Listening Sorts

Today I was in an awful mood after a friend unceremoniously ditched me after making me wait for 1 1/2 hour. I was so mad that a piece of paper would have set ablaze if it was placed in front of my face. I stomped out and caught an autorickshaw. Since it had poured just an hour ago, there was a bottleneck. I noticed that the meter was running faster than usual. I pointed this out to the driver, and finding a valid reason to scream at someone I continued accusing him of cheating, blah blah.
He simply pulled over, and raised his palm for silence and fiddled with the auto mechanism to rectify the problem. After demonstrating that the glitch had been rectified, the journey commenced again.
The driver started with small talk about B'lore being infested with people from everywhere. His rant began on similar note as my conversation two weeks ago. I showed little enthusiasm, since the mood was down, and the topic boring. So he brought up discussion of education, and how it was directly proportional to the price one can command in the market. I feebly agreed until he gave me the instance of a doctor who can demand Rs 5000 to inject you with medicine which costs no more than Rs 50. I argued that 'knowledge is power', but he seemed more comfortable with the Chinese way of ruling where rich or poor alike, man earns basis the sweat and labour he exudes, without use of his intellectual.
After I revealed to him that I was a Muslim, he being a righteous Muslim man, decided that I needed to be advised on the worldly ways. He told me that a woman should never look eye-to-eye when talking to another person, especially a man. The exception would be her parents or siblings. If he knew English, I would have screamed 'MCP!' The words resounded and died in the empty hollow of my head. I said nothing.
He told me that he was married for 4 years with 2 kids. And his wife and he shared mutual love and trust which helped them live together harmoniously. I was impressed by this claim, until he decided to elaborate further and tell me, "A man and a man are different. My wife cannot walk in front and lead. She must always walk behind me."
Hello! Whatever happened to gender equality? Since she is your partner, shouldn't she walk with you, if not in front of you? By now we had surpassed the bottlenecked traffic, and were zooming close to home. The point was not argued any further, and I hastily proceeded towards my apartment.
Like this was not enough, I was caught by my landlady who was concerned on my late arrival and early departure everyday. I explained to her about my new work place being 20 kms away. She empathised, and observed that the travel was too much of a hassle. I slipped in the idea that I may have to move out and go closer. As soon as she learnt of the area where my office was located, she cried foul. And began to describe graphically, much like Hindi-movie style on the scheming minds of thieves who would climb and hide in my bathroom!! I maintained a straight face as she elaborated on how I could get abducted while hailing an auto and dramatised the proceedings. It soon dawned upon me that she did not want to lose a tenant, and was trying to convince me to stay here (in a safe area), and buy a vehicle for travel, instead of conveniently shifting to a place close to office. I thanked her profusely for enlightening me with such knowledge, thus preventing me from encountering such goons, and said g'nite. She even promised to convince my mother about the terrible things which could happen to a poor lil girl living alone. Once out of ear shot, I laughed my way up home.
I really enjoy these characters I encounter everyday. It seems that I have a 'tell me all, I am all ears to your advise' kinda look. Is it just me?

Ride Home

Yesterday I was out for dinner and coffee late into the night. This made the thought of getting an auto a dreary thought, and one for ordering of a pickup cab a comforting one. I pushed aside the skepticism and stepped out, and there was a lone auto-driver. His vehicle was parked in the opposite direction of my destination, so I ignored him, and decided to cross the road to lookout for an auto which was headed towards my home. As is common with drivers, he came towards us and asked where we needed to be dropped. My friend asked him, and he quoted a double-meter fare. That was the amount I had mentally agreed to pay for the ride home, so I didn't have enthusiasm to bargain. My friend on the other hand (a newbie in B'lore I may add) thought double-meter was exorbitant, and the lawful 1 1/2 times was fair. Moreover, he thought the driver had a shady hue with his unkempt beard, monkey cap, over-sized jacket and muffler. But he looked OK to me. So I pushed his skepticism aside, gave a quick good-bye hug and jumped into the auto. As he started the engine, my friend located another auto and began arguing with him for the inflated fare quoted. I rolled my eyes in dismay, and plunked myself comfortably into the seat till my auto picked up momentum. The ride began.
[conversation took place in Hindi]
He first commented ,'Oh! The U-turn is pretty far off. I didn't realise'. I nodded and made some unintelligible sounds of agreement. Unsatisfied with my enthusiasm for conversation, he tried again, 'These roads in Bangalore are pretty bad.' B'lore roads are like English weather - a take-off point for conversation when nothing else comes to mind. I took the hint, 'Yeah, its the rains. They play havoc with the roads.' 'No, no! Its not the rains. The roads have not been filled properly and tightly. The heavy traffic loosens it easily,' he argued.
Silence.
'Where are you from?' he asked. This was an evasive question, and dangerous one to encourage when you are alone with a stranger in B'lore. I said, 'Bangalore.' He read the hesitation in my voice, and began to explain that he liked getting friendly with his passengers. I admitted, at his asking the second time, that I was from Bombay. He guffawed and said, 'I can tell you are not from here. You don't look like a local.' I took that as a graceful compliment and assured him, 'Yes, I am not a Kannadiga.'Then he asked me about my mother-tongue and religion. This time I lied, unsure if my admission of my religion would have him scolding me for being an uncultured girl gallivanting so recklessly.
He continued to philosophize about passengers and auto-drivers being transient companions and how it was a delight to meet different people and talk to them. And he apologised if I was getting bothered by his small-talk, since not everyone liked to yak away to drivers. I egged him to continue, 'In Bombay people are used to having such conversations with their cab drivers.'
This took off the conversation on a different plane. He began ranting, 'A girl would never be in an auto alone in the dead of the night.' This made my heart beat faster, as I began to wonder if he was a psychopath, who would kill me for crossing my womanly-boundaries, so stringent in Indian society. I was back to my walled grunts of acknowledgment. He continued, 'In past 10 years, things have drastically changed in Bangalore. This is b'caz of the IT industry and call centres where people work around the clock in different shifts.' Sounded like he was a rational person. He changed tracks and told me about a girl passenger who recently boarded his auto. 'She smoked two cigarettes in the span of 15 minutes! Whatever people say, it's not nice to see a woman smoke. It doesn't suit women'. In my head I screamed, 'MCP! MCP'[Male Chauvinistic Pig], but said 'Ya, sure.' 'She even offered me a drag. I don't smoke, but it would be in-shulting to admit that in front of a woman, so I took a drag,' he sheepishly admitted and grinned.
Since he was speaking flawless Hindi, not the Hyderabadi sorts, I asked him if he was a local or had migrated. He said that he was often asked this question, and people refuse to believe when he tells them he is a local. I told him that I was pretty impressed that he spoke such good Hindi, and he rattled off, 'I speak in the language and diction of my passengers so that they are at ease communicating.'
As we neared my rented apartment, personal questions came furiously from him about my family and whereabouts, where I lived in Mumbai, if we owned a house, my sibling. I stoically lied, with my thoughts tilting on ideas of kidnapping and ransom we see in so many movies. He continued saying things, but now I was in a mighty hurry to get behind my apartment door.
The urgency now was to have the nightmarish thoughts about this potential predator stop asap. I had opened my wallet and had the Rs 100-note ready. As soon as the auto came to a standstill, I hopped out, handed him the note, and said the habitual 'Thank you.' He replied, 'God bless you. Take care. Good night'.
I was touched.

Mubarak Din

This year Eid has been a completely different experience. Uptil 2007 I have spent every Ramazan Eid with my family - parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandma et al. The dinner party where 100's from the extended family meet up. The rituals is to gather Eid-i, play housie, comment on inches gained or lost, length of hair and styles accompanied with everyone's opinions. The crammed function hall, the late meal. Getting dressed, choosing the right accessories, new clothes, photo sessions.
And I had taken it all for granted. Cribbed about making such a big deal about visiting each one's home and nearly passing out by the time we head home late in the night. Stuffed as we would be with the Sev Khurma and platter of goodies offered at each house, I had never thought that there would come a year when I would not be a part of this hubbabullo.
As a token gesture I wore salwar-kameez to office. But it just wasn't the same. I am used to working on Eid, but having nothing to look forward to really made me lose my appetite. I sucked on sour grapes for lunch, then slunk to my desk and quietly shed tears. I bought new clothes, ate sweets, dressed up, demanded Eid-i from friends. But it isn't just the Eid without family. I have never felt so alone before.

Bangalore Blues? or Rules?

There has been a nagging voice inside my head. It reminds me ever so often that I have changed - become a mature person, sensible and rational (could this be b'caz I have someone much younger working under me?). Of course, people are still in doubt these qualities could come to nestle in me, but I can certainly see the shift.
And at this glorious occassion, I would like to thank... Bangalore city which has played a non-silent and major role. From the day I first came to city, all I have done is crib about Bangalore, and left no opportunity to weigh it down against B'bay. The inference each time 'this would never happen in B'bay', or 'you don't get such basic things in B'lore?' Of course, I could have returned back to B'bay (in fact, I did so for 6 months) and no one would bat an eyelid, or tag it as a rash decision.
I love B'bay, the humidity, open sea, gusts of salted spray, vada pav, local trains, BEST buses, clubbing, Page 3 parties, celebrity-spotting...
But I like B'lore too! This city embraced me when I came here without kith or kin; befriended me when I had no one to call a friend; smiled at me warmly when I was afraid of being felt up; it is now my comfort zone.
I feel like I am betraying B'bay, but I find no reason to even think of returning to B'bay, especially when looking at a place to live long-term. B'lore has a ridiculous 11.30pm deadline for pubs & restaurants, but I also finish work by 7pm (unlike 10.30pm in B'bay). The auto fares are higher, and the drivers blatant cheats, but I can choose to live a 2-minute stroll from office (unlike the humongous fare I shelled out to avoid the rush hour trains). I miss vada pav and Neera at the platform, but I can go home for freshly cooked lunch everyday...

Living Alone

For someone who has never lived away from family or friends for a single day of my life, living alone seemed to conjure up several romantic ideas.
Waking up when I want. Eat what I want, when I want. Drink at home. Stay out late without making up excuses.
And yes, all of that came true! But the romance of the proposition has long faded in the past 4 months.
Reality bites and hurts with a thud on the bum.
Waking up, whenever I choose to, now depends on pangs of hunger or the maid banging on the front door early in the morning. I eat what I want now, but most of the times there is nothing to eat. And I end up making snacks a full-fledged meal. As the month stretches over 30 tedious days, novelty of the snacks fizzles off with the fast depleting inflow of cash.
So soon the leftovers from the refrigerator come out. They are fancifully laid out on slices of bread and topped with lots of ketchup.
What I have gathered from these few months of experience is this – food – something I had, until now, considered a very inconsequential part of my daily routine [since my mom took care of preparing it religiously 3 times a day, in addition to keep them delicious and nutritious] has suddenly begun to rule the roost.
Oh and those awful read meals or Tiffin’s – they can drive back home the most flexible and non-fussy eater. Trust me!