My trip starts from my home town Kolkata. On that typical hot and humid summer afternoon, I went to that drowsy rickshaw puller. He barely heard my calls, and on trying a bit harder, half opened his marijuana blessed red eyes and muttered, “Can’t go …”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t! Don’t bother me!”
… somehow reaching the Hospital’s reception for the clinical test, I asked the reception where to proceed. The glossy faced overweight woman was chatting, presumably women stuff, profusely over her mobile phone. Visibly disturbed, she frowned at me …. and came her irritated response:
“No tests today … today is a bandh …”. Yes there was a strike call by some Autorickshaw Unions.
… and thus you are relaxing. “… but … this is healthcare …how ..”
“What do you understand about politics ? It is about rights … everything can wait.”
“But … ”
“Wake up! A revolution is unfolding!”, said she, and resumed chatting.
And back in Delhi, one Saturday night at the pub, a group of senior school kids were stealing the show.
“Patiala Blue Label for all my friends … “, the tall and fair leader announced.
.. the confused waiter vanished .. must be to talk to his manager …
“Why won’t she like me? My dad is a minister … I can do anything… and that 10 lakh bike is sure to steal her heart”
“But …”, his friend objected … “that’s about your father … because of that incident you had to leave the school …”
“Yes … my father will settle that too … ”
“And if they don’t agree ? You almost raped her!”
“Simple … I will shoot her … all her family!”
“Cummon …. you cannot do that”
And here came the shocker: He drew a pistol – a real one … and roared “How dare you **** … I will shoot you down and your whole clan …”
Before someone says, “Aarey! Ye tow mar gya!” – We fled!
Once when I visited Chennai, a guy in our group had lost a piece of luggage on the train. De-boarding at the Central station we visited the station master’s office. At the complaints desk, our guy committed the master blunder … he started in Hindi.
“No Hindi!”
“Okay … someone stole my bag …”
“… or you lost it …”
“Well, …maybe I misplaced …”
“You North Indians … don’t know what happened to your own bag ?”
“I am from Assam … and not a North Indian … ”
It was simple to spot an alien: “You speak Hindi … you North Indian” … said the dark guy, his heavily powdered face bubbling with perspiration.
My friend Rajat’s prospective landlord in Hyderabad is a stinking rich man – and wears a massive bunch of bright yellow chains. My friend says he stinks too! He otherwise looks similar to his own driver – only with a bigger belly and a cleaner shirt. The man stuck all the gold when Hyderabad stuck the cyber-tech buzz and expanded to engulf the neighbouring villages. He owns half of the flats in the society.
They met at the lift foyer, with the landlord’s bright young son also accompanying him.
“The cyclone Thane will cause a lot of damage to those Andhra guys”, he smiled.
Oh boy! You must have totally forgot this was Telengana!
The boy goes to an international school and his dad soon went gaga about its greatness. Without any insistence he boasted of his memory skills – and soon started listing the 51 US states. And lo! He was done in below 30 seconds.
“All my flats are perfectly Vastu compliant. It works like magic in your life”, he described his flats, all of which have two things in common – their terrible design, and a kitchen in the south east – usually the best place for a balcony.
At last, my friend got his first chance to introduce himself to the boy. When he added that he hails from Tripura, the grinning boy quipped, “Welcome to India!”
After Kashmir cooled down in recent years, Deepak’s long desire to visit materialized.
An inquisitive tourist, he talks with every man he can. Riding a Shikara on the Dal Lake, he befriended his boatman. Discussing about the spate of tourism in recent times, his boatman was quick to agree, “Indians are visiting a lot nowadays”.
Honest Blabber 