Mozzarella

(Here’s an old post I found buried in my Gmail inbox, after I’d sent it from Ahmedabad. It was written sometime around the 24^th of December, 2004, but thought I’d put it up anyway)

So after some rather wild flights of fantasy concerning rats and cheese and celebrities and whatnot, I’ve finally settled down to writing down what Jaydee calls a blb (blog-level-blog). It’s about one of my favourite hobbies, sidewalk anthropology.

I don’t normally get the chance to pursue this in the insular IITM campus and I must admit that there’s not much fun in looking at the same old classmates and hostelmates over and over again. The only kind of new people I get to see are at Dhabba Express where other pressing concerns like food overshadow my mind.

But outside the campus and back home in the typically urban environment of Ahmedabad I see a plethora of people from different walks of life. And of course while travelling by train. You might think that I am some highly extroverted guy who loves to meet new people and chat with them. Quite the opposite, really. I’ve always been more of an introvert or let’s glorify that by saying that I’ve been a 'dispassionate observer of the mass of humankind' (ya, right).

Let’s take the barbershop for instance. The rich variety of people whom you see there is just amazing. I was there recently to trim my lovely locks as they were getting too… Ahem… Let me stick to the point. There I saw this little kid sitting on the chair as the barber slowly snipped his hair away. This guy was pretty calm unlike some other kids who raise a hell of a ruckus when forced to cut their hair. And after the whole thing was over, this kid actually took the comb and patiently combed his hair in front of the mirror. At the other end of the spectrum was this guy, who was creating a lot of fuss, asking the barber a thousand questions and giving him an equal number of instructions… Umm, that was me.

There was of course, the usual segment of people poring intently through the latest filmstar gossip mags which I detest so much. Then there were these twins who were probably in their twenties and these poor chaps appeared retarded to me. They were wearing really outsized glasses and were accompanied presumably by their father who was explaining to the barber that they had diabetes or something. I couldn’t really see them anymore. There’s something about these mentally challenged people that affects me too much. Probably the fact that they would never really understand the world and vice versa…

But what attracted my attention for nearly the rest of my stay at the barber (and it was a long one with me quizzing the barber after every alternate clip of the scissors) was this guy right next to me.

Middle-aged chap with thinning hair. Seemed to be quite a jolly sort of fellow with him joking with the barbers and all. That entire demeanour evaporated with the call he received from his wife, presumably. And in around half a minute or so he started to heap abuses on her. And those of the worst kind – the kind of words which we joke around with in the hostels. To see someone really irate and using those words with every bit of malice behind them is shocking to say the least. I really pity the poor wife or whichever other woman (it was surely a woman) who was on the other end. For in my opinion, nobody deserves to hear such trash from a family member. And him doing it shamelessly in front of other people is appalling (not that it can be condoned in private). It would be very clichéd or pompous of me to declare that the situation was an eye-opener to women’s abuse etc etc. But, one thing I do know. It’s a really rotten thing to take advantage of the fairer sex in that way or any other way for that matter.

The guy soon left and something else that really made me gag with disgust and laugh at the same time, was the poor shop-owner forced to paste that false smile on his face while receiving the dough and obsequiously escorting him to the door. I really don’t know what to say. On one hand the guy’s doing it because he has to and his business depends upon it to some extent, but on the other hand, it’s really sick to pamper a rotter like that one.

Only a few days later I was traveling to Surat (I can hear you saying, “Not another train journey!”) and as is usual with me I reached the station earlier than necessary and was hence spending my time watching the people all around. The railway is station is one heck of a busy place. In contrast to this airport waiting rooms are disappointingly quiet. There were the usual people rushing around with their luggage, the idle coolies sitting and smoking and the ever thinning group of people browsing at the AH Wheeler stalls. After reading the blurb on the latest Crichton, I saw the train approaching. The coolies sprang into action and people rushed into the train (to get the best spot for their luggage, no doubt).

Soon enough, I was seated on the train and saw this guy with a really fancy mobile beside me. I’d never given those gizmos a second thought earlier, but now with the recent MMS scandal, I found myself staring at it a little more intently than usual, before quickly averting my gaze to my right to see this guy wearing sunglasses and having a porter hoist a massive suitcase (nearly four feet in length) up to the luggage rack. There was a pair of old gentlemen beside me and one of them gave a couple of suggestions to the guy as both he and the porter were bulbing (there’s no better word for it) completely with regard to the placement of the case. And this guy (the words ‘high and mighty Sir Charles de Buliiarde le Roux’ come to mind) didn’t listen to them at all, didn’t even acknowledge the old guy’s presence. The case was eventually fixed after a truckload of effort (mainly due to the porter being sensible). The guy sat down, immediately flipped open his cellphone and started yammering into it like the overzealous, flashy yuppie that he was. After a while an attendant came along with some chocolates and this guy beckoned him with the condescending “Ststst…stststsss”. There’s one thing that puts me off as well. Call the guy some ‘bhai saheb’ or ‘bhaiya’ or whatever, but for God’s sake stop hissing at him!

Well, we all tore into the grub as soon as it arrived (one thing that was probably common to all of us) though it was a measly samosa-cheesecrackers-sweet affair, not at all like the Shatabdi I remembered. And as a variety of yawns and moans punctuated the air, I found myself dropping off to sleep…

One thing came to mind. I have a friend who on his Orkut profile, under the section favourite movies, has written “Don’t you think everyday life is the best movie?”

I am tempted to agree. Though it might be a little dull at times and may lack the spectacular vision of say, a Spielberg, it at least doesn’t contain all that phony Karan Johar grandeur. And best of all - unlike most movies, it’s totally unpredictable.