Surreptitiously appraising the slightest of bulge in my flexed biceps, thanks to my half baked attempts at weight training, I could afford an unabashedly biased grin. The 4”X6” mirror standing proudly in the Executive Locker shouted in its full frontal glory that life is not for the wimpish of the species. I nodded in silent affirmation, my well thought of approval giving credence to my acceptance that a beefed up physique is the need of the hour. The harmony of the poignant and pragmatic moment was broken by the cheerful uproar of the bunch of kids catering to the collective national obsession called cricket.
On the other side of the massive wall separating the playground was the hotel’s swimming pool, still not inundated with aficionados, barring a few heavily built gentlemen who swam unobtrusively on the pleasant Delhi morning. Outside the hotel’s luxury, Delhi had woken up to another frenzied morning. It wasn’t an IPL match that morning, and the famed Anna Hazare’s agitation had subsided too. For some sinister reason, the din was rather disturbing. The weather was extraordinarily pleasant, with unusual cold breeze sweeping the capital landscape.It warranted a leisurely walk, if not a long drive, someone within me spoke. I assumed it was my battered romantic heart and peered on through the glass window from the 8th floor. Matchbox sized cars rolled by, even as hapless cyclists scurried to keep pace with time.
In the meantime, the kids went up again, evidently a batsman was caught at the ropes. For the truculent Brits floating in the pool, life trudged on at a reluctant pace. I forced a wistful smile, for reasons unknown and decided to go down. The long night shift had given way to a busy morning in the hotel, forcing me to skip my breakfast. Hungry and bored, I found myself walking gingerly to the nearby paranthawalla.
Nothing beats a steaming hot parantha with gallons of butter over it. A food for thought, a food for all reasons and seasons. ‘Binge’, someone ordered from within and I decided to have my first morsel of food in 12 hours. Other than ululating urchins undulating to their indigenous rhymes, ‘advisers’ cutting across every possible divide can be found almost everywhere in or country ,generally offering their pearls of wisdom , often unsolicited, always unabashed. I bumped into quite a few of them at that tiny stall.
As the harried cook tried to dole out his expertise to the earnest patrons, one of the advisers, presumably blessed with legendary culinary erudite, suggested the pan be tilted further left from him and flame be intensified “only a wee-bit”, inviting glances of approval and admiration from others sharing the common DNA, in the process drawing a flummoxed, nonplussed expression from the just enlightened cook. Some men of unheralded intellect were discussing how a longer pavement, slightly elevated would have been ideal and how in “Umreeca and Ingland”, they build bridges at a rate similar to which our politicians bolster their fortunes. The league of the extraordinary gentlemen burst out laughing. I could afford a smile of resignation too. The tiny bit of newspaper that served as table cloth had a leggy Deepika Padukone glancing suggestively at the readers. Clad in tiniest of garments one could envisage, Ms Padukone was drawing hurried sheepish glances from everyone around. The uneasy calm was demolished by another imminent adviser, who was ostensibly well informed about the lady’s fiercely guarded secrets. He uttered something too risque to be put here and the clique had a good laugh over it. I sniggered, more at the tenor of blasphemy than its content.
Through with my princely breakfast, I gave a nod of thanks to the superhuman cook who still appeared flabbergasted, probably reeling under some fresh barrage of wisdom. For once, I thought that hearing impairment shouldn’t be a physical infirmity anymore, but a classified prowess.
As I walked back to my lodging, I overheard some stray conversations. Some girl was reasoning out with her snobbish boyfriend, a hapless child was being battered by his horrified mother, a vegetable vendor was convincing hard to please women of neighborhood that his stock was among the freshest the Almighty had ever created, some teenage boys were analyzing the IPL game they had watched last night, some school going, high on hormone girls were giggling frantically over a text message one of them had recently received , drawing instant attention from the passer byes.
Different people, countless worlds, I muttered. There’s such a degree of sameness, a degree of banality so pronounced and predictable, so tedious, and yet there’s a fair degree of uniqueness in the ubiquity. At times one finds it tough to decide which is easier, being inert or being involved. I realized it’s the fine balance that does the trick ,and having found the pearl of wisdom without any expert ‘advice’ ,I decided to rest the case there and instead give some well deserved break to my tiered limbs.
No comments:
Post a Comment