Every morning, I try to wakeup on the right side of the bed and before opening my eyes chant Gayatri at least five times. All this is done in the hope that the day would not be as disappointing as the previous one. Alas, it never works. Perhaps, because I’m a pessimist; and how can anything be good? We walk closer to death everyday!
That morning also, I had done the usual formalities and for the first time, I was feeling as if this might be my day. Sitting in the shop, after winning a pseudo-telephonic war with my “might-be-future-father-in-law”, I was overjoyed. In fact, it was nothing sort of euphoria.
I wanted to talk to Navjyot. If girls love to brag about their new shoes, or how clumsy Tina looked wearing black sneakers with pink top and blue jeans (or whatever bizarre rules you girls have regarding this), then guys love to brag primarily on four topics – wining a super-hot chick, winning a cricket match, sexual escapades and the most important: winning a fight. This time my reason for fingering the Navjyot’s number again-and-again was the last category of emergency.
I tried his number the fifteenth time. It was so annoying, that I feared the recorded voice of the woman would shout at me: Bloody Jackass, don’t you understand the line is busy? Dare you call again! Thankfully, nothing such happened, technology hasn’t advanced so far for the poor recorded messages to express its frustration. Thanks to the scientists once again!
I kept the phone down. It was of no use, I knew. Navjyot had once told me – until, Aunty finishes-off with the latest details of the neighbourhood – the area where phone was kept was forbidden.
I looked at my watch it was 4 pm. I looked outside to see a group of people approaching the shop and I started getting goose bumps. I went into a musing of a dreadful, embarrassing moment that took place three years ago.
I was waiting for the bus, amongst the cluster of people at the ISBT terminal, Anand Vihar (Delhi). I belong to a middle-class family. Therefore, I have always been in conflict with myself; whether to follow the league of ultra-fashioned, long-hair-type creeps, or create a different breed of my own, with oiled middle-parted hair (Majnu style). As you would have guessed, I chose to follow my own league.
Standing near the bus stop, I suddenly realized that I was surrounded by a group of four Hijras. I was uncomfortable with their presence around me, so I kept shifting my weight from one leg to another. And because of Almighty’s grace, they sensed it.
Suddenly, one of them hugged me from behind and said, “haye, yeh toh mera shahrukh hain!” (He’s my Shahrukh Khan); others joining in with her, laughed and giggled. I stood there, almost paralysed, being a subject of ridicule amongst a thousand spectators.
I couldn’t react. I was tensed; I feared them. What if, they would just pull-up their Ghagras and show me their privates? Shit, that would be traumatizing! I had heard stories about chaps been witness to such humiliations. I chose to keep mum.
After their entourage walked off the stop, I took an auto and went straight to home. I cried a lot, but didn’t discuss that with anyone.
I came out of my musings hearing a high thump of dholak. A group of Hijras entered the shop. With heavy claps and manly-voice one of them asked, “tum baitthe kya dukaan par?” (you are the one who sits in the shop?).
I gulped a thick volume of saliva and replied, ‘yes.’
“Chal, sone ka kya lega?”
“Huh?” I was shocked. What else do you expect from a 15 year-old?
“Gold ka kya rate chal raha hai?” she continued. “mereko chain lena hain…” she pointed at a chain worth 20,000 bucks, “…woh chain kitne ki hain?
I was tensed. Will they pay for it? I didn’t know how to handle them. I wondered whether I should call my brother; but I doubted that if their intention would be to rob, they might stab me or hurt me any other way.
“It’s not real; nakli hai… show ke liye rakha hai”(not real, just for showing) I replied.
One of them, I guess the senior most amongst them, walked up to the counter and sat opposite me. She was huge; intimidating. My pulse raced, I started chanting Gayatri in my heart.
Then suddenly, the intimidating figure clinched my hands. It started shaking more and more; couldn’t help it. Damn! involuntary reflexes can’t be controlled, had rote it a few weeks back for biology test.
“We aren’t thieves. We WILL pay every penny you will ask for. Don’t worry,” the intimidating woman said.
In a split second, my hands were warm again. I was no more afraid. Somehow, I believed her every word. After a few seconds of interaction, I was comfortable with them. Her one action put an end to my prejudice of three years.
I showed them various chains and finger-rings; and in my heart, I prayed – why aren’t all women like them. They didn’t bargain for a single rupee. The woman I normally attend first bargain for Rs. 20 on a bill of 15,000, then they ask for bigger purses and carrying bags, and then after that they also ask for free extra bags and calendars!
As they made the exit, the intimidating figure asked the fellow shop-owner for a fistful of rice. She tied that in a handkerchief and gave it to me. “vahan rakhna jahan paise rakhte ho, barkat hogi” (keep it where you keep cash, it will bring prosperity), she said.
As she left the shop, I kept thinking, how stupid we are. It just takes us one experience to label everyone of the same tribe with epithets. Maybe it was because of my pessimistic attitude or perhaps, my pessimism was rooted to the embarrassing incident.
I decided that I should would try to see the positive side of everything, everyone. I decided to have an optimistic approach to things. I tried Navjyot’s number one last time before I closed the shop and got connected.
“Hello”
“Saale, kahan tha? Pata hain kab se try kar raha tha tera number?” (Where were you? I have been trying to get to you from a long time), I blurted out.
“Sorry. Bol kya hua?” (Sorry. What happened?), he said. I told him everything that happened non-stop. Finally, I finished off asking, “where were you throughout the day?”
‘I was at home only. Vaise, when did you call Aditi?’
“Around 3 pm. Why?”
He started laughing and it continued for good three minutes (thanks to the machine that tells you the seconds, the Telephone Nigam will charge you for). At last, I got irritated and asked, “What? What’s the problem?”
“Arey, nothing much. Just that, I have been irritating her father from 2 pm. Made calls to her with different names. It was awesome, her father was pissed off.” And he broke into another annoying fit of laughter.
Screw optimism!
its getting more n more interesting suppu..
lukin 4ward 4 ur nxt blog.
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you are turning out trumps by your writing, i must say. it was fun reading part 25, although it had two totally different topics-the hijras and optimism! nicely cooked up…with a pinch of salt..(haina?)
this shahrukh khan thing is quite common a trait of eunuchs….once on a red light one of them literally sat on the bonut of mah car until i took out a 20 rupee note and even dat dint restrain him/her to pull my cheek afterwards