SANSKAAR OR SON’S CAR

The serenity of the sea represented the countenance of a child, only to be perturbed by an occasional spur of waves. The sun melted down in its infinite vastness only to be raised again in its full vigour the next morning. Such was the angelic view from the balcony of Mr. Ved’s residence at Marine Drive in downtown Mumbai. His building was one of the privileged one’s whose lighting was a part of the prestigious Queen’s Necklace. Mr. Ved was a successful businessman and a devout householder. He lived a happy life with his wife Gita and son Kewal. They were blessed with every material comfort that can be wished for.

A day at Mr. Ved’s residence began in sharp contrast to the divinity outside his balcony. Even today, the house was already bursting with Mumbai energy. Gangu Bai (Bai is a colloquially used term used to refer to house maids) had just arrived and it was work at full swing. Such maids become the most sought after persons in very well to do families like these. Gangu Bai didn’t live far way. She was just a bridge crossing away in a small chawl ( A chawl is a system of residence peculiar to the Girgaon region of South Mumbai wherein many small rooms are arranged in parallel lines each accommodating a family. Some of these exist even today). Such sharp differences have long been a feature of many a city.

However, there was a marked discomfort over her face today and ought to be. She had requested for a Rs.100 increase in her salary in order to meet the increased expenses of her son’s education who had recently graduated to class 8. This request had met with a lot of reluctance and resistance from Mr. Ved’s family. It had also turned into a heated argument between the employer and the employed. Just as this was happening the other day, an enthusiastic Kewal broke in with his emphatic result of his board exams. He had secured 76% in the recently concluded 12^th Std. Examinations and was on his way to joining St. Peterson’s College, one of the cities most plush college. The first thing he did on reiterating his result was to remind his parents of the car they had promised him in return for his good result. The Gangu Bai plea was soon forgotten and joy set in the family. Mr. Ved even called up the dealer for delivering the car they had chosen long back. The education of Gangu Bai’s son’s seemed to be dipping down now as the drowning sun!!!

Though the characters in the above incident were fictitious, we know that such cases are innumerable in real life. The Rs.100 which would have given the light of education in the life a poor woman's son was not relevant but the happiness of their son in receiving the car worth lakhs was. This story has been written with some imaginative skill and some harsh real life experiences. We as a society need to start thinking of this widening divide in our country. Education is the shortest bridge between the two and needs no more explanations. It’s time when people like Mr. Ved realize their social responsibilities and the power bestowed in them to make small differences which could add to a big impact. It’s time we start thinking, what is important “SANSKAAR” or “SON’S CAR”

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Chetan Bhadricha
This story has been written after inspiration from the book, “Maanni Vaat”, by Sonal Modi which is the Gujarati translation of “Wise and Otherwise” by Sudha Murti. Though I may not be as good as them in writing on such topics, I hope the message has been conveyed.

FIGHTING IT OUT ….

(This is my final post in the series of posts for travel in Mumbai local train. This is a sequel to my previous two posts given below. Read them first to get the real gist of it.)

By now the coveted 4^th seat owner has woken up from his self-imposed meditative state as indicated by his countenance. What ruptures this "Samadhi" is the worldly thought of his reaching the office and his destination soon arriving. This sixth sense alarm surpasses by far the best of quantum clocks in its precision. He gets up early with the hope of out-witting his fellow station contemporaries, competing with him like the flows of Ganga and Brahmaputra for the Bay of Bengal. But a look at the narrow exit is enough to break his delusions. So what was once "Optimism Personified" trying to get a seat is now for a moment "Disheartenment Restructured".

With hopes dim, yet the will of a Karma yogi, he sets off towards the exit for which there is no paths left to tread on. A path search through this dense clutter demands the strength of Bhima, the accuracy of Arjuna and the treachery of Shankuni. Did I ask too much from a single being? But the Mumbaikar does it everyday. What really calls for a pity here, however, is the futility of preventive actions taken by the office-goers to protect their polished shoes from this mini stampede.

Our battle-hardened traveller somehow does manage to align himself with the mouth of the exit again remembering the sugarcane crush, the agony of which is escalating with every passing inch. As the destination draws near, the compression due to the pressures acting on him from all sides starts squeezing out even the last iota of fat from him. This is probably the reason why most Mumbaikars do not need to follow a strict fitness regime. What really deserves a word of praise here is the steely determination of the people leaning out of the train, preventing thIS human volcano from erupting prematurely.

However, as the train finally nears the halt, the determination gives vent and the human volcano erupts with shouts as loud as the human ear will ever hear. This tumultuous flow shows no mercy to any ignorant dreamer in its path trying to obstruct it. He has no option but to involuntary accept the fate dictated to him. Mr. Feynman would surely love to use this as his explanation for Newton's First Law, "You remain at rest or in uniform motion at the mercy of the force acting."

With just out of the train, for a moment he does think about the uselessness of ironing his clothes and polishing his shoes every morning. However, the time is too short to permit him any further introspection. It's time to catch a rickshaw or bus to reach the office though exhausted and with a hope to relax a bit…So begins the day !!!


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Chetan Bhadricha

Kabhi na rukti, Chalti jaati ,
Yeh Bharat ki shaan ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Yeh hai Mumbai ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Meri Jaan

ON THE WAY ......
(This is a sequel to my previous post. For people who havent read my first post do read it to get the real gist of it. My first post is below this one.)

If any biologist wishes to see a working example of Darwin's Theory of, "Survival of the Fittest", then Mumbai local train is the place to be. After our daily athlete has just run a momentous sprint and completed it with a daredevil plunge into the train, the next thing is to possibly get through the dense crowd cluttered at the entrance like the atoms of a solid. Every Mumbaite knows that the struggle required for this achievement is analogous to that of an electric current flowing through glass. Having overcome this infinite resistance, he then rotates his neck 180 degrees in both directions like an owl in search of any possible seating. A sure to fail case and optimism personified !!! The owl may, however, miss an ocassional prey due to oversight, but the discerning Mumbai eye ceases to miss the available 4th person accomadation on a 3 person seat only to find it at the inaccessible corner of the compartment.

It won't be an exaggeration if I say that people who have not travelled by this lifeline of Mumbai, haven't seen Mumbai. Mumbai lives in its trains. Coming back to the journey, the "lucky" one who wishes to occupy the coveted 4th seat, need not say anything, but just the eye contact or an ocassional sway of the hand is enough to get the human compression in place to accomadate him. Where else on earth do you find such an effective application of non-verbal communication. Mrs. Srinivas, I think you need to take a look. (My friends from VJTI should get the last line).

Just as all this is happening, the depressed soul realises that his dreams of an hour and half of sleep in the train which would have provided him with some much needed relief from his late night movie hangover have been shattered. He is left to contend with space enough to ground one foot, his body crushed like a sugarcane between the drums of a sugarcane juice machine and his lone eye with visibility left, amidst the dense human clutter jealously watching the Kumbhakaran (a demon from the religious book Ramayana of Hindus who would continuously sleep for months on end) on the window seat.

By the time he has graduated from the crushed sugarcane to the prized possessor of the 4th seat, its already time to bid adieu and embark on a new expedition - the act of alighting the train ..... Well, I will leave it for the next blog ... keep reading.

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Chetan Bhadricha

Kabhi na rukti, Chalti jaati ,
Yeh Bharat ki shaan ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Yeh hai Mumbai ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Meri Jaan

GETTING ON BOARD ....

As usual, the day begins with a hasty walk to the railway station with one eye constantly affixed on the watch and the other ocassionally looking along the road. Years of diligent trodding along the same pavements have made me master the meandering moves making it unnecessary to constantly watch the route. The other eye, however, acts as a control signal to the brain that adjusts my near to running speed so as not to miss the 7:59 am local train. This is extremely important so as to avoid the next hour and half of sleep from being impreganted with thoughts of possible explanations for being late. The perennial reason of the train being late by now has far outlived its validity.

Einstein said there are just 12 people on earth who understand relativity. Mr. Einstein, I think the assertion was immature and showed the lack of foresight. Lakhs of Mumbaikars understand and experience relativity everyday wherein the clock seems to tick faster as the 7:59 deadline approaches. The legs keep accelerating with every passing tick but are still intelligent enough to conserve energy for the final stroke, the sprint to catch the train. I assure you that every Mumbaite can give even the Olympic Gold Medal winners a run for their money when it comes to sprinting and catching trains. After all, they have been practising in real life conditions for years with two sprints everyday.

Now talking of train catching sprints, it is far from the simple and monotonous 100m races at Olympics on even and predictabe track fields. Here the track, or should I say the terrain, is a mini-version of the Tour de France. It begins with a, two stairs in one move, ascend to the bridge, followed by a run to the other end and a jumping descend to the railway platform. A short detour is also available for the adventourous lot by avoiding the bridge and running over the "tracks". With finally having reached the platform, the next thing is to outpace the already departed train and board it. Though leaning out of a running train is said to be dangerous by many a awareness campaign, these people serve as God-send Angels for last last moment train catchers .... the final jerk to get you on board ..... the life saving arm-pull.

Phew ... !!! So, finally in !! Well, its just the beginning of the journey. Lots more to come ..... Keep checking out .....

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Chetan Bhadricha

Kabhi na rukti, Chalti jaati ,
Yeh Bharat ki shaan ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Yeh hai Mumbai ,
Yeh hai Mumbai , Meri Jaan