Satyamev Jayate

I have always loved travelling in a train, be it a short one or the ones that take almost two or three days. I have never hated history, neither have I loved it to a great extent that I ever wanted to study history as a major in my life, Never the less history has attracted me. I have always loved seeing the places of historic importance and that could be the reason why trains fascinate me to an extent.

Having spent almost two months over the books, preparing for a professional career I was kind of drained on excitements. That’s when I decided to leave for Delhi and U.P. Unfortunately I never got a train ticket to and from Delhi to Calicut, and the excitement of travelling alone in a train for around 36 hours was lost. I had to fly.
I have always hated shuttling in a flight; one of the prime reasons could be that, whenever I have travelled alone, the flight is either over crowded with those boring passengers who never knew there is a lighter part in their lives, or when there are nice ones specially the so called “hot chicks” around, I always get a seat two rows behind her. And this phenomenon continues, always!

The only train journey I had was the one from Delhi to Rampur (A place in U.P), and I wanted to enjoy every bit of it. So I made my brother sit in the middle seat and I took the window seat of the chair car. Like any other trains in India, this one was also over crowded, but since it was a reserved compartment the good thing was that people don’t bother to disturb your privacy. Initially I was confused whether we boarded the same train; I trusted my brother to know the direction towards which the train should be moving, for it has been a year since he was in the north. The situation became creepy when the train started moving in the opposite direction. I enquired with a family sitting adjacent to my seat, and they responded as if they herd the name Rampur for the first time.

On becoming a bit restless, I moved to the toilet area of the compartment, that’s the place where most of the people with open tickets sit. They didn’t look dangerous to me, unlike the people who are poverty ridden in the western countries; BPL people in India are submissive, with a bit of hesitation in my tone I asked a guy in white Pathani suit, about Rampur, not that I didn’t know much about the city, I just wanted to confirm that the train actually passed through Rampur. All my doubts where cleared with positiveness and I felt like I had just won a million dollar bet.

The summer heat had almost killed many in Delhi; one of the newspapers had quoted. But the buzz in the train was that of “SatyaMev Jaythe” being aired and the social topics it discussed. There were few college goers who were pretty much into a heated debate about this show. The free ticket people at the doorsteps had something else going in between them; it is a bit difficult to pick the local slang they speak, even more difficult when they speak with “PAN” in their mouth.

The train stopped for a longer break and people started getting out buying snacks and drinks. I was always excited about getting out on the platform whenever the train stopped, be it short or the longer stops. My father always stopped me from doing so whenever we travelled together, that could be the reason I still find it exciting. I was standing on the platform and talking to my brother through the window, someone fell on the doorsteps banging his face on the door. That is when somebody shouted he has ‘fits’.

I didn’t know how to react; the lady standing next to me sipping coffee was trying to find a way to go inside the compartment now that this poor passenger fell down and almost broke his jaws and who is still rocking himself because of the fits. I talked to the police guy standing next to a snacks shop; he came over n told its just fits. He ordered one of those college goers to pass on his leather shoe, so that he could make the guy fallen down with fits to smell it. The only answer the college goer gave was that his shoe is costly enough. That’s when a lady in her forties dressed in an old salwar khameez, came up to the fallen guy and gave him water. Cleaned the blood on his face, pulled him from the door steps, and comforted him.

At first I thought she probably was the guy’s mother, but then came to know she even didn’t know where this guy was going to. The police guy later returned with bottle of water for which he probably didn’t even pay and asked the lady to give it to the guy with fits. The train moved on, and I was sitting thinking about the reactions of each and every passengers. The college goer was sitting in one corner, he was the one who was talking of social causes, the lady who was sipping tea and was worried about her way back into the compartment had been talking to her kids about helping out others, and this old lady who didn’t even know the guy helped him first.

We speak of Satyamev Jayte and being a good human being right from our school days, in our religious classes, but then it took an illiterate, village lady in a semi torn salwar khameez to help out a guy suffering fits amidst the rush of a train journey. Shame on our education system!!

T.R.K

Till the last drop...

Story for a short film yet to be canned, dedicated to all those who live for others,every women(mother/sister/friend/wife) and Komal.:P

Mani an alcoholic truck driver had the last glass of his drink for the night and was on the move to the neighboring town, his hands were shaky and eyes had shrunken in response to the night and alcohol consumed. The truck passed through the twists and turns common to the highway in this part of the country, somewhere ahead on the same road was Ali, who was walking back home from a party, wearing to the trends with headphone attached and responding to a weak female voice on the other side of the phone. He was so involved in the conversation that by the time he saw Mani’s truck he was already brushed by the truck on its way and fell to a distance on the side of the highway.

Faraz rode his bullet as fast as he could so as to reach Ali’s apartment before the ambulance that carried his paralyzed friend reached its destination. Asif opened the door of their friend’s apartment. Both had a sad face the reasons for it being obvious. The later enquired about their paralyzed friend’s depressed state and the former with a negative nod asked about the health of the weak female voice that was on the other side of the phone, and the reply was more negative.

After the ambulance left Ali’s apartment, both his friends tried to joke around and make the atmosphere as happy as they could to make their friend feel better, another reason was to keep his mind as busy as possible and not let him think about the girl on the other side of the phone. But that didn’t help him back from his depressed state of mind, until finally the girl’s voice asked for him on his phone. They talked hours on the phone, hours multiplied more minutes turned into days and days piled on and a week passed by. A fresh air of life blossomed Ali’s face, the clouds in his life gave way for sunshine.

The 1959 Talat Mehmood hit song “Jalte hai Jiske Liye” might have been their favorite that she used to sing it for him. It was just another day when Ali wanted to hear it once more, now that it has been high time since she sang for him. He listened to it with his face bright, laying on his bed he dreamt of a good day when he could walk again, his both friends who entered his room joined his happiness, they smiled at last for his happiness, she sounded sweet and engaging and all of a sudden her sound became vary, she coughed a bit, and yet continued her song, coughed more, the song ended, cough led into vomiting, and she spat out, someone on her background shouted loud for doctor and engage tone bleeped for a second and the call ended.

Ali looked insanely at Asif and Faraz, both of them didn’t know how to react to the fate of a friend who was stepping into happiness after being paralyzed, and the loss of the voice on the other side of the phone, who gave herself away bringing smile to their friend while suffering from a throat cancer.

Back To School

When I think about the fun and frolic during the school days, sometime tears rub my cheeks, and there have been surprise reunions, but those vanished when I clean the eye sand off. The life at school is something that I have always wanted to be in, that’s where I feel I have always belonged to, and that’s where I have always been the real me. Light weighted study schedules, six hours of class, recess in between and good smiling friends who lightened up your day with all those discussions which others thought were silly.

I have always had a silent prayer to Allah that he put me back to those fun filled school days that I spend in the balcony and verandas of IDEAL INDIAN SCHOOL. Don’t know if the angel on my right shoulder recommended it for me, the ‘GMCS’ happened. Initially it was something that I thought as an outing just for the heck of it and a certificate from the ICAI that never let the students grow as social animals. Little did I know that I had my school life waiting for me at the building near heart hospital in Trichur.

Right from day one it was life back in the old school, energy, new friends who seemed to have been friends for ages. Or might be that I have been longing for days like these since all the classes I had after 12th were formal conference halls where the students didn’t know who was sitting next to them, nor they cared cause everyone had to rush to their office after the class. The GMCS was different.
Veena chechi’s sisterly affection, Badru’s Amrican brotherhood, Arun’s naughty stupidity, Ajoy’s ever smiling face, Monish’s happy go lucky nature, Mary’s eyes, Anu’s Middle Eastern English, Bell boy’s gestures with his specs, Ashok’s songs, Dimples shy smiles, Sreenath’s way of walking, Amritha’s MTI and of course my best friends who were with me right from Calicut; Azad, Sajil, Ahsan, Basith and Jithin all in a class room made me feel that I was sitting in grade 12th with a tie and a shoe.

We are stepping as corporate executives, our childishness had been hammered down by the hypocrisy called Chartered Accountancy, but these 15 days did really brighten my life. The joy of being there for each other, holding onto one another, doing action songs on kindergarten rhymes, Compiling a manual staying awake till 4 in the morning, presenting a case study without having known what the case was, Eating five plates of Biriyani and 3 glasses of Palada and driving all the way 12 in the night to a four star hotel near the cochin airport just to go to the restroom, the steam cake and fish curry at Akshaya, water guns and THE THRIKKOTTUR FAMILY. Damn, when I look back I feel I relived my school, my prayers were heard.

One intelligent guy once told me that you make friends and they depart and they depart so that you meet them again. I made new friends and we departed and now that we departed we would surely meet again, if not now might be later, but we will surely meet, because we together formed THE FALCONS, the royal birds those are never caged.

We,The People

Mr. X a priest in the temple was getting late for his duties, running out of time he got on to his T.V.S scooter and hurried. On the way he was stopped by the traffic police, to have a look at his license. It was then that he had realized he had forgotten it back home; the police man was about to tear the receipt of Rs.100, stuck in the run of time he offers the police Rs.50 because he felt Rs.100 was too much to lose early in the morning.

Mr. Y a student, who prayed five times a day, had surprise news that the next three days would be a holiday. He rushed to through the train ticketing counters just to realize that all the tickets were booked. Now that he had to travel in the general compartment with an open ticket, he chose to save on the ticket money and traveled ticket less back home. Any way the TTR would never enter the general compartment.
Ms. Z an engineer at a leading firm had great difficulties in getting into the job position she is now in. Not that she had to go through the various stages of the selection process, but that she really had to run behind her father to talk to his friend who was working in the HR department of the firm so that she would get selected over the candidates who had actually applied for the vacancy and probably more qualified than her.

Abc & Co, tax consultants were happy of earning Rs.5L from an individual client. Though not an easy task, they had to really bribe the registrar to change the purchase date of the asset that had earned their client huge tax amount including interest and once that the asset was made a long term one they successfully exempted their client of taxes.

These are not a newspaper clipping, things like these neither appear on the media, these are the things that happen in a common Indian’s daily life. Not just these but there are many more other simple events that happen in the daily life. So when a government elected by these common people prone to these simple forms of corruption comes into existence how can we blame the government alone to be corrupt. They are also a few among these common people. Just that the margin they save or earn at their level of office is much higher than a common man does.

We never count on the small things that we as Mr. X or Y or Ms. Z do rather we put the blame on others. We support the so called ‘Lok-Pal bill’ that would bring a committee to look for corruption among the ministers and The Prime Minister. But then again doesn’t this committee also have people of our country who could well again corrupt their hands when they get the power. Just like they say the most corrupt cell in the country is the anti-corruption department, what guarantee do we have that this committee so formed wouldn’t turn corrupt.

At this juncture where we are celebrating our nth year of independence and proclaim ourselves as proud Indians, let’s try and introspect how clean an Indian we are, and if we are not let’s try and improvise on that first, and then go about cleaning our politicians. Happy Independence Day.

T.R.K

Priorities in my life

I used to wake up hearing the noise that steel plates made in the kitchen, the wake up calls that the cocks sang; the Sanskrit news in ‘akaashvani’ radio and those sundry animals that marked their presence in the hood. Ammi used to push me to the front yard of my house and grandmother’s ‘kallu dosa’ was ready for breakfast, of which the first four were always reserved for me. While I ate them mixing it with tea and sugar, Ammi kept my ‘Madrasa’ kit ready.

I used to think of a time when I would stop going for the early morning Islamic classes and sleep like the elders at home. I used to be five then. Life was so simple, but for a five year old it was not that easy either, the tutor at the madrasa would ask to recite versus of The Holly Quran that had to be memorized; friends would make fun if Sourav Ganguly had been out cheaply in the previous day’s match and asking fifty paisa from Ammi for the candy at ‘ithiru thatha’s’ shop was a herculean task.

Times change so fast, I always wanted to grow old and start working when I joined school, although my thoughts on a professional career was not much of interest to people at home, since I wanted to be a peon at the school so that I could ring the last bell for home. Cricket in the rain and swimming in ponds in the farm filled the rest of the day.

When I was in eighth grade, I so wanted to be part of the school cricket team, which was the only thing I had prayed when I had gone for ‘Umrah’. A play station, a computer, a mobile phone, a laptop and these prayers never stopped till I finished my schooling. All of these had been top priority at some stages of life.
Now that I’ am twenty three and an exam away from the end of my student life, all those priorities I had in the past seem so funny. Not because I don’t value it any more, nor that I don’t have prayers for any other things in life; just that life was a lot easier then. If I had problem I could just sleep the night off and the next day those were solved. Now if there is a problem even sleep doesn’t come to the rescue.

I have just lived nearly a quarter of my life, when I go to bed now I have a lot to think. And those are not just for the next day, but about the things that are going to be part of my entire life from now on. The upcoming exams, choice of being an internal auditor or financial analyst, and most importantly about my family and the girl who waits on the other side hoping I would hold her hands some day.

And again now that it’s five in the morning and I was to get up had I been the same five year old kid, I have to sleep now that I have been awake the whole night. And when I go to sleep I so wish and pray these priorities of life that I have now just fall in place by the next time I open my eyes.