A Beautiful Home

The place was stinking. I could hardly breathe in there. It was already 3 AM in the night and I was locked in that fucking toilet, fully awake with both my eyes and ears wide open. Everyone was in sound sleep except me and that lady. I flushed it again but for no use. ‘Who the hell designed these toilets? Can’t these European bastards use little bit more water and save some papers? They use so many resources of the world but save water in the toilets. Bushtit!’ Frustration had taken over me. 

It had been over a month since I landed in Europe. Since then I had been travelling like berserk. But I still remember the first train journey in Europe. It was from Paris to Lille. How excited I was! After coming from Delhi to Paris, there were only negligible differences I was able to notice. The similar grass, similar trees, similar roads and similar cars – all were same as in India – even the sun was shining with the same brightness. Only difference existed was the galloping life. Trains, metros, buses, people all were moving restlessly in all directions. But amidst all these, there was an unknown silence. Everyone appeared so preoccupied. Dogs were still roaming on the platform but not alone. I had felt so jealous and had quietly wished to the God, “Make me a dog of Europe in my next life.” Where did all the poor people go? My eyes had got stuck at the young man standing beside the entrance, dressed up in the black coat, with nice hat on his head, holding a new shining guitar in his hand. He was trying to break the silence with his trembling voice and people were throwing euros in the hat lying beside him. He was the poor guy begging for his livelihood. I had looked into my pocket. There was a hundred rupee note, silently sleeping inside the purse. Gandhi Jee was smiling at my fate which I could barely sense that day.

I looked at my watch. It would have been hardly 10 minutes since I was locked in that fucking toilet. ‘The bloody time doesn't pass whenever you wait for it!’ This was the first time when I did not imagine my future with a girl after looking at her. Otherwise my imagination power had taken a big leap after coming to Europe. This had been the most significant change in my life. Now I could stop time for myself, and move others in their past or future. This I used to practice every day with all the European beauties. Age really didn't matter anymore. I looked into the mirror hanging there. Red eyes were fighting for sleep but they were still wide open, waiting for the right moment. The subconscious mind was again lost, recollecting brightness in the past.

I was really awestruck by the poverty level in these countries. One poor people in Europe was equivalent to more than ten thousands poor people in India, I had just compared their gross income relying on the poverty limit set by the Indian government. My excitement to explore the truth had made a quantum leap. I queued up in front of the ticket counter. People didn't speak much here. No one was pushing me from back. What kind of queue was this! Most of them had put a headphone. I didn't know what they listen. It must have been some lullaby as I could hardly find any motion in their body. But the queue was still long, only cloths were shrinking. It was the symbol of progress truly inspired by the Gandhian philosophy – speak less, watch less, hear less and wear less. Now I could sense the smile of Gandhi Jee. We Indian had never believed his ideologies, so he was happily residing in Europe.

My thought process was terminated as someone tried to open the toilet. ‘What the hell! Can’t these idiots see the red symbol outside?’ It seemed that train had stopped at some station. I tried to listen to the sound. Goddamn! Stations are so dull here. Standing in the toilet it was so difficult to sense what’s going on outside. Had it been India, you can easily sense even in your sound sleep that the train is standing at station. I never missed the Indian train so much. ‘She must have gone down now. Should I come out now? What if she would be standing just outside, waiting for me? I think she had seen me coming towards the toilet.’ This was 6^th time in that night when I had tried to bamboozle her. By now, she must have sensed my intention. I took a look at my watch again. It had just passed 17 minutes. ‘What is the probability that I will bump into her if I just go out.’ The challenge was ahead and I tried to use my statistical acumen. ‘The time spent by a person in a toilet should follow an exponential distribution with upper bound. No, it should be normal distribution skewed to left. If I consider mean time as 5 minutes and standard deviation as 2 minutes, will I be safe enough to go out? It has already been more than mean plus three sigma. What about the kurtosis and skewness of the distribution. My mind was busy figuring out the statistics. What the hell! It’s too complicated to rely on it. All the management studies are useless. They always teach you only the simplified version which never exists.’ I cursed the education system. I could not take the risk.

Standing in the queue I had kept looking around. It had taken half an hour to get my Eurail pass punched. It was the beginning of a big quest. I had pushed my luggage in the first class coach of the train. For the first time, I had got the benefit of my age. I was two years older to be youth. So, I had to pay more and enjoy the luxury of travelling in the first class. Sitting on the pouffe as I had looked through the glass, everything had appeared as if I was watching a bio-scope. Train had started moving like a rolling reel and scenes had begun to change one by one. There were the corn fields spread till horizon and sometime there were just a few cows and horses grazing in a well barricaded land. As the train had crossed a city the flowers and gardens had popped up with beautiful building in between. Pavements on both sides of streets and roads were decorated with cars. Even the stranded trees and pathways were trimmed, glorifying the beauty of Europe. Nature was smiling as if it was posing for photographs every moment.

I took out my mobile phone and clicked the sleepy man standing behind the mirror. It is the era of Facebook. Everyone is having fun and enjoying his moments, be it private or public. And I didn't want to be left behind. The living in this world has never been so much exciting before. Someone was enjoying in the huts in some far away village of Bihar and someone had just reached that rusty looking bridge where I must have gone ten times before. It was tagged as ‘Dream of the nature’. The filthy water flowing underneath the bridge appeared really dreamy in the photograph.  ‘How should, I tag my photo? Hugging in the toilet! Wow! It will really look like having a lot of fun.’ I was quite amazed at my knowledge of Hinglish. I looked back at my watch. It had been more than forty minutes now. I opened the door; scanned left and right; once, twice and thrice. A deep silence was hovering all over the place. The lady in the black coat was nowhere. I took a deep breath. Everyone was sleeping except one couple in the back seat who were enjoying their private moments hopefully away from the world of Facebook.

This had been the longest night of my life. Now I wanted to sleep. It was around 4 O’clock, still more than an hour was left to reach Munich. I had never fought so much to save my ass before, added on that without doing anything wrong. I did have the genuine ticket with me. Then why I was running away from that black coat lady? She would have been in her forties, double of my size in all dimensions, with big ticket punching machine hanging beside her jeans, hardly seemed like sparing anyone. With her open hair, she looked like a beautiful beast.

The journey I had started with Paris to Lille, more than a month ago, actually never stopped. And the Eurail pass which was initially meant for 15 days only kept increasing his life as the dates kept on changing. I changed 11 to 12 and then 12 to 13 and so forth as long as I could do. The excitement to explore more and more had taken a big toll on my Gandhian philosophy. Every lie buries some truth under it. And dishonesty! It always emanates from an honest heart. The truth was that I was the poorest guy, may be poorer than the guy with that shining guitar at the platform. When I started my journey from Cologne to Munich last night, there was not even a single day left in my eurail pass anymore. But I still had to return next day from Munich to Bordeaux, my new home town. If my pass would have been punched tonight, I could not have been able to change the date anymore. And then, I didn't know how much I would have to spend, may be more than 200 euros. So, I fought for my poverty. My heart was beheld in the beauties of Europe. So, I fought to be honest to myself, to be honest to my desire.

I looked at the display board in the train. The train was silently slipping over the rails with 154 km/h. I tried to peep across the window. Night was still smiling in the darkness. I hated it. I closed my eyes with a sense of achievement. But my subconscious mind was still busy decoding the smile. I didn't know I slept over or was still awake. Next time when I opened my eyes, only thing I could see was the black coat lady. She was standing just a few steps from me, busy punching the tickets of passengers who got in at the last stop. I didn't know what to do now. ‘Why she has to carry her duties so sincerely?’ I cursed her dedication. I stood up, took a U-turn, and ran towards that toilet without wasting even a single second. I was again locked in my abode, 7^th time that night. The toilet looked like a heaven with its ineffable aroma. The commode was glowing in the milky light of the lamp hanging above. I took out the toilet paper and wiped my forehead. My heart was pounding and I thanked the European intellect for building such a beautiful home.

Be Global & Warm Global

Hello friends,

Sorry for not completing the last blog about my mesmerizing experience of GOA. I would like to start afresh after such a long time with some newer experiences of life...This is just a beginning.

It was hot day outside, and mom packed one more sweater in my bag in spite of my frequent refusal. The luggage was getting heavier and heavier as my departure time was coming closer. Although I had the habit of carrying a lot of stuffs whenever I travel to somewhere, but this time it was special as for the first time, someone from the family was going to foreign from the family.  My mom had happily donated some new cloths to the astrologer who once predicted my future in my childhood. He envisaged that one day I would marry two girls; I would have total six children; and I would go to foreign. It was the omen of brighter future for me as well as my mother. I had carried two big bags all the way from Bangalore to Bihar adding whatever small stuffs I could remember. This was the first time when I was travelling with so much of luggage. It felt, for the first time, like I had become a rich guy. I had silently counted in the sleeper coach on the way to my home, "how many of these people would have ever travelled across to the other corner of the planet! And my lips were widened with a smile of achievement”. Although I generally don't like to be identified in trains and if someone used to ask me what I do, I used to lie. But this time I proudly disclosed my future plan to the nearby passenger who somehow had a distant dream of going to Switzerland. The truth was that I could not hide my emotions as fear and excitement was building around my euro trip. How do people live there? I had always doubted the development of these so called developed countries. Do their villages look different from ours? My uncle had a very basic doubt. He never believed their claim that no one pees outside in those countries as he has the big addiction of urinating every hour. My friends already had put their earnest desire on me. For them Europe was a place of beauties, beauty meaning real beauties. Every boy gets a chance there. It is quite different from our place where only some lucky guys are entrusted. I was given a real target, real target meaning real ones and I had just imagined my future with a French girl. I thought my ‘petit – petit’ (a little in English) knowledge of French was going to come handy.  I thanked my French ma'am.

    Packed with all the love and emotions of family and friends I took a train to Delhi from Anugrah Narayan, a small station near my village to catch my flight to Paris next day. As I was trying to locate my seat, I could easily sense the heated atmosphere inside the coach. The debate on the recent rape case by Asharam Bapu was on its zenith. Suddenly whole world seemed to be against him. I adjusted my extra-large luggage as the girl on the front seat stared me through her half opened eyelid. She seemed so annoyed of the discussion. One uncle gave his expert opinion, "rape should never be done by spiritual leader as their job is to build better society". I tried to jump into the discussion with my little wisdom. “It is our fault that we give little space to the spiritual leaders. Why does the society start making God out of human beings? Why don't we understand that this is a need of human being?” I don't know whether it was my religious interest which was coming out or I was defending my future.  Another uncle commented, "What Asharam Jee has done is a shame to the society. He could have enjoyed with his wife” and the discussion went on.  With all my management Gyan, I could easily foresee where the discussion was heading to. “Rape kind of tasks should be left for unmarried experts.” I could sense the fear of the young lady now. I thought it would be better to keep my mouth shut as all were married except me.  I took out my book ‘The Great Partition’ by Yashmin Khan. The author somehow appeared like giving clean cheat to both congress as well as Muslim league. The big massacre at the time of partition seemed to be unavoidable and both of these parties had little control over it. It was the complete collapse of trust between the two communities. The people were still busy building the recent great rape story and I went through some more pages. Train reached to Mughalsarai Junction in a while. The girl next to my seat got off and all the wise people briskly walked behind her. I tried to follow her through the window. The rape debate was still alive in my mind. For a moment my heart pounded with fear of untoward incident but then it calmed down. I thought she was safe as they all were married guys. They might have been running because none of them had tickets. I looked out of the window again. All were lost in the darkness. May be I was being too suspicious. I looked inside the coach. All of my belongings were still intact. A group of passengers, all Muslims as it was evident from their uniquely designed beard, came looking for their seats. Sometimes I wonder how all the Muslims get a typical style of beard! I would never get that style even if I stop shaving for months. Any way as they took their seats, I figured out that they all were going to Ajmer Sharif, a holy land of Khwaza Muinuddin Chisti, and they would travel with me up to Delhi. Although I had always hated religious division, still never felt easy passing through the Muslim colonies. The partition history was also somehow creating fear in me. In Kolkata Hindus were killed by Muslims on mass scale. Muslim league planned it properly. After half an hour all of them came together to recite Namaz. ‘Why they have to do it so many times a day’, I murmured out my frustration. See, I am Hindu and barely do anything religious in a year. The religion is the sole reason for plights of Muslims. It has been used to misguide them since long. I was lost in my thoughts as they performed their evening Namaz. One person led the proceeding and rest followed. After the Namaz, a new debate started. This is one reason why I love travelling in sleeper coaches. The social wisdom of India resides in its sleeper coaches and government must do something to tap it. The young Muslim guy was arguing “Namaz should never be recited wearing shoes or sleepers”. The old person was pissed off at the young generation for getting misguided by mullahs. He was annoyed that the young generation can spend thousands of rupees to buy cell phones but they don't bother to buy a copy of Kuran. He proclaimed, “There is no disrespect to Allah in reciting Namaz wearing shoes. In fact in trains one must wears it as these places are not clean. The discussion went on and I was getting divided every moment. It was 16^th August 1946, when Muslim league called for a direct action day in Kolkata. Mayor of Kolkata commanded, “We Muslims have had the crown and have ruled. Do not lose heart, be ready, and take swords. Oh Kafir! Your doom is not far and greater massacre will come”. I was confused whether to hate Islam or love it. It was my first close experience of Islam. The past was glim and present was pulling me. I closed the book and closed my eyes. They were eating Litties, my favorite food. I could sense the smell in my sleep. They were so same like me. I could not sleep. I hated the endless debate now. European beauties were far better than this. Who cares of the future? I don't care whether people make me Asharam Bapu or only Bapu, 30 years down the line. Any way I am not doing anything to anyone. None of the beauties are going to conceive my imagination. I was lost in my dream. By the time the train reached Delhi, it was already 9 am. The train had been late by 2 hours. It was chilled cloudy morning inside but outside it was hot. I looked into the mirror. The innocent face was brightened after the night dream. I hid my golden eyes under sun glasses. It was the omen of global warming. Europe was coming closer. I smiled at the tagline "be global and warm global" as I walked down the platform. Global warming was awaiting ahead.J
Its is a story of an ungratified soul. Continued....