Is desh ka kuchh nahi ho sakta!

It was just another day. Except that the colour of the sky, the feel and temperature of the fresh crisp air seemed to officially announce the advent of winter. There wasn’t much particulate matter scraping my eyeballs as I drove down at a respectable pace. The wind in my hair felt flattering and that in my face, refreshing, as if gently waking me up. This sort of weather teases your senses for about two weeks, just about twice each year, first mid-October, then late February.

To while away the time before papa arrived at his office, I stepped out to catch some more of this invigorating air while mon ami chose to sleep precariously with his head resting against the back of another chair with wheels in its base. You need to be as zonked and as devoid of sleep as him to sleep like that. You also need to be him.

After a look here and a look there, nothing catching my eye, I chose to scrape the three huge spots of pigeon droppings off my Honda Dio. I must tell you here that they were really difficult to get rid off, the thick layer parched for some days under the formerly relentless sun. “Namaste”, said a very small girl in a very big voice. I looked around to find a matching source but had to conclude that I was staring right into it. “Namaste”, I said too as I went back to my task, not knowing what to say.

“Palhe jaanti ho?” I said, “kya?” I didn’t expect this so thought I should confirm. “Palhe jaanti ho?” Came the lisping voice again. A smile stretched across my face and jumped into her eyes as I said a yes. I asked her how old she was, to which she said, “teen”.

I asked her if there was anybody at home who could take her to school which was a little distance from her hut but she said no. But as an afterthought she said she will ask her father. I asked her, “Papa kaha hain?” Surprising me yet again, she said, “dooty gaye hain.” “Papa aa gaye…” and she trotted off to some imaginary business.

In a little while she was back, this time with another little girl, bigger than her and she sat down on the office steps. This time I began….”Ye tumhaari behen hai?” I got a tremendously curt NO. Surprised, I ventured again….”Dost hai?” “NAHIN!” I said, “phir?”

“Ye chamarin hai”

A shocked “what?” was all I could muster before trying to explain to her in vain why there was no difference between her and her friend.

Come to think of it, both lived in the same slum. Both their parents were probably daily wage labourors. Both families were illiterate. Both lived in unhygienic conditions. I saw no difference, still I couldn’t explain it to her.

Who gives these little kids such horrendous concepts? I wonder how they manifest it. The enigma in the air seemed to vanish in a flash of a second.

Lopsided Diwali!

When it’s this time of the year, sometimes I wonder, mostly fleetingly, what Diwali is all about. Grandpa says it is celebrated to mark the homecoming of Lord Ram after his victory over his nemesis, Ravana. I wonder again, how many of us know that.

It used to be a cheerful festival of lights but not anymore. For today it’s a festival of serial blasts….well, that’s what it sounds like with all the fire crackers going off or should I say going on and on and ON. Apart from that, it’s a time when people try to show off and they drape their houses rooftop to basement with a mesh of electric lights. That’s not pretty at all, that’s lewd just like an overdone bride.

Year after year, as a kid, I would look out of the window of my ancestral house, the wide market road transformed into a fare. Special though it was, it never struck me. It seemed the normal sight if any other child peeped out of his window too. And so, I can’t recall one single occasion when I went Diwali-shopping – buying kheel, bataashaas, khilaunas, gujariyas, diyas, candles and stuff. That was grandpa’s job. Besides, these sugar khilaunas were way too sweet for my taste even then.

After the customary poojas and visiting all our grandparents, uncles and aunts we used to take a round of the fare. It took a lot of cajoling for this treat for papa despised crowds and mummy would be way too tired after all the cooking. We would often come across my sister and friend Chhavi with her parents and brother and we would all buy dhanush baan and folding saanp with a painted dull red tongue. Chhavi loved those brown ceramic cookery sets, she would buy one each Diwali. Bhai liked red and blue yoyos.

It so happened that this year, our Ganesh Lakshmi clay idols got chipped, you need to replace them and we noticed the damage very late. Papa and I went to get another set, a rather late Diwali shopping. Well, there was another too, when we went buying some nick-knacks late at night.

So, thus began a journey which flooded all these memories. On the way, there was not one single house which was decorated with diyas but for one little thatched hut on an un-constructed plot. The sight was so pretty, so pristine, almost over-whelming.

For one moment, I too thought whether diyas were passé, or worse, whether they were meant for the poor. Then scolding my self for such a thought l contemplated my options. Which did I like better? Meshy-messy electric light houses? Or decent single string electric light houses? Or best of all, diyas outside the thatched hut or diyas on a trolley or diyas on the panwalla’s stall. There was a sense of sincerity and earnest in the glow the diyas cast around. So real so contrasting to the former breed.

The point is, what became of the lovely festival and the spirit. I really don’t know. Peep inside a Tanishq and there is no space even for the nail of your little toe. It’s about arrogant decorations. It’s about howling to the world through the deafening crackers. It’s about buying goodies at the store, preparing them at home is boring, time-taking and bourgeois.

My thoughts became stronger as I went around placing diyas and candles in spite of the electric lights. It made a difference, at least to me. While I write this, I hear impatience in the sound of the doorbell. And then a cross “Koi patang nahi giri hai” followed by prattle, “Aunty, hai…dekhiye na.” It seems there is still hope.