This one's going to be a real ramble, a true 'Of This and That'. What I mean, is that this post doesn't have a subject; well at least not a uniform one. You see I'm travelling and when one travels by rail, and especially long-distance, passing time can be tedious. And, to render my time less difficult, I've turned to composing a fresh post for my blog. But because I am unable to come up with an inspiring theme, I've decided, heck, let me just ramble on.......
And so while I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to be typing about in the next hour or so, I'm pretty excited about it. Though I've rarely been so 'agenda-less' while blogging, this new strange state promises to be adventurous; and of course I'm curious to see how it will all turn out in the end, literary-wise, my this midnight aimless prattle...
I am homeward bound with a short stop-over at Delhi. This morning my train has dropped us off at the Old Delhi station and this is a first for me. I usually travel on trains that terminate at the New Delhi station with which by now, post innumerable trips, I am quite familiar. In contrast, Old Delhi is a totally new experience. Sadly now, the enduring image Old Delhi railway station that has been imprinted on my brain is one of garbage, endless hoardes of it.
As the train slowly labours its way over the Yamuna bridge, all I can see are the unending mountains of garbage lining both the banks and floating in the string of a drain that they say is our holy Yamuna.
I find myself pondering: one must never stop travelling by train for it keeps one grounded to the realities of our existence as a country. Moving around in the air-conditioned and disinfected comfort of airlines and airports, one is lulled into a false sense of 'all is well', of a shining India. And all it takes to dispel your rosy beliefs is a single train trip when you're rudely kicked awake to this horrendous reality.
Seeing that filth, I'm at first so horrified that I look away, trying to pretend that it doesn't exist. But then it draws my gaze back irrevocably, that filth, with a strange and scary hypnotic pull....and as I look in spite of my revulsion at the garabage, I find that its mostly all plastic. I marvel at the impossible amounts of plastic that we as a country use, wrappers, glasses, packets, plates, bottles, sheets and millions of other things that I am unable to enumerate. With no working/ workable recycling policy in place and our world famous non-existent sense of civic propriety, this scourge has clogged our rivers, encroached our roads and fumed our air.........
There is nothing I can do, I tell myself, self-importantly, exhaling loudly in the process and then stuff two PET water bottles into the overflowing garbage bin of the train coach....
I wait at the reception of the Aramgah as Other Half clears the bill with the reception staff. The receptionist, a young man has his little son sitting next to him. I can understand: its Holi and with his Dad on duty, the little one is probably keeping him company on this festive day. He must be around nine or ten, hair cropped close in the a la Virat Kohli (sans the beard of course), Holi colours tinging his face and hair yellow and pink. He is fooling around with TV remote. On the flat screen, Madhuri and Anil Kapoor dance around trees but neither this eighties music nor these eighties stars or their eighties Neeta Lulla getup interests the little boy.You can see that he is terribly terribly bored.
In the meantime, bill cleared, Other Half and me move to the exit. There is a swing door and as he hauls our heavy suitcases out, I wait, the lighter strolley by my side and another heavy suitcase in front of me. I guess I'm standing at an awkward point, obstructing the exit. I become vaguely aware that there's someone behind me who is trying to move out and I'm impeding his way. But I'm helpless as the heavy suitcases block any movement on my part. Good manners would have meant that he excuse himself but good manners is pointedly missing. All he does is just attempt to push through. I feel guilty but there's not much I can do at that moment. The man pushes again, a little rudely. But this time Other Half (currently on short fuse) admonishes him. Its just a matter of few seconds till our luggage is towed out of the way and the doorway freed. The man could have waited but he is in a frightful hurry. The exit cleared he now rushes out. But I wait for Other Half to return, because the red suitcase is too heavy for me to lift.
I'm still standing behind the swing door, when the little boy swoops by. He pushes the swing door and moves out. I pay scant attention till I become aware of him holding the swing door open from the outside, a shy smile on his face. Stupidly I wonder why and then realise with a jolt that the little fella is holding the door open for me! I'm bowled over and give him the biggest smilebof thanks I can conjure up.
But we're running late and so I hurry out, lugging our three suitcases. As my autorickshaw speeds its way down the Holi emptied Delhi roads, I realise-Oh ho, I never said Thank You to that chivalrous little Virat Kohli......
We have two humongous sized suitcases and a third smaller strolley and though Other Half happily coolies the former, I waddle uncomfortably behind him with the latter, purse on left shoulder and orange shopping bag on right. Totally encumbered thus, I'm not particularly graceful or nimble right at this moment and when a stray dog crosses my path, I admonish it out loud. Since I have almost collided with it, my balance is disturbed and I pause to readjust my burdens, trying to align their CGs better. Suddenly I feel a gentle nudge at my left flank. I dismiss it as one from my shopping bag and scramble after Other Half. But I can feel people giving me curious looks and I feel the nudge once again. I stop, wondering, and look back. It's another stray and the moment I face him, he gives me a typical doggy salute, front paws bowed, head bent at an ingratiating angle. I'm delighted and notwithstanding the amused looks of Old Delhi bystanders, I give a loud 'Hellooo Baby!!!' to the dog.
And then as I walk away, I wonder at how uncannily these creatures sense a kindred soul......How do they know? I ask myself. Is it because unconsciously I radiate some kind of vibe in canine-frequency that the dog can sense or is it something equally inexplicable and complicated that tells these completely stranger dogs that I may be a friend? Who knows and who can tell, I marvel. But that canine creature with a little help from tiny Virat Kohli has made my day and so I ramble on, happily...............
And so while I haven't the faintest idea what I'm going to be typing about in the next hour or so, I'm pretty excited about it. Though I've rarely been so 'agenda-less' while blogging, this new strange state promises to be adventurous; and of course I'm curious to see how it will all turn out in the end, literary-wise, my this midnight aimless prattle...
I am homeward bound with a short stop-over at Delhi. This morning my train has dropped us off at the Old Delhi station and this is a first for me. I usually travel on trains that terminate at the New Delhi station with which by now, post innumerable trips, I am quite familiar. In contrast, Old Delhi is a totally new experience. Sadly now, the enduring image Old Delhi railway station that has been imprinted on my brain is one of garbage, endless hoardes of it.
As the train slowly labours its way over the Yamuna bridge, all I can see are the unending mountains of garbage lining both the banks and floating in the string of a drain that they say is our holy Yamuna.
I find myself pondering: one must never stop travelling by train for it keeps one grounded to the realities of our existence as a country. Moving around in the air-conditioned and disinfected comfort of airlines and airports, one is lulled into a false sense of 'all is well', of a shining India. And all it takes to dispel your rosy beliefs is a single train trip when you're rudely kicked awake to this horrendous reality.
Seeing that filth, I'm at first so horrified that I look away, trying to pretend that it doesn't exist. But then it draws my gaze back irrevocably, that filth, with a strange and scary hypnotic pull....and as I look in spite of my revulsion at the garabage, I find that its mostly all plastic. I marvel at the impossible amounts of plastic that we as a country use, wrappers, glasses, packets, plates, bottles, sheets and millions of other things that I am unable to enumerate. With no working/ workable recycling policy in place and our world famous non-existent sense of civic propriety, this scourge has clogged our rivers, encroached our roads and fumed our air.........
There is nothing I can do, I tell myself, self-importantly, exhaling loudly in the process and then stuff two PET water bottles into the overflowing garbage bin of the train coach....
I wait at the reception of the Aramgah as Other Half clears the bill with the reception staff. The receptionist, a young man has his little son sitting next to him. I can understand: its Holi and with his Dad on duty, the little one is probably keeping him company on this festive day. He must be around nine or ten, hair cropped close in the a la Virat Kohli (sans the beard of course), Holi colours tinging his face and hair yellow and pink. He is fooling around with TV remote. On the flat screen, Madhuri and Anil Kapoor dance around trees but neither this eighties music nor these eighties stars or their eighties Neeta Lulla getup interests the little boy.You can see that he is terribly terribly bored.
In the meantime, bill cleared, Other Half and me move to the exit. There is a swing door and as he hauls our heavy suitcases out, I wait, the lighter strolley by my side and another heavy suitcase in front of me. I guess I'm standing at an awkward point, obstructing the exit. I become vaguely aware that there's someone behind me who is trying to move out and I'm impeding his way. But I'm helpless as the heavy suitcases block any movement on my part. Good manners would have meant that he excuse himself but good manners is pointedly missing. All he does is just attempt to push through. I feel guilty but there's not much I can do at that moment. The man pushes again, a little rudely. But this time Other Half (currently on short fuse) admonishes him. Its just a matter of few seconds till our luggage is towed out of the way and the doorway freed. The man could have waited but he is in a frightful hurry. The exit cleared he now rushes out. But I wait for Other Half to return, because the red suitcase is too heavy for me to lift.
I'm still standing behind the swing door, when the little boy swoops by. He pushes the swing door and moves out. I pay scant attention till I become aware of him holding the swing door open from the outside, a shy smile on his face. Stupidly I wonder why and then realise with a jolt that the little fella is holding the door open for me! I'm bowled over and give him the biggest smilebof thanks I can conjure up.
But we're running late and so I hurry out, lugging our three suitcases. As my autorickshaw speeds its way down the Holi emptied Delhi roads, I realise-Oh ho, I never said Thank You to that chivalrous little Virat Kohli......
We have two humongous sized suitcases and a third smaller strolley and though Other Half happily coolies the former, I waddle uncomfortably behind him with the latter, purse on left shoulder and orange shopping bag on right. Totally encumbered thus, I'm not particularly graceful or nimble right at this moment and when a stray dog crosses my path, I admonish it out loud. Since I have almost collided with it, my balance is disturbed and I pause to readjust my burdens, trying to align their CGs better. Suddenly I feel a gentle nudge at my left flank. I dismiss it as one from my shopping bag and scramble after Other Half. But I can feel people giving me curious looks and I feel the nudge once again. I stop, wondering, and look back. It's another stray and the moment I face him, he gives me a typical doggy salute, front paws bowed, head bent at an ingratiating angle. I'm delighted and notwithstanding the amused looks of Old Delhi bystanders, I give a loud 'Hellooo Baby!!!' to the dog.
And then as I walk away, I wonder at how uncannily these creatures sense a kindred soul......How do they know? I ask myself. Is it because unconsciously I radiate some kind of vibe in canine-frequency that the dog can sense or is it something equally inexplicable and complicated that tells these completely stranger dogs that I may be a friend? Who knows and who can tell, I marvel. But that canine creature with a little help from tiny Virat Kohli has made my day and so I ramble on, happily...............
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