Bystander – the muser’s mouth piece

The railway platform has a unique lawlessness of its own. The general public, that is unreserved to the elite - First AC class passengers, are joined by the station staff in creating chaos.

Here, each would vie with one another to place an obstacle in the walking space. Squatting in a huddle, lying down surrounded by number of luggage pieces, creating bottlenecks by standing in front of the Arrival/Departure display (or) mesmerized by the commercials.

The least heard (or) having the least clarity will be the station announcements. This, if audible, leaves one with a feeling that the announcer might be in a rush to catch a train.

The state of chaos worsens, when the train pulls in to the platform.

As though reading his mind, a bystander said out loud that, he wondered why the luggage van could not be attached at the rear of the rake (or) why the staff should choose the same side of the platform to haphazardly unload the parcel items, occupying the limited space available for the passengers to reach the exit. God forbid, in an emergency none could escape to the exit.

The reserved ticket holders fight to get in, even before the occupants who have completed their journey, have a chance to come out. The turmoil to get in to unreserved compartments is like getting stampeded in kumbh mela crowd.

The bystander vowed to reserve 50% of coaches in trains for unreserved passengers, if he ever became the Railway Minister

The bystander felt, the number of luggage pieces carried by the passengers was a goldmine waiting to be tapped- if the he ever becomes a minister for Railways (or) Finance minister. He was mentally coining a catchy slogan for exhorting the passengers “Shun excess weight, keep Indian Railways lean”.

Indian Railways is truly a unifying force –Books, bikes, boxes, perishables & odorous goods are transported along with human passengers. Who is concerned about the Mal-odor?

Philosophically speaking, are you not aware of the stench greeting all of us, as the train enters in to any railway station serving greater (or) minor Municipal Corporation? Then why the hue & cry about the same inside the railway station (or) in the coach?

Yes, this reminded us that the hygiene in the compartments need focused attention of  a few ministries to start with- Water, Power, Health, Food & Agriculture and of course the active  Minister of Railways.

The bystander made a mental note to involve the Human Resources Development ministry to try and educate the passengers, once the other ministries completed had their tasks.

The more the Muser thought about these things during his journeys, more and more did he become agitated. He had to make three or four journeys in a particular month. Every journey added that extra bit to the already agitated mind and finally tipped the scale.

Dictated by the bio-clock, the muser went to bed. A cauldron of agitating thoughts made him weary and sleep eluded him. Late in the night, from deep sleep, he started to shout and pleaded with the bystander to do something positive. - When, he becomes a minister.

This blood curdling whelp woke up the family members in annoyance. In unison they told him to shut up. This cavalier treatment stung him and the only he realized it was all a dream.  Annoyed getting disturbed from their cozy sleep, they rebuked him and advised to go back to sleep.

Then the realization struck him. The bystander was his own creation!

Humor in 'School Uniform'

The little typhoon marching to board the school bus is a treat to watch. Dark green skirt, white slack shirt tucked in, buckled belt, dark blue stripped tie and tightly strapped school bag resting on the back, is the way she goes to school. This often reminded of a soldier in the front – of course minus the arms & ammunition.

 

One day evening, the mischievous girl walked in and announced that she had brought me a gift! She held in her hand, a neatly packed article with decorative ribbon and all. To make the packing more secure, she had used strips of cellophane tapes.

I took the package and tried to open it. But she forcefully volunteered (read prevented me from….) to do the honors. From the open package she withdrew four sketches, drawn & colored by her. The first sketch depicted a hut, a coconut tree, a tree, two small cloud-lets and shining sun.

The second had the same elements but the cloud-lets have grown in size and number. The third panel had still bigger cloud-lets, radiating sun but the coconut tree and the other tree have interchanged their places. Third sketch was having only one change – the coconut tree had a curious appendage attached at the top. 

I had a few questions and she said to go ahead. The first question I asked was “why the other tree looked funny, a blob of green the size of its trunk at the top?”  Her reply was simple –some tree branches are like that! The second question was “what is the curious looking appendage on the coconut tree?” Without hesitation she said, “The tree is yielding coconut!” 

The last sketch was an interesting one. A line drawing, of a girl. The girl was lean and had fat, short arms and slim legs. On one side of her head she had, flying, braided hair tied with ribbon. The picture perfect girl was wearing spectacles & shoes too! The sketch was funny looking. I asked her “who the picture girl was?” She told it is the picture of her mother and was planning to gift it on her mother’s birth day. What gumption!

The way she had done the sketch of her mother fired up my own imagination. An idea slowly began to form in my mind. Giving finishing touches took another five minutes and I was ready with a plan to tease her a bit. Not wanting to abruptly change the subject, I engaged her in small talk to prepare the ground. 

After some time, I simply said “The way you dress for school looked funny!” Immediately she asked (zero tolerance for criticism) me to explain in detail. To keep the humor going, I concocted a story - how my son & daughter dressed up for school. 

Next day at 7:15 A.M sharp, she came dressed in her uniform. It was the funniest sight I have ever seen of a kid in uniform. Like ardhanarishwari, left half of the shirt was tucked in and the other half left over the skirt, un-tucked!

I burst out laughing and she also joined (a rare occurrence) – till our eyes started watering. After a bout of laughing, she complained of stomach pain.

Unless I tell you what I told her and what she did, how will you appreciate this incident?

The other day evening I had told her that my son and daughter wore their uniform differently. The slack shirt had a slit of three inches length, from the hemline, at the back end. This facilitated them to leave the left half of the skirt, un-tucked, over the buckled belt on the hip. The other half of the shirt was tucked in.

This, she believed it as real. Next day, it seems she came up the stairs and stopped at the landing space. She took out a scissors, undid her tucked in uniform and removed the shirt. Then, she cut the slack shirt as I had detailed. Dressing up once again, she came to show me her ardhanarishwari avatar!

Manju on the Wall.

This happened decades ago. Manju alias Manjula was about 2 ½ years old then.

She’s the daughter of a friend, who was my colleague. I used to borrow his bicycle for short rides to visit with other friends.

During these outings, before I could even say bye, Manju would be standing near the bicycle, hoping for a ride.

She would hop on to the baby seat, fixed between the handle bar and the rider’s saddle. My wife would be the pillion rider.

Soon our friends became Manju’s friends. This camaraderie was enough for her.

Even at that age she knew the rules of the road, always kept to her left. Every day at around 7 A.M., by keeping to the left side of the road, would come to our house carrying a bucket, towel, fresh clothes and soap.

My wife or I took turns to bathe and dress her up. My wife completed the facial make-up and hair styling.

We used wonder why she did not bring face powder, hair oil and comb! Nevertheless we three were happy with each other’s company.

Evenings and holidays were fun and frolic of an extraordinary kind. After the usual digging, planting and watering the garden, with equal efforts from her, she would declare it was time for play.

Manju liked the thrill of jumping off from the compound wall in to my outstretched hands. This was how we played ‘Manju on the compound wall’.

She stood poised like a swimmer on the diving board on the 4’ high garden wall. I stood back, with hands on my back, at a distance of about 3 to 4 feet.

I would start the count down from ten and then came the critical stage of acrobatics. With her supreme confidence in me, she would leap up.

And in a split-second operation, I would stretch my hands forward to catch her in mid-air. My sheer reflexes and her unassailable faith in my abilities made the game adventurous. This act would be repeated many times before she called it quits only wanting to engage me in the next equally dangerous act.

Yet again we used the compound wall to play this game. Manju would stand erect, with arms close to the body.

I would then hold her ankles together and lift her up head high. Instinctively she knew how to maintain the balance, by slowly spreading her arms sideways like wings of a bird in flight.

The downward trip would be faster and I managed to place her gently on to the wall. Her appreciation was based on the maximum time I could hold her aloft.

We named the next game, in the series, as the “flooring exercise”.  

All that I was called up on to do was to lift her vertically, holding the sides of her face between my palms, till her eyes came level with mine. Practically her entire body weight was being supported by my gripping palms. Her ears became red and it did not bother her at all.

All through these adventurous games, my wife stood guard, behind me, holding her breath.

She was worried that these games might injure the child and her parents might not allow her to come to our house for playing.

It turned out to be unfounded. All that mattered to Manju and me was the fun that we had with our acrobatics.

Thirty five years later, we met again in a marriage reception. Manju had come with her husband. We got talking about old times.

Obviously she might not have told her husband about those childhood adventures. He listened with rapt attention and a gleam of awe appeared in his eyes.

Carried away by enthusiasm, I went further and said, “Had I asked her to jump from a high rise building at that time, Manju would have simply done that!”

Hearing this, Manju’s husband mischievously said, “Uncle you should have just done that and I would have escaped this marriage!”  Laughing, Manju said, “It would have been just fine with me too!”

' How quickly time has passed by', was all I could muse about looking at Manju who stood smiling and poised.

Her poise roused in me the poignant memories of her father. I knew him, though for  a brief period, to be a considerate family man, an accomplished sportsman, an extrovert and an extraordinary culinary artist. These passing thoughts choked my emotions and thoughts about them lingered for a long time, that day.