A sojourn

Riding on an a/c taxi from Changi Airport to my residence I was surprised to see the superway that looked new. On inquiring I found out that the look was changed to promote Singapore tourism. 'New plantations and flowers. This will make people like you to come to Singapore more la.' I was struck with an amazement that lasted a whole one hour. The median had been taken off and colourful flower baskets were laid in its place...giving it a very pleasurable feel in the 10 o'clock sun...probably at any hour of the day. The cars on the road followed strict lane discipline. Every 500 m there was a signboard giving directions, speed limits, time required to reach the prominent destinations nearby...a clear understatement - welcome to Singapore..we are a developed country and we would like you to feel at your comfortable best while you are here. 72 hours earlier I was rushing in a fiat taxi to Mumbai Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport to get the earliest flight to Kolkata. 6 hours prior to that I was drinking from a bottle of bourbon with a mission to accomplish - to the last drop. I was drunk and the 6 am breeze gave me the warning signs of the Mumbai madness that will soon follow as the day proceeds. My taxi was not a/c and at a erroneous traffic signal made the driver bawl out 'Bhenchod, na khud jaate hain...na kisi ko jane dete hain' My sombre self let out a smile thinking about the reaction of my co-passenger. It was my Dad. The man had come to Mumbai 35 years ago and learnt its ways. He sat there unflinchingly...the comment meant nothing to him...the indifference took away my smile. Sushil - the taxi guy - was my father's regular airportman. When you are in Mumbai and have to get around, you need such kind of point men who can answer your calls at any hour. We had called him at 5 am. I saw him rushing down the main road of Vashi and jerk to a stop...and in that quick motion throw out a passenger and his luggage...get back in and pick us up. It took him not more than 23 seconds. We were in time for the Jet Airways flight. The domestic terminal had been recently renovated. Its design will definitely evoke the Shanghai dream among all who plan to see Mumbai there. A quick check in and even quicker take off told me that the bourbon was good. Everything moved fast around me...next thing I remember is staring from the last seat of the airbus to a mega crowd of mostly bengali chatter excited to celebrate Holi in the city of their birth...or something in that effect. I dozed off. Arriving in Kolkata airport has always been a rejuvenating experience. Even the conveyor belt reflects the laziness of the staff...of the taxi unions...of the city. The whole of Kolkata wants to sit back and sip at their cup of tea and filterless Capstan while the world kills itself by running on a mega environmentally unfriendly treadmill. And the airport is a multi-holed veil that fails to mask this image completely. Outside, as the warm and humid Kolkata air played with my sweat pores...the bourbon began to fade. On an ambassador taxi that couldn't do more than a 60 kmph...we were riding through the empty streets streaked in vermillion red and occasional greens and purples and whites. There were people out there willing to take a shot at coloring my solemn face but the driver had warned against rolling down the windows before we left the airport. It was Holi (Dol in bengali) and I was riding my blues. We were on our way to a town 65 km away...and the taxi steadily moved at sixty. It was an old cab and made a lot of creak and whistle. None of the indicators worked and if the driver's hand would be off the steering wheel for 4 seconds...we would be off the road. But it kept riding like a surfboard made out of plywood on a rusted steel surface. There were frequent dents on the road and even if there weren't any...the taxi would have made us felt otherwise. We were on our way to a funeral. There had been a death in the family I had not seen them for more than 3 years...it hardly meant anything to me. I was there for my father but my indifference towards the demise was evident. To me it was a joyride before I got back to my professional lifestyle 3000 miles away. It was important for my father to see the last remains of his elder brother..I could feel that much. And I was willing to go to any length to make that happen...but as it has always been..we are all slaves of time...and I felt helpless like so many times before. We passed through shacks and railway crossings and more shacks and dilapidated buildings and more such and not in that order until my eyes met one of the highlights. I have always been overjoyed at the sight of lush green paddy fields...spreading beyond my horizon. Each square meter of paddy alongwith the hardworking farmers and the shrimps in the thin hand-dug canals and that occasional tree amidst every 30 acres of land said to me in unison - 'Welcome back to the great gangetic plains. Hope you have a safe journey.' I nodded mildly as if acknowledging their message. There were a few songs that I would like to listen at that moment and they moved back and forth in my head...browsing through them...I felt at peace with the lack of my mp3 player because there was music with me. When you are riding on a beat up taxi out on the small towns of rural India...of all the things you are blessed with...there is music somewhere. A lot can go wrong but the music is never over. I glanced through the empty dashboard of the taxi...the beat up knobs and meters. At one of the toll stations that the driver stopped at...he pulled a knob from a row of 7 knobs and the engine died. I was amazed to find this obsolete system still in use...him and the rest around him never felt the need to upgrade and so was evident across the state of Bengal...just the essential. There was a plastic idol of Sri Ramakrishna stuck in the centre of the dashboard. The driver was accompanied with a sidekick. His job was not to speak...just look out on the road and other things on it. Never to complain about anything and learn the way the driver had mastered his skill of driving that tinbox of a car. For all I could see, he was a good student. He had dropped in some jarda at the corner of his mouth when we started from the airport...and all through those 65 odd kms...he kept sucking in satisfaction. At once the driver ordered an agarbatti for Sri Ramakrishna. The sidekick moved in lazy moves to find the box of incense sticks and matches...the driver guided him to the compartment in front left. Out came the box...2 sticks...a strike at the box...2 agarbattis were lit and stuck to the dashboard at some crack. Older agarbattis had left their mild burns on the pleathery surface. 'Atleast pray to the Lord before you that baba...what to teach these young generation,' the driver quipped. The sidekick took the two agarbattis out and moved them around the idol in small circles and stuck it back...disinterestedly went back to his juice of satisfaction and his dull Holi morning. I guess he was thinking about the glass of bhang that he didn't finish before leaving...or maybe he was already stoned. Whatever it was...he didn't choose to bother others with his state. Suddenly my Dad's cell phone rang and the voice at the other end inquired about our current location. He said that the family was moving to the crematorium. They could not wait any longer. It was close to 11.30 am and were still 30 mins away. My Dad couldn't say much to stop them. He was anyway falling short of speech...away from the mild hustle bustle of taxi ride. He was riding his wave of memory with his elder brother I guess. And the lush green plains outside his window were the best screens to project from the celluloids of his memory. When a close one dies...all you care to see at that moment is the body. The Bhagwat Gita talks about the soul being immortal and the body being 'Maya'...but when it comes to the death of a loved one...we want to see the body and not think about Maya...or soul..or Bhagwat Gita..we leave that for 2 weeks after the death..when the sorrow is at a point where we need to choose between it and the pressures and committments of our own lives. I was cursing the lack of upgrade in the entire state...had it been there...it would have increased our chances to get there faster although we were doing a constant 60 given the empty roads. We reached just in time at the crematorium and saw the last of a loved one. There was an air of sadness and stench all around. In a grid of 3x3 there were 9 bodies of the very poor and helpless. My uncle was a well known Vet in the town and so had the precedence over others. All others had to wait. The longer you wait before a dead body..the harder it gets to stop the tears...to stop the images of better times in our minds...to rest the abrupt end of our promised better times. We are so populated as a country that even our dead have to wait in a queue before their last rites.

All in a cup of tea

Sharmaji sips his morning cup of tea..ciggarette in hand outside his office building. Its been a year and half since he has been following the same routine in the slick industrial area of Gurgaon. This is the ICICI building. He sees fresh faces joining the workforce..smoking their first hundred ciggerates with their first salaries..planning evenings then weekends at local pubs...together they represent the proletariat of new age India. The rupee is getting stronger...the salaries are rising higher...the sensex is doing better.. But all this does not matter to Sharmaji. He has been there done that. He does not want to be held together with the yuppy faces in front of him. He has lost his exuberant self longtime ago. This is not his kind of crowd...he remembers of a similar setting from his youthful times. He remembered a similar time with tea and ciggeratte in hand...days were spent in a shack outside his college campus. Oh they were wonderful times. There was a mishra, a pandey and a tripathi somewhere in the crowd. Sipping innumerable cups...thinking what the future would be like. There were limited pleasures, like the occasional beer from the money saved from the mess bill. And that one night that his hometown buddy Srivastav had managed to flick some biscuits from the Mess hall which lasted for an entire week in his bag. The two of them sharing 2 each at the midnight canteen tea. Those were the days. A year and a half back, he was working in Mumbai...the city that does not sleep...and it didnt let him either. He left it to find a cure for his insomnia. But the three months there with Pandeyji proved to be worthwhile. He has seen the dark sides of that city. He can proudly say - he has seen life. He remembers one of his numerous bus journeys back from work where the thin man sitting one seat ahead in the 351 ltd BEST bus talking to his unknown neighbour. Apparently the thin man's elder brother was an alcoholic. Thin man had to provide for his little 1 BHK household. The members - his aging parents, one alcoholic elder brother with family..and his own little family. How thin man wished to get away from his ordeal...get a better job with a better pay...but he was a low skilled workman. The thin man never could arrive at the possibility of leaving the city itself. But Sharmaji had chosen and that made him feel empowered. All this could have changed if the cute girl working in his office had complied to his advances. Destiny.

If it wasn't for this bright opportunity at Gurgaon...he too would have been left restless by the Mumbai madness. The yuppy faces in front of him don't know what life is. How nice it would be to have all his friends working in Gurgaon...such enjoyment...such possibilities.

Sharmaji takes his last puff of ciggeratte and dumps the remnants of his tea cup inside his mouth...nods at the shopowner..the bill will be cleared in the evening. Takes another look at the new joinees and heaves a sigh..and walks back to his office.

Meanwhile..

Mr.Stranger wakes up to a flash of lightening...a lazy look out the window..its raining. Thirty minutes later he is off to work. Its a Limo-taxi...super comfort...zero decibel ride..with the only sound of some meak volumed 90.4 FM stereo and the click of the wipers at the edge of the windshield. Its 6.15 am and still dark...the street lights coming thru the windshield...polarized by the droplets. Soon the shades of the night will be lost to the twilight. And soon the day will be lost in a blink. This choice of the early-to-rise life has taught him the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. Amidst the shaded glow of sodium vapor streetlights...he still feels a discomfort in the smooth embrace of the bucket seats of a limo-cab. Meanwhile, on another side of the globe, Shotgun Vilas drives back home after a day of work. He is living his American Dream. The GM car, the Gucci Shirt, the planned vacations, the unplanned weekends, edeals on iphone, Thanksgiving Sale...hidden grief and strife...packaged in a Walmart Life. He wishes to sip a beer before getting to his house chores...before dinner...before he goes to bed. But the beer can wait..atleast for the next couple of days..until he hits the friday. It is this wait that keeps him motivated towards his choices. Long ago he used to sip a chilled beer at 6 am in the morning...and now he chooses not to remember this part of his life. Back home in Mumbai, AsExplainedbyaJunkie moves his lazy ass from his bed to the kitchen for his occasional blues penguin walk...contemplating..and more importantly..articulating some new antidote from the mixbag of issues gathered from his scattered life...and at the same time searching involuntarily for some morsel to chew on... He has managed to keep his life to the simplest form and is still clueless about the cause of his dissatisfaction at this hour. Fully knowing the futility, he lights up another cigarette and ponders on. His posessions area at a bare minimum..mostly because maintenance of posessions is not his forte...and a bar to his wants that would puzzle Sigmund Freud. But then again...even Shotgun Vilas' persona would baffle Freud. Around the same time, in a lesser known town of Madikere, in the picturesque district of Coorg, Bomanna wakes up to the thunder of a ligthening strike nearby...only that it is the 23rd time this night. Its been a rainy week in Madikere. Even the Dussera celebrations were not blessed with a dry spell. His vacation of a little over a fortnight has been plagued by bad rainy weather. Even his trip to Bangalore was eclipsed by dark clouds and continuous drizzle. It puzzles him that it was raining in Singapore when he left there a week earlier...and its been raining ever since he landed in his hometown. For a moment, in the dark space in front of his drowsy eyes this night, he thinks that its raining all over the world. God has strange ways. There are a million lives stuck in this moment. Meanwhile...

Motorcycle Diaries

Feb 21, 1 am. Phone rings. Hello. Is this Jack? Yes. Do you know Dean and Jimmy? Yes. What happened? Where do you stay? How do you know them? I am at Canton Hill. We are friends from the same college. There has been an accident. Please come to Magnolia Hospital immediately. I am Inspector Sawhney calling. This is my number. Get here asap. How bad is..... The line goes dead. Earlier that evening. Dean finalises an apartment where he is supposed to move in next week with Jack. Jimmy and Dean go out to celebrate. They have Jack’s motorcycle. Jack reaches the hospital thirty minutes later. Emergency ward. The police waiting. None of his friends are to be seen. More questions follow. After 10 more minutes of interrogation, Jack is told that Dean is dead. Jimmy is in critical condition. They were run-over by an SUV. Story: No witnesses. The driver of the SUV fled from the scene. Police first said they brought the two to the hospital. The hospital Journal says differently. The police version keeps changing over the hour. This is the first time Jack has encountered the police. There will be a lot more first times in the next hour. A Report is lodged against the duo for reckless driving the next day by a Doctor who also fled the scene. I am Jack. This happened 2 years ago.

Choices and changes

Its a fine monday morning. For a change I wake up early at 6.30 am. Its been drizzling since an hour. After an hour of morning chores and lazing around I am struck by a thought that I cant recall the source of...I think it was AsExplainedbyaJunkie...that gets me thinking. When we were young...there were infinite possibilities to our lives. You could choose professions...a new one each day. Probably the Doctor's Set that was a gift from Uncle J kept you longest at one profession during those juvenile years. You were a Kapil Dev at bowling and a Gavaskar at batting...and well....nobody liked fielding...Maradona at the midfield...and Boris Becker or Agassi even when u never played tennis. You were Aamir Khan after you watched Qayamat se Qayamat tak and Salman Khan after Maine Pyaar Kiya....probably Amitabh Bacchan after Shehenshah with the Rishte-mein-toh-hum-tumhare-baap-lagte-hain style whenever you were in a fight with some other kid from another section at school. The only choices required were choosing notebooks and pencils and crayons and sketchpens....bats...balls...shoes...etc.. But then a point of life comes when you choose a college...a coursework...better college....exams...subjects...etc..And with each successive choice after this point....you limit your possibilities. With each further choice, you are further away from your Boris Becker...or maybe Federer. And then you meet Rentboy who doesnt wish to choose...bcos there's heroin...sensational. You were confused about how things have changed over the years and how nothing is as it seems...that were meant to be a part of the system and a Floyd or a Doors song will just hit the spot...expressions that give you some room for your situation. Your words find representation on celluloid with Tyler Durden coming over with his Project Mayhem...phenomenal. And you swear by every word that comes around by the artists of the beat...rock n roll connects to your soul...dreaming of an alterego living it out in Woodstock 69. At the same time you need to carry on with your life...choose more coursework...get a job...explaining to your friends that you are not cut out for this shit...limiting your choices to the bare minimum...your anger for the system...the betrayal of dreams...the loss of a prayer.....denial. And then one day you are hit by death. The death of a friend...a brother..and for a long moment there is a silence.. there is no anger here... no choices... a lot of questions...no answers.. just unfathomable....death. As you try to get a grip....the anger sets in...it alternates with sorrow...the music ceases to be anything more than entertainment. Some of the words fail...and all that is there around is a lot of what-ifs. Which brings me to the idea of choices and possibilities... when someone dies....his loved ones are all hit by the what-ifs. for him...there are no choices to be made....and hence infinite possibilities. Every single person close to him contemplates these sets of infinite possibilities and the realisation of their failure brings about further grief. From the point of his death, each year on....the time and the choices made by the loved ones takes them further way from the event ...reducing the no. of possibilities ...and after a long time all that remains is a speck of memory...of the loss of a friend. - In memory of Manas.

Basking under the Sun: Convocation 3

Day 2. I wake up at around 10.30 am and see Arun rushing to attend some class. Benzene waits outside. I take the room keys and get back to another 5 mins..before I realise that I can get back to sleep once I leave Durgapur. I have to go to college and see how it looks like...and also inquire about Degrees being handed over to people with authority letters. Before I go to college, I go to Techno for something to munch on...I choose my favourite nutrition during my 4 years...'Bum' and Frooti. I meet Shambu and Kailash...small talk. I move towards college from the path behind Hall 1. That patch hasnt changed. As I near college...I see another change - a fountain in front of the college building. Inside the college building...I am using the best of my corrected 6/6 vision to avoid contact with any professor who can remotely recognise me. The first floor is always emptier, so I take the first staircase to it. Outside IT dept. I meet one of my EE profs and he wishes to talk. We a 10 min conversation of i-dunno-wat but goes on the lines of where-are-you-and-how-have-you-been. I move on...Mech Dept...LG..TR..AM dept..TR..LG...the dept that screwed me...completely. I stand outside the dept looking at the signboard - Electrical Engg Dept. Below it...the doors to my hell...long corridor with the rooms on the left belonging to the demons and the rooms on the right - their workbench. At the end of the corridor- the broken window pane. The white wash still giving a very dull but calm look on the outside...probably signifying the silence before a storm. I see some students coming out of the dept. silently like we used. Somehow, none of us never had anything to say to each other whenever we walked out...there would be something when we walked in..but nothing when we came out. In the LG behind me, SKD teaches another batch of uninterested students. I peep in just for kicks...there are none. My work is done. On my way out I take the ground floor corridor...ask someone from the Academic Section about Authority letters...nobody is informed. I move to jhoops. Haria is already there...his dishevelled look remains constant with the image of jhoops...plate in hand..glass of chai on the side..asking for more...some guys sitting around...but food is prime..where are the other guys?? I see Dhiru...he came early in the morning....some guys from junior batch also have come for the convocation. The college is saving money...conducting the Convocation ceremony of 2 batches of BE and one batch of MCA and some Ph.d students. A big convocation hall belonging to the CPI(M) has been booked somewhere in citycentre. Saif has also come..there must be more people from our batch...guys working in Kolkata plan to come down in the evening. Its nice to meet batchmates that you want to meet after a period of a couple of years. They remind you how fast things are changing and how further away you have moved from your previously known self... The only sad part about such meetings is that they can't last for more than 15 mins. > kaisa hai.. >> main theek hoon...tu bata.. > bas yaar chal raha hai.. >> job shift maara kya..ya waheen hai... > arre abhi nahin yaar...dekhte hain..tu abhi bhi hyderabad main? >> haan...agle mahine shayad Bombay move hai..company relocate kar rahi hai.. > sahi..wahaan pe toh public hai apni.. >> haan..sahi hai...timepass ho jayega... ........... eventually there is nothing more you can talk about....it always veers off to this....its frustrating and at times depressing..but I guess thats all what it is all about... I have such conversations on the phone...on chat...and I had it there with Saif and Dhiru. I settle down...my poch and chai are ready without me asking for it. Jeet hands it over to me. Kya baat hai - I exclaim. Jeet smiles and leaves. Trainee Chhotu is doing the dishes these days...there is a dog around jhoops -Kalu- adopted by Shani after it bit Shani during Holi earlier that year. I go thru the HT City to find the sleaze quotient of Bengal page 3 these days...it is impressive but nothing compared to Bombay times....or Times of India actually. The Gang left for college...none of them seems to be around jhoops arnd 11.30 am...Haria observes. Within moments Kelu and Imtiyaz arrive. Guitar in hand. Shani cannot manage the smirk. He is not at his dias today...he relaxes...probably the after effects of the previous night. He calls me over and gives me an envelope...the package sent by Jitu. Before I manage to see whats inside...I smell MaryJane from shacks of Hoskote and I thank my stars...Haria turns around to see me...he knows that our prayers have been answered. An aura of excitement sweeps thru jhoops...Shani doesnt understand what makes us smile...I ask him to give me 15 mins to explain. We get to work. Kelu and Imtiyaz throw in their supply and look on...I return that. Arun and Alamin walk in..there are murmurs about logging into some strange frequency within the next half hour. I am told about a certain personality...we await his brilliance. This personality has been introduced to me in the previous evening but his talent hasnt come to the fore yet. We are talking about Kush. I ask Alamin about Kush's whereabouts, he nods and starts making frantic calls. He will arrive another half hour. What is it exactly that we are expecting..I ask. Just wait to see... While I am at work....my hands moving like that of a professional poker player..a silent guy watches me..asks - yeh kahaan ka hai? I explain...he is satisfied by the answer. Watches me work without a work...I am done in 10 mins and Shani is ready to understand. The silent guy also wishes to know...I am willing to explain because I like his questions...his way of putting them. Haria is also ready...we are honoured by having the company of Saif. The gang also waits. Within the next 10 mins...everybody is mellowed down. We are back in our own time...the Durgapur Sun at 12 pm...our hunger..the after taste of tea and nicotine...the lazy traffic of Mahatma Gandhi Avenue... The silent guy thanks me...I feel embarrased by his sense of gratitude. Meet Norbu. He is a man of the mountains...there is peace and tranquility in his ways and speech..and a wisdom begeted from the mountain gods. I stand up to deliver a discourse....one of my favourite actions at such moments...I thank Shani, every member of The Gang present for making my trip so special. Norbu is part of the gang. He accompanied us for the rest of our trip. It was a privelege and honour to have his company...and more importantly...know him. Sometime after my discourse...a guy walks in with Shades on..Kush enters. Settles down at the far end leaning to the bamboo...his weight disturbs the ants meandering in the cracks within the concrete stilt...but they are too small compared to us humans to fathom what hit them. People gather around Kush...Aks sits on the other end disinterested. They all ask him his comments about a lot of things...last night..music..kurt kobain..professor...Aks' hair...etc. His answers are....well...I can try and sample one from my memory.. Kush About Haria - Haria is a light brighter than phosphorus sunshine...like rare element inside coke that is tasty and poisonous too. I hate pepsi. That is Kush for you..and now I undertand what they mean when the talk about Kush freqeuncy. We listen to more of Kush and after a while I am bored and I speak to Norbu...learn more about him. Imtiyaz keeps fingering the fretboard. Aks remains disinterested...coming out with his own wisecracks every now and then. Arun keeps tripping on Kush. Alamin keeps laughing. Jeet keeps cooking...Chhotu is on with his training..Shani keeps a watch with an occasional chat with Haria and me and another mouthful of smoke...passing cigarettes around. Saif moves out to see other people in college...Dhiru joins him. Kelu sits silently on the side. More players of the jhoops scene drop by for lunch...more smoke goes around. Its fun to get wasted like this. Haria and I plan to go sit in the Oval sometime late in the afternoon. Anup tells us that he has planned an LC meeting for the evening when Roshan walks in...tells Haria that the arrangements are done. Roshan has planned for a small gig on the Basketball court along with Mic and Speakers...people are told to pass the word around. This is simply amazing...our own gig. Roshan is incredible..I am eternally indebted to him. Firstly for planning the Dgp trip for haria and now this. Impossible. He sits down excitedly...I ask Jeet to fulfill all food-related issues of Roshan asap (which anyway would have occured)..I order Limbu pani for him...I dont know to thank him.. He inspects the chatter around...inspects each person. Roshan and Haria have been playing this little game of categorization for some months now where they study a person's movement/actions/words and then define his intellect level - viz. concept level 1, level 2 and level 3(legend)..with each of the first two levels subdivided into lower limit and upper limit for ease. Within the next half hour I watch in amazement at the expertise that Roshan has gathered...with ease he completes labelling every one of those present there. The Gang is disturbed by this as they donot understand the game and only see Roshan pronouncing the words 'Concept Level 2 Lower limit' or its other variant with a finger pointed at someone. Haria asks them to take it light...not to bother. They agree and Aks makes a crack on Roshan...Roshan looks at him...smiles and says 'View from Top'. The birth of a new label...a new school of thought...and in the near future..a new orkut community. Anup doesn't understand any of the happenings but still keeps laughing..Aks makes a crack at LC and he stops laughing. The Gang is all-active and it is fun to see them at work. Meanwhile Kush has been silenced with some 'ghugni' and chai and Arun sits at one end of jhoops monitoring all the activities..a la Godfather. Haria and I move to Oval...Arun accompanies us but later leaves for basketball..Norbu promises to meet us later in the evening at the gig. There is some cricket match going on in the Oval...we settle down in the topmost step of the stands. It is an interesting match...inter hall I am told. We light up another joint over there...and around that time are met by Elizabeth and Paromita. Pleasantries exchanged and they move on...we were more bothered to finish our joint. Babloo is with us...he has taken off from work for the afternoon. The match is soon over and the field is empty. We go down to lie on a patch of grass. Babloo doesnt understand why we would do so..but joins us anyway. We face the college building for a while and see some profs moving out..discussing about them. Then we face LH and finally the clear blue sky lying flat on our backs.... After an hour of silence...we wake up to get something to eat and get ready for the next biggest part of the trip...LC meeting and our little gig. The moment has all the signs of a memorable evening...but like all things between Haria and me...we could screw this one up too...or it might be straight out bad luck. For reasons best known to me...I am not very hopeful about the next 5 hours..and Haria expresses his skeptism too. We drop the conversation when we are arrive at the library going towards jhoops and Haria spots his HOD...we both decide that it is best in his interests that he doesnt see us in our present condition - shorts, slippers..twigs of grass hanging from wherever..we hide behind a pillar. Another day is saved.. ..we go to the jhoops.

Inside the Den: Convocation Part II

Over the next hour...i meet familiar faces and occasional stares...by now I am comfortably set into the Durgapur evening and the guitar is out...I have an audience...it couldn't ask for more!! The chai keeps running and so does the smoke...the longing for that taste has been satisfied for the moment. We all eagerly await the arrival of Haria.. After countless doses of chai and smoke and exactly two Poch, Shani is ready to close down for the day..its getting dark...and we move to Arun's room - my pad for the 3 day gala. Certain things that i observe on my way towards Hall 5 - - the entrance to the campus near hall 4 has been closed and fortified by the newly built campus wall. - there are signboards in front of every building - the Thela's serving aloo paratha and chola batura are no longer there - the Mess has been redone with better flooring and new Nilkamal Table and chairs - the bathrooms have been redone with better equipment and flooring - the lights in all the wings still dont work - most of the students are glued to their computer screens...LAN wires running in a complex network and multiplayer games being played with vigour.. - Gtalk runs throughout the campus as the next best medium to contact someone after the cellfone - Techno is almost empty....so are the streets where people used to simply loiter during my time.. ......It is depressing to see the campus this way...but I guess this must be better than the ragging scene, the SAM going crowd, getting into fights, watching softcore movies in Bench and Luxor, doing rounds of Bench for no reason, aiming for Teku.....all the things that contributed a lot to my college life... I settle into Arun's room and there I find the most hairiest guy I have ever seen on campus..I am shocked. It is Aks. Super long hair...shoulder length...no shave either...dark pitch black lips and somewhat white teeth within..thin physique and a mild hump...and ultra dirty clothes. A total shocker. I congratulate him for his look...I thought of telling him why...he has made it to the Hall of Fame of Dirtiest people in REC Durgapur (currently NIT Durgapur.) I am told that Tulsi, one of the members of THE GANG* has gone home for personal reasons. He is the prime jester...I miss him anyway. *THE GANG is the current batch of final year students who are practising the arts of getting high, listening to loud rock music, get pissed drunk and feel the Durgapur blues despite all this... I have met three members of THE GANG already viz. Imtiyaz, Arun and Aks aka fugly (fuckin' ugly). More people come into the den...Kelu is shy and manages to say a Hi and settle down in one of the corners beside his best mate - Imtiyaz..they are Nitro partners I am told. Again I am staring at Imtiyaz strumming the guitar...he is one of the best wannabes I have seen yet. He has a girlfriend too...proves my theory on Wannabes. I meet another guy - Benzene - who is partly into the Gang mostly because his room shares a wall with the den...adjusting to the loud noise and supporting with a lot of logistics most of the time. Such people are very important for The Gang. Then a personality walks in, who's discovery is the most prime among all the happenings over the three-day period. Alamin. This guy is simply amazing. He is excited with every move, he has this excitement running all around his face...all bustling with energy...so much that he stammers a bit. Every time I look at him...his face brightens up with attention. Later in the evening I find that Alamin is one of the most active members of THE GANG..and also the most confused. His fervour to arrange for/look after our logistical requirements is simply a sensation in itself. Some more people come in..I recall their names but not their faces. There is news that Hariya has entered the campus...I ask Arun to call Hariya's cell phone for the nth time and find out how long it will take him to get to the Den. By now half of Hall 5 knows who's coming. My eyes meet Alamin's eyes...without a blink he pulls out his cell phone and makes 3 calls...Confirmation: Haria is in the building. I dont know at this moment what amazes me more...Alamin-in-action or Haria's entry. This is a new generation of DGPians we are talking about. Where people across hostels plan for a night out at Sam over Gtalk or Ymsngr or whatever and still are late..where people no longer call up the LH landline..they catch hold of some girl classmate online and the whole wing probably chat with her on the same id...where dumb women are met with Franship statements over orkut and the entire hostel knows about them and hit at will...where even your pretty schoolmates are not spared.. we are talking about a new level of transparency and security and newer fetishes here.. Suddenly there is noise outside the hostel which is louder than within the Den...and THE GANG and I am ready to give Haria a Red Carpet welcome..Alamin is confused how to react to this situation..he finds me looking at him..turns away to his cell phone..Aks is disinterested as usual and sits crouched at the PC inside the den..Imitiyaz is outside with the guitar and teaching Kelu some new tune..Kelu listens..Benzene comments smilingly about Imtiyaz's inability to play..nobody listens..moves to stand in front of his door...Arun is excited too..probably contemplating to say something to mark the ocassion. A dark figure approaches with a bobbing walk with two silhouttes following. The former, Anup...latter, ConceptLevelMan Roshan and the man himself. Loud cheers...some handshakes and hugs..the party is on...the night is live. Again people get busy in settling down and rolling...introductions are made..pleasantries exchanged... > kahan tha...tera fone try kar kar ke thak gaya. >> woh mera battery low tha...light le > itna time Howrah se?? >> woh train ka jhol ho gaya..delay tha. Mera guitar laaya > haan...harmonica bhool gaya. yahan pe bhi kisi ke paas nahin hai >> mereko laga tha tu bhulega is liye main apna laaya.... > kya baat kar raha hai...sahi..sahi >> arre yaar mujhe subah waala flight lena chahiya tha.. > light le abhi..baith..Shani se mila kya? We settle down. The Gang is busy playing music to suit our tastes...to set the mood for the evening..to get it going. There is a lot of energy in the whole scene..a lot of excitement..something that I think I last felt when I was in 2nd year or something like that..unknownst to me and probably all of us in there..there is this expectation that binds us all together..but we dont know what we want to occur.. Joints are passed around and suddenly I find myself sitting in the centre in the room...sharing space with me Haria...facing me and whole lotta crowd..some faces from 2 yrs past..longer hair on most of them.. I donot have a wall to lean on...something that I prefer at such moments..and in my search I just get up and walk out the room...its too smoky i complain...Haria also moves out...a lot of eyes following us..it is getting kind of awkward now..we have our small talk..assesing the situation. I update him about my entry and happenings since..he is excited. We talk about Shani. It seems there is a package/parcel that has been left with Shani..it was sent by Jitu via one of our batchmates Abhik 2 weeks ago...we wonder what it could be. We both pray for it to be what we think it is.. We are standing in the farthest wing of Hall 5 from the mess, first floor...when I see a familiar shadow walking in the ground below, beyond the hall 5 boundary wall. It is Babloo...behind him - Shani. They were called by none other than Alamin while we were talking. This is going to be a very strange night. We wait for them...more noise..hugs..connections...Roshan leaves...we move back into the den. Someone hands over the guitar to me...and one more to Haria. They have already been tuned..something that can never be expected in our case. Haria produces the harmonica...we start our little get together. All along the watchtower - Dave Matthews rendition. More songs follow...fotographs are taken...some videos too...my first public performance with the harmonica. Shani and Babloo are right there with us..sharing the stage...Babloo rolls one of his trademark ultra long joints. 20 mins later..we all are high. More songs follow. Haria says- abey yaar Daaru hota to sahi hota. I nod.. Alamin jumps into action from one corner of the room... Cool hai, Haria...Daaru kya chahiye..main jugadta hoon.. This is Haria's first interaction with Alamin. Haan, jo bhi ho chalega...old monk..whisky. half. Fone calls are made. 30 mins later...some people have moved out..they are done with the evening. Our bottle arrives. Along with some AndaTadka. The smell of Sam food... Eat, drink..music...catching up... At 3.30 am, we call it a day. Its been 21 hours since I have slept. End of Day 1.