Of Missed Calls

Well, I had been attending too many meetings of late. I finish one, go for another, get back and am required somewhere else... there has been too much scurrying around. I put my mobile phone on the silent mode with the vibrator on, so that I would know when anyone called or sent a message. Back home too, I wouldn't bother to change the settings. But the problem lies elsewhere. My phone and myself aren't constant companions on off days.

Sunday evening I just chanced upon the phone beneath a pillow. I had forgotten totally about it, and I had no clue to how it got there. I had as many as 17 missed calls.

I am sorry, my buddies,who called me that day. I hope I have got back to all of you. This is a sincere message of apology to you all. I do appreciate your attachment with me.

To all those who keep their phones silent often, please keep your eyes on the instrument...

Loneliness

I hate being alone.

I have friends who live alone by choice. Some are compelled to. My landlady has chosen to be alone even at 75+.

Inspiration is the last thing that I can draw from them. I hate being alone. Perhaps I am too used to family life. Even one hour of solitude seems to kill me. I hate returning to an empty home after work. I hate unlocking rooms to find the mess I had left behind. I hate lazing alone. I look up to the work that has to be done, but cannot move a limb. I do not feel like cooking for myself either. Sleep deserts my eyes, and so does my love for reading. My zombie mind does not find peace in talking on phone either.

What to do?

2009

It had been an uneventful year, I wondered to myself, as the clock struck twelve on the night of 31st December. But, time seemed to have flied. When did the year begin, and where did it go?

I remember the sleepy exchange of new year greetings with a long lost friend early morning in January. My mother in law's determination to reach Delhi from Calcutta when her train had got cancelled. The sudden all-vegeterian menu on Rajdhani express, because of bird flu. What happened to those hens, I wonder. Things came back to square one after the initial scare. Similar was the fate of the panic created by swine flu. People would come outdoors with noses and mouths covered initially and then I guess, they just got bored of it. Some hospitals and medical set-ups had made some money, yes.

Our completely unplanned getaway to the hills was a big rejuvinator. So was our trip to Calcutta during Durga Pujas. Dad's angioplasty. Mom's diabetes and never-cured cold. My helplessness of being miles away.

Completion of my brother's PhD. Great moments for us who share and bask in his glory, when he joined MIT for his post-doc.

Newly made friends, old friends... Some great movies, nice songs... some pathetic ones as well..

Remember the Tata Nano massacre in West Bengal? I would, because its my state. And the whimsical mind behind all this became the rail minister... and is actually doing reasonably well. Barrack Obama got a Nobel Prize... the first black American president, and now a nobel laureate too. Wow, that brings to my mind Abhinav Bindra's bright face, holding up his Gold medal. A completely unknown face suddenly became a youth icon.

We have all faced effects of recession in varying degrees, rising prices, changing governments... but we have come out of the storm with our heads held high. Maybe we are struggling still, but I am sure, we shall all emerge winners.

There had been sudden shaky moments, moments of loss and pain. You have got to tell yourself, be convinced of it, that whatever has happened is actually for the best.

I have carried fond memories across that retrospective minute... have you?

6 Hours and 40 minutes

Six hours of journey time.

40 minutes of looking around.

Lots of money spent.

Obviously, doesnt make any sense! But thats what we did this Saturday.

After a super-busy phase, it was a whimsical choice to relax in Yamuna Bio-Diversity Park. From where did it crop up in our minds, I have no clue. And no clue as to how to reach the spot. There were three of us, so we chose to avail of public transport... just for the sake of it. Do not form the impression that Delhi's public transport system is very exciting... well, it is, but in the wrong sense.

Friday evening, I just spotted the place on Google Maps... road links were not clear enough, but what we could judge was that if we could reach Jahangirpuri Metro Station in North Delhi, we would be reasonably close. And so next morning, three of us jumped in a bus and went to Central Secretariat, the nearest Metro Station, which is a cool 15 km away. Even on a Saturday morning, congestion was immense, and the journey cost us about 1 hr and 15 minutes. And our destination was at the other end of the Metro route. By the time we emerged out of the mostly underground track, we were already exasperated from travelling. And difficulty had just begun.

No one who we chose to ask had even heard about Yamuna Bio Diversity Park. We enquired for spots around as we had seen on the map, and got confused more and more. One seemed to be in a direction diametrically opposite from the other. Finally, we chose a direction which appeared feasible to all of us. We boarded a cycle rickshaw and reached a bus stop on the Karnal Byepass. The backdrop of a sanitary landfill site with its strong smell appeared to excite the landscape architect in my husband and the urban designer in our friend, as they started taking photographs enthusiastically. I took the initiative and requested an inter-state bus to drop us a few kilometres ahead to our next intermediate destination. We had to walk 500 m down to get into a crowded RTV, another point-to-point public transport service. The vertical height of the vehicle was so small that I could barely stand upright, just imagine the condition of the other two with me... both of whom are much taller than me.

Sant Nagar extension was the spot where we chose to have a bite, as it was already three in the afternoon. We started with the approach of a quick refill, but so hungry and thirsty we were, that we hogged like pigs. Let us at least do one thing properly, seemed to be our approach.

Post lunch, we checked out the park on the internet once again. We made further inquiries from the local people, policemen on duty and finally, an auto driver seemed to know what we were talking about. Infact, he took us fairly close. Just a few more directions obtained from the street hawkers, patrolling policemen, local people relaxing in the winter sun and we were finally there... at the gates of Yamuna Bio Diversity Park. The auto driver was, however, very confused. "What is so interesting in a jungle?", he asked, when we told him where we had come from.

The guard on duty came up to us. It was evident from the bewildered look on his face that he wasn't used to get visitors. And before we could actually react, he said what we were dreading: the park wasn't open to general public. Oops!

Blessed with sudden visitors, the guard took pity on us. He mumbled something about permission being available for students... we jumped on those words almost, as my husband drew out his student ID promptly. We called the Scientist in Charge, on a number provided by the guard and obtained access. It was five in the evening. Time in hand was short. A worker took us around a small portion of the 157 acre park as a short overview. He showed us an artificial lake, which did not appear man made at all. Migratory birds were everywhere... on the trees of the central island, on the bordering plantation and in the water. A band flew in, looking stunning on the background of the evening sky. Our guide took us next to the small museum wherein we saw how barren the land had been, and documentation of the wide variety of flora and fauna one could see now. Snake skins, scorpions and dangerous looking insects were on display too.

Getting back proved comparatively easier. We got a rickshaw to the main ring road wherein we got into a bus to take us to Kashmere Gate Bus terminal. We seated ourselves in a bus that would take us straight to home. So tired were we that we did not seem to mind the long journey at all. Instead we caught small naps.

One year through

One year past a fateful day when I was amidst a bomb blast, I am alive and kicking. Phew!

A Misty Trip

A long weekend was gleaming at us from the calendar… we were itching for a break. Things started falling in place all of a sudden. My salary was credited on 11th, I booked tickets on the 12th and 13th we were off, late at night, after a complete working day. We witnessed rush due to the long weekend, but perhaps it was a bit toned down due to the panic created by swine flu epidemic.
Early morning, I woke up to see some beautiful buildings of Chandigarh and Mohali. We got dropped off at Kangra. Debating among ourselves about the next course of action, we evaluated our options. Our eyes were on the metre gauge train journey to Palampur, but we were unsure about the train timings. Again, although the railway station was only 4 km away, the auto drivers were not quite willing to go. Dharamsala was definitely closer, so we decided to have a quick lunch, explore Kangra and move on to Dharamsala. Kangra temple would be a devotee’s delight with its bells and a campus strewn with deities. Kangra Fort, built by the Katoch kings, was awesome. With very few tourists, it was a delight to go around the fort, listening to the Audio Guide [this is the latest innovation] at our leisure, clicking pictures at a freedom allowed by digicams. Back to the bus station, we just hopped in a bus to Dharamsala, about 40 km away. Note that we hadn’t bathed till then. So a shower each we took at the hotel and went out for a walk. Discovered that the vegetarian items tasted better than their non vegetarian counterparts. Next morning, we woke in a cool mist, to see clouds resting lazily on the range in front. We were informed that there was nothing to do in the small town from a tourists’ point of view, and all attractions were in Mcleodganj, 10 km away. The holy Dalai Lama hails from there. I was surprised to see a small monastery claiming to have been the home to the Nobel Laureate. Daal Lake was under renovation, and our next mission was the Bhagsunag Waterfalls. The 3 km long walk was perhaps the best decision we had taken, because the only driveable roadway was hopelessly clogged up with two-way traffic. We meandered through cars, autos, two wheelers, cycles and trekked our way over rocks and steps in the second half of the route to reach the waterfalls, and wade our feet in the water. There were people in the plunge pool, although the water was extremely cold and had force latent in it. The way down would have been adventurous enough, but enough is not a word in the dictionary of either my husband or brother in law. So down the rocks we chose to climb down, through the waterfall. It was exciting, but definitely scary. I slipped a couple of times, hurt my knee, wetted my shoes… but enjoyed it all the same. It had started to rain, but we returned victorious and walked upto a church on the way back. The rain was picking up, drenching us. We had come far from the traffic jam, and it seemed the buses had evaporated completely. Eventually, however, a bus arrived and dropped us back to Dharamsala, amidst heavy rain. We had a quick lunch, settled our hotel dues and started for Palampur. The journey was picturesque, amidst clouds. Palampur turned out to be a small hill town, a photographer’s delight, a pedestrian’s dream, and devoid of the tourist attraction as we had feared. There aren’t many hotels, and we got decent rooms, too. We walked up to the market street, munched on the way, made enquiries typical to tourists and sunk into deep slumber after a sumptuous lunch. Next morning, we woke up early and went walking downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill and downhill. The weather was cool; everything was so serene that we didn’t realize the distance we covered. We crossed a tea factory on the way. On the way back, we were met by groups of monkeys who didn’t pay us any heed at all. After breakfast, we caught a local bus to take us to Baijnath temple, about 16 km from Palampur. The temple was beautiful, more so because of the rivulet flowing far below. There were about 200 steps and our enthusiasm was such that we climbed down the entire set to reach the water. The climb up was tough, and we were panting when we re-entered the temple complex. It was built in Orissan architectural style. We returned hurriedly to the town to visit Neugelkhad, a site where the cliff is plumb vertical and a rivulet flows far below. We were horrified to find that the edges were not rock solid, and would give in under our weights if we weren’t careful. And if you slip, you would fall straight on the rocks along the edge. Nothing can obstruct your fall midway. The mountains on the otherside weren’t that steep, however and we could see lush green stretches.
Time in hand was running out fast, so we wrapped up hurriedly. We shot back to the hotel, had a heavy lunch and started on our journey back to Delhi. The bus took us downhill along the path we had walked in the morning and further. It was dark and raining, but I could not sleep. The roads were wet, and muddy, and the bus was skidding. Everytime the headlights of the bus swept over the steep edge, my heart would jump. The road was narrow and the bus did seem to go too much towards the edge to allow traffic from the opposite side. Sometimes, amidst vegetation, my eyes caught an occasional built structure. I could sleep only after we were safely off the hills. More drama came our way when our bus was stopped due to agitation at Una, a town at the foothills. We were lucky that the trouble got sorted out within two hours. Further ahead, another half an hour was lost in lending the spare tyre [stepny] to a bus stuck up due to a puncture. I woke up on the borders of Delhi. As if death needed to sign the conclusion, I witnessed recovery activities at a spot where an accident had happened between a car and a milk van, killing three people right there.

Singh is King

A mid-day wedding: a Sardar's.

Venue: A banquet hall located almost at the other end of the city.

Date: A bright, sunny Sunday.

I chose to go with the office crowd, because the groom is a colleague unknown to my family. And a pack of girls pooling in is actually fun, giggling and gossipping. The distance did not seem to be a problem at all. Inside the venue, the number of guests tends to startle you, but we could locate a familiar face at the far end of the hall. He was looking quite nice, dressed in white and a red turban.. our young Sardar was looking like a prince, holding a sword. "Its real", he told me later.

Within minutes of our arrival, the fellow was carted off by the relatives to the Gurudwara for the "actual" wedding, leaving us at the mercy of the DJ. I stayed away from the dance floor a bit, sipping a refreshing glass of juice, watching the people around. There were people from all age groups. Most dont bother to dress up much... sober, simple, presentable but they could be just anywhere. I owe apologies to the men for not noticing them much. All Sardar men appear alike in a crowd, with their turbans, tall(ish) structures and facial hair. Its only three breeds: Elderly, Middle Aged and Young Sardars. And the women, just in case they choose to dress up, they surely know how to go overboard! And its mostly Salwar-kameez.... they would look at me questioningly, "Saree?" and answer themselves, "Of course, you are not a Sardarni".

But its the DJ who stole the show. He had perhaps taken it upon himself to underline the fact that it was a Sardar wedding. One song would be a Bollywood dance number, followed by a couple of completely unheard of Punjabi songs and then would come, "Singh is King", a song extremely popular among Sardars just because of these three words. And even the children enjoy it... their heads would start nodding everytime the speakers announce "Singh is King"...

Noticed!

Something went wrong this morning.. I was off schedule by three minutes. The morning chores before going to office form a system, and a little alteration can create a mess. I almost missed my bus. I got my husband to drive me down, chasing the bus.. we overtook it, stopped it and got in. It was full. But I got beaming smiles from 90% of those on board: "Oh, there you are!" were the unsaid words.

I never realized people notice me so much. I am reasonably regular on the bus, miss it every few days... and even if I do catch it, I sink into those low but tall seats...reading, or even sleeping!!! I travel almost terminus to terminus, but I am not very noticeable, I thought. I dont fight, dont talk in a loud voice, dont gossip... I am in my own world in that one hour journey, often lost in my day dreams. But other people do notice me. Feels good.

Life Guard

The signal is red. A stream of pedestrians are crossing the road. I try hard to join in, making use of my long legs. I was perhaps the last one in the group. Three fourth down the road, the signal turns green. The ignitions were on, the accelerators are pressed. I, and a few others, were trying to negotiate through. It was then it happened. He jumped. From where, I have no clue. It seemed as if Spiderman had accidentally lost his grip. And he was right in front of a Blueline bus, the kind which is famous for being killer. Call it reflex if you will. Because, honestly, there was no time to appraise the situation and take action. I just realized I was holding his shirt around the belt line. Luckily the man was of thin build, so I could hold him back. Question in my eyes, I helped him reach the other side. My outburst was curbed by a smile. No words, excuses, explanations. He just walked away.

January 2009

What a month this has been! All amidst a very stereotype time bound work-home-work cycle. The 1st day heralds a new year and you are supposed to be in festive mood. But the economic recession cut it all out...scaled it by a tremendous fraction, but thats ok. Late that night, a sudden new year wish from a long lost friend. Lifts all your spirits as you reply sleepily. We had fought when we had last communicated, but that was all forgotten. 5 years is long. Happy, you take on the month ahead. My ma in law was supposed to come, all that went haywire [refer previous blog]... you are drained out emotionally...suddenly comes a site visit all out of the blue. Dead early on a foggy morning we head for a small town in Himachal Pradesh... tasty food,but pathetic road surfaces. The meeting gets prolonged, we start late. Get caught in traffic jams behind many trucks... get mixed up in some unrest by villagers because two calves had got run down. Then comes the phone call. Its my friend who never calls me unless there is any need. Maybe STD is not for catching up, unless you are the fiance. That day he chooses to chit chat. Then comes a call from another friend in Delhi whom I had promised to meet. The next call was from my inlaws.. "What! You are out at this hour of the day?" No point trying to explain to people at least 1500 km away. 2 o' cock in the morning, I am home. While compiling the success story of the trip, I get documents from site, with all information mixed up. Set that right, send it across. On a Sunday I had carefully preserved for myself, an elderly relative surfaces... you cannot say, "I want to sleep". So I drag myself over... participate in the cooking and consume vegetarian food [very tasty, although] while my better half enjoyed the chicken curry I had made. I met my friend, got enriched with the benefits of yoga. A sudden phone call from a school friend who was in town for some official work. He wants to meet up... I agree. We had studied two years together way back in 1994-95-96 and then seperated. And has he changed! Although he claimed I haven't, I beg to differ. A mail arrives from the college alumni... its the annual magazine with an interesting, but difficult theme. Makes you wonder, "One year is gone?". I try hard, request for extra time, but can manage only 500 words without being too elaborate. The school alumni chose to get active too, the planning for the reunion in Delhi is on. I really am not sure whether to look forward to it or not. A senior friend, who seemed to be in a cosy job, suddenly lost it. Shook me. I get a great job offer, but am confused. I said yes, but was contemplating. It seemed I was tailormade for the purpose, still. Suddenly things did not materialize. I was kind of spared the trouble, but am still wondering which situation would have been better. I have to go home all of a sudden. I had refused, but no one is interested. So I go. Touch, smile and come back. But met lots and lots of people. Thats very important. Cousins who are abroad, or any other city in India... cousins who are there in Calcutta. All relatives who could make it to the gathering. Granny. Mom and Dad. Pop in law. The next generation. Numerous phone calls. Great food. The work pressure chose to rise simultaneously.. so I carry an AutoCAD cd among my luggage. Work at night. Sleep less. But I have loads of homemade stuff with me now that I am back, so I end the month on a happy note.

Drama Galore

My mom in law had chosen to come over to our place in Delhi all the way from Calcutta for about ten days. Contrary to popular ideas, the arrival of Ma in Law is not a terror for me at all. I just hand over the kitchen to her and live my life happily... enjoy the cup of tea accompanied by an unending supply of tasty and innovative snacks when I return from work, the suddenly multi-item dinner, the morning tea as refreshing as it can be and the very nutritous breakfast. The house would be clean, things would be in order...

This time, however, God chose to intervene. He knew I was looking forward to my days of freedom from housework. Some stupid accident had to take place in Kanpur on the 5th only, causing all trains, including the Rajdhani Express, to be cancelled. But would I take it sportingly? Neither would she. Back home she went, but made arrangements for booking another ticket for the 6th. Got me stuck on the railway booking site as well. I managed a tatkal reservation on the 8th, called to inform her, only to be told that my efforts have been a waste; her travel agent had got her confirmed tickets for the 6th itself. Dejected, I cancelled the reservations I had made minutes ago. Forget the financial loss I incurred.

Destiny rules. The train on the 6th got cancelled as well. As the news reached me, I felt dumbfounded...

But my lady is not the tigress of her home alone. Once she has decided to reach Delhi, reach she must. And my my, is she influential? She made arrangements to reach Agra... how were bookings made, I have no idea. All I know that she is coming. And somebody has to receive her in Agra and get her back to Delhi, bag and baggage. The drama continues...

Irrepairable Loss

[Names of characters have been changed, for privacy purposes. Incidents are authentic, however]

February 6, 2006: early morning. I was in some train, going to Bhubaneshwar, where I was posted. An unkind beep of a message that had managed to reach me inspite of the feeble network woke me. Its contents were far more powerful, shook all lethargy out of me. I tried to jump up, and banged my head on the berth above me. You cannot sit upright in a middle berth in Indian trains, you know. "Ryan's mother is no more" ... the words were revolving in my mind, trying hard to sink in. Ryan's face kept flashing, his sharp features, his so cruelly handsome smile... the sense of loss seemed to get on me too. It seemed as if I had lost my own mother. What would I do without her? Where would I go? The emptiness was unbearable and I felt like jumping out of the window. I had never met his mother, but I am sure she was very pretty, given Ryan's looks. And was she an awesome cook? Needless to say, like all mothers of friends, she was. Ryan's Dad was dead too, way back in 1986... I felt helpless, cause I was more than 1700 km away from my friend.

November 18, 2008... maybe around 12 noon. I had just mailed some information to a consultant, and had logged on to the googlegroups created for our classmates to do some catching up with friends. Actually I had to send across a birthday wish. There was an unread mail... its subject line made my head reel. "Sad demise of my father.." from Rahul. Forgotten were my intentions to write a birthday mail. I sat there, staring at the mail. Our college days zoomed in and out... Rahul as the constant source of comedy.. so chivalrous that he would go sweaterless on a bitterly cold day for any girl. Rahul, such a genius he was with the computer..with him at the terminal, you would better not attempt to follow what is happening. Incidentally, he was the creator of the googlegroup I was viewing. Rahul's father was an architect like him, that's all we knew about the man.

The pagdi ceremony was the next day, the mail requested us to attend it. I chose to go, although I was not conversent with Noida. I was at least nearby, a voice inside convinced me. Weekday, workload, lots to commitments at home... nothing seemed important enough. I called up a couple of batchmates in Delhi, worked out a plan schematically, told my boss and tried to concentrate. I could not... felt the way I had done, about two years back in that train. I have known deeper versions of pain, loss of family and friends, but everytime, the emptiness gets on me. Rahul was in Bangalore, he must have come down. I was not particularly close to him, but since I was in the same city, I had to stand by his side during trying times....

Next day, I did manage to reach the venue all by myself. Religious dealings are no way part of my cup of tea, but I could somehow connect with the not-so-old man, whose life was claimed by a cardiac arrest. He seemed to apprecaite my presence.

Another friend had come over too. We returned together, chatting like school kids. But all the way, I thought about Rahul. He was very composed... but I could identify with his irrepairable loss... a gap that could perhaps not be filled again.

Smart God

I am an atheist to the core normally. But in times of crisis, I tend to become weak. So I made a deal with God... You give me this for once, and I give up sweets. It is a big thing I had asked for, and what I offered in barter was equally big a step for me. God, given the apostle of kindness that He is, partially granted my wish... arranged circumstances so that things are set favourably.

Obviously I didnt do the needful. Thought I, "Now that things are set, the rest would happen automatically..." And of course, nothing is happening my way.

God is smarter than I thought.

Tagged

Who tagged me?

Ms. Sushmita Saha, nee Sarkar

If your lover betrayed you, what will your first thought be?

If you are happy without me, its fine. Never mind what happens to me.

If you can have a dream coming true, what would it be?

A world tour.

What is the one thing most hated by you?

Dishonesty

What would you do with a billion dollars?

Use it for my world tour. Save the remainder [if any] for rainy days.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?

The person you are in love with is your best friend, in his own right.

Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Loving someone....

How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?

Lifelong... maybe in future lives as well. Love never dies...

If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?

Wish him all the best. Bask in his happiness.

If you like to act with someone, who will it be? Your gf/bf or an actress/actor?

No acting for me, sorry. Otherwise, it would be the man of my dreams in every step I take.

What takes you down the fastest?

Orthodox nature.

How would you see yourself in ten years time?

Bad question.

What's your fear?

Death. Not mine, but of my loved ones. I cannot bear the idea of losing anyone.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

She is different.

Would you rather be single and rich, or married but poor?

I need more combinations before I choose. I need to be with "him", married or not.

What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Yawn.

Would you give all in a relationship?

Yes

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously, who would you pick?

Firstly, I believe you can be in true love with only one person. Love is so immensely pure an emotion that you can feel it for only one person in a lifetime.

On second thoughts, is there a need to pick?

Would you forgive and forget no matter how horrible a thing that special someone has done?

Not forget, neither forgive. I would believe there must have been a reason why he did whatever he did. [I may not be aware of them: its better than lame excuses.] No grudges.

If you get to go back in time and fall in love all over again , would it still be with the same person?

Yes.

List 6 people to tag

No, I wont list. Anyone is free to take this questionnaire.

Witness

A triplet of fiery eyes greet you the moment you look up at the hoarding at a distance. "I too am watching"... what are you watching, Ma? Definitely not Zee News, as claimed by the advertisement.

You witness my homecoming but do not even attempt to lower the ordeal of returning. Instead, you make me yearn for a neverending holiday at home... I need to be home, my house needs me, my parents, relatives, friends need me.

Narrow shave

I hate working on Saturdays. My apathy begins right in the morning when my husband and brother in law give me sleepy looks...but I have no excuse. I have to work 6 full days a week, whether I like it or not. And all kinds of work load on to your shoulders on Saturdays as there is no "tomorrow morning" to put it off. 13th September was one of the rare Saturdays I had winded off things within good time. 6:15 in the evening, my sole goal in life was to get back. Things were as normal as they could have been. While I was crossing the road, I casually overheard the traffic policeman... he was commenting to a passerby, "Wonder why outside traffic is being allowed to enter Connaught Place, now that there have been blasts in Karol Bagh..." [Karol Bagh is quite close to Connaught Place, where my present office is located.] My ears prick up.."Blasts?" And the answer came straightaway. The sound was louder than anything I can think off. Deafening is too less said. It just robs you off your senses. As the black smoke rose higher, chaos reigned supreme. People running everywhere, directionless. The traffic had come to a standstill. The police somehow herded people to one side, urging us not to panic. "Go back where you came from, please take refuge" was the plea. I was perhaps in the innermost layer of the crowd, right against a building. I felt like sitting down. Somebody dragged at my arm.. it was a familiar face, although I dont know the name of the person. He is in my office, works in another department. He literally dragged me back to office. "You cannot move out," he told me. I knew there was no point arguing.

Back in office. Most of us who had ventured out were back. Ringing phones. Spreading rumours. Panic. Insecurity. Amidst the mess, some of the cool headed persons trying to work. Deadlines do not get altered because of bomb blasts. Some resorted to television for details, some to the internet. We huddled around someone who had put on an online television channel. I could perhaps fathom what I had just escaped. It was a crisis situation and something brought us together as we waited for time to pass. Someone was trying to crack some joke to break the subdued tension, but to no effect.

We contacted people who had not returned. Especially our draughtsman, Manoj. 6:15 he too had left and 6:20 the bomb had gone off. He was not answering his phone, neither were people at his home taking the trouble when we tried the residence number. The tension was showing on all our faces, words failed us.. but we were not prepared to give in, we kept trying.

Slowly, we decided to get back home. People clubbed together, so that nobody had to go alone. Especially the people who normally commute by the metro. Metro was discontinued ... neither was anybody eager to venture in. Finally, we were all home. Till late at night, I received calls, messages, people whom I never expected to look for me took the trouble to try incessantly to get through to me. Yes, Manoj was also located finally. All friends, relatives, acquaintances, all seemed to be reasonably safe. It was an experience of a lifetime..

Plans do flop

"Plan something for the weekend" was the buzz at home ever since we realized we have got 3 consecutive holidays coming up!! "Palampur!".. Palampur is finalized. The follow up action was my baby entirely all because my office is on the Metro Route and it is convenient only for me. So I did the needful, checked out bus timings, made bookings...all set. Our homework was done, as in we had made inquiries, collected information available on the web, planned the budget and all that. The two students at home met their academic commitments, we consumed all supplies at home [so that nothing is wasted], put the maid on unexpected leave, forbade everyone who might need to contact us in the weekend, packed whatever that needed to be packed. 14th had arrived.

I was supposed to reach the bus terminus from office availing of the metro. It being the eve of Independence Day [August 15], I was greeted with a massive queue for a thorough check. You cannot complain because although a formality, it is a matter of national security. The stopwatch has started. Time's running out. My security check is over, albeit brushily. I transform to Carl Lewis, draw out my smart card on the run, punch it and rush to the platform to a lower level and get into the train in the correct direction, just about to depart. Four stations, I am where I needed to be. I am conversent with the station building by now, so I know exactly which gate to head for. I am out. I am at the bus terminus. Its raining.

Yikes! The top level is closed, due to some repair work, security reasons, etc. I get down to the lower level in utter chaos. No signage to guide you through. No "Enquiry" counter. Nobody knows, or is willing to, help you. I chose to wade through the water to reach some end wherein I could locate the counter from which bookings were being made for buses destined to Himachal Pradesh. All I needed to know was the location of the bay from where I could board the bus. The people at the counter were just unreachable, engulfed by layers of hopeful travellers. I drew myself out from the middle of the crowd and chose to ask the bus drivers. It was much easier, I tell you. I located the bus.

Next thing to do would be to call up my co-passengers, my husband and brother in law. You have got to find them, dont you? " We aren't reaching" was the information broadcasted through my cell phone. I couldnt make out much, except for the fact that I needed to cancel the tickets. I took one last chance with the driver, asked him to wait for 10 minutes. Never have I been written off so ruthlessly by anyone, the way the driver "pooh-pooh"-ed me.

I needed to cancel my tickets. I daren't even attempt to sell my tickets like a blacker in a movie theatre, because there were policemen on the prowl. I didnt need to be in the lockup atop this mess. I tried to take a plunge in the crowd, but nobody was willing to let anybody inside, man or woman. 10 minutes, the bus if off. No cancellation, no refund. Somebody asked me to try from the backside of the counter, which was equally crowded. Luckily for me, some representative of the Himachal Road Transport Corporation was making way for himself in order to get inside the enclosure. I followed his path and gained a position near the grill. 9 minutes. I hold out the booking slip and scream, "Please cancel my tickets, let someone else go". No body is even willing to turn. 8 minutes. One of the lot suddenly takes the paper out my hand, checks it and asks, " Why are you not going? Dont worry, these buses dont leave on time." And coolly returns the tickets to me. "I dont want to go", I try to tell him, but who is listening? 7 minutes. A man next to me gets friendly all of a sudden and asks, "Why are you trying to cancel your booking? Sell it to someone.." I give him a mighty scary scowl and mutter, "Where would I get three people willing to go to Palampur?" A young boy, spectacles and a black T-shirt, was trying to communicate something to me from the correct side of the counter. I hold up 3 fingers; the glow on his face subsides. 6 minutes. Suddenly the previous man beckons him to our side. He asks me to handover the ticket. I become extra careful. "Got three people?", I ask. On a positive reply, I take up the authoritative role, "Collect the money and hand it to me... otherwise no ticket." 5 minutes. The boy in black, yet to believe his luck, asks, "Which bus?" I point out frantically at the bus whose driver I had spoken to just a while ago, "Thats the one". 4 minutes, I am asked to get the number of the bus written on the ticket. Although unwilling, I realized I was still in the front row of the crowd. So I called out to the man at the counter again. 3 minutes to go and there was a confused look on the man's face. He must be wondering what was wrong with me. However, since too many hands were dangling all around him, he decided against investigating and jotted the number for me. 2 minutes to go, but the job was done. It took just 10 seconds for the money and tickets to change hands. I guided them to the bus and pulled myself aside. Jittery, wet, tired. Called my husband and informed him. No financial loss. But complete draining out of energy.

I needed to get out. They were coming. I need to reach the rendezvous. Getting out was a tough task. I followed few people up a staircase. I knew the upper level was closed, but hoped to find a way out. You cannot imagine the mess up there. It was dimly lit, scarcely populated and there was water everywhere. The ceiling was pouring in incessantly at some points. I dodged some, some I couldn't. I had lost complete orientation of myself in the building. Looking out, I could see nothing but rain. There were some bookshops which kept my hope of finding a way out going inside me... but however hard I tried, I kept ending up in barricades, dead ends. Ultimately, I found another staircase to the lower level and somehow got out of the complex to a familiar area. I walked to the point where my partners-in-travel were expected, ignoring the rain, puddles.. I was just drained out of all energy. I shoved my watch and my cell phone inside my handbag and sat on the edge of a wall, waiting. The lashing of the rain varied as I sat watching people hustle by, some carrying luggage, some dragging children, some glued to their cell phones ...

August 15 is a day you cannot move in Delhi. We were planning a one day trip to Chandigarh to make full utilisation of the Saturday. But along with the incessant rain, my brother in law played a spoilsport... he was not interested in buildings, road patterns... so there we were, in Delhi.. but there is a silver lining to everything, our house needed us.. we did a lot of homely work, which was long necessary.

A moment

It was raining.... very hard. Three o' clock in the afternoon, but the sky was the darkest shade of grey. I was walking along the colonnade of Connaught Place. NDMC, or some agency, at some time, had installed loudspeakers somewhere near the ceiling, which are generally used for advertising, public addresses, etc. Yesterday, someone was playing some lovely music, apt with the weather. "Garaj baras sawan....."......What ambience!

Allegations

Where are you? My friend, born on this day... I remember and miss you so much... in our short spanned acquaintance, I knew you very little but you knew me inside out! You could read my mind well before I realized it myself. My friend, you cared for me so much and it was in your smile I found supreme confidence and support.. I wonder where you are... so far that our technology cannot reach you... yet our souls connect. You can see everything, can't u? Dont you know what I am going through? Can you not set things right for me, the way you wanted them to be?

Happy birthday, my dear friend. I'll always remember this day.

Rain Girl

Born in the month of July, I have always been in love with the monsoons. The clouds turn me on, the chilly wind pulls me outdoors, lightning brightens up my face and the rains make my heart dance up with joy. Most people romanticise in spring, but I become poetic in monsoons.