2 years, 3 months later... (part 1)

Fifteen were the minutes to land and my heart was already pumping hard. I could smell the scent of Mumbai, an odour of slums, dirt and pollution. I breathed freedom in it. It felt an extensive relief to be back. I was feeling like a Bollywood star, coming from abroad after higher studies. It wasn’t until an agent asked me if I wanted to avoid the custom's check for 20 pounds, I was grounded and my Bollywood dreams were shattered. I was now feeling like a terrorist, smuggler and a thief. I arrived at the immigration. I saw a person talking in English, given the least importance. I decided to talk in Marathi. I was welcomed with a smile. While walking down the corridor of the international airport, I saw Mumbai Police, in their well-pressed khaki uniform, carrying pistols and rifles. I wasn't proud of them, thanks to the media, but was sick and tired of the polite London Metropolitan Police.

I was heading through the departures gate, and suddenly was too shy to go out. Hundreds of people stranded outside the departures gate. The scenario seemed like the Chief Minister of Maharashtra, me had just arrived. The security personnel, including the assistants were waiting outside holding flowers to welcome the CM, me. Babus wearing safari suits and leather purses, smiled, revealing their vermillion red, pan-full mouths. A million thoughts bounced in my mind for why all the people outside were waving and air-kissing me. I saw my friends and brother standing in a corner. I tucked my neck down, staring at the floor, shy as hell, headed straight to them. They too were waving. I realised it wasn't me. Then to my enlightenment, my brother elaborated how Sameera Reddy came out just before me, describing how different she looked in reality. Again, the thought that I was a star was in pieces.

It was overwhelming to see my friends and brother after two years. I wasn’t in tears as one would expect, but did have a heavy heart. I embraced them and we shared a satisfactory smile and a laugh. I never told my brother and friends my journey of agony from the customs to the departures gate, and we headed straight to Pune.

I was feeling a mental chill in the scorching heat of Mumbai. Breathing in the polluted air, dirt, and humid heat waves, I kept the car window open, absorbing the sun into my body as if starved of sunlight for decades. This wasn't for long as my excitement deceased and I started getting a burning sensation, which urged me to shut the window completely.

I could feel the jet lag. It was just 6.30 am for my body, whereas 12pm in Mumbai. I was hungry and we stopped at a small roadside restaurant for lunch. I was recalling the breakfast offered by the lovely airhostess, declined by me to avoid poisoning the atmosphere. I develop huge amount of gasses on a plane journey, which eventually become sufferings for the person beside me.

While at the restaurant, I stared at the glass of water, served by the waiter. I was forcing myself to avoid being a typical ‘foreign return’ and get used to drinking the local water and eat the local food without grieving for Bisleries. But, as I looked through the mighty half-washed glass of muddy water, I felt, "how beautiful it would be to get those tiny, rattling, visible germs into my stomach and waste the 2 weeks with diarrhea?" adding to it, I could also see finger prints of the previous customers, and my mind hovered through the countless crime investigation serials I’ve watched since childhood. Without me uttering a word, my friend saw the distress in my eyes, which made him order a couple of packed water bottles. He had a gentle smile, exactly similar to a person just about to ask your daily routine on a foreign land. We had a long chat while, having lunch, in the car, and eventually heard them snoring.

While I was trying to sleep at the front seat, the driver was having some fun conversation on his mobile with his relatives, I realised from his conversation. It was a bit panicky to see him drive by one hand on the expressway. I was looking at him at intervals, to let him know that I am frustrated by his emotional, fruitless, conversation with his loved ones, and I needed sleep. Later, his call ended depriving me of my sleep.

I was now happy to be close to my home. After finishing the expressway, I was feeling exhausted, with a headache, body ache and a bloated stomach. I was observing vehicles on the road overtaking each other without indication. I was telling my friends about how strict the traffic rules are in the UK. I looked back after narrating the ‘London traffic tales’ to see three smirks on the faces of my friends and the driver. The attitude clearly demonstrated, “this is India dude” in their eyes. London tales also included the frequent visibility of Ferraris, Maybachs, Porsches and Rolls-Royces. This time I didn’t bother to sustain anymore ‘mother India’ attitude and hence avoided looking back.

We entered into the city and I felt amazing to be back on the same roads. I think, only because it was after a couple of years. Was it before going abroad, I’d have been bored as hell to drive though them. I recalled the extensively used life quote, a grief I’d say, “you never understand the value of anything until you go far from it”, my tired mind skipped the ending, stating, “in life”, as I was already irritated by people agonising others, crying over ‘life’.

My eyes wandered around like Chinese tourists I see everyday at Covent Garden in London. They never stop looking around and take at least a million photos per hour. I took a million glimpses per hour, of the buildings, people and roads, outside, some old some new.

I reached home and my mom opened the door. My parents were pretty cool as they rarely show their emotions. They did the same when they saw me.

I ring the bell, my mom opens the door, I enter inside, my mom cracks a family joke, I keep my bags and I hug my mom and dad, as if they were the only reason of my survival. I see slightly watery eyes, but they never reveal their feelings. I was inhaling the freshness of life and love. I was overwhelmed by their patient and sacrificing attitude.

TBC…

A Wedding...

I had been to my cousin's wedding today, attending one after 2.5yrs. I simply loved the amount of people, chaos of volunteers and chirping of kids. It was an exci-exhausting experience.

I personally feel that marriages are not made in heaven by god, but he made them for video shooting. Right from the groom's entry till the crying ceremony of the bride, camera follows you everywhere. The bride and the bride groom is the star cast of the wedding movie. It's like a mini Big Brother(UK/US) Big Boss(India). A million people are in a queue waiting to greet and wish the couple. It's the only place I've seen where people follow a queue system in India. The couple, later on, suffers from facial muscle tears due to continuous smiling for 2 days at a stretch. The groom seems to be preparing for a fashion show changing attires at intervals while the rituals performed by the priests are expressionless, extremely similar to the stubborn government employees we see these days.

There's ample of scope for singles to meet their opposites at weddings. This time, after attending a few marriages, I could see some nice girls on the bride's side. Going for a family wedding and not seeing any good girls around is like heavy rain on a sunny tourist spot. It's more heartbreaking than an actual break-up. But apart from that, approaching those nice girls is a tremendous skill in itself.

The worst part of a wedding I experienced is meeting relatives, you meet extremely long distant, martial, relatives who tend to ask each and every detail of you, sometimes extending to your height, weight and marital status. Me going back home after a couple of years and meeting so many people had made me actually think of having my professional and personal details tattooed on my forehead. Apart from that, it was a long feet-touching exercise.

Along with the main rituals there's an add-on for the young generation to perform. It's the shoe stealing ritual. This time instead of the bride's side stealing the shoes there was a deal. They asked us to steal them and share the amount in half. Everything worked according to the deal apart from the money. Thanks to my younger brother who believed in the other side and handed over the shoes without taking hold of the money. This reliance emerged as to put an impression on the young girls in the opposite team.

One noticeable thing: the crowd increases as the lunch hour nears and vice-versa. I've seen hundreds of families stranded at the dining area during the peak lunch hour and a very handful of them for the actual wedding rituals. In some weddings I've seen people standing behind the diner, sometimes in a queue.

In all this mess the most tensed person was the girl's father, making sure everything was working fine and the aunties around were making sure to point out the flaws and corrections in the wedding preparations. A few old uncles were asking me to sit beside to consult them the scope of education abroad. The old aunties on the other hand were confirming if I had any white girlfriend. The younger cousins on the other hand thought being abroad meant to have a Porche with ease. Though many of my distant relatives are or have been abroad, I am the only one abroad in our close ones and I sometimes feel I'd have been grounded if I wasn't there.

Late in the evening, the food wasn't yet started to digest and the crying ceremony started. I was full of gasses and the girl's side with tears. The flowered car was resting at the door, waiting for the couple to arrive. Everything seemed fine until the girl was about to open the door and she exploded with tears, landing on her mother's shoulder. Dads usually don't tend to cry and even if they do they hide it. Sometimes they fake it rolling a hanky over their eyes. I suppose that's just for socialising. I did make a sad face to look amongst the crowd but that wasn't for the girl, it was for the explosive material gathering inside my stomach. Finally it was over, the car moved and me too.

In the loo, I thought of the entire day, got relaxed, and emptied my mind. It's the only place where you get the most innovating thoughts and relaxed feelings. I got the idea to write this blog there and I did.

Coincidences

A lot of coincidences happen in our lives, I have them every-time, everyday, or even whenever I think about coincidences. To take an example, I was listening to a song and I burped. The burp, came with such a timing, that I felt it was a part of the composition, and hence, I imagined burps throughout the song after every 4 beats.

Another example is when I had been to eat at a place near my office. I was busy eating and listening to my favourite music. I was the lone brown and everyone else were Brits. I don't know how, but the song, "Sarfaroshi ki tamanna" from the movie "Legend of Bhagat Singh" started from the shuffled list. I couldn't resist a smile.

This isn't it with my musical coincidences. It was just today, when I was sitting calmly in my train to office, when, at one stop a mob of kiddies entered the train with chaotic chirps. I could see the changed expressions of a few old ladies. But then, "Kho naa jaye ye Taare zameen par" from "Taare Zameen Par" started playing on my ipod and I started laughing irresistibly. It was such an involuntary reaction, that a few ladies standing beside me checked their makeup and dressing out of self-consciousness.

Other horrible coincidences I usually experience are: crashing of a software while client is on the verge of withdrawing the contract for not sticking to his specified deadline; death of my mobile battery when I am about to call a friend for the address where I'd meet my friends; spilling of food on a white/off-white/light blue shirt; and last but not the least is when toilets are miles away when I have an extreme urge of peeing. But this is eased sometimes as even if you don't find a toilet, you'd certainly find a McD which is a public toilet for me. The only healthy thing it can offer.

Coincidences are truly memorable sometimes, so please share any extraordinary coincidences if you have in the comments section.

Bloody Monday!

Mondays are always bloody, even if its one's birthday. Mine wasn't a birthday, but it was the worst traveling day of my recent life. If ethics and morality didn't exist, I would have killed a dozen people today.

The chronology of incidents begins at 8.45 am. Happy Ketan, running behind bus No.210, excited to get it on time. He gets in and to his surprise, rather frustration, bus does not move. Later a few bus drivers from around the bus station come in and try to figure out something. Three of them climb up the second floor of the double-decker. One's carrying some tools, one of them is a screw driver. Watching that, I felt like "Screwing the bus driver". The scene resembled of three three year olds running up and down the bus playing with their toy screw-drivers. I heard them gossiping about the problem in spite of me having the earphones on. The problem was that, the destination board was not rolling to the desired number and destination.

Fifteen minutes pass and there's no progress. Taking advantage of the delay, a fat man tried to sleep on a seat behind the rear door, resting on the glass pane to his front. His obesity gave me a new puzzle to nozzle the rising frustration. Is he resting on the glass wall in front of him or on his tummy? His belly fat was partially flattened resting on the front glass pane. His neck was submerged deep into his fats, so much that if a doctor was to reach his spine, he'd have to dive in to get a hold. His tummy fat was resting on his thighs and the length reached his knees. I wondered how he seated.

The bus finally started and I reached Brent Cross station in 7 minutes. I ran up the station, wondering about the sign outside the station stating, "Underground", as the station was a floor above. I reached the platform and the train doors closed. That was such a coincidence of consecutive bad events. The next "Morden via Bank" was in 14 minutes, i.e 14 minutes late to office, one exclusively repeated question to answer, "Why late today?" This question is often asked with forehead wrinkles, partial smile showing envy, by the higher authorities. This is one thing why I don't like to work as an employee. There was no option other than waiting for the next train.

The train arrived in 14 minutes and I felt relieved to find a seat to relax. But it wasn't for long, as at the next station a small group of school kids came in to ruin my peace. They were accompanied by their school teacher, who was having a fake smile and eying my seat. I was trying to avoid any eye contact but being a young, healthy and fit I took a stand to offer the teacher my seat. She showed a staged smile until she sat and then didn't even bother to look back and later I got down the train wishing to have superpowers to turn mine and bosses watch 30 min back.

Reached office tensed, thinking about reasons for being late and then thought about writing it as an experience in my blog.