Journey From Jasola - 2

Office      : Jasola Apollo, Violet Line

Home      : Guru Dronacharya, Yellow Line

Entering the Metro Station

My right hand is fractured and my colleague, who picks and drops me daily, tells me that he will be late today. I decide to go home by metro.

I reach Metro Station. There is a long flight of stairs that one must climb to reach concourse. I look for escalator.

“Escalator doosri side hai” informs a man. I take the lift.

A board outside the Lift reads ‘For Senior Citizen, Physically Challenged & Sick People only’. Inside, the lift is full of fourth kind of people – Lazy Footiyaas.

I walk straight to the queue of Security Check. I look right. There is a long queue at Token Counter. I recite the words in my head “samay aur dhan ki bachat ke liye smart card ka prayog kare”. Bloody Un-smart Footiye.

Security Guard frisks me for namesake. He is sure that a man with a broken arm cannot be a terrorist.

I reach the Entry Gate. Scan my wallet. No response. I rub my wallet again on the scanner. Still no response. I look for my Smart Card. Shit!! I left it home today. I join the long queue at the Token Counter.

I get the token. I stand again in the queue for Security Check. This time I avoid looking right but look left.

I see green-blue-red objects in the x-ray monitor. It is fascinating. I look further left where women are being frisked inside an enclosure. I wonder why men are frisked in open. I try to see what happens behind the curtains in the enclosure.

“Bhai baad mein taad liyo, abhi aage badle” I hear a man’s voice from behind. I feel self-conscious.

I scan my token and cross the security gates. There is another long flight of stairs to the platform. I look for escalator again.

“Escalator doosri side hai” informs a lady. I take the lift.

Jasola Apollo to Central Secretariat

The train is still 4 minutes away. I find a place for myself where I think the train will be least crowded. The train arrives. Coach in front of me is over-flowing with people.

I think of waiting for the next train but I am pushed inside by the crowd behind me.

“In bhaisahab ko jagah de do yaar, handicap hai yeh” Man 1 tells Man 2 to get up from the seat for me. I thank God that chivalry is not dead. I sit comfortably.

“Bhaisahab ab thoda adjust holo, humare bhi pair mein bada dard hai”, Man 1 adjust himself, pushing me to the glass partition. I am pissed off. Over-smart Footiya.

Man 1 immediately takes out his phone and texts, “Baby, pair mein dard hai par koi seat nahi deta”. What a liar!! I look at him in disgust. “Babu dis kis wil gv u enrgy :* ” comes the reply. Man 1 wink at me. I look away.

Another man in magenta loose shirt and orange tight jean is narrating his story of machismo to his friend while scratching his crotch.

“Woh mujhse number maang rahi thi aaj, main bola chal hat saali” I roll my eyes. Hey Bhagwaan, uthale in sadak-chaap footiyon ko!!!

“Agla station Kendriya Sachivalaya hai” goes the announcement.

I get up and am pushed down by the crowd. I get up again.

I hear commotion behind me. “Bhaisahab utarna hai?” “Are bhiayya side ho na” “Utarna hota nahi hai par Saamne Khade ho jaate hai” “Haath jagah pe rakh le saale” “Dimaag na kharab kar.” "Tere se bol raha hun kuchh?" "Behere" “Bahar nikal tu, phir batata hoon tujhe” “Abe mere headphones"

I wonder why some footiyaas have to fight inside metro.

Pushing, hitting, squeezing, abusing I manage to reach the door. I wait for the door to open so that I can get down. The door on the other side opens.

“Abe pehle nikalne toh do saalo, phir andar ghus jaana”

Central Secretariat to Guru Dronacharya

Train to HUDA City Centre will arrive in 5 minutes.

The platform is cramped with people. But all are standing in line. Half a dozen Security Guards have maintained decorum on the platform. They blow a whistle whenever anyone tries to break the line or crosses the dreaded “Yellow Line”. I feel happy to see all of this. These Security Guard should be rewarded for their work.

The train arrives and the line converges to form a chaos. Everyone is pushing everyone else. Decorum gives way to disorder. A stampede is inevitable. I try to protect my plaster. I look for Security Guards. They are sitting and watching the confusion from the stairs. Stupid, irresponsible footiye.

I think of waiting for the next train but I am pushed inside by the crowd behind me.

Delhiites have always had this peculiar habit of crowding around the door while leaving inside empty. I remember during the days of Blue Line buses, everyone will be standing and hanging from the stairs giving an impression to an outsider that the bus is crowded. But actually the bus will be completely empty from inside.

The moment I enter with my fractured hand, people sitting on the reserved seats close their eyes and pretend to sleep. Saaley nautanki hai sab ke sab.

I go and stand in the vestibule that connects the two coaches. I lean my back against the synthetic rubber. I like the feeling of softness and feel the urge to slide down. I like the floor shake beneath me. I try to balance myself without holding on to anything. I imagine what would happen if the joint is open and train separates.

A couple standing in front of me are making out. Hands of the boy has found every possible entry point in the girl’s dress. Despo kahin ke. Gone are the days when Delhiites had to go to Buddha Jayanti Park. Ab toh jahaan jaga mili shuru ho jate hai.

Hauz Khas station arrives. The train gets further crowded. The boy doesn’t like the crowd pushing his girl.  He takes his hand out. He forms a shield around her with his arms ensuring no body touches her. The girl feels protected. Kisses the boy on his lips for being her hero. Aye haye!! Cheaper saaley!!

Hauz Khas brings in more kinds of footiyas inside the train!

Bubble-Shoot khelne waale footiye, speaker par gaane sunne waale footiye. Mauhalle ke saari kahaniya sunnane waale footiye, Overhead hanger par dono haathone se latkne waale footiye.. Reminds me of Veeru from Sholay. Basanti in kutton ke saamne mat naachna

Underground Metro mein goggles pehene waale footiye, jahaan jagaah mili wahaan baith jaane waale footiye, selfie kheenchne waale footiye, metro mein khaana khaane waale footiye, chetan bhagat padne waale pseudo-intellectual footiye, pata hai network nahi aata, phir bhi zor-zor se baat karne waale footiye..

I count the number of stations to Guru Dronacharya. Multiply it by 2 to calculate the estimated arrival time. I am so smart.

Arjan Garh arrives. I leave the vestibule and start moving towards the door. A man is standing with his middle finger inserted into the hole above the door. Ched dekha nahi, ungli ghusa do bas. Another man has his lips and nose pressed against the glass door. Sheesha saaf inke papa aakar karenge.

Guru Dronacharya arrives. I get down of the train and look around for escalator to go down.

“Uncle Escalator doosri taraf hai” informs a small kid. I take the lift.

Exiting the Metro Station

I reach the exit gate. Scan my wallet. The door doesn’t open.

I remember I had bought a token. I search for the token in all my pockets. Cannot find it.

“oh bhai.. token nikal liya karo pehle se”.. “Hema zara dekhiyo Kaun hai yeh footiya jo line rokh kar khada hai?”

Embarrassed, I insert token. Exit.

*******

Inspired from real life experience of a fellow blogger Sarthak Ahuja

The Time Machine

“Are your watches working?” I stopped two strangers walking past me and asked.

“No” one of them replied. “It had stopped working at 7 o’ clock today morning”

“Even my watch stopped working at 7 this morning” his companion pointed out to me. “But strangely, I remember seeing time at 9:00 and 10:15 today. I do not understand how can it go back and stop at 7 on its own?”

A third stranger overheard the conversation and joined in “Even my watch was working fine. I saw time on my watch several times today. And then the time moved back and stopped at 7”

This meant the gunman had not pushed the pin inside.

The confusion had just begun to set in. Our town was lost in time. I knew soon this confusion would turn into a chaos. I had messed it up completely this time.

I sat on a side pavement and tried to recollect the incidents of my life.

*******

In the year 1961, 25 students were invited to National Physical Laboratory, London by the famous physician Dr. Morgan. He was hired by an unknown person to build a Time Machine - similar to the one shown in an English film released around that time. His employer wanted a machine that could be used to travel to the future or past.

Dr. Morgan never shared the details of the person who had hired him nor did he ever explain the why this machine was needed. Mr. Morgan only said it was a matter of life and death for him. He also revealed that he was given Fifty Thousand Pounds pounds to build this machine and would be rewarded with more money, once the machine is built.

“He has promised me, that if we succeed in making this Time Machine, he will make us Millionaires overnight. But if we fail, he might kill us” announced Mr. Morgan to his students.

“What if we make the machine with his money, use it on our own and never tell him?” I interrupted.

“He will not only take away the machine from you but will also take your life; so please don’t do this grave mistake at all” Mr. Morgan advised me.

The offer was indeed attractive but we all could sense that there was something fishy about this project. Thus only 5 out of 25 students agreed to be a part of this project. I was one of those five.

2 Years passed but we could not derive a theoretical hypothesis on time travel, let alone building a physical prototype of Time-Machine. None of us had any clue on how to start building such a Time-Machine that could transport a man to past and future.

One Sunday morning when we arrived at Dr. Morgan’s lab we were informed that Dr. Morgan and his family died in a mysterious road accident.

Without Dr. Morgan’s guidance, the project was jeopardized. We still had Fifty Thousand Pounds lying with us, completely unused. We didn’t know to whom we should return this money. We finally decided to divide the amount among ourselves and left London forever.

*******

I fell in love with a nurse whose name was Prateeksha. She had an unusual fondness for watches.

“I wish I could wear a new watch every week” she would often say.

I had 10,000 Pounds in my bank account; I bought the only Watch Manufacturing Company of our town. It wasn’t hard to make her fall in love with me afterwards. We met every Sunday and I gifted her new watch.

Prateeksha was always engaged in hospital. Time was the biggest constraint in her life. Even if she didn’t like, she had to report for duty early every morning and then work for long hours. Her busy routine also affected our relationship. Many times she had to cancel our day-outs due to extreme work in hospital.

One day, Prateeksha’s father fell seriously ill and she missed her train merely by two minutes. Her father stayed in some other town and the next train was only after 3 days. By the time she reached home, her father had already passed away.

“Only if I had a device that could hold the time by just two minutes, I would have been on that train and I would have been able to see my father live one last time” she cried.

That is when the idea of Time Machine stuck to me.

Every Quartz watch consists of a thin piece of Quartz that oscillates or vibrates when a certain amount of current is passed through it. The electronics inside the watch senses the constant vibration and streamline this in order to create one pulse every second. This pulse generated every second moves the Second’s hand of the watch. The gears inside the watch drive the Minute’s and Hour’s hand in the correct ratio.

My plan was to manipulate the electronics inside the watch to draw more power from the cell in the watch and make the second’s hand move as fast as I wanted.

For this, I made a Master Watch and linked the electronics of all the watches manufactured at my company to take signals from this master watch. Thus if I pulled out the pin of the Master Watch and rotated it forward, the electronics in all the watches linked to the Master Watch would draw more power from the cell, vibrate the Quartz faster and moved the time forward in proportion.

Similarly when I rotated the pin backwards, the electronics in all the watches in the town drew more power from the cell, vibrated the element faster but created a pulse in opposite direction which further moved Second’s hand in the anti-clockwise direction.

Those were the days when people still used manual watches that required coiling every morning. Quartz watches were beginning to get popular in our town. Primarily because of they did not require coiling.  And since my company was the only Watch manufacturing company in town, people in the town, gradually started buying the Quartz watches without knowing that I had manipulated the electronics to control the time.

Prateeksha was going to visit her mother. She was again late by at least 10 minutes. She was sure; she would miss the train again. I assured her, that nothing like that would happen this time.

I simply pushed the time back by 15 minutes in my master watch. Consequently all the watches in town, including the watch on the railway platform, moved back by 15 minutes. She boarded the train a clear 5 minutes before the train departed. She was happy.

Some days later we came to see a movie of her favourite actor. We had reached early by 30 minutes.

“I wish, somehow the time passes fast. I can’t wait any longer to get inside the cinema hall” She said hoping for some magic.  

The movie started within 5 minutes. All I had to do was move my Master Watch faster by 25 minutes. She was happy yet again.

During winter mornings when she felt lazy to get out of the warm bed, I would move the time back by an hour and the entire town would sleep for an extra hour that day. Whenever she was late to hospital, I changed the time to make sure she was on time. And every time we made love with each other, after every 30 minutes and I pushed the time back by 15 minutes.

“Is it not romantic that every time we make love time seems to slow down!!” she was totally unaware of the fact that the man lying next to her was controlling the time.

Of course I noted the time before I changed it and finally adjusted it back to normal late in the night-when everybody in the town would be asleep.

In due course of time, I became super confidant of the smart game I was playing with time in our town. I was convinced I would never be caught. And then a telegram came:

CONGRATS ON YOUR INVENTION. NOW REMEMBER MORGAN’S ADVICE.

*******

We were buying vegetables in the market today morning when a gun man with a mask on his face came from nowhere and pointed a gun at me. Prateeksha instantly jumped between me and the gun. She was shot right in the centre of her chest.

“Rush her to the hospital fast… she doesn’t have much time” shouted a man at me expecting me to help him lift her and carry her to the hospital. But I wasn’t listening.

My heart was trying to convince my mind that we could save her life by moving the time back. But for some reason my hands were fumbling and I couldn’t get hold of the pin of my Master Watch.

I untied the watch from my wrist and tried to hold the pin again. With my hands still fumbling, I pulled out the pin and moved back the time back.

“Lau… ” Prateeksha called my name one last time. The watch dropped from my hand and without caring about it, I ran towards her. By the time we reached hospital, she had already passed away.

Dr. Morgan had warned me that “He will not only take away the machine from you but will also take your life”

Prateeksha was my life and he took her away and machine… Wait, where is my watch? I was not tied around my wrist

I rushed out of the hospital to the spot of accident where I had dropped my watch. I searched around that area but the watch was missing. A hawker said the gun man returned and took the watch with him.

I remember I had forgotten to push the pin inside in hurry. I hoped the gun man had pushed the pin inside.

I stopped two strangers walking past me and asked, “Are your watches working?”

“No” one of them replied. “It had stopped working at 7 o’ clock today morning”

“Even my watch stopped working at 7 this morning” his companion pointed out to me. “But strangely, I remember seeing time at 9:00 and 10:15 today. I cannot understand how could it go back and stop at 7 on its own?”

A third stranger overheard the conversation and joined in “Even my watch was working fine. I saw time on my watch several times today. And then the time moved back and stopped at 7”

This meant the gunman had not pushed the pin inside. I had messed it up completely this time.

The confusion had just begun to set in. Our town was lost in time. I knew soon this confusion would turn into a chaos.

I sat on a side pavement and tried to recollect the incidents of my life.

Journey From Jasola

Blessed are those who do not have to travel from Gurgaon to Jasola every day. 

Those who travel are footiyas.

– Safal Mahajan, A footiya

                                         

Office      : Jasola, Delhi

Home      : Gurgaon, Haryana

Distance : 29.1 Kilometers

The Grid Line

It’s 6:30 PM by my watch and I climb on to my bike to go back home.

I have barely started moving and I already see a traffic jam at the intersection.

Carwaalas are trying to manoeuvre through deep potholes. Delhi Jal Board have dug up both sides of the road. Pedestrians are walking on road. Trucks carrying construction sand and stones are polluting the air with black smoke.

In the middle of all the chaos, Rikshawaalas are randomly coming in between the cars to find their way forward. Their rikshaw handles are rubbing against the cars stuck in traffic jam creating long scratches on the painted metal. Carwaalas are shouting abuses, but rikshawaalas don’t care. Yeh hai beech mein ghoosne waale footiye.

I somehow manage to reach Mathura road.

Lap 1: Mathura Road

There is a flyover at 100 meters. I should take the U-turn from under that flyover. I go straight under the flyover and take a U-turn.

I can see a traffic light. It is red. I am not stopping at this. I see a cut on my left. I take the left and enter service lane. Policewaalas have put a barricade on the service lane to teach a lesson to footiyas who act smart.

I turn and go back to the cut and re-enter the main road.

Traffic light turns green. There is a train running parallel to Mathura road on my left. Scenes from Dil Chahata hai flashes in my mind. I decide to race with the train. I accelerate 70.. 80.. 90.. Press hard brakes. There is a traffic light again. I curse my luck. Train wins the race.

Lap 2: Outer Ring Road

I take a left from Mathura road and climb up Modi Mill waala flyover. Who gave that name to this flyover? Surely some footiya.

I see a 6-lane road almost lying empty in front of me. Wow! I engage the highest gear and full throttle down the Modi Mill waala Flyover. Then climb up Kalkaji waala flyover in all gusto. I see an advertisement of my company’s car. I feel proud  to be working in this company as I reach on the top of the flyover.

Once on top I see a traffic jam starting exactly where the flyover ends. A temple constructed in the middle of the road makes the 6-lane road into a 2-lane road. But because of religious sentiments involved no government authority will demolish this temple. This spot has been witnessing daily traffic jam for a decade now. Aur aaj phir wahi footiyapa hai.

Cars, buses, trucks, autos are struggling to pass through the bottle neck. I try to steer through them driving my bike into every inch of free space available. I cross the bottle neck in less than 5 minutes.

Its 6-lanes again! Chalo traffic toh khatam hua

I speed up my bike again and reach Nehru Place waala flyover. There is another massive traffic jam waiting down the flyover.

A wise senior in my office once told me “delhi ke traffic jam ki chaabi hai, gaadi ko humesha left mein rakho”.

I take my bike to the left most lane and ride adjacent to foot path. Though I move slowly, but I keep moving unlike the vehicle on my right, that are stuck to their place.

I cross Chittranjan Park, Greater Kailash, Chirag Dilli.

I reach Panchsheel Colony and I am bored of travelling so slow. I see a cut on my left. I enter the service lane. Its empty. A sabziwaala at the cut greets me with a smile. I smile back at him. Dilliwaalas are so courteous. I ride on the empty service lane.

More than a kilometre later, I see a board that reads DEAD END.

I go back to the beginning and stop in front of the same sabziwaala. Footiye bata nahi sakta tha aage raasta band hai?

I enter the main road again and continue to move slowly till IIT Gate.

Lap 3: Aurobindo Marg

Its all about spotting Qutub Minar.

A two kilometre stretch that caters to traffic of four major malls of Delhi, three super speciality hospitals, a five star hotel, Mother’s international School, Aurobindo Ashram, Adhchini Village, IIT Delhi, NCERT Office, a showroom of Yamaha, Hero & Renault Cars, a world famous monument and above all a CNG gas station. Did I mention about the traffic going to Gurgaon?

Town planners added icing on the top by installing 3 traffic lights of 90 seconds each on this road.

Stuck in a pathetic traffic jam with nowhere else to go, I remove my helmet to breathe free. It is already wet with my sweat.

I see a driver of an ambulance blowing horn frantically but there is not even an inch to move.

A carwaala next to me rolls down his window and says “Yeh toh saala roz ka tanta hai.. pata nahi kaun planning karta hai?”

Footiya karte hai uncleji.

After crawling for 20 minutes I see a glimpse of the world famous Qutub Minar. The monument marks the end of this road (and the torture). I turn ON my left indicator and turn to Anuvrat Marg.

Lap 3: Anuvrat Marg

I turn ON my right indicator as the road turns naturally towards right. I see a traffic light. Surprisingly all three lights - red, yellow and green – are switched ON at the same time. Confused, I stop at the light.

Rukh mat footiye, yeh lights khraab hai  shouts the man from the car behind me. He keeps blowing horn until I move. Horn maarna band kar footiye.

I jump the traffic light.

I turn ON my right indicator again as the road naturally turns towards right again. I see a traffic light again. All three lights - red, yellow and green – are switched ON at the same time again. Deja vu! I stop again at the light.

Abe footiye chal na, tu rukhta kyun hai? shouts the same man. His car is still behind me. I jump the traffic light yet again.

I turn ON my left indicator as the road now turns naturally towards left. I see another traffic light. But this time none of the three lights are working. I look into my rear mirrors if that man is still behind, he is not. 

Oh my God, he is on my left! He rolls down his window to warn me. Footiye, iss waali mein rukiyo,dekh saamne thulla khada hai.

I stop and wait for the signal from traffic police waala.

I notice a massive traffic jam just 100 meters ahead of me. A speeding metro passes by my right into a huge station that reads CHATTARPUR.

Lap 4: Mehrauli-Gurgaon Road

Did I die? I pinch myself. No I am alive.

I was riding normally on the MG Road when a speeding Toyota Fortuner overtook me from left. I was only millimetre away from being thrown away by SUV. For a second my entire life flashed before my eyes. Yeh left se overtake karne waale footiye.. kabhi nahi sudhrenge

I regain my composure and start riding again. There are street lights on MG Road but none of them are functional. The only source of light is my bike’s headlight and night’s moonlight.

The road is empty and well tarred. Even a speed of 60 km/hour seems slow to me. The traffic signs on the road side prescribe the maximum speed limit of 80. I increase my speed to 95 km/h.

I suddenly turn blind, everything is white in front of me. I think there is a car speeding towards me. Am I on the wrong side? No I am not. The carwaala is driving on the wrong side of the road.

I slow down by bike, but the carwaala doesn’t. Accident is imminent. I bring my bike to a complete halt and frantically wave my hands signalling the carwaala to stop. A Mahindra Scorpio stops just centimetres away from my bike’s front tyre. A gujjar rolls down his window and shout. Footiye raaste se hat warna lappad khayega mere haath.

I give way to the Scorpio. Saale ulte chalne waale aur high beam use karne waale footiye.

I start yet again, this time very carefully. Now I know MG Road belongs to Footiyas who own SUV. I reach Gurgaon border with utmost care and constant humiliation of a band of Scorpio, Bolero, Fortuner waalas shouting throughout my journey abe footiye bail gaadi chala raha hai?

Lap 5: Gurgaon

I enter Gurgaon and take a U-turn for DLF Phase 3. I know I am only two minutes away from my home. Or maybe 5 or may be 10… 15?

Two carwaala are fighting in the middle of the road. Seems like one of them has accidently smashed the other one’s taillights. A traffic jam has started piling up because of their fight. 

Abe side mein gaadi karke lad lo yaar. Beech sadak par ladne waale Footiye.

But I need to reach home. I take my bike inside a petrol pump and exit from the other gate. I climb up on a footpath. Footiye yeh footpath hai chalne ke liye, sadak nahi  shouts an aunty.

I run my bike on empty plots of land, inside rainwater drain, on the heap of sand near a construction site. Dogs chase me as I ran my bike over their tail. Yeh footiye kutte.

Victory Lap

Its 9 PM and I reach home. I need to open the gate. I find it difficult to get off the bike. My crotch is frozen. I walk toward gate in the frozen position. I am looking like an alphabet Y turned upside down.

Two pretty girls out for a night walk see me walking like that and giggle. Hema woh dekh, footiya kaise chal raha hai.

Mockery of A Human Life

If the king is careless the subjects too will care for nothing. As the king is, so will be subjects. 

- Chanakya Neeti, Chapter 13, Verse 7

I was sitting and working in office when there was a beep in my phone signalling there is Breaking News in my mobile app.

An AAP supporter had fallen off a tree during a farmer’s rally in Delhi.

I opened the website on desktop to read the news in detail. The website reported that an AAP supporter from Rajasthan had fallen off a tree at a rally. He was being rushed to a nearby hospital for treatment.

I took this news as ‘just another mishap’ and closed the browser. This happened in the afternoon.

By the time I reached home in the evening this ‘just another mishap’ had turned into a national tragedy. The news channels reported that the person who had climbed up the tree was actually a distressed farmer whose crops had failed due to unseasonal rain and the accident, about which I read in the morning, was actually a suicide. The farmer didn't have anything left to feed his children.

From nothing in the afternoon to everything by evening, this incident can very well be used as a measure to ascertain the value of a human life in India. It exposes the basic nature of every Indian-the ruling class (our politicians) and the ruled ones (the public servants, media and the otherwise common man). This incident shows how everyone in our country is constantly looking for fame at the cost of the other’s sacrifice and desperate to prove himself/herself innocent of any wrong doing.

As I tried to follow every bit of news related to this incident, following is what I could infer about the sequence of incidents that occurred on that fateful day.

A dhoti and turban clad man, identified as Gajendra Singh Kalyanwat, climbed up a tree at an Aam Aadmi Party’s Farmer Rally at Jantar Mantar, Delhi. The rally was organised to protest against the new Land Bill being introduced by the ruling BJP in the parliament.

People who noticed him climbing up the tree did not find it uncommon as photographers and protesters often climb up trees at such huge gatherings. The man reportedly did some antics on the tree for some time and hurled abuses at politicians while media, people and policeman cheered and took photographs of his.

An AAP leader on the VIP dais noticed him and requested him to come down. He asked people on the ground to bring the gentleman down.

Thereafter something went wrong and this man was entangled in the noose he had put around his neck for some reason (I say some reason because newspaper and media reported that many people in the crowd dared him to tighten it. But almost everyone suggested that it was part of his antics because he was clearly holding on to a branch and his left leg rested on another branch; you don’t secure yourself so nicely if you want to suicide).

Next, AAP supporters at the rally tried to save him and remove the noose around his neck. The man fell on the ground. AAP workers rushed him to a nearby hospital. He was breathing till then. A suicide note was found near the tree but the family of deceased says that it was not his handwriting (This is still an unsolved mystery).

A mishap like this is not uncommon in rallies. Unaware of the fact that Doctors at the hospital declared him “brought dead”, AAP leaders continue to make their intended speeches.

News spread fast and stories are cooked up faster. In no time the picture and suicide note of farmer was all over the internet. And out of habit, people on internet wasted no time in believing and sharing the story just because there was a picture of a man hanging from his neck next to it. Political parties don’t waste their time either in washing their hands of responsibilities.

BJP, against whom the farmer rally was organised in Delhi accused the organisers themselves for not doing enough to save the farmer who was “attempting suicide” in front of their eyes. They questioned - why didn't AAP stop the rally? Why did Arvind Kejriwal continue to sit on dais instead of saving the farmer? à Dear BJP, Arvind Kejriwal isn’t a Spider-man.

AAP continued with their speech unaware of the development at the hospital where the farmer was taken. They were caught unaware (just like me in the evening after coming from the office) when the opposition hurled abuses at them. They succumbed under pressure and screamed sabotage. They blamed their bête noire, Delhi Police for not doing enough to save the man.

On the other hand Congress (that neither rules state nor country) held Prime Minister and Chief Minister responsible for farmer’s death. They demanded an FIR to be filed against both of them. Rahul Gandhi visited the hospital where the dead man’s autopsy was being performed (Why? Is he a Post Mortem specialist?) These are the stuffs Rahul Gandhi jokes are made of.

No one really cared to find out what the truth was. They only tried to wash their hands off responsibility of suicide of a man that was actually an accident.

As Chanakya puts it in his Chanakya Neeti, if the king is sinful then the subjects would have no hesitation in committing sins. Just because the ones who rule us only point fingers at other and try to gain personal benefits out of a sad incident, the ones who are ruled emulate the same behaviour.

When asked, Delhi Police (who are otherwise ‘With you, for you, always) pointed fingers at AAP workers. They claimed that the supporters of Aam Aadmi Party didn't let them save the man! They further went on to use their discretionary powers and registered an FIR against these supporters under IPC section 186 for obstructing public servant in discharging duties. They blamed Aam Aadmi Party for flouting the rules by bringing more people at the premises than allowed.

Media on the other hand used this sad incident to gain personal benefits. Even though it was clearly evident to a person like me, who was sitting in his office and tracking the incidents though his cell phone that this was merely an accident; media that was present at the rally portrayed this incident as a suspected suicide (As per analysts with doctorates in mathematics, Suicide gets television media more TRPs than Accidents).

No news channel showed video of his antics. Instead they kept playing his suicide, on loop, for several hours. And then senior and respected journalist unnecessarily argued during their prime time news debates as why AAP workers and constables of the Delhi Police were laughing at the man who hanged himself. They termed them as inhuman.

Newspapers, the next day morning carried pictures of “Suicide by a Distressed Farmer” on front pages while the facts like the farmer had no intention to die, he was supposed to meet his relatives later during that evening, he wasn't distressed, he owned 10 acres of gooseberry orchard and teak plantation, he wanted to join politics, he was popular in his neighbourhood for such antic, etc were reported in the lesser important 3^rd and 4^th page of the newspaper.

Bloggers on internet and Newspaper columnist dug old papers and articles on net to tell horrific tales of farmer’s suicide in India. They highlighted how successive governments have been ignorant of the farmer’s cause. They suggested ways to improve conditions of the farmers.

General public visited Jantar Mantar the next day and posed selfie in front of the tree where Gajendra committed suicide. Traffic in Delhi came to standstill on Friday evening because of the protests by various NGOs and farmer organisations.

And then on Saturday, the Nepal earthquake happened.

BJP sent troops to Nepal, AAP sent food material, Congress assured people of Nepal of full support, media started highlighting the sufferings of Nepalese, newspaper columnist & bloggers wrote article on net to tell horrific stories of earthquakes and NGOs started protesting to improve housing laws in Delhi lest the city gets reduced to rubble if earthquake of a similar magnitude strikes Delhi....

…And the farmer whose death was actually an accident, but portrayed as a suicide, was suddenly killed by everyone; because apart from pointing fingers at others and gain personal benefits, there is another thing that we Indians want all the time - an undying thirst for fame and the fame is where the biggest story of that day is.

What a mockery of a human life!

Chennai Diary

Sunday, 7^th December 2014, 20:00

Last year in November, my parents in Delhi met with an accident. I was working for an earth moving equipment manufacturer in Chennai then.

No train tickets to Delhi were available that night. And apex fare in airlines was close to Rs 20,000. Delhi is 2100 kilometres away from Chennai. There was no other way I could go to Delhi. I hated Chennai for many reasons, that night I hated it for being so far from Delhi. I cursed the moment that brought me to Chennai.

On 7^th December 2013 I took a vow. I promised myself that I would not shave my beard till the time I return home, to my family in Delhi.

Today while I celebrate my birthday with my family in Delhi (for the first time in last 8 years), I am feeling nostalgic for Chennai. It was this day, a year back, when I actually started falling in love with this city.

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My affair with Chennai started when an interviewer, during my college’s placements drive, asked me “What if our company decides to post you in Chennai?”

Fearing a negative response to this question may hamper my chances of selection, I said “Sir I am adaptable. I can go anywhere.”

Interviewer smiled and said “I have two things to tell you. You are selected. You are going to Chennai”.

I landed in Chennai on the night of 31^st July 2011. That night was horrible.

My company had booked a guest house for me which was only 10 Kilometres away from the airport.

I decided to take an auto from the airport. But with no common language between the autowallas of Chennai and me, negotiation was definitely not an option. I could not find any pre-paid booth. As a result, I had to pay a whooping Rs 800 to the autowallah for dropping me at guest house (that’s Rs 80/km. India’s Mars mission was Rs 7/km).

The next few days were even more terrible.

I was like an alien in the office. I could not understand the language my colleagues spoke. I ate only idlis and dosas every single day. Chennai was so hot and humid that I had to change my clothes at least thrice in the day. There was nowhere to go in Chennai. I spent my weekends sitting at home and watching TV. My room mates in PG left the room because of my typical “north Indian habits”.

It took me 6 months to find someone whom I could call a friend. And I found three of them at once. Ironically none of them were from the North. They all were from different states of South India-Tamil Nadu, Karnataka and Kerala. We decided to stay together.

We took a 2 BHK flat on the East Coast Road on rent (By the way, East Coast Road runs parallel to the eastern coast of India, with Bay of Bengal on one side and eastern ghats on the other side. Absolute Bliss.). We stayed together for 1 year and every single day became unforgettable with them around. I didn’t really start liking Chennai, but with them I became more tolerant towards the city.

We four shared similar interests. We loved travelling and bike rides. We often went to beach and spent hours discussing about girls, politics, religion, sports and everything else that existed under the sky. We had English breakfast and Ibaco’s ice creams for dinner.

We were crazy bunch of guys. When Cyclone Thane made a landfall on the Tamil Nadu coast we decided to chase it from Mahaballipuram to Chennai on our bikes. We were fearless.

Beautiful things don’t last forever. The Malayali in our group found a job in Gulf, he moved out. The Tamilian in our group was next to go. He had found a job in Qatar. A month later, the Kannadiga went to Germany. By August 2013 everyone had moved out and I was left alone in Chennai. I decided to continue in the same house.

A cousin and a school friend came and stayed in Chennai for a few months in between. But like many others, they didn't like the city and they asked for a transfer from their respective companies. Their companies obliged.

Then last year in November, while my parents were going for a marriage, a lady driver lost control of her car and rammed her car into my parents’ car. My parents were seriously injured. I was informed about their accident on phone. Sitting alone in the house, 2500 kilometres away from the spot of accident, I shouted for help. I called up every person whom I thought can help me financially or otherwise. I was desperate to go to Delhi, but I couldn’t.

On my birthday I promised myself that, I will not shave until I return to Delhi forever. I started discovering a new Chennai from the next day onwards.

The Indian economy was in a bad shape then and automotive industry wasn’t hiring much. But I had to go back, preferably with a job in hand. I decided to give interview for every company that could take me to Delhi, irrespective of the nature of job and industry.

I travelled in local trains and buses to reach to the venues. For the first time I discovered that the local trains in Chennai were the most joyous way of commuting within the city. I sat on the doors of the train and observed the bustling city outside. Trains were not even crowded like Delhi’s Metro. The buses were equally convenient. The fares in buses were as low as Rs 2.50 (conductor returned 50 paisa coin).

Locals I met on my way were courteous. They helped me locate my destination. Some shopkeepers even went to an extent of drawing a rough map when they could not communicate the directions to me properly. Contrary to my belief, they all knew English very well. And they understood enough words of Hindi to comprehend any sentence spoken by me.

I gave interview for a BPO, an Event Management firm, a Consultancy, a Logistics firm and a truck manufacturer. These interview took me to places I had never been before - Santhome Basilica (One of the only three churches in the world to have been built over the tomb of Jesus’ apostle), Broken Bridge (an unfinished bridge on Adayar River; the only place in Chennai where you can see sunrise and sunset), Santhome Mount (You can see the entire city from the top of the hillock. And if you love planes, you can watch them take off and land all day as the runway is in the vicinity), Crocodile Park (Have you ever seen 1000 crocodiles at one place?) and Marundeeswarar Temple (When doctors give up, patients come here for treatment. Hear their story; they are unbelievable, but true)

My neighbours started interacting with me for the first time in last two years. They invited me home for dinner and on festivals. They sent food whenever something special was cooked in their kitchen. I tasted Chettinad cuisine for the first time; it tasted better than Kadhai Chicken I found a beautiful Marwari family, who promised to provide me lunch and dinner, every day for a minimal charge.

I continued to go on beach in the night. I spent hours sitting alone and watching waves hit the shore. The noise of the waves made me forget all my problem and worries. I could spend my entire life sitting there.

For the first time, I started interacting with my colleagues in the office. I shared my problems with them. They informed about it to my Team Leader. My Team Leader offered me assistance in bring my family to Chennai. He assured me that company would reimburse every single rupee of their relocation. It was a humbling experience.

Obviously I didn’t accept the offer but for the first time I realised how ignorant I was about this city and its beautiful people who were always ready to help.

I started finding solace around my colleagues, my neighbours, sitting alone on beaches and roaming on Chennai roads. But when I returned home every night and stared at mirror, my ugly face reminded me of my unaccomplished mission.

It took 8 itching months to accomplish my mission. It was 26^th of July 2014, when I finally bid farewell to the city I had started loving. My neighbours had packed food for me for the train journey; my office colleagues brought their cars to drop me till Railway station.

On our way, every single traffic light turned red for us as if the city didn’t want me to leave. The train was delayed by a good 2 hours from the station. For the first time in 3 years, I wasn’t desperate to go back. Waiting for my train at the iconic Chennai Central, I wanted the time to stand still.

I reached Delhi on 28^th morning. The first thing I did was I shave my beard.

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Some Pictures: