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

After reaching home, I attended a naming ceremony of a nephew and met my best friend that night. It was overwhelming to see him after a couple of years, and we had no words to exchange. The first thing he told me, being a best friend is I haven’t changed much, my complexion has darkened and I looked the same as I left, whereas I was expecting it to be totally opposite.

My jet lag was taken over by the exhaustion of the day and I had a good night sleep until 11am in the morning. It was the first time in life I wasn’t bothered by my mom to get up early. I enjoyed the day doing absolutely nothing and was very happy doing that. The main reason of my trip was my cousin’s wedding. He had admonished me to be present on his wedding in any case. So, with the wedding came all the poojas and vidhis, which I had to attend almost everyday for the next week and half.

It was a Monday and I rode my motorcycle like a fifty-year-old paranoid oldie fearful of death in spite of having a sealed helmet and following each and every traffic rule. The speed never exceeded 40kmph. I could see more young faces driving newly bought without-gear scooters. The excitement reminded me of my college days when I drove my dad’s Bajaj scooter, without a helmet, in the winter fog, at 90kmph, having little or no braking functionality and without a driving license. It was a life gamble in mere excitement and the adrenalin rush of late teens. I self-acclaimed my courage and thanked the deity for keeping me alive.

I reached my mama’s house with loads of chocolates for my entire family. Everyone was pleased to see me return and instead of asking about my well being there were calculations of my changed complexion, weight and body proportion. The conclusion was that I was the same as I went. I was fearful if they’d make a presentation chart and put the exact melanin values in it. But I was happy to hear that my belly fat had reduced pretty much than before.

I opened my bag and randomly distributed the chocolates. I had bought a few wine truffle packs along with normal chocolates. Though all my family is pretty casual, some aunts made weird faces, as if they were about to puke, and asked me what the chocolate was made of. I had previously planned to distribute those wine truffles to all the mamas and the rest to my younger cousins and aunts.

Later, the aunts and sisters interrogated me if I had a white girlfriend. They assumed that it was as easy as gossiping about their new jewelry and sick neighborhood. How would they know that it takes time, patience and investment and I had neither of the three? Somehow I managed to twist the topic and we talked about my education, work and general experience of staying abroad.

While I was struggling to make up with my overwhelmed family, I also had to meet my overexcited friends. I left from my mama’s house to meet my best friends at JM road at some Chinese restaurant. That evening I realized that we’re so dependent on technology. I had no GPS to locate the restaurant, no credit in my mobile phone, in which, I had put my brother’s old SIM card.

To my amazement, the city which had coin-box-phones all over the place from communal toilets, 2’x2’ paan stalls to five start hotels in 2008, didn’t have a single in 2010. This was a cultural shock by the same culture I belonged. To add to the mess, there was a heavy rain spell unlike in the UK, where u can dare it and it won’t soak you wet. I was so drowned in water that my clothes would satisfy 5 African children if they were squashed. I wore a thin jersey, a casual jean and a pair of new leather shoes, the first most expensive of my life, and they were wet from bottom to the tip of their lace. I was neutral, happy to get soaked in warm water after a long time and sad to get my new shoes ruined.

I took a halt under a tree and waited for the rain to stop. I was trapped between two politics enthusiasts talking about the city infrastructure. I tried to squeeze in to avoid maximum rain. I heard those guys boasting themselves about their contacts, one of them rubbing his right hand on his huge belly. The other one was skinny, trying to sustain the heavy rain as if the droplets were heavier than his body weight. Their grumpy nature made them look as if they’ve just had their dinner.

The rain stopped and I found a shop with a coin-box-phone and rang my friends asking the exact address. They asked me to wait and came to pick me up. I was excited to meet everyone after a long time. We all headed to the hotel triple seated. We skipped a signal, took a U-turn past a no entry sign and skipped a policeman trying to stop us. I was so glad to be back to my roads, my world; a sense of extreme freedom thrilled me. We went to the Chinese restaurant and I ate the ‘Indian Chinese’ food, full of spices and devoid of Chinese authenticity.

My brother had acquired my bike so I had no option than the reliable public transport system. It was a cultural shock to use the bus service after so many days. It had been almost 6 years I hadn’t used the bus service after I got a bike to commute to the college.

It was 10 am in the morning, the morning rush hour of Pune. I had to go to my mama’s place for one more pooja and I chose PMT as my mode of transport. It was a pleasant struggle. I went to the bus stop where the busses for Kothrud left. I saw two conductors spitting pan and talking to each other at intervals. I asked one of them where would I get a bus to Kothrud. He was extremely grounded and did his job as always, with arrogance; he deceived my journey plans by confidently providing me the wrong information.

The bus arrives and stands 10 meters away from the bus stop. It looked like a hundred meter sprint. I along with 50 others ran towards the bus and boarded it hoping to get a seat to sit. Unaware of the amended rules, I mistakenly sat in the ladies section. After 15 minutes or so I realized that I’ve caught the wrong seat. I twisted my neck to check if I was alone and realized that I wasn’t.

I was looking at the bright sunny roads and the unlawful crowd. It seemed so much life out there. The humid breeze, the soaring heat, the suffocating pollution and continuous beeping of horns never bothered me. The conductor made the weirdest face when I gave him a hundred-rupee note. The driver seemed as if driving his personal vehicle, drifting and playing road tricks. In the 25-minute journey my knees banged the front seat a million times and my head collided with the backrest a zillion times. There was absolutely no scope for any disabled to enter the bus by any chance, even if accompanied by a healthy person.

The bus was so speedy that it stopped at least 5 meters away from every bus stop. Some bus stops seemed to have trained people to catch a running bus. The driver managed to slow down the bus to exactly the required speed for the expert climbers to take a stance and catch the bus. I think he knew stops with elders and students, so he managed the bus speed accordingly.

The most amazing part of the bus journey, I’ve always admired, is the stability of the conductor. Whatever the speed maybe, he’d never fall or his leg won’t move even an inch by the turbulence. In all this mess he’s absolutely sharp and right in his calculations. Each note in his moneybag has a touch of his saliva while being calculated, like a post employee stamps all the posts. Most of the times it seems like his intelligence limits when you offer him a five hundred-rupee note. He either asks you for the change or you should be the person who is getting off at the last stop to get the change from him.

The stop where I was supposed to get down came and I almost jumped from the running bus. I walked down to my mama’s place memorizing the series of events surrounding me in the last half an hour of my bus trip. It certainly seemed full of life.

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.

Hindu Vs. Muslim, or Hindu and Muslim?

It has been a long time after my last post. I have been watching a couple of old movies, Bombay, 1995 and Black and White, 2008 this week. After that, I had a chat with one of my elderly friend in the family, discussing the issue of Hindu vs. Muslims. It all started with two of my best friends, a girl and a boy, who are in love with each other and are forced to be apart just for the sake of religion.

The discussion started when I asked, what's the problem in a Hindu, Brahmin girl getting married to a Muslim boy? Why is it always meant to be a disastrous phenomenon for both the families? Then, I answered myself, when myself as a Brahmin is forbidden to marry a lower caste girl in Hindu religion, then it's an issue of inter-religious marriage ceremony. Although, some open minded and educated families do accept such relationships, as it used to be said; these days all the families act open-minded and are highly educated but offend the inter-religious affairs.

The next question asked to me was, how would they adjust with each of their religious views, rituals, traditions, etc.? I feel that if we have a positive attitude throughout our lives, we can enjoy both the religions, experience and understand the beliefs and respect both the religions. I love being a Brahmin and Hinduism, but there's always been a hidden enthusiasm of visiting a mosque. I am not expressing it because I have raised this issue, but it's true! Many, might have this feeling.

Later, why did the girl chose a Muslim person to love? Are all the Brahmins in this world dead? Was asked. How can someone decide whom to love? I said. Some people do try it, but it's usually known as infatuation. Loving someone on their looks and style is kind of a contract of one year, as science has proven that infatuation lasts no more than a year, its due to some 'chemical locha'. In the case of my friends, they haven't actually had an affair, she's saying no and he's not empowering him on her, but both of them know they're made for each other. If it was an infatuation, it wouldn't last for 4 years.

I do not agree with the character of that girl, was told to me! I was outraged by that supposition. Is she bad because she cared for her parents? Is it because she didn't want to go against her parents' wishes? Or, is it because she didn't flirt with him, in spite of the uncertainty of their relationship? The other things, like wearing a short skirt, exposing outfits or huge makeup, were also not applicable to her. So, in which angle should the girl be perceived as bad?

I am with them no matter what. It's the problem of love and not religion. According to me, these are never ending questions. Although, in Hinduism and Islam, the first man and woman were different in their respective religion, practically speaking, I am thankful that this belief system emerged far later after the first man and woman, or else human race won't exist.