Solitude or Love Intoxicating

My house was slowly getting set. The sofa-set had finally arrived, so did a new dining table shining with a glass top. The bedroom was complete with a bed and the cupboard. Well, that was almost … what more could be a requirement for the decent living? Still the house felt empty, may be it wanted a few living soul to live in or it was just for her.

She had wanted to come but got stuck with work.

Poor me! I sometimes feel that way. She could have had work some other day, why did this have to happen to my dear weekend?

The setup for a new house couldn’t do a trick. How could they be the constant companion for a lonely man on a dry weekend? There was a shower the last evening, after around two months or more. Roads were wet. I had gone for an office outing the day before … to a resort on NH4, a day filled with fun, activities and so much more.

She had come too, how couldn’t she? And that’s where she promised to visit me during the weekend. She wanted to talk …

But she did not turn up. Though she called a few times from work, appearing disappointed for not being able to turn up. Still I have this habit of not trusting feminine assurances, they appear too decorative, a bit fashionable at times.

During the afternoon my folks called me at Parihar Chowk. A session with drinks and dinner was indeed inviting. I decided to take the invite.

Smell of vodka came back to me after months, haunting amidst the smell of the wet sand on the chowk. Water from the rains hadn’t seeped too much into the sand. The session appeared entertaining, yet the discussions were mostly on friends, family and frugal matters of life. These days even guys have become smart, they don’t open their minds up with drinks.

I had to finally take a bus back to my home. They wanted to drop me at home, I refused. This mind wanted some time to relax on my way back.

When I reached Hadapsar, the time by my watch was around fifteen minutes past midnight. I could have also taken a rickshaw. One such rickshaw was parked just opposite to this pub at Parihar Chowk. In this city, an auto-rickshaw is less an ‘auto’ more a rickshaw.

Reminded me of a German colleague my father met who wanted to buy a cycle rickshaw for his family back in Berlin … just so that he could have an entire family with less pollution.

I never saw a reason for this German thought! Guess China had rickshaws even before independent India had them. Why couldn’t he buy these pedal-wheeled vehicles from China? My reasoning had critical political overtones from the early seventies. Cold war across the borders, Berlin was more than a companion to the Soviets, so were the Chinese.

This bus had another drunken person as a passenger. He spoke his language, I spoke mine. The conductor asked for the ticket. A ticket is so universal, so is the money. Where does the language come in between? I got one without a hitch, but the other passenger kept questioning the fare. The conductor appeared to give up after a while, he had to appear sober.

Forty five minutes past midnight, the medical college of the armed forces was the only building that had lights on. The classes may have concluded hours back. I kept looking for my stop … for now there were only two more people inside the bus - the driver and the conductor.

The drunken passenger had got down somewhere, I wasn’t attentive then.

My stop came, and the conductor indicated me to get down. Not that I would have preferred staying back, but he thought it was his duty to help a man who seemed indifferent.

From the stop to my apartment, it’s a walk of seven minutes. May be the vodka had started the trick! I tried to keep a count on my watch. There were a few people on the road. A lady sped with her face covered riding a scooty, the mini version of the scooter. It looked as if her deadline to be at home had passed. In India, women must be on time … it’s the prerogative of men to stay away for long. She did notice me, I was briskly walking though. May be her scooty got a feeling of the Indian woman rushing back.

Are scootys in this part of the world feminine too? Even she rode one. May be she was back at home by now. I decided to call her, talking the walk back from the bus stop.

‘lemme know when u r bck’ was the small message appearing on the screen of my cell phone. She may have typed it a while back. It was I who missed it at the pub. Now I should let her know. She may have already retired to bed, after a tired day at work.

Interestingly, the call lasted an hour or even more. We talked, just like two children who are lost in their worlds but can’t get to play with themselves. This fanatic world of work, where we honour our ‘professional obligations’ by the clock, or may be these odd ‘commitments’ to be with the team for the occasional session or two by the bottle. A work life gets so boring at times.

She had known by that time that I was drunk. My words were incoherent. The vodka had finally played the trick. I wanted to speak less, but she understood.

‘You know’ she said, ‘if I could be with you tonight, it would be even more intoxicating’. I was thrilled for a moment, may be, since the very thought of her with me was so filled with love.

And love is indeed intoxicating, more than the vodka.

Stranger

In that quiet corner of the park, he had made this bench permanent as his seat. Not sure where he came from, but he would make it a point to sit on the bench, one afternoon after the other. Right from the time the sun would tilt into the western horizon, till the time it would finally set … almost covering the entire afternoon into the evening. He remained seated there … watching the proceedings around. All alone, all by himself.

The town wasn’t his, neither anyone could recollect having seen him or met him in distant past. But the way he would sit on the bench, one would assume that he has made this town a home.

Was he alone? None would ever know.

Clad in his signature costume – a faded pair of denims and a khaki half-shirt – he would be seen visiting the park everyday, and slowly everyone would have considered him a valid resident of the town.

But was he a permanent resident? Who would ever know?

From the point he entered the park, till the time he left his seat, one could see him looking tirelessly around. The children, the youth and the elderly whoever visited the park never missed his sight. Yet none exactly knew where he lived. And when he left his seat, he would simply vanish outside the park … until the next afternoon when he would be back at the park again.

Where would he leave for? Guess none would ever know.

Stranger would be a nicer qualification for him. But then he was a stranger who was a regular, so much so that the visitors to the park could vouch for him that he would come and sit on that bench, his permanent seat, around the stipulated time.

There were days when he would keep looking upwards, towards the sky. May be, he lost someone who he felt was up there. He kept looking up as if that person would peep out among the clouds any time for one last look at him. But as it often happens, the look never resulted in anything significant … he got a bit dissatisfied looking upwards.

What would he be looking for? None would ever know the answer.

Most of the remaining time, he would be looking around … or stare constantly at a group, whether it was a bunch of children or a group of young people didn’t matter.

He would smile, or sometimes frown at the happenings around. But he would never talk … nor even attempt to even start a conversation with anyone around. Those in the park were used to his presence, and behaved as if he was known. In short, he had slowly started to become a known stranger!

One day, a group of young girls were having a joyful time enjoying an animated conversation. The stranger heard and was curiously amused. He seemed interested and wanted to get into it. So he tried to call some in the group. He waved his hands at the group and tried to call any one of them, but remained silent as he wasn’t sure of their names. His hesitancy was evident, but he just wanted to relate to their talks.

At first the girls didn’t see him wave at him … but were soon apprehensive of his gesture.

Most of them got scared seeing his hand pointing at them. There were faces that were afraid to even speak out. Having seen him regularly wasn’t all that difficult, but to see him make this gesture frightened them. They would sense something was suspicious, and seeing him look at them made them a wee bit uncomfortable too.

The initial hesitation over, most girls in the group were of the opinion to leave that place. This would mean that the stranger would no longer be able to even spot them or even try to follow them. To move out of the park meant a safer way to avoid an interaction with an unknown person.

Soon they left the place, and the park slowly started to become normal again. The stranger, with a disappointed face, kept looking at the way the girls took to exit the place. His face expressed the hidden frustration.

May be he had something to ask them, but none would ever know what it was for.

A stranger that he was, he remained a stranger even though he had become so known as the person sitting on his permanent seat.

At Pune with the process of Settlement

The day I landed in Pune, I had a bad start. We found at the Kolkata airport that I had forgotten my suitcase keys at home. Never done that before, guess tensions were running high in me. A dash back home was inevitable, missing the flight ... and finally catching the next available flight. Such was the start of my urgent trip to me.

We boast ourselves of being techies, no wonder we move with the speed of bytes. Our plans and programs are next only to the Almighty's. Actions are not something we wait for ... we are on the rush to extremes ... always!!

In Kalyani Nagar, a chirpy evening was nearing as the sun was on the western horizon when I rang the door bell of the guest house where I was supposed to stay. The caretakers, Balwant and Heera, were there to greet me. In my short stay at Kalyani Nagar, of around two weeks, these two never ceased to make me feel at home.

Be the poha, the parathas they cooked for me in breakfast ... or the anxious wait for me when I suddenly decided to catch a late night show of the 3-D extravaganza 'Avatar' at Gold Adlabs. They never knew that an idle mind has finally made his way to Pune!

Nights are definitely late here, and it never feels midnight on the streets. As I slowly grow to be a 'Puneich Mulga', these are definite takeaways from this warm and vibrant city.

Now I operate from Magarpatta City, from one of the cyber city towers that make for Pune's skyline. Inside these towers, computers keep processing, earning a few million dollars every day and night. My teams are bigger, hopefully better ... as I keep myself busy with a learning process that one has to get into in a new geographical location with a promising team.

But a new working team has to put up with this man with an idle mind!!

People do settle down, but there's so less to settle for. This is the same country that is also lazy, takes time to even move a file from one desk to the other. There are corporate policies, and business processes that take a toll of a person's newfound zeal to settle for more ... be it in person or at work.

Pune is definitely India too ... as was Kolkata. To that effect, the spirit of India remains intact. Plans get postponed, things get delayed to make people slog in an endless wait. A chance talk with legendary InkTank happened, he asked me to give some time even to the process of school admission for kids.

We are used to this, be it Kolkata or Pune, and Indian processes are nightmares. Time is not yet translated to revenues, and that asking people to wait is the pride of one's job.

So this settlement process is going to take some extra time. I am an Indian, so I bear it. I may be waiting, but I'm also trying to make myself establish a tent as soon as possible.

If the caravan has moved, how long can the tent wait to be put up?

I dedicate this to the youth of India, who are a fascinating lot in this city. They are intelligent, and are eager to reach out for the pinnacle of their careers. Students and young working hands, they are the ones I will probably fall for ... until I get a growing company.

Possibly I will meet InkTank in one of those legendary restaurants, coffee shops or someplace else. Aundh, Kothrud, Baner, Kalyani Nagar or Magarpatta ... the place does not matter. The time and date is not decided, but the eagerness to meet is baffling.

With this, I conclude a mere status update, though you may not be necessarily feeling my absence yet.

I will write regularly as I promised a few years back ... since this is just the fourth year of the promise!