My Backpacker's Diary... Part II
(This was posted on 26th December 2005)
Also:
My Backpacker's Diary... (Part I)
The next thing one generally does is to give a look at the co-passengers and exchange a few half smiles. I also try to study their profile; and unmistakably, journey after journey, year after year, their types always remain similar. An old retired couple in the front seats; one or two small groups of friends; a couple of family groups with small or grown-up kids; a few individual passengers, two of them would be furiously devouring the newspaper as if their lives depended on it; and of-course, a newly-wed couple to complete the list. Of all the places, why do honeymooners choose PuttaParthi is beyond my comprehension. It might be God’s way of maintaining the normal distribution; or may be they wanted to take divine blessings before starting on the act… a little bit of extra help, you never know.
The bus maneuvered through the streets and traffic to reach the Hyderabad highway, also known as the Bellary highway, passing by the Golf club, Palace grounds, Hebbal and Yelahanka in between and the splendid air force station afterwards. In the mean time I was enjoying the beauty of an idyllic Saturday morning Bangalore.
The cold December weather was already working its magic on the newly-weds. By virtue of being strategically seated, I was able to see all the coochi-cooing they were involved in. The resulting effect was almost unbearable. There is no better way to remind a person about the uselessness of his life. Throw him on a long journey on a wintry morning without a suitable female companion and curse him to watch all these with furtive glances. Probably, the closest competitor would be the plight of a full grown young man in a harem, watching the inhabitants busy in work, with his hands and legs tied to two poles far apart. Oh merciful God, where art Thee? Curse me to a life of loneliness and solitude. I shall gladly accept that; at least porn is freely available in the corner CDs shop and I have a running account with them.
Instead of reminding myself of my incompetence in overcoming forced celibacy, I decided to do something positive and turned towards the person on the side seat. This gentleman, about forty, had his forehead smeared with 3 lines of ash and a round vermilion spot in the middle. My sudden directional shift startled him… gotcha… he was of course using his height to see the spectacle. After the first minute of awkwardness and discussion on a few desultory topics, the talk veered towards God and His miracles… aaahhhh… I felt like caught between the devil and the deep sea. After almost rudely avoiding him, I spared myself of further boredom.
Two people in the front seats were talking loudly to each other; may be with a desire to make others privy about the affairs of their office, interjected, of course, with subtle Hindi invectives suitable for the person concerned, depending upon whether that is the boss they are talking about, or one from the same department, or from a different department; and, a few loud mobile calls in between. The retired couple, after a few rounds of bhajans, was deep in sleep, troubling none afterwards. The small kids were busy among themselves, sometimes fighting, sometimes laughing for no apparent reason; in short being very much like kids and their parents, well, very much like parents.
Having nothing better to do, I decided to indulge myself with the favourite pass time of the intellectuals. The morning haziness was slowly getting cleared; the sun was slowly coming to its full force. I could see a hill near Yelahanka losing its greenery for the builders’ trucks were busy carrying the crushed stones from the hill. I could also see small children working as hawkers and selling their stuffs to the passersby for a few rupees daily. I analyzed that politicians are the reason behind all these; of course the prevailing corruption is a major factor, but that also could be attributed to the politicians. Satisfied with my efforts at finding the root cause to the problems of the country, I slowly plunged into a reverie…
Next: My Backpacker's Diary... (Part III)
Also:
My Backpacker's Diary... (Part I)
The next thing one generally does is to give a look at the co-passengers and exchange a few half smiles. I also try to study their profile; and unmistakably, journey after journey, year after year, their types always remain similar. An old retired couple in the front seats; one or two small groups of friends; a couple of family groups with small or grown-up kids; a few individual passengers, two of them would be furiously devouring the newspaper as if their lives depended on it; and of-course, a newly-wed couple to complete the list. Of all the places, why do honeymooners choose PuttaParthi is beyond my comprehension. It might be God’s way of maintaining the normal distribution; or may be they wanted to take divine blessings before starting on the act… a little bit of extra help, you never know.
The bus maneuvered through the streets and traffic to reach the Hyderabad highway, also known as the Bellary highway, passing by the Golf club, Palace grounds, Hebbal and Yelahanka in between and the splendid air force station afterwards. In the mean time I was enjoying the beauty of an idyllic Saturday morning Bangalore.
The cold December weather was already working its magic on the newly-weds. By virtue of being strategically seated, I was able to see all the coochi-cooing they were involved in. The resulting effect was almost unbearable. There is no better way to remind a person about the uselessness of his life. Throw him on a long journey on a wintry morning without a suitable female companion and curse him to watch all these with furtive glances. Probably, the closest competitor would be the plight of a full grown young man in a harem, watching the inhabitants busy in work, with his hands and legs tied to two poles far apart. Oh merciful God, where art Thee? Curse me to a life of loneliness and solitude. I shall gladly accept that; at least porn is freely available in the corner CDs shop and I have a running account with them.
Instead of reminding myself of my incompetence in overcoming forced celibacy, I decided to do something positive and turned towards the person on the side seat. This gentleman, about forty, had his forehead smeared with 3 lines of ash and a round vermilion spot in the middle. My sudden directional shift startled him… gotcha… he was of course using his height to see the spectacle. After the first minute of awkwardness and discussion on a few desultory topics, the talk veered towards God and His miracles… aaahhhh… I felt like caught between the devil and the deep sea. After almost rudely avoiding him, I spared myself of further boredom.
Two people in the front seats were talking loudly to each other; may be with a desire to make others privy about the affairs of their office, interjected, of course, with subtle Hindi invectives suitable for the person concerned, depending upon whether that is the boss they are talking about, or one from the same department, or from a different department; and, a few loud mobile calls in between. The retired couple, after a few rounds of bhajans, was deep in sleep, troubling none afterwards. The small kids were busy among themselves, sometimes fighting, sometimes laughing for no apparent reason; in short being very much like kids and their parents, well, very much like parents.
Having nothing better to do, I decided to indulge myself with the favourite pass time of the intellectuals. The morning haziness was slowly getting cleared; the sun was slowly coming to its full force. I could see a hill near Yelahanka losing its greenery for the builders’ trucks were busy carrying the crushed stones from the hill. I could also see small children working as hawkers and selling their stuffs to the passersby for a few rupees daily. I analyzed that politicians are the reason behind all these; of course the prevailing corruption is a major factor, but that also could be attributed to the politicians. Satisfied with my efforts at finding the root cause to the problems of the country, I slowly plunged into a reverie…
Next: My Backpacker's Diary... (Part III)
Labels: My Best Writings, Random Ramblings
posted by Bigyan Satpathy at 7:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home