed his eyes.

    ” Dekh dekh, waha amisha aur uska boyfriend hai, arre unhone dekh liya, bhaago”

    This noise woke him up, it was dark already and there bright lights all over him. The trees were hardly visible, he saw three guys running from there, and then he saw two people sitting on bench, one with long beautiful hair and the second, a tall guy. Both of them were very close.

    He thought he will walk so he started going ahead on the pavement and took a right, he thought he again came back on the greys, he was tired and weak again, so he slept.

    Thuck. He woke up.

    It was bright again and someone had thrown a yellow long something at him, it smelled good, he licked it, he felt a nice sensation in his mouth he saw lot of beautiful bright colored people walking around. On top they were black and light brown, below they were of multiple colors, as he had seen earlier on the greens. People with long hair, people with short, both distinctly different.

    He was still missing something.

    And then he started walking along with them, he was not scared, but all of sudden he thought were they the same people who had taken those who were similar along. As he was thinking someone threw things at him, he felt a pain and they started making loud sounds, he was scared. But then he felt something on his back. It was that thing which was missing, it was the touch of someone who cared.

    He looked at her, he felt amazing, she was so nice. He started walking with her, and kept walking. And then she picked him up and took him to a huge hall. It was huge and bright and there lot of brightly colored people. One of them in blue with shiny black hair came and sat next to her and asked “Who’s this?”. She told ” He’s nice na, think of a name”. The guy told “Meebo”.

    “Meebo!!!”. He smiled and felt happy, he knew what he had missed, he had seen all colors and smelled beautiful things and tasted some nice stuff, but he had missed the sense of being with someone who cared. And he had finally got it.

    He looked at both of them, they were looking in front now, and she gently patted her back. He finally knew who he was.

    “Main Meebo hoon…”

  • The SemiPali Adventure

    Mondays were always like this, f**king boring, although I am not allowed use the F word as I am still in class VIth, it brings out the haaawww from you. So we have a Maths test tomorrow, I don’t know what happened to my school and they kept this routine of a weekly test, Kendriya Vidyalaya is so good they have a unit test, need to study once a month, we need to do it four times a month, although thanks to Gregorian, we sometimes have it five times a month.

    Mr Sharma, we secretly call him DK and laugh behind his back, is different from the rest, just this year they started telling us that other than numbers you can also play with a,b,c in Maths, hey but this guy is new, maybe he doesn’t know Maths at all, otherwise confusing English with Maths is a mistake, atleast something which I would never do. He calls this new thing Algebra, sounds like a Arabic Zebra, but my friends say that if you do this you get very good marks later in boards, and anyway everyone says you have to be good in Maths, they are the only test copies my father is interested in seeing, luckily for me I end up scoring good marks in this.

    So I have a Maths test tomorrow, and I can’t get the hang of it, these f**king (a,b,c)’s, so let me roam around a bit. Maybe Kartik would be studying too, let me bug him, he studies a lot anyway all the time. Kartik lives on the last home of my row, in township we have rows of houses, we even have gali rivalry, people from our row cross into other rows mostly to play cricket, pitthul and kabbadi and racetrip as we don’t have enough boys of our age group here, all are people from Tiny Cottage, those red dress wearing, nose wiping, small looking kids.

    I shouted Kartik’s name standing at his house gate, it may not sound civilized but this is the way we do our things, and he comes out in his trademark wide-assed shorts and a baniyan. By the way Kartik quite wide-assed, literally i.e., people had that observation when he rides his cycle, both the cheeks spread out like a vada-pav. Infact most of our brain works during that time only, we think better when we are on our cycles, we talk about girls in different way nowadays too while riding the cycle, things are changing.

    “So, how is the preparation, bore laga raha hai”
    “Yes Pattu, but I still have lots of course pending”
    “Hmm…, lets roam around a bit, get fresh and come back, you and Sunny always talk about that place right, with a small river and a bridge nearby”
    “SemiPali?”
    “Oh haan, yes that one, lets go there ”
    “Now? You must be out of your mind its around 10kms, no point today, we can go tomorrow”
    “Na na, today chal yaar, this algebra anyway doesn’t make any sense”
    “Ok, let me get ready then”. So Kartik puts on his trousers, wears a rough looking checked shirt, I am wearing a trouser too with some T-shirt. Trousers are in nowadays, my cousins from cities talk about something called a jeans but we don’t like that much, trousers make you look older than your age, and also its much better than half pants, we are in sixth now, so we are anyway allowed to wear trousers, it feels great, also with so many hirsute male legs around, it is a welcome move.

    So we pick up Sunny from his home and progress on our cycles to SemiPali, Sunny by the way is another of my classmate, I don’t interact with him much but Kartik so transitive ways I too, he is a good footballer and is creating a buzz on the township cricket scene too nowadays. SemiPali is a small village next to JamniPali, our township is located in village Jamnipali although it can be noway called a village with beautiful gardens, club, great homes, shopping centres and clubs around.

    Sunny talks about Semipali on the way, about how Kartik and he has been to the area before, how they found out that place, how one of his chachaji sat on a grave and had a cigarette.

    “Grave!!!”

    Yes he said, he told the river had a graveyard nearby, which was rumoured to be extremely old, and its closed now that means no more new burials there, but for me it came as surprise, recently they started Zee Horror show on television which I find very scary and anyway I am very afraid of ghosts and spirits and similar stories. The first episode was killer with the head of Archana Puran Singh served on a plate by a butler, although Butler reminds me of the sweet Butler from Ducktales, wonder what his name is though?

    We ride on this kaccha road outside our township, all Chattisgarh roads are kaccha mostly, and you just have to get out of the township to ride on any of them. As we continue on the road, we find a theatre on the way.

    “Hey, have been here saw Jurrasic Park here, what is it playing now”

    Some dirty stuff, people say its known as Porn or something, its not good for kids and newspapers and posters advertise it as above 18 stuff, I don’t know how being 18 qualifies you to see a movie, although the poster here doesn’t have any good hero-heroine also, who will watch it anyway. Also it seems Jurrasic Park is the only under 18 movie ever played in this theatre, because that’s the only one I saw here with Meenal (chronologically my oldest friend, about her sometime later).

    As we start moving ahead the small shops and business owners give way to lush wide paddy fields (quite a common thing in Chattisgarh) and half chopped teak woods in the way. This area is mostly red-soiled, you can conclude that in two ways- the ghadas made here are Red in Color and during Autumns when the leaves dry and shed off, they all get a reddish tinge on them from dust. They look simply amazing, even the Trees turn Red. Certainly not RedWood though, read in Britannica that they are found in USA. Right now though my Hercules MTB is getting a Red Tinge, lucky Kartik and Sunny, they have a Red Bike.

    As we moved ahead all three of us were pretty excited, both of them talked about the beauty of the place, while I was wondering how I could have missed this place. The road was sparsely populated, just a few cycles once in a while and even a tractor once. The slightly tiring long legs on the BiCycle keep moving though, crawling towards the destination.

    On the way you see small children playing, women moving around with Water in Brass Pots and men sitting and chatting, its almost 5:00 PM and everyone is back from fields. One thing about Chattisgarhi Women though, their skin is has this amazing shine, it shines as though tonnes of Coconut Oil has been poured on it, and when they carry the Brass Pots on their heads, the sheen and the contrast makes the whole imagery brilliant. That Dark Shining Skin reflects confidence and their hardworking character, which I find missing in people from township. I was seeing this movie Shaukeen the other day where even Utpal Dutt was appreciative of Chattisgarhi women, but in a not so goody way. Generally he is good but that time he wasn’t, he was a bit dirty.

    “Aha, so here we are”

    “Pahuch gaye” shouted Kartik while getting off from his Bike in a superb fashion which was possible for only Kartik to do. Jumping off and continue running, it was funny but took a lot of practice. He also had many other tricks up his sleeves on a bicycle of which I had tried at least half, and almost all of them had resulted in a fall, and Dettol being pured over me.

    It was beautiful. It was like well, lets see, a bridge, a leftward turn down a dusty lane, a small river, making the nice kal-kal sound. Smell of wet mud, aha, now thats something.

    “And, there is the kabristan” shouted Sunny. How the hell does one see that in between the scenic beauty. Anyway we rolled our cycle down the lane next to the bridge, took it to the river and gave it wash. It was shining, the sun was about to set and there was a beautiful orange light all around us, the cycles were shining too, although the shine was nothing compared to the skin of those beautiful Chattisgarhi women.

    And it was all so nice, we sat there, and it was all so nice, before…

    He was a silhouette, a sort of a shadow, a lean figure, short in height, he just kept walking, he came from the side of the kabristan. I don’t know what the others were thinking, I thought he was a ghost, a spirit, or something on those lines. He limped slightly, and then he came near Sunny’s cycle, a mid-heighted reddish bike, picked it up and kept walking. He didn’t utter a word, we shouted chased him, but we were so scared, we couldn’t do a thing, it was so weird.

    And he went away, and I sat there, scared and stunned, and suddenly I realised that Kartik and Sunny were running behind him and they were gone.How the hell did they have the guts to chase him. I felt slightly ashamed, or maybe weird that I didn’t support them. All I could manage to do, is cry.

    Yes, I cried!

    And I picked up my bicycle and started going back towards the township, the roads were empty and dark, there was hardly any street lighting on the way back. I felt ashamed that maybe I just left my friends on their own, or I felt that I cheated them, or I was just lost.

    Yes, I was lost!

    I was just going back, I found a drunk fellow on the way back, and there were no Chattisgarhi women with that awesome shining skin. I was crying and cycling back, running away from my first slightly super-natural adventure.

    It was an hour and then I saw light, ya, Mohan talkies was here and I had reached the edge of the township and once I entered I cycled back to my home.

    I had reached, somehow!

    I just ran to my room and sat on my greenish teak wood study table. I couldn’t concentrate, nor did I have the courage to goto Kartik’s home and ask about him.I was scared, and I wanted to read.

    I somehow tried to sleep later at night and just saw the same figure before me. I ran to the bathroom and saw him standing there again. It was so so bad.

    Morning finally came.I possibly had my first night out and somehow cycle to the college. I crossed Kartik, we didn’t say anything and rushed away to the test hall. I couldn’t see Sunny around, but later realised he sits in another exam hall. I couldn’t concentrate, nor could Kartik, I just wanted it to end.

    And it ended, and we met, and I asked?

    “How was the test?”

    Kartik told “ It was Ok!”.We met Sunny sometime later, he said “Hi” and moved on.

    What about the kabristan guy? What about the cycle? What about Semipali again? What about Maths test? How did you come back and how?

    The day ended and I just wanted to go back and sleep, I stepped out into the cycle stand and saw Sunny riding his red cycle. I wondered what had happened. Maybe I shouldn’t discuss this, maybe I was too sleepy!

  • Scooter ki Sawari

    Scene 1: I was behind him, on 4th gear but always afraid to go a bit faster, my foot always flirting with the foot brake, and then something strange happened. Bhippu was sitting behind him, and he the fearless Jubhash riding his bottle green some plain looking bajaj turned back, and said namaste. All this while the scooter kept speeding ahead of me.

    Scene 2: We were standing at our regular adda, doing bakbak, and the girl passed. The girl on the pink ladybird (well there were so many of them during those days), and Jubhash again went mad, he picked up Seepak’s awesome hulky looking cream LML and went behind her, I don’t know why but he went behind her. His best buddy Taanu accompanied him.

    He came back after 10 minutes, and then something strange happened, he stopped the scooter, and raised his hand, the clutch came out and he gave it to Seepak. He drove it for half a km without a clutch in place!!!

    Scene 3: He told me to release the clutch dheere dheere, and move the accelerator up at the same pace. Unlike making him run while learning the bicycle this was much much relaxing, and I learnt it in one day. He told me about his first scooter, a Vijay Super (made by UP government factory to capitalized on the growing demand and limited supply by Bajaj) which was bought by my dadaji.

    Putting it on stand and locking the scooter took maximum time to learn.

    Scene 4: Me and him and his Jijaji’s scooter. It was a very pale looking Bajaj, well past its prime, but we roamed around the empty roads of Gandhinagar on that, eating paratha shaak, sipping Trupti lassi and Gh-0 soda on the way back. All my bank work, taking people to Civil hospital, going to R-World, everything was done on that. It just went on and on, and I think finally it died a silent death, although much used it was, and it had a painful life. I wish we had treated it in a better way.

    Scene 5: I entered from the Kaveri Vihar end, parked the scooter there, and my friend used to enter from the Yamuna Vihar end, parking the scooter there, I always used to take aloo-pyaaz in the end, he used to buy it first. Subzi market in the township was the place where one realized the true power of a scooter. It was so easy to carry tonnes of it near your feet, and you can always show a thenga to bike guy on the Tuesday and Friday, days when weekly subzi market was there.

    Scene 6: It was my birthday, and it was bhoko’s birthday. Guys from NTPC were brilliant, they drove scooters, guys from MPEB had one thing in common, everyone drove Sunny, that plastic bag covering a m-80 which used to be present back in 90s. Tiddu thought he would drive bhoko’s Sunny and thrashed it to an electric pole.

    And then some one took a condom (one gifted to us on our 16th birthday!!!), blew it, and put it behind someone’s scooter, and they drove it away, wonder what happened next!!!

    Scene 7: Both of us went for back to back movies to R-World, it was strange and very rainy day and we were walking back. When we reached the highway, there was no auto, no tempo, no truck giving lift. We walked to the corner of the road to take a leak, I still remember the scene, lightening, empty roads, and everything very very wet. So both of us started emptying our tankers near a set of empty drums. He finished and started walking, I was about to and then something strange happened, someone screamed from within that pile of drums,

    “Kaun hai be, bhaag jaao”

    And he started running, and I followed holding my loose jeans, and we kept running and running (it was my first interaction with the supernatural and it literally took my pants off). We stopped after some 10-15 minutes and it was still raining loads. And then came a guy on scooter and offered both of us a lift. Was he a god, trying to save us from the evil?

    10 minutes later the scooter stopped, he asked us to push it, it didn’t work. We checked the tank and the petrol was over. No point now. Then he laughed and laughed. And then he and his Scooter started and whoosh he went. Both of us were scared, but we walked the next 8-9 KM and somehow managed to reach the beautiful DAIICT.

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    The post title is inspired from the Sudarshan’s classic Cycle ki Sawari. They were just my experiences with scooter, the best vehicle I have driven till date, adventures, racing, supernatural etc. Do you have any interesting scooter stories to share?

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    Featured image from my instagram feed