And that’s where the struggle of that young lad started. His mother started working in a private nursing home as maid, and Ravi started assisting is neighbor Tulsi in his cooking assignments to get some extra money and help her mother.
So here he was, a 15 something lad, running, sweating and earning few hundreds on contrary to any Mumbai’s 15 something school going lad, who go bowling, eat in Mac D, watch movie in PVR with salted popcorn and spend many hundreds every month.
When I enquired Ravi, about his literary status he replied that he will be writing 8th grade exam this summer. He also mentioned that he studies every night after going back from work. I couldn’t dare to ask further to but to extol his courage and pat his back.
---------
Tulsi
---------
That day during lunch everybody complained about the less salty and spicier curry in the lunch. I was commanded to talk to Tulsi and summon him on this. When I went upstairs kitchen, seeing me coming, a thin figure unfolded thrice, turning towards me it asked, “Namaste Bhaiya, kuchh kam pad gaya kya neeche.” He was a slender, red yellowish eyed, weak adult or it looked like that either was born and evolved week or he was drinking maniac.
“I have been provided grinded, readymade garam masala that’s that’s why every curry has same taste and ending badly” responded he apologetically after listening my concern.
Once I assured him that I’ll provide him sabut Garam Masala without dal chini, he looked happy and assured me for a tasty dinner that night.
I was not stunned that night when I came to know that Tulsi was a regular drinker and daily visitor to doctor due to his nasty drinking habit. What socked me about him was, he has 5 Laxmis at home and till this lagan he was able to find the dulha for only two of them. I remembered the words of some anonymous indolent that the best way to get away with any problem is "drink hard and sleep lengthy".
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Three Lives
From the day I was philosophically enlightened by Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead till this jiffy, I look around and observed that not even a single Howard Roark exists on this lonely planet. Now I have realized that perhaps Ayn’s projection of an ideal man was too fictions to be true.
But in last few days my road crossed with few lives that shifted my paradigm about life. These three lives and their experiences were so extraordinary that my challenges and problems looked minuscule in front it.
“Ravi….Ravi come down and get me a bottle of shampoo”, “Ravi, how much time it will take for breakfast to get ready” , “Ravi…. Ravi milk vala is waiting outside, why don’t you fetch the milk dibba, yaar”.
My first question to my mom that morning was, "Who on the earth is Ravi, Meteshwari (I call my mom lovingly as Meteshwari) and is he some Chinese ping pong player as flexible that he will be ubiquitous for everybody’s service”. “Ravi, is 15 year old lad, who has come with Tulsi to assist him in cooking” replied my mom. “And who is Tulsi by the way” I fired back another query. “Tulsi is our cook for next 4-5 weeks as we are expecting a herd of our relatives in few days” replied she, patiently.
After few minutes, Ravi, aka Chinese ping pong player rushed in front of me. My first impression was “whose kid is this? I haven’t seen him coming with any of my relative and why is he wearing an old shirt?” He didn’t look like a laborer at all, he was more like a next door Shrivastav ji’s kid, who goes to school and enjoy his childhood. “Bhaiya, shall I fetch you a bucket of water, water tank is empty and electricity will come after 2 hours” asked he. “I can wait for 2 hours Ravi, no problems” I replied.
I couldn’t stop myself that afternoon, asking my mother that Ravi looks like a nice school going lad from a good family, why is he breaking his muscles running in and out of house. And the story that came out about that kid was more tear-jerking than Clint Eastwood movies.
Life of Ravi was going normal till last autumn; his parents were managing to drag them self just tan gently to the poverty line (below or above? Does it really matter!!!). Father was a 4th grade servant in a private firm but an every “evening drinker”. Mother was not keeping well but being a Mother India she was keeping her kid tidy and regular to school.
His life changed one evening when, while coming back from work his drunken father scratched his bicycle to a group of rowdy bunch, in the out skirts of the city. And when they slapped him for that DISASTROUS COLLISON, he couldn’t stop himself of abusing and cursing those men. Next morning 7 pieces of his body were found scattered in a near by field.
To be continued…..
But in last few days my road crossed with few lives that shifted my paradigm about life. These three lives and their experiences were so extraordinary that my challenges and problems looked minuscule in front it.
“Ravi….Ravi come down and get me a bottle of shampoo”, “Ravi, how much time it will take for breakfast to get ready” , “Ravi…. Ravi milk vala is waiting outside, why don’t you fetch the milk dibba, yaar”.
My first question to my mom that morning was, "Who on the earth is Ravi, Meteshwari (I call my mom lovingly as Meteshwari) and is he some Chinese ping pong player as flexible that he will be ubiquitous for everybody’s service”. “Ravi, is 15 year old lad, who has come with Tulsi to assist him in cooking” replied my mom. “And who is Tulsi by the way” I fired back another query. “Tulsi is our cook for next 4-5 weeks as we are expecting a herd of our relatives in few days” replied she, patiently.
After few minutes, Ravi, aka Chinese ping pong player rushed in front of me. My first impression was “whose kid is this? I haven’t seen him coming with any of my relative and why is he wearing an old shirt?” He didn’t look like a laborer at all, he was more like a next door Shrivastav ji’s kid, who goes to school and enjoy his childhood. “Bhaiya, shall I fetch you a bucket of water, water tank is empty and electricity will come after 2 hours” asked he. “I can wait for 2 hours Ravi, no problems” I replied.
I couldn’t stop myself that afternoon, asking my mother that Ravi looks like a nice school going lad from a good family, why is he breaking his muscles running in and out of house. And the story that came out about that kid was more tear-jerking than Clint Eastwood movies.
Life of Ravi was going normal till last autumn; his parents were managing to drag them self just tan gently to the poverty line (below or above? Does it really matter!!!). Father was a 4th grade servant in a private firm but an every “evening drinker”. Mother was not keeping well but being a Mother India she was keeping her kid tidy and regular to school.
His life changed one evening when, while coming back from work his drunken father scratched his bicycle to a group of rowdy bunch, in the out skirts of the city. And when they slapped him for that DISASTROUS COLLISON, he couldn’t stop himself of abusing and cursing those men. Next morning 7 pieces of his body were found scattered in a near by field.
To be continued…..
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Train to India
Few truths to be told first, I still travel in second class of Indian railways, love to eat Srikhand from Bhopal, Lalmohan from Urai and salted Lassi from Jhansi station.
Yes, even if it’s crowded, stacked with the people with general tickets asking you to adjust on your reserved seat.
Yes, even after completing 4 years in corporate word, working with a prestigious organization and drawing a moderately ‘Tankhvah’ every month.
To most of my friends and relative it sounds very bizarre as they feel that one should maintain their status and move with the junta of their standard (as though traveling in AC-2 or AC-3 decides the social standardJ).
Well, I tried to travel in elite class on Indian railways and if I keep aside the people who feel proud to travel in that class, I somehow didn’t like the ambience at all.
Let me start with the seat first, in the words of one of my lady co-traveler and constructive critic “It’s 21st Century India but we are still given the bed sheets analogous to hospitals bed sheets (with crystal visible spots of course) and blankets alter ego to the Arthur Road/Tihar jail blankets“. Towels is some thing which you need to ask at least twice to get it delivered at your seat as attainder thinks that elite class travelers gets greedy and slips it in theirs bags.
It’s not only the SL class where cockroach and mouses give you the company but the elite class as well.
Now coming to Sah Yatri (co-traveler) end, it's elite class where I realized that the acerbic comment punched on our bunch by a Swiss lady during our Swiss tour that “You Indian are loud” was not wrong at all. Good Lord, it’s difficult to read or sleep once a political discussion starts, people put their throat out to curse the ruling government or deteriorating infrastructure around. It’s not that this discussion doesn’t happen in SL class but fortunately the noise and curse generated get submerged with the rail track sound and makes it uniform.
I don’t want to sound negative or cynical by omitting these comments on Indian Railways elite class, it’s just that as “HUM BHARAT KE LOG” (remember, the first line of our constitution) climbing socio economic ladder rapidly it’s Railways as well as the Junta, both need to change.
The best way would be utilizing the hefty profit of Railways and converting all railway classes SL and General as elite class. Every Indian has right to travel safe, healthy and elite.
Yes, even if it’s crowded, stacked with the people with general tickets asking you to adjust on your reserved seat.
Yes, even after completing 4 years in corporate word, working with a prestigious organization and drawing a moderately ‘Tankhvah’ every month.
To most of my friends and relative it sounds very bizarre as they feel that one should maintain their status and move with the junta of their standard (as though traveling in AC-2 or AC-3 decides the social standardJ).
Well, I tried to travel in elite class on Indian railways and if I keep aside the people who feel proud to travel in that class, I somehow didn’t like the ambience at all.
Let me start with the seat first, in the words of one of my lady co-traveler and constructive critic “It’s 21st Century India but we are still given the bed sheets analogous to hospitals bed sheets (with crystal visible spots of course) and blankets alter ego to the Arthur Road/Tihar jail blankets“. Towels is some thing which you need to ask at least twice to get it delivered at your seat as attainder thinks that elite class travelers gets greedy and slips it in theirs bags.
It’s not only the SL class where cockroach and mouses give you the company but the elite class as well.
Now coming to Sah Yatri (co-traveler) end, it's elite class where I realized that the acerbic comment punched on our bunch by a Swiss lady during our Swiss tour that “You Indian are loud” was not wrong at all. Good Lord, it’s difficult to read or sleep once a political discussion starts, people put their throat out to curse the ruling government or deteriorating infrastructure around. It’s not that this discussion doesn’t happen in SL class but fortunately the noise and curse generated get submerged with the rail track sound and makes it uniform.
I don’t want to sound negative or cynical by omitting these comments on Indian Railways elite class, it’s just that as “HUM BHARAT KE LOG” (remember, the first line of our constitution) climbing socio economic ladder rapidly it’s Railways as well as the Junta, both need to change.
The best way would be utilizing the hefty profit of Railways and converting all railway classes SL and General as elite class. Every Indian has right to travel safe, healthy and elite.
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