You got to be

It took five good minutes for the correct dimpled key to travel through the brass keyhole of the teak wood main door of his huge penthouse occupying the whole 11^th floor of the Grand Towers.

‘Why one has to try all the keys to find the correct one in the last?’ he cursed the rest of the keys in the bunch which did not fit.

Apart from that extra ‘last’ peg, his filled bladders were not allowing him to keep his feet firmly on the ground. Finally, he managed to enter the house which was already sleeping. It was not new to him and to the house too. More over it was Friday night or Saturday morning by now.. who cares? He had already rung up his wife and if he hadn’t, it hardly mattered. She must be asleep with the little one.

‘Poor kid! I couldn’t even see her properly today!’ he thought for a moment. Then he remembered that it was a weekend and he could take both his wife and the kid for outing in some mall or a water park or any such luxurious entertainment park and could spend a few thousand bucks to buy some happiness and fun for them. He tossed the guilt and felt relaxed. No. In fact, he noticed the filled bladder again and the emergency to go and have a leak.

He turned to the bathroom in the half lit house.

“What kind of work is it that keeps you away from your family for so late?” a firm but caring female voice stunned him.

He could barely see. It was not his wife for sure. She gave up waiting for him long back and now, having the little one around, she didn’t want her to see her father out of balance. So, who was it?

“You seem to be working so hard, son, have some rest dear. The pressure has started burning you.”

‘Oh shit!’, he remembered, ‘how can I forget she was supposed to be here today?’

“Oh! Hi, Mom! Why are you up so late?” he tried hard to keep his voice low and controlled his fumble. His mother woke up from her half sleep on the large leather sofa in the drawing room.

“I thought I could see you before I sleep,” she got up to go towards him.

“But why, Mom? You know that I have to work late. We could talk in the morning,” he only knew how much efforts he had to take to suppress his escalating irritation level. He started walking away from her to hide the pungent smell of that sparking golden liquid.

“I can see the work is taking its toll. You are not even able to stand firmly,” mom, being a mother, notices each and every movement of her kids. He couldn’t help but being amazed for a moment. But then again regained his self.

“Enough of it, Mom,” he couldn’t hold it now. He almost yelled at her, “no need to be sarcastic. It is called social drinking and you don’t know anything and even you can’t. You are a told story now. Now, let me have some sleep.. bye”

If you can’t convince, then shout. He had developed this philosophy since he achieved that big cabin in the office.

“But, food.. son” her lame try was outdone by the noise of big thud of his bedroom door.

***

“Why does she have to come here?” the entangled shoe lace was equally irritating as his mom was, sometimes.

“She comes here to see us.. especially you. You are her only son and now mature enough to understand this,” his wife, who was used to his tantrums, was as cool as possible.

“I don’t like anyone interfering in my life.. not even my mother. Do I go to her to peep into her life? Let her come here.. enjoy her puja and all and play with her grand daughter.. that’s it!”

He looked at her as she didn’t talk anything.

“No. don’t give me that ‘she has done this and that for you’ thing. I know it already”

“Fine then. You know everything. Her whole life revolves around you” She put a full stop.

Luckily, the lace was finally untied and the imported black leather pointed shiny shoes flied somewhere in the corner. He had to rush to the bathroom.

***

“Now, where’s she?”

The bathroom visit took a little long. But it was good. Feeling much better now.

“Where could she go at 2 in the midnight?” he was wondering when she came from the balcony.

The little one was on her shoulder, sleeping peacefully.

“Where the hell were…”

“Shhhh”, she put her finger on her lips and whispered, “I was putting her to sleep.”

“At this hour? You were alone in the balcony? Sounds pretty brave,” sarcasm was splurging out from every word. She also didn’t forget the days when she used to wake him up even to go to the bathroom at night and now, she went in the balcony all alone in the dark.

“You won’t understand.. you have to be..”

“.. a mother! Yeah, I know..(the same old crap)”

“Good then.. you seem to be tired.. good night!”

She was used to this stage by now where she expected snoring in reply.

“Huh! These Friday parties!” she sighed and put her hand around the little one and looked at him.

He didn’t even change his clothes. Sometimes she pitied him. He had earned what he deserved. But the newly developed attitude not worth at all.

***

The clock hit the digit 10. Air conditioners put the heat so down that you couldn’t come to know whether the sun born or not. But it was Saturday morning. Thanks to the technology and thanks to the hard earned money.

‘Newspapers have nothing to tell but the gossips and scandals. Bloody hell! Oh, the breakfast seems to be happening.. at least the smell is announcing something good’

He sat on the chair next to the dish containing a spicy thalipeeth.

“Wow! Amazing, darling!!” the hot piece in the mouth made him take some efforts in pronouncing those words. But she deserved a word of appreciation.

“Thanks!”

“Hey, so you finally managed to achieve the same taste as my mother’s? The pickle’s great, yaar! By the way, where’s mom?”

“She’s sleeping..”

“So late? Previously, she used to beat me if I don’t wake up before 6 am even if it’s a holiday.. age is taking the toll”

“She’s not feeling well.. she woke up early as usual, but fainted. So I only forced her to sleep.”

“That’s why I don’t like her to be awake late in the night.”

“And more over she went to the market yard to bring fresh raw mangoes..”

“What? Why did you let her do that?”

“She brought them on her way only.. and then didn’t even caught a nap in the afternoon.. She had to prepare something for her son..”

“Oh! And I was wondering you only made this..” he realized what had he done yesterday.. He cursed himself, “..and she wanted to see me enjoying the tangy taste of the fresh pickle made in mustard seeds.. She still remembers it… I am a big fool.. But then I don’t understand, why didn’t she tell me anything?”

His wife put another hot thalipeeth in his dish and did nothing but smiled in reply.

She learnt this art of smiling, apart from the spicy thalipeeths, from his mother only.

“I understood. Don’t utter,” he sighed.. “you got be a mother to understand this and that a man can never be!”

***

He just walked away!

Finally, I picked up the phone to call that gentleman.

I had been avoiding him for last so many days.. for no reason. He was neither a nagging salesman nor a prankster or not even a goon who calls up to threaten you. He was not even a borrower who constantly calls you up for money. He was not at all a nuisance. He was a gentleman. It was me who was on fault.

I was avoiding him and not picking up his calls… was not even replying to his text messages. Simply because, I couldn’t complete the work that he had assigned me for. I could buy some time. But that was already done. He had certain plans on mind on the basis of what I was going to do for him. He had his deadlines set and I was stretching them too far unnecessarily. The poor man helplessly tried my number which I didn’t answer.

I had nothing to say. I had nothing to confess. I couldn’t complete the assignment in time was the only truth and I had no courage to face it. That was the only reason I was testing the patience of that gentleman.

But today, I picked up the phone to call him. I was going to beg his pardon for ill treating him. It was not my greatness. This another gentleman prompted me to do so. His single act injected that courage in me to face the fact.

He stepped in with billions of expectations and a cool head on his shoulders. In fact, he was also eager to achieve a new milestone on this day. His confident moves were intending clearly that he was going to touch that enviable golden spot that day. But destiny had some different plans. That unexpected delivery took a thin edge of his bat. The sound was so weak that the umpire standing at the 22 feet distance couldn’t hear it. The loud half hearted appeal was denied by the umpire. The disappointed bowler was visibly unhappy. Obviously, he had almost grabbed the most priced reward which he could have cherished for a lifetime. But, the god just walked away.. calmly and firmly. He knew that the ball did take the edge of his bat and rested in the pair of gloves behind the stumps cleanly without touching the ground. In the 21^st century people may call him a fool for being a non opportunist. He could have stayed there till the decision came from the upstairs. But he just walked away leaving all of us disappointed.. but proud.. proud to be the worshipers of the great god.

He not only raised the grace of the game, but also prompted the spineless guys like me, who couldn’t gather the courage to face the problem.

He walked away and the next moment I picked up the phone to call that gentleman..

GODS MUST BE SORRY!

Once again we proved that you don’t deserve us, God! In fact, we should have decorated your bravery or at least could show you that we tried. But we did nothing, as usual. Once again we failed to take you closer to your dream or we don’t want to do so. You spent your whole life giving us pride and confidence. You did it for the sake of the pure love for what you have been doing and we always thought it was your duty. After serving us for more than two decades, you saw a little dream and shared it with us. We too promised you that we will make it true for you. But are we really worth of even sharing?

We have been doing this for years. Whenever you accomplish something great like this, we give up trying to take it further. Somewhere, I am feeling that you are responsible for this. You spoilt our habit of relying on you. We have been watching you making everyone awestruck. We have been so busy admiring your matchless enthusiasm, effortless looking skills, out of the world persona, godly humanity and that every single thing making you extra ordinary. In this whole process, we forgot our duty to learn from you and put our at least 10 percent to add to your glorious performance. But we failed.. almost each time and you made us lazy, God!

And then the-anti god factor kept on repeating that ‘you perform, but we don’t achieve’. And we get busy arguing about your greatness which has been proven for more than 1000 times.

But you were god and will always remain the way you are. You never bothered of us or the anti ‘you’ factor. You kept on doing great for us and kept on learning from your mistakes.. silently and effectively. You don’t talk, your weapon does. But till when, GOD? Till when will you keep doing such great things which will go in vein just because of us and yet forgiving us?

I am feeling strongly that the god sitting there above has made a blunder. HE has sent YOU in the place where there are people like us whom you don’t deserve at all. We are the people who have always let you down, but still you loved us. Even those GODs must be sorry to send you, our own god, here amongst us.

Sorry Sachin.. (I know you’ll forgive us.. the way you have been doing for years)!

HAPPY DIWALI

Amol Bol 8

‘Jab dost banakar kaam hota hain toh dushman kyon?’
The powerful dialog era seems to be back again. What a punch! ‘Once Upon A Time In Mumbai’ rocks! The story of these films are quite predictable. Thanks to the world cinema and being based on some true events. Still, it holds you and shakes. You don’t get any time to think and assume. Very well penned and performed. Take a bow Mr. Milan Lutharia.
It leaves you awestruck. There’s hardly any bloodshed in this gangster movie. It’s all about mind game. Trust & Betrayal. You don’t have to be an expert on the past of Mumbai underworld and its power games, doesn’t matter. OUATIM tells you all in a very sleek and stylish way in the league of Deewar, Satya & Company.
The film is set in the eighties and it brings the same powerful dialog era back to life. ‘Ab supari lee hain toh choona nahi lagaoonga’ or ‘dono mein se kisi ek bhagwan ko chun lo’ or ‘mauka milega bhi nahi’ (the pause before that is quatil) or ‘duva mein yaad rakhna’ give goose bumps. Almost every alternate line is heavy. Sometimes it becomes too much especially with the ACP Agnell & Sub-inspector Khan dialog. But then it’s about cinematic liberty. Remember, we believed an uneducated brat saying ‘Suna hain lift ki deewaron ke kaan nahi hote’ or ‘main aaj bhi feke huye paise nahi uthata’.
In OUATIM the magical words of Rajat Arrora come from the real superstar Ajay Devgan. The man literally lived Sultan Mirza. He simply wears the godfather attitude. His style, get up & his walk. Oh my god! Killing. Finally, our very own serial kisser has put his lips at the right spot. He’s a revelation. Emraan has efficiently showed the transformation from a spoilt greedy brat to a don via a sweet love story. Yes, the leading ladies too have something to do in this completely male dominated flick.
I don’t want to go in the debate of ‘ethical’ and ‘unethical’ crime. But looking at the character of Sultan Mirza and the current situation of our cities, I really felt somewhere inside that ‘are such Sultan Mirzas require in each and every town in India who love the city and wish the city should be worry free?’

Amol Bol 7

Sundays are boring at some times. Especially, when there’s no great movie to watch. When there’s no good company. When there’s no place remaining to hang around. When simply, you are not in a good mood for no reason. It was that kind of Sunday.

Me and Deepali were roaming on the streets aimlessly and finally settled down in a public garden. It was before Abeer’s birth. We used to visit the gardens, then, quite often. We used to observe the kids, playing with their parents on the slides, jumping on the lawns or playing hide and seek around the bushes.

The garden was full house as it was a Sunday evening. Most of them were families. Some group of young boys and girls chatting and laughing loudly. Few couples found the shelter to hide from the world around. Some senior citizens were chatting. Some health conscious people jogged with the earphones on. The hawkers were selling anything and everything that a person can consume in a garden. From roasted groundnuts to sukhi bhel to chai to idlis to wadas to papers to garlands of flowers. There were beggars and hijras too.

We both were chatting and munching on the nicely roasted groundnuts. Suddenly, a light and soft thing bumped on my head and then on my pats. I looked down to find it a big red balloon followed by the owner – a sweet little girl of around 5. The colour and curves of the balloon were competing with her chubby chicks. The urge of getting that balloon back was the only thing in her eyes. I gave her balloon back. Her impeccable smile only could explain her joy. She jumped with joy and went back to her parents – a young couple like us. Her father was talking on a cell phone and her mother’s eyes were guarding the sweet little daughter. There was an expression of ‘thank you’ in the mother’s eye. The father hardly knew about the balloon.

With an obvious curiosity our eyes followed the cutie pie and her balloon. All her attention was that round red thing. She was tossing it in the air and was trying to catch it with her tiny little hands. She used to be succeeded in few attempts and then her joy used to be doubled. Then suddenly, something caught my eyes in the background. There were two sisters watching this game of that girl with great interest. The younger one’s eyes were rolling up and down with the ball while the elder one was watching the girl and her parents. Both the sisters were almost of the similar age of the girl was.

But they were different than that of our little girl who was playing with the balloon. They were not with their parents. They were playing with their entangled dirty hair. The torn frocks were tucking on their skinny bodies. They hardly knew that one has to wipe with a tissue paper off the fluid flowing from the nose. They were not wearing any footwears. The only common thing between them and the little girl was innocence. Pure innocence. And their aim was same – the balloon.

The girl again tossed it in the air and then came a breeze. The light balloon rode on the breeze and swung for a while. All three girls chased it. Finally, it settled on a row of thick bushes behind the fencing. Suddenly the chase for the balloon stopped then and there. There was a funny mixture of a big question mark and tears in the girl’s eyes. The place was not far away from the bench on which her parents were seated. She looked at her parents for help. Her father still didn’t finish his phone call. Her mother seemed to be helpless. She pulled the sleeve of her husband to draw his attention. He had lot of big things to do while sitting in the park. He simply ignored it and made big eyes at his wife for disturbing in the middle of his phone talk. The helpless mother tried to console her daughter.

The two sisters were watching all this. Now, they knew that the girl does not own the balloon anymore. They were happy. Being familiar to the park inside out they penetrated through the barb wires and reached to the bushes and finally the balloon and returned with the same ease in moments.

The younger one was holding the balloon with great care. It was her dream. She earned it. She was going to play it. There were so many aspirations bulging out from her eyes. The poor former owner of the balloon was watching her favourite thing going away from her.

But what we witnessed next was an eye opener. The thousands of pages of literature or hundreds of movies or even hours of preaching could not have achieved this. We learned it in a few moments.

The two beggar sisters went to the little girl and handed over the balloon with the same innocent smiles.

Amol Bol 6

I remember, as a child, going with my father to see the Ganapati procession.
I used to wrap my whole palm over his huge forefinger, still leaving some space on it. I still can feel the roughness of his finger due to pulling heavy sacks of rice, wheat, sugar, etc. He was a bulky figure for a man. He used to make me sit on his broad shoulder. I was safe, secured and used to be proud over there on the shoulders of my tall father. That was the best place in the world, above more than six feet from the soil, offering me a great view of Ganapati. He used to hold me tight so that I can offer prayers with folded hands to each of the Ganesh idols passing by or I can clap using both the hands. Sometimes, he used to let me dance with the young bunch of dancers and musicians. But his sharp eyes followed me and his arms cuddling me to protect. He even used to take me along with my big family for the Melas or Jatras. I remember each and every moment spent in those places.
I spent my whole childhood in the narrow lanes of the city. At that time each festival was a fun for us.
Even a Bandh or strike was a merry time for us. The whole street became our cricket ground. There were no pedestrians to interrupt our game or no shopkeeper to scold us. Our champions had no threats like breaking of a glass while hitting a six or hitting with a vehicle while diving for a spectacular catch. Sometimes, the elders used to call us back home when the strike turned violent. But it was on a rare occasion.
I had plenty of choices and bountiful freedom available to enjoy my life. As the days passed and we entered into teenage, I also had secret crush. I also enjoyed watching taboo posters and movies on the terrace of our chawl. I also had secret places to meet. Then I used to go to Ganapati processions. Now, to dance in front of the Bappa and to impress the girls who came to watch us dancing.
We went mad when a film star or a VIP used to visit our city.
In my young age, I also joined a political party. I developed certain ideology. I also walked a lot with our party candidate to urge for the votes. I attended each of their rallies. I also attended rasta rokos. I also went to the jail.
Now also I go to jail….. more often. No. I am not a criminal.
I am forced to go to each of the places I used to go as a child or as a teenager with an innocent joy. In fact, now I don’t need my father to give me a special place for a privileged view. But I hardly can enjoy. In fact, I don’t enjoy anything at all. I see many young fathers as me gathering for a Ganesha procession. They hold their kids high to give them the best possible view. I see the impeccable happiness overwhelming on their tiny faces. I remember my kids. When will it be possible for me to give this joy to them?
No. I earn that much to give them such small chunks of bliss. But I can’t. The four letters of ‘duty’ have created an invisible wall between me and my family. They don’t complain. But their distressed faces say it all. My wife wears a mask of smile and assures them about my coming home and taking them for the Jatras. But she knows, she doesn’t carry that much a strong luck to make it happen in real.
I am a cop. Not a super cop! A mere constable who has to attend every public function or a rally for the protection. Who has to keep his ideologies or favorite parties at bay and to pay attention to the safety of the leaders of any ruling parties. He has to obey the orders of his seniors. He doesn’t have a brain to think. He doesn’t have a mind to feel. He doesn’t have a body to demand. I am a cop. A cop who knows to follow the instruction. I have to disguise a pseudo authoritative attitude to make people afraid of me.
I get tired. I get frustrated. I get forlorn. I get lonely. And I remember my father used to say me about doing a job that carries an honour unlike him. Really, I pity myself.

-----------------

Yesterday, I saw few cops watching the road cricket during the Bharat Bandh! They didn’t tell me this. But I felt, they could.