"to tune kya bola usko?"
"What's up man, dikh nai raha he, kaha he tu?"
and so on.... you get the idea.
And I noticed the same thing on the days I would walk back from Carter Road to Bandra Station with passers by speaking loudly on their cell phones.
The 24th of April saw the first viva of the final internal examination of the B.E. degree course in CS. That day, the viva got over rather quickly, so I was happy that I would be able to attend the Friday prayer at Santacruz's mosque after a rather long gap. So I left college and walked towards Bandra Station, as usual, and boarded an Andheri train which was cozily empty. It was hot as ever, summer was showing it's rage, but something about the slow pace of things in that day, kept me calm and pleasant.
The previous few days were hectic, stressful and bitter-sweet. I had just finished all submissions and my project was functional. The report was yet to be printed but it was approved by our rather demanding guide. I had fallen for a girl who had just recently rejected/friend-zoned/God-knows-what me. And my college days were getting over. Gloomy, you know.
But the gloom was in the background as I was early today and would reach before time at the mosque. The mosque, is a sanctuary of calm, and never fails to put my issues aside.
The train chugged forward and just before Santacruz's platform arrived, it came to a halt. A few minutes went by, then the passengers started leaning out to see why the train had stopped. I had all the time, so I waited patiently.
Meanwhile, a crowd gathered on the southern-most walkover bridge. The passengers were getting agitated and leaning further and further, until a few people jumped out on the gravel. It seemed, someone had died by the train's impact.
A few boy's alighted, and announced: "Oye mar gaya oye!!! KHATAM !!!"
Usually, I don't pay attention to such things, but that day, I was considering the possibility of being OK with the whole idea of dying. Usually, I don't even stand on the doorway. I value my life more than most people. But that Friday afternoon, something was different.
I said to myself that I needed to see this dead man. For some reason, I felt a strong urge. Plus, I said to myself, that my life was useless anyway. So I risked all my cherished values and safety measures and jumped on the gravel and started walking towards the platform besides which the incident had taken place.
I jumped down when horns form trains started honking loudly from all directions with great surround-sound effects. Walking on tracks is scary, A police person, started blowing his whistle at me and the others on the gravel. Thankfully, he didn't bother us any further.
I reached the platform and saw the casualty from there. His head was crushed from the center up-till the lower jaw, the teeth of which were clearly exposed. Inside the skull, it was like minced meat. The shirt had a few bloodstains but was normal otherwise. A few sluggish, gooey, lumps of meat with a few dangling fibres were on the tracks. The police person was taking notes while the railway personnel had put him on a stretcher and were nudging his slightly overweight body, which helplessly shook, his hands dangling in the scorching sunlight. I was standing there, mesmerized by the whole beauty of this.
I thought it would be an unpleasant for me to be lying on the tracks in such heat and sun light. But then again, it also would be pretty unpleasant to have my head dissected till my lower jaw.
A few railway men, picked up all the meat and threw it on the stretcher. A crowd on the bridge hadn't left. I was surrounded by women waiting for their "lady's compartment", who were all busy texting. I stood there nevertheless, thinking about the dead guy in front of me. I thought that this guy would be so regular, no one would otherwise take notice. It would be the same person saying things like "What's up man! Long time!!!" if you'd happened to know him.
That guy, was for all intents and purpose, all of us.
More specifically, this guy was me.
I stood there as I felt the void engulfed me. Everything about my life felt so small. All my worries, opinions, likings, everything seemed, so fucking stupid. All issues I was facing, suddenly felt like basic bullshit. Wow.
A few minutes later I walked up. I saw the crowd was still there. Now I knew why they were standing, Maybe deep down, they know, but they don't realize it.
I went to the mosque where a melodious hymn of salawaat was being sung in a deep baritone as I felt steeped in gratitude for having died. Ironically, I was breathing.
The previous few days were hectic, stressful and bitter-sweet. I had just finished all submissions and my project was functional. The report was yet to be printed but it was approved by our rather demanding guide. I had fallen for a girl who had just recently rejected/friend-zoned/God-knows-what me. And my college days were getting over. Gloomy, you know.
But the gloom was in the background as I was early today and would reach before time at the mosque. The mosque, is a sanctuary of calm, and never fails to put my issues aside.
The train chugged forward and just before Santacruz's platform arrived, it came to a halt. A few minutes went by, then the passengers started leaning out to see why the train had stopped. I had all the time, so I waited patiently.
Meanwhile, a crowd gathered on the southern-most walkover bridge. The passengers were getting agitated and leaning further and further, until a few people jumped out on the gravel. It seemed, someone had died by the train's impact.
A few boy's alighted, and announced: "Oye mar gaya oye!!! KHATAM !!!"
Usually, I don't pay attention to such things, but that day, I was considering the possibility of being OK with the whole idea of dying. Usually, I don't even stand on the doorway. I value my life more than most people. But that Friday afternoon, something was different.
I said to myself that I needed to see this dead man. For some reason, I felt a strong urge. Plus, I said to myself, that my life was useless anyway. So I risked all my cherished values and safety measures and jumped on the gravel and started walking towards the platform besides which the incident had taken place.
I jumped down when horns form trains started honking loudly from all directions with great surround-sound effects. Walking on tracks is scary, A police person, started blowing his whistle at me and the others on the gravel. Thankfully, he didn't bother us any further.
I reached the platform and saw the casualty from there. His head was crushed from the center up-till the lower jaw, the teeth of which were clearly exposed. Inside the skull, it was like minced meat. The shirt had a few bloodstains but was normal otherwise. A few sluggish, gooey, lumps of meat with a few dangling fibres were on the tracks. The police person was taking notes while the railway personnel had put him on a stretcher and were nudging his slightly overweight body, which helplessly shook, his hands dangling in the scorching sunlight. I was standing there, mesmerized by the whole beauty of this.
I thought it would be an unpleasant for me to be lying on the tracks in such heat and sun light. But then again, it also would be pretty unpleasant to have my head dissected till my lower jaw.
A few railway men, picked up all the meat and threw it on the stretcher. A crowd on the bridge hadn't left. I was surrounded by women waiting for their "lady's compartment", who were all busy texting. I stood there nevertheless, thinking about the dead guy in front of me. I thought that this guy would be so regular, no one would otherwise take notice. It would be the same person saying things like "What's up man! Long time!!!" if you'd happened to know him.
That guy, was for all intents and purpose, all of us.
More specifically, this guy was me.
I stood there as I felt the void engulfed me. Everything about my life felt so small. All my worries, opinions, likings, everything seemed, so fucking stupid. All issues I was facing, suddenly felt like basic bullshit. Wow.
A few minutes later I walked up. I saw the crowd was still there. Now I knew why they were standing, Maybe deep down, they know, but they don't realize it.
I went to the mosque where a melodious hymn of salawaat was being sung in a deep baritone as I felt steeped in gratitude for having died. Ironically, I was breathing.
