I was happy that morning because it was Gudhi-Padwa. I knew mother would make gajar-halva; I’d seen her buy carrots yesterday. It was my favorite dessert and I was really looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, mother fell ill that day.

“I’ll cook it tomorrow my dear!” she said, seeing me upset.

“NO!!! But it’s a holiday!! Why did you have to get sick today?” I pouted and yelled. How could she do this to me?

A realization stuck me few hours later. My stomach churned and I felt awful for being so inconsiderate. I hadn’t even asked mother how she was doing! I was being totally selfish…me!me!me!

Then it came to me – I should cook gajar-halva for her!

Here’s how to cook when you are clueless: I picked up a carrot and, with great difficulty, managed to accumulate a few spoonfuls of shredded carrot in a cup. Now I just needed milk to make it perfect! I poured some milk and mixed it with the carrot. But it looked terrible… nothing like the gajar-halva that mom makes! I panicked, and in the process knocked over the milk pitcher. It fell on the floor making the loudest noise ever.

Mother came to the kitchen to check. She saw me there standing in a pool of milk with carrot shreds everywhere and a cup in my hand…

Well, the rest of the story is not as interesting. But my mother says that it was among the best Gudhi Padwas she’s ever had!

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition

“Hi! Sorry, You got time?” It was an elderly lady.
(Translation: You got time? = What is the time? I have no idea why people use this phrase.)
“Yeah, sure.” I told her the time and got back to my reading.

“You know, one of these days I am going to have a heart attack and fall on the street and nobody’s gonna notice.”
(HUH! I couldn’t believe she was actually talking to me. Wearing headphones is as good as putting up a huge ‘Do not disturb’ sign.)

I acknowledged hearing that and got back to my book.

“The other day I was walking and I needed to ask someone for directions but I looked around, everyone was wearing earphones. I felt like I am walking alone in the city. There wasn’t anybody I could talk to.”

Although irritated, now I was very curious to hear her. Removing my headphones, I asked, “Why not?”

“You know, everyone is in their own world, nobody wants to talk and if they are wearing earphones, I don’t want to interrupt and annoy them.”
(Except that she did that to me just a minute ago. Nevermind.)

“What if an ice block is falling on the sidewalk? If I see, I will shout for the next person but its useless because he is wearing earphones.”
(During winter, snow accumulates on top of windows, turns into ice and crashes on the pavement below. It is hazardous indeed.)
“I just wished people listened to me. I’m glad you did, sorry to bother you, you seemed like a nice guy.”

“Uh, thanks.” I got off at my stop, shaken with the problem of the aged and unable to fully understand what just happened.

What do you think?

• She is an old lady. Probably she doesn’t have anyone to talk to.
• She is used to being ignored by others.
• She wasn’t interested in knowing the time. She simply wanted to talk to someone.

There are so many problems in our society. Some visible, most invisible.

This incident goes back to December 18, 2003 at 03:15. The picture above shows the windows of my room (my parents place in Mumbai.)

My bed is about 3 meters away from the window. I left windows open at night but there was a window grill that kept us safe (or so we thought.) I’m a light sleeper, and wake up even if a needle drops! That night, some strange sounds ruffled my sleep. There are many sounds at night and I dismissed this disturbance too. But my eyes opened for a split second, and I glanced at the window.

The sight gave me the shock of my life.

The metal grill on the window had disappeared! The window looked like a big hole in the wall.

[Now let me explain. The windows are fitted with metal grills that have 3 screws fastened into the wooden frame on two holding sides. It is easy to unscrew them, remove the grill and enter the house. I've done this myself once when I forgot the keys. And now someone had done just that!]

So, I heard some noises, woke up in the middle of the night, saw my window opened and found a stranger next to my bed. What the heck was going on?

The intruder peered over my mosquito curtain (मच्छरदाणी) to see if I was awake. I froze. I shut my eyes so hard that they almost came out from the other side of my head. Have you heard the phrase “..was so scared, could hear his heart beat” or “…was so shocked that he couldn’t speak”? Ha! I experienced it! The intruder then scanned my desk, but found only thick volumes of Coulson & Richardson’s Chemical Engineering, which were probably the most expensive items in our house, but he didn’t know. He then went to the bedroom, where mom was asleep, via living room. I heard a familiar noise of the cupboard being opened.

After I told my heart to stop pounding and stop getting scared over an intruder, I started thinking (still lying in bed.) I had seen a wooden stick lying around and I got up and grabbed it. Probably useless since I couldn’t physically challenge that guy who was armed with god knows what. …He peered over the mosquito curtain to see if I was awake. I froze. I shut my eyes so hard that they almost came out from the other side of my hea…I went to the living room and opened the door of our apartment. It’s noiseless, and I can be quiet as a cat. I rang the neighbors’ doorbell. The lady (काकू) yelled from inside – “Who the hell is at the door at this hour?” (अीतक्या रात्री-अपरात्री कोण अालंय?) If I spoke, the thief would hear. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get help. So I said, “its Priyank.”

thudd… thump… I heard noises from the bedroom, the thief probably heard me. Now I knew he would emerge from my parent’s bedroom, enter the living room, go to my room and escape from the window. Armed with a stick, I came back into the living room too. I saw him. Something mysterious got over me then. I screamed and hit him. With a force I never experienced ever, I hit his forearm.

The stick broke into two, the thief let out a frightening painful cry, but still somehow escaped, empty handed.

By now, mom woke up, the neighbors arrived, and then the usual stuff…

: : :
Last night I casually glanced at the window and this whole incident flashed in front of my eyes. Pretty interesting, huh!

- – -
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I get that question sometimes and it always used to bother me. But I don’t get annoyed anymore. Instead, I quote the following story:

::::

A photographer was invited to a dinner and he took along some photographs to show the hostess. She looked at the photos and commented, “These are very good! You must have a good camera!“

He didn’t make any comment at that time, but as he was leaving to go home he said, “That was a really delicious meal. You must have some very good pots!“

::::

Lance Armstrong, in his book It’s Not About the Bike, wrote a whole page describing some neat features of his cutting-edge bike. That description alone would make a bike enthusiast like me quiver. But he concluded it saying (paraphrased) – “But at the end, it’s not about the bike!“


::::

I worked for 3 years as a project planner. People’s standard question was: “Do you need to know Primavera and Microsoft Projects to become a planner?” (those are the two leading project management software.) I wish I could say “Yes”. A planner, like Isaac Asimov’s Hari Seldon, accumulates current data, examines macro/micro factors and uses historical behavior to predict the future. I wish it was as simple as clicking some “Tools > Plan Now!” button.

::::

I thought of the following people while I was composing this post. They (I think) get lots of comments about their ‘art’. Care to tell me:

° Nita, Prax, Bob – If online research is one mouse click away, why don’t we find blogs that are comprehensively researched as yours? Do you think that research is an art and online resources are mere tools? Taking it one step further, how much do you think have certain tools helped you become a journalist, stock market specialist and an astrophysicist respectively?
° Rambodoc – How much of today’s medical marvel is attributed to the surgeon’s instruments? (I desisted from using the word ‘tool’ – some readily available fodder for your twists that would occur anyway )
° Shantanu – About software tools and Dilbert’s talent! You are also welcome to add a story about chefs and foods!

::::

For a long time, I thought that I needed a brand new Sitar from Kolkata and only then I could play some awesome music. Fortunately, few months back I met some guru who plays the Sarod. He picked up my Sitar and played something beautiful casually.
“Wow! I didn’t know you played the Sitar too!” I said.
“No, ofcourse I don’t…. But I know the basics of music! “

I regret not meeting him before. But hey, its never too late


::::

To end this non-travel post, I leave you with a quote from J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

If you are a wizard you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is a strongest affinity between wizard and wand… An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.

::::
Question to the reader: I think that it doesn’t really matter what tool you choose to express your talent. If you are not the right person (by birth or by training), the tool won’t make you one. What do you think? Any stories?

I had a Sitar gig last night and by the time it ended, it was past midnight and it was also raining. I stood outside the Queen subway station, waiting for the streetcar (tram) for almost 20 minutes, not quite enjoying the drizzle. My Sitar was tucked away safely under some large window frame.

3 moderately drunk white boys arrived at the streetcar stop and looked curiously at my Sitar bag. It was well past midnight on Friday, so I wasn’t surprised at all.

“Hey, what is that?”
“Its a Sitar”, I said non-enthusiastically. I get this question often.
“Woooowh! I never thought I would see a Sitar for real!”

And then they spent next 5 minutes asking me questions about the instrument. I was surprised that they knew so much already. I promised to show them how it looked like once we were in the streetcar.

“You must play it too”, he said
“HUH ??”, sounded like a crazy idea to me.
“Yea man, and I will pass my hat around. You can get your bus money back!” (he took off his hat to show me how)

So we got into the streetcar, full of sweet party people (drunk people are usually fun). The guys couldn’t wait to see how a sitar looked and they oohed and aahed when i took it out of the bag. Most of what I played wasn’t legible since it was quite noisy around but I think they liked it anyway. After I was done, there was some clapping and the guy took his hat off and passed it around.

Nobody put any money in it, haha.

The guy was disappointed more than me. I guess he didn’t want me to be a musician who doesn’t get tips after he plays. Then the sweetest thing happened. His buddy put in a dollar. And they passed the hat to me.

“Here!, Great show!”

And folks, that’s how I earned my first dollar on the street playing music.

I have fond memories of the grass forest on the outskirts of my little suburban town (Dombivli). Many evenings were spent there – playing amidst itchy vegetation, mud, dirt, all varieties of insects, bugs and other yucky stuff. I’ll write about my adventures with bugs, earthworms, frogs, wild flowers and such other amazing creations of nature in some other post because this post is dedicated to the one and only चतुर (Chatur, meaning ‘clever’).

Chatur

Photo: Dhanashri Avalaskar

Chatur is called Dragonfly in English. Wikipedia says this: “Dragonflies typically eat mosquitoes, midges, and other small insects like flies, bees, and butterflies. They are therefore valued as predators, since they help control populations of harmful insects. Dragonflies do not normally bite or sting humans, though they will bite in order to escape, if grasped by the abdomen.”

The sport
One of our favorite ‘sports’ during monsoon was catching the Chatur. We usually caught the chatur and released it after displaying our conquest to mates. It was the coolest thing to do and scores were discussed next day at school. Catching a chatur is an art that requires an amazing combination of patience, precision, alertness and timing. A chatur will typically hover over a blade of grass for barely a second and then move on to the next. At the same time the chatur is quite sensitive to any motion in the surroundings, so an extraordinary amount of patience and steadiness is required while approaching it.

There are two ways to catch a chatur. The most common method is to grab the end of the chatur‘s long and tiny tail. The tail is used as a rudder so the chatur vibrates and turns it unexpectedly. After studying these movements for a while it becomes easy to read patterns. The other method – the one that I strongly disapprove – is to catch the chatur by its wings. I think this method is easy but barbaric because it could potentially break the little guy’s wings, render them useless and thus lead to the chatur‘s death. As a rule, we never could let any chatur die.

The Blue Chatur
On one such evening I was chasing a particular chatur when my attention was distracted by something blue and brilliant, fluttering inches away from my hand. It was possibly the most beautiful chatur I had seen lately. I left my current perusal and went after this little blue guy instead. After a bit of chasing I finally caught my prize!

I was holding the blue chatur‘s tail between my thumb and index finger while placing it gently on the palm of my other hand. It made some attempts in vain to flutter away. My friends gathered around excitedly and I narrated them a long (and probably fake) tale about how I caught it.

I was going to violate an unwritten rule of the grass forest –

“मी घरी घेउन जाणार आणि ह्याला पाळणार” (I will take it home and keep it as a pet), I announced.

My buddies didn’t care. In fact, they agreed because suddenly it was a treasured possession of our gang and it would be good to display the blue chatur at school tomorrow. The other gang at school has been bragging about their catch in some other secret grass forest lately and we had to beat them.

Suggestions poured in about how to keep the chatur safe overnight. I could either tie its tail to a string and fasten it to a window railing or put it in a box. I chose to put it in a large match box since I thought that was less brutal. Then I inserted a twig of tender grass for the insect’s dinner (I didn’t know that it was a non-vegetarian). Content with the hospitality, I put the box away in my school bag and went to bed looking forward eagerly to the next day. I was soooo excited about my new pet that I woke up in the middle of the night to check if it was doing okay. It was, I loved my new pet!

I rushed to the school after checking that the chatur was still safe inside the box. I and my buddies decided to talk this thing up and create suspense among the classmates before we showed them the real thing. The plan was working well so far – everyone in the class was looking forward to seeing the mysterious blue dragon fly. Dude this was going to be awesome!!

No sooner than the recess bell rang, everyone gathered around me. Very ceremoniously and taking extra extra extra care I started opening the box gently while telling everyone how it was impossible to catch this rare species, how it bit me, blah blah (ah, I am was such a drama queen). I finally opened the box… viola!!

There were screams of excitement from my peers! Lots of wow’s, compliments and admiration. My buddies were proud of ‘our’ catch but…

….but I was choking; I felt like someone ripped my heart out of my body and there was just a void there. My eyes were wet and I started shivering…

My beautiful new pet was lying in the box,..
Lifeless.

And that was the last time I caught a चतुर.

Summer is brutal in central India so streets were usually deserted until 17:00, after which cooler breeze started blowing. This particular day, A was extremely bored because even A’s cousins decided to join the adults for siesta. It was no fun playing in water alone or throwing pebbles at raw mangoes or discussing strategies to conquer the world. A decided to venture out, disobeying the orders of the elders.

It was rather difficult to take out the little bike silently, so A sneaked out of the creaking gate on foot. Temperatures were around 40 C and the sun was spewing heat akin to fire from a dragon’s mouth, which A related to the cartoon in yesterday’s नई दुनिया (Nai Duniya – a Hindi newspaper). Tucked in a corner a little distance away was a small store, which in A’s opinion was world’s most wonderful store – it had candy, toys and comic books – what else do humans need?

A was thrilled to enter the store; it was the first time A was going there unaccompanied. A saw the newest edition of चाचा चौधरी (Chacha Chaudhary – a popular Hindi comic book) and A had to have it before anyone else did. It was A different matter that the book was in Hindi and A could not read Hindi properly yet. In Maharashtra, Hindi is taught from grade 5, but since Marathi is taught from grade 2 and Bollywood’s Urdu Hindi cultural imperialism is overpowering, A could understand some stuff in the book. A was anyway more interested in the pictures of fights between Nora, the poison man and Sabu, the giant from Planet Jupiter (चाचा चौधरी और जहरीला इंसान नोरा (Chacha Chowdhari and the poison man Nora – Hindi edition).

A picked up the book and went to the guy at the cashier, who had a big moustache and a pot belly. The guy smiled and said “३ रुपए”(Three rupees) Oh, but A didn’t carry any money! A wanted the book so that A could brag about both – buying a book and reading the latest issue. The thought of the inability to do so and finding no solution around, A was on the verge of tears. A didn’t know what to do. The world is evil, who invented money?

A tiny voice from somewhere squeaked, “मेरी वाली पढ़ लेना” ([you] can read my copy)

With a jerk, A excitedly turned the neck around before the body could turn – like the kathak dancer. There was another nine-ten year old, dressed in red, and having a typical pre-pubescent tender feminine voice. A caught sight of the Chacha Chowdhary book being waived enthusiastically.

“साथ साथ पढते है?” (Shall we read it together?)
“हॉं” (yes) A said

…and suddenly the world was a better place.

The two kids trotted to a park adjacent to the store. The hot wind was burning their soft skins like tender wood in a furnace, but both of them were eager to read the comic book. They found a bench under a tree, but the tree was not leafy, making the bench too hot and uncomfortable. A had this bright idea. Pointing to a shady place under a giant tree A said:

“उधर चल” (lets go there) (Not A Hindi speaker, and on top of that A Mumbaikar. do you expect correct Hindi?)

“क्या हम जमीन पर बैठेंगे?” (do you want us to sit on the ground?)

A didn’t understand that long sentence. So A simply ran to that place, cleared the dry leaves with little feet and gestured an invitation (I think A loved nature and outdoors since childhood).

In the blistering heat of peak Indian summer, two kids, away from home were spending some lovely time together reading their favourite comic book.

After reading the first chapter in which Nora the poison man enters the city and creates terror by killing people, the two kids paused and started talking.

“तेरा नाम क्या है?” (What is your name?) A asked

“X. और तुम्हारा?”

“A”

“कहॉं से हो?”(Where are you from?)

“मुंबई, तु?”(Mumbai, you?)

“….” (it was some place nearby)

After a while, X said, “मुझे चलना होगा ईससे पहले की मॉं चिंता करने लगे। मुझे केवल यह लेना था।” (I have to leave before mother starts worrying. I just had to buy this) pointing at the book.

A was devastated. A didn’t want this to end yet. Time seemed to have stopped and A wanted this moment to go on and on.

“लेकिन बाकी है…” (but there’s some left [to read] – in broken Hindi) A said sadly.

“कोई बात नहीं, तुम रख लो। इंदौर के दोस्त की तरफ से भेंट समझ लेना।”(No worries, you can keep this as a gift from your friend from Indore)

A was speechless… A wanted to take the book, but hesitated to do so. X insisted that A keep it. X grabbed A’s hand, thrust the comic book and was ready to leave.

Almost automatically, A uttered, “फिर कब मिलनेका?” (When do we meet next?)

X thought about it for A while and said – “कल मिलते है, यहीं पर।” (lets meet tomorrow, same place)

“ठीक है।” (alright)

Maybe X was unwilling to leave, but had to. As they were going away, A and X looked at each other and their eyes caught a moment, almost like they show in the movies. Although they had met barely an hour back, there was clearly something special between them, which made no sense. Intuitively, they hugged each other tightly. The hug lasted for a fraction of a second, what A thought was no less than a millennium. A could feel the soft hair and smell the musky body odour of X and this was the best feeling A ever experienced. It was new, and therefore very confusing. What was happening?

X left.

A stood there. Just stood there watching X go away. A wanted to run and catch X and talk to X again, but somehow A’s feet were rooted to the ground. A was choking with emotions, unable to say even a “bye”. Then A returned home, unable to understand what just happened.

What just happened? Was it love? Was X some kind of evil magician who lured young kids like the fairy tale story? A never felt this way before. These feelings were confusing. Really really confusing.

[Everyone at home was already worrying. I am sparing you (readers) of all the details, which should be quite evident]
But A didn’t care. A’s mind was filled with excitement and anticipation of the next day.

The next day:
A got up early morning, much to everyone’s surprise. A was disinterested in playing hide-n-seek or Ludo with cousins. A went to the kitchen thrice to ask when the lunch was going to be ready. A was eager to finish the lunch and go out. A’s mother on the other hand was busy packing. They had a train to board on the same day – Avantika Express.

A, so naïve, told mother that it was very important to go to the store again today afternoon and it was a question of life and death (this probably came from a recent movie A watched).

“आपण उद्या जाउया, आज नको.” (We’ll go tomorrow, not today), A announced.

“अरे पण आपलं reservation आहे ना, आज गेलंच् पाहिजे, परवा पासून शाळा सुरु होणार ना.” (But dear, we have a reservation today and your school starts a day after, remember? We have to leave today.) Mom tried to explain the facts.

“मी नाही येणार, तुच् जा. मला नाही जायचं, मला दुपारी त्या दुकानात जायचय X ला भेटायला.” (I wont go, you can go if you want. I must go to the shop today afternoon to meet X)

Man proposes God disposes. A threw tantrums around the house, cried and screamed loudly, use every possible convincing strategy A’s little brain could think of.

But the fact remained that A had to leave. Summer vacation was over and it was time to go back to own lives. But… why did all of this have to happen today???

It was the end of the world for A, there was just, just no point living further. A cried and cried until A ran out of tears. These elders just don’t understand important things.

So A went back to Mumbai with the book firmly held close to heart.

….And never saw X again.

Today, A is 26 years old. Lots of such X’s appeared and disappeared from A’s life. But this incident was a defining moment in A‘s life – nothing was the same again, and will never be.

- – -
No points for guessing who A is

Until today morning, I hadn’t eaten a bagel (I was a Bagel-virgin). I am generally fascinated by bakery products – cookies, muffins, cakes etc. There was this Bagel shop I passed by every morning and naturally I got attracted to it.

Previous week:
Toronto is usually laid back except for the morning rush hour which is very Mumbai style. So the maximum time I take to zoom past the shop was 3.2 seconds, grossly insufficient to see what was inside. Determined to investigate, last week I paused in front of it just to get a better look

“Hey there, good morning”, yelled the lady behind the counter in a machine-like tone.
“I’m just looking”, I said defensively. (Somehow I feed odd to browse or window shop)

She nodded and I started checking out. The smell was good (I’m talking about the shop, not the lady). There were round bread-like donut type objects of different shapes and colors. I looked at the price – “Single Bagel – $ 0.85.” Was it that cheap? Awesome!

Today morning:
Incidentally I woke up late today and couldn’t afford to eat breakfast. So I went to the shop and asked for a bagel.

“Bagel? Sure, what kind?” the lady said (another one today, this one had a thick Turkish accent)
“Ugh… any kind” I looked around clueless.
She simply stared at me.
“Raisin Cinnamon” I quipped (I am attracted to both).
Then she asked me something that I didn’t understand. I asked her to repeat twice. Finally she went to a toasting machine and pointed at it:
“Bagel Toast or no Toast”
“Aha! Yes Toast please” I was satisfied. She let out a grunt (probably thinking – ‘these, foreigners… can’t they learn anything before coming here?!’)

Then there was this Chinese girl in the subsequent counter. She was saying something which I didn’t understand so I presumed it was for someone else and I conveniently ignored her. After about a minute of shouting and yelling with gestures, I figured out she was indeed talking to me.
“What toppings?” (totally different accent)
I gave her the most puzzled look I ever sported. I thought a bagel was something like a cake or a muffin.
Re-framed.
“umm.. anything…”, I looked around to find an array of meat boxes and some green stuff in a corner, “Anything veggie please” (I had no intent of eating raw meat)
“Ok Lettuce? Tomato? Cucumber? What else?”
“Olives, Pickles, cheese – no not the slices, give me this shredded one” I said. This was getting confusing. What exactly was a bagel? a sandwich?
“And honey-mustard sauce, salt and pepper” I spoke like an expert.
“Here you go” she handed me a neatly wrapped pack

I proceeded to pay, but it was at the other end of the shop attended by a huge African girl.
The receipt read $4.10
“WHAT!!??” That was the scream inside my head. Thankfully I stopped converting everything to Rupees, else I’d have fainted. Externally, I just smiled at her while swearing never to come here again.
“No card, only cash” she said pointing to some obscure note on the counter. (She reminded me of Hidimba)
I paid, grabbed the change and escaped back into the crowd. Phew!

The first thing I did at work was to read what a Bagel was.
Wikipedia says: “A bagel is a bread product traditionally made of yeasted wheat dough in the form of a roughly hand-sized ring which is boiled in water and then baked. The result is a dense, chewy, doughy interior with a browned and sometimes crisp exterior. Bagels are distinct from the similarly shaped doughnuts and from the similarly textured bialys, primarily because of the cooking method amongst other differences.”

You may want to read the the (w)hole story, or bake one yourselves.

PS: This story is so unlike me. I generally don’t do anything unplanned, unresearched.

I was traveling in the second class compartment in a crowded [tag]local train[/tag]. Every now and then, a [tag]salesman[/tag] would board the compartment and advertise his wares. These salesmen have innovative strategies to attract the bored commuters’ attention. It’s definitely an art!

A [tag]perfume[/tag] seller got in at Thane and soon the whole compartment was filled with a sweet scent. Automatically people’s curious heads turned and he captured their interest in no time. He started speaking.

महिन्याला दोन हजार कमावता, दहा रुपयाचा परफ्यूम का नाही परवडणार? राजा सारखे जगा, घामाने भिजून कामाला जाण्यात काय अर्थ आहे? हा परफ्यूम वापरा आणि बघा सगळे कसे इंप्रेस होतात ते. तुमचे साहेब केबिन मध्ये बोलवून तुमहाला प्रोमोशन देतील! गारंटी देतो, घेऊन तर बघा.

(You are earning Rs. 2000 a month; why cant you afford a perfume for Rs. 10? Live like a king, whats the point in going to work smelling of sweat? Try this perfume and everyone in your office will be impressed. Your boss will call you into his cabin and give you a promotion. Just try, it works.)

He then went about offering free samples to everyone who stretched their hand. Within minutes the guy sold about 15 bottles and happily exited to the next compartment.

What left me stunned was his line ‘You are earning 2000 per month’. How can people survive on such a paltry amount? Initially it was self-denial, ‘nobody earns so low’. But dammit, there ARE people who work in my office doing odd jobs such as cleaning the tables in the cafeteria, or keeping fresh stacks of paper near the printer. These guys earn an annual [tag]income[/tag] less than my monthly [tag]salary[/tag]. And yet they are much better off than the daily wage workers, who not only toil physically all day, but also wonder at the end of the day where their next meal is going to come from.

Yes, there is lot of money in Mumbai, and if you are hardworking and educated, you share the pie. If you are not educated and lack communication skills, the pie is a distant dream. Of course, I’m making this sound as simple as two plus two four, rather than talking about the grim facts. Things are getting increasingly polarized and the economic divide is staggering.

The perfume seller spread fragrance in the train, but thinking of all these things raised a stink.

Suddenly I realized it, and withdrew myself immediately, lest ‘others’ see me doing what I was doing – watching a plane in the sky. Grown-ups are not supposed to get excited by little objects in the sky. Grown-up’s are supposed to behave like grown ups and watching planes is certainly not a ‘grown-up’ thing to do. These are the rules grown-up’s make for other grown-up’s. What a pity.

I admit, I get excited looking at aircrafts, jets, and other objects flying high in the sky. In fact, I get so excited, that I trace the object until it becomes an infinitely small dot in the sky. My friends think I’m an immature kid, especially the ones who live in the vicinity of the airport.

Children are innocent little beings. They follow their instincts and listen to their heart. As we grow up, we try to do things that are socially acceptable and respectable in the scheme of things we have designed ourselves. This often means restricting ourselves from listening to what our heart says. “Dance like nobody is watching, sing like nobody is listening” is an excellent quote, but it’s easier said than done. I’m not going to preach any more philosophy, but arrive straight to the resolution – Don’t suppress your heart’s voice.

Why should I deny myself the pleasure of doing what I really like? Who really cares about it? The next time I see a plane through the window of my train, I am going to enjoy watching it. I’m going to let my heart act unrestrained.