Friday, April 25, 2014

I am neither a Terrorist & nor a Smuggler : My First Flight Experience

Just a year back, I had my first flight experience. Everyone around me,my friends,classmates, knew I was flying for the first time.Ofcourse, they’ll know. I had started announcing it to them and sharing my anxiety with them, a week well in advance! Plus, my mom used to say how beautiful the world seems from atop. Literally like a fairyland.” Moving in the clouds should definitely be a fun”, I wondered.

All my dreams got wings, when I, all due to my sem-end exams, could not accompany my parents to Bangalore for an occassion.Therefore, abandoning the idea of 36 hours of train journey and knowing how desperate I was to fly, my parents decided to book the flight tickets for me.2 weeks after they were to travel.

One of the disadvantages of joining your family late during occasions is, your luggage increases. All the stuffs that they missed out, they’ll order you to bring along. The same was the case with me. The occasion, was a small but an important family gathering at our place in Bangalore.

The place where we live in Bangalore, has (probably)no flour mills nearby. And sweets being an  important part of any ceremony, mom needed powdered sugar and besan(Gram Flour) very badly.(I know, there are plenty of sweet shops there,in Bangalore, but mumma prefers homemade sweets,because she believes there’s love and homeliness stuffed inside them).Also,a house warming ceremony popped up at another cousin’s place, scheduled just a few days after I was to arrive in the IT hub.Mom,aked me to purchase some house warming present for her.I decided to buy a night lamp.It was beautiful with paper fishes moving inside them-a total aquarium kind of feeling.I got it nicely packed in a pink gift wrapper and added it to my already overloaded luggage along with the besan and powdered sugar.When,it was the time to put the add-ons to my luggage, I found this lamp in danger.So,I decided to carry it in a separate handbag.

My flight was scheduled at 9:00 am. Dad had requested his office colleague to drop me to the airport. I remember I had woken up at 5:00 that day, all the result of fretfulness. Uncle came to pick me up at around 6 and the roads being deserted at this hour of morning, we reached the airport in less than 30 minutes, which implies ,I was left there to watch the flight-notice of all the flights arriving and departing between the given time period.

I had submitted all my bags for the security check except my handbag and was roaming around nervously. I had already inquired about my flight, of where I was supposed to go, everything .In short, almost everybody there knew where was I flying! :P

I was having coffee when I suddenly heard the security personnel calling me. I rushed there to know what the problem was. He was holding my lamp-bag.

“Kya hai ismai,bulb hai?”
“Haa.Lamp hai.Kyon?”
“Yeh packing apko kholke dikhani padegi.”
“Par kyon?”
“Bulb detect hua hai.”
“Toh?Mai bata rahi hoon na,Lamp hai!Kisiko as a gift dena hai.”
“Aapko pata hai,Bomb banane mai bhi bulb ka use kiya jaata hai?”

I was like,”OMG!Am I thought of as a terrorist here?”

I quite nicely opened up the packing and showed him how beautiful the lamp it was. But my first-time-experience decided not to leave me so easily. Just after I somehow packed it back, there came another security personnel holding my trolley-bag.The same overloaded trolley-bag.

“Yeh aapka bag hai?”
“Haa.Ab kya hua?”(Was already annoyed!)
“Yeh bag aapko open karke dikhana padega!”
“Yeh 'itna bada' bag?”
“Haa.Ismai kuch powdered material detect hua hai!”

I was so angry on my mommy then. Who gave the idea to her of sending the powdered sugar and besan with me?!

“Yeh dekho.Yeh powdered sugar and yeh besan”,I said holding both the  packets,one in each hand.

That individual let me keep the besan back in my bag but took away the sugar to further test it.
I asked the other one, who had checked my lamp, of why sugar was being discriminated.
He so nicely said “White colored toh drugs bhi hotey hai!”
And I was yet again left dumbstruck.OMG! First,a terrorist and now a smuggler?
I saw that person literally checking it with some weird machine and smelling it too. Then he came back to me and asked me to pack everything back.

Not to forget,the people there,looking suspiciously at me!
Did my nervousness too send out wrong signals to them?

Can somebody’s first flight experience be better than this? :P



Monday, April 21, 2014

I too have a Dream





Hello Varun,

It’s me once again,Varun.I know that I disturb you a lot. Your sleep might be abhorring me right now. But there are issues that are concerning me these days Varun.I was never the same before and I wish to never remain in the state as I am today.I hope you are listening.You are the only one who cares about my worries. But I have complaints to make. Each time I share my distress with you,you soothe me out and I shun thinking. This is not going to work this time Varun.You’ll have to provide me with a solution. There’s nobody else with whom I can share these stuffs.

Its been a year,Varun,since I am accompanying my mom.I too ,daily walk with her,miles,till we reach that 18 year old apartment.There,I see people getting dressed up for their offices, women unlike my mom, cooking up for their kids and young chaps, aged alike me going to schools with bags clung at their backs.

There’s this particular house,Varun,where each day I ring the bell, 2 and a half minute long is the bells tone. This bell too rhymes differently each day, unlike my monotonous life. A handsome young  boy opens up the door, yells to his momma ‘Mom,Kachra leney waaley aaye hai’ and his mom comes  running hastily, handling her saree, to dump her household waste into my basket. Personally, although I like the boy, I don’t like his mom Varun.She “orders” my mom to clean away her dustbin and she also prefers not to touch us. She neither allows our broom to get into her house ,Varun.I never understand why,Varun.I’ve tried asking my mom several times, but each time, she ends up saying “It has always been so.We aren’t allowed to get into their homes.They are ‘Badey log’".
'Badey Log'? How do people get ‘Badey’ and who decides who is ‘Badey’,Varun?

Eventhough,I don’t like his mom,I like the kid Varun.He is of the same age as mine.Each morning he’s charmingly dressed into blue pants and a white shirt. Each morning, he’s all set to go to school. He exchanges smiles with me daily .He is unlike his mom.He never falters, when by-chance he touches me or my mom.He simply smiles and goes away.I respect that boy,Varun.

I too have curious eyes,like him, Varun.Eyes curious to watch the world, to step into that kid’s world.I  too have a dream of jumping off this  foul smelling well and exploring the world beyond.I too wish to go to school.I don’t want to pick up people’s household waste.I don’t want to spend my precious life picking up the garbage bins.I wish to smell the fresh books.I wish to dream.I wish to fulfil those dreams,Varun.
Each day I sleep,I imagine myself in that kid.Will my imaginations get wings?Will they be ever able to fly?Will I be ever able to dare to dream?

Varun,this time you’ll not ignore me.Promise me that Varun. Time flies by soon.I need an answer Varun.I sleep tonight hoping to wakeup tomorrow morning with the answers to my concerns Varun.

Good Night.



Yours,
Varun

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

TPODG : The (Present) Love of My Life!


Ohh These Books!Which never ditch you,which never leave you.Which never hate you,never compel you to love them.But,there comes a time in every reader's life where she falls in love.In love not with the surrounding wooden closets and nor with the velvet cushions,but,with the author,with the characters,with the beautiful scribbled lines.Here are a few lines from the book "The Picture of Dorian Gray",a few uttered by the characters and few in the imagination of the author.
You are bound to love Oscar and his writings! :)                     

  • When I like people immensely, I never tell their names to any one. It is like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvelous to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it.

  • Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.

  • But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!

  • I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me and gives something to it. Oh, if it were only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day--mock me horribly!

  • I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir the dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.

  • Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions and the intellect. But now and then a complex personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work of art, life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting.