“A wrathful step mother with an
occasionally polite heart”
19/June/2012
Just four extremely busy days to go. I've finally decided to take some
time out and spend it with myself. While
trying to capture my thoughts and emotions on this virtual piece of paper all I
can think is how hard it is to live without your accompanists and what I have
been served up by this city of awkwardness during the past 36 days! When I first
got here, I knew no one, but now I feel like knowing every single person, every
single shopkeeper, the people who owned this society, the people who travelled
with me, the people who merely bestowed on me a passing glance - and then
Autowalas who drove me places and others.
I not only know them but have seen their reflections, their intentions.
I have read them from start to finish. Being an unknown quantity, a stranger in
a strange place grants you some advantages. Being a silent observer is one of
them. I have been a very efficient silent observer. I have seen the others
walking, talking, moving, laughing, yawning but what I couldn’t assess was
their behaviour. Having no one to talk to might turn out to
be a real-time curse; I tried my best to avoid that, though, for that I had to
break the norms of being a silent observer. I tried to engage those who met me in streets
during their night walks, who sat at tea shops, who gave me food, who merely
took notice of me, those who preferred to dive into their ego-pools unconcerned,
introduced themselves as managers, children going for tennis practice, teenagers
enjoying rides with their girlfriends. I literally and desperately tried
everyone but luck never shared the same seat with me. Yet I got little bit of
success with the Suttewalas. In that desperate and lonely state, I waved
to them and they responded. I sat there, talked to them about the city, about
the accidents that were so frequent, about the government and they listened to
me and if I was lucky, I'd sometimes meet a person at the Sutta shop and
he would give me lift after he found out about my connection to IIT Delhi. And
my friends suggested that I quit smoking! I wonder: how shall I survive without
smoke in a strange city like this!?
This city has been very intriguing. Strange things inspire curiosity,
and I have tried many dimensions that would get me closer to the heart of the
city. I went to museums, libraries, accidentally to a red light area. I searched
for bars and pubs but couldn’t find any (Gujarat is truly a dry state). I
explored her past, her present but every next morning the city conjured up a surprise.
I tried crying but then the tears would dry. I tried shouting but no one noticed.
I tried reading but loneliness would come running from her lap and fool my
mind. But whenever I tried to curse this city there would be a sweet voice talking
to me so soothingly that I would forget all that happened just a few moments
ago. The city knew how she could make me strong, love and torture me both at
the same time, read my thoughts and ignore them, give me good vibes and the
next second show me a shit hole. I can’t really hate this city but I can’t love
her either. All I can do is think of her as a wrathful stepmother with an
occasionally polite heart who took care of me.
I don’t want to remember this city. I don’t want to remember her weird
silence, the loneliness that sat on her lap, the sadist faces that were her
creations. But then, how can I forget her kindness, the people with pure
intentions, happy with their families, visiting restaurants with their relatives
on Sunday nights, eating spaghettis with their hands, that huge crowd who would
gather at thelas on every single night? How can I forget my van-mates
who would call me chintu and give me small treats, who would argue with
me and speak bura-bhala of Delhi, who would laugh at stupid jokes and
backbite their seniors, who told me how to get to Mumbai from Vadodara,
each of them suggesting a different route, sending me into such a spiral of confusion that for a while I completely
dropped my plan, who would tell me boring places in Vadodara to hang
around, who would discuss engines, movies, politics and affairs amongst company
employees? How can I forget my roommate, who would keep bothering me for the
smallest things, who'd wake me up at 8:15 for the 8:20 van, who is more than 25
years older than me and a big fan of Sonakshi Sinha? How can I forget
the aunty who made me drink barley water, who smiled at me when I was desperate
for a smile, who gave me a warm coat of sweet talk in a cold 'wilderness of
silence'? How can I forget those girls who would wear one brief piece of
clothing or briefer shorts and drive their Activas, girls who would
always hang around in couples and make me feel jealous of all those boys, girls
who would produce titanic poses on their Activas? Nor can I forget even
in my dreams the food that I ate here, every day a different thela, a
perfect dining place suited to the weight of my pocket. They offered handvas,
dhoklas, chakhlis, an indescribably mouth-watering array of snacks, 50
different items on a single Omelette thella, the best food I ever had.
No wonder most Gujaratis don’t cook at their home. I can’t forget that Suttewala
who never had Marlboro yet I went only to him in the hope that he'd get
me some. He offered his customers everything from Pan to Ganza
and once offered to get me whiskey in case that is what I longed for, even
though I never asked.
No… I cannot simply forget all these weird yet wonderful things!
I have lived this
city, breathed her air, smelt her soil, felt her rain. I can’t thank her for
the many emotions she aroused because a mere note of thanks would be dull
considering the kind of relationship which we'd both clung on to, hung on to. There
is a lot more to write but I presume both of us have by now fostered some
little secrets of our own which we don’t want to share. These are our intimate
experiences that only the two of us will remember, will cherish. I love you Vadodara
though I hate you by the same token! That’s my part of our story and I hope
that I have presented it well, in an unambiguous way, giving you as much credit
as you have earned.
P.S. Many thanks to RBN for correcting my mistakes. :)
