TWO WORLDS, ONE COUNTRY

India, the world’s fastest growing economy, has undergone a massive transformation in the past few decades. There was once a time when on hearing our country’s name, the first image that would flash in an outsider’s mind would probably have been poverty or disease or illiteracy and maybe after that, our rich culture fabricated by our multilingual and multi ethnic society, our historic architectural marvels, our colours and of course, we the people. Though these features continue to exist, life, in the world’s largest democracy and second largest population has taken a shift towards the fast track. Ever since the massive globalization drive begun in 1992, the standard of living in the country has grown substantially. The influx of several popular western brand names in India in the recent past has led to the formation of a whole new class christened as the upper-middle class, which of course has its own set of concerns. But despite this metamorphosis, India’s culture and heritage continues to be its prominent feature and its major source of earning as well. Well, this definitely is a fact to be proud of, but what is not is that the above mentioned basic problems such as poverty and illiteracy and social stigmas like child labor and dowry still haunt our society.

Experts and journalists around the country describe this situation as –‘best of both worlds’. I would have to say that this phrase is quite apt, as I happen to be one of those Indians, who get to be a part of both these extremes and witness the beauty of its coexistence. The following two contrasting stories are based on these very experiences.

Part 1: The world below…

After a whole tiring day of boring lectures and frustrating labs, at six in the evening, I finally get to hang up my boots temporarily. Well, I generally relax by enjoying an evening meal along with my friends in the nearby snack stalls. There are a variety of such places in the vicinity of my hostel which include tea stalls, shake centres and low cost restaurants. With the break of dusk, the whole arena is thronged with many a student like me, who are here to revitalize themselves and these shops in turn, thrive on us.

When I visited this place for the first time, I was taken aback by the reliance of these places on a single bright bulb, switched on by tying up two live ends, to light up the area. I had no clue about what I would be confronting in terms of food. On asking, the owner started chanting what seemed to me like a Sanskrit shloka. He was actually going through the list of items, which seemed to have been permanently etched in his mind over the years. Not being able to understand a single word of his blabber, I gave some weird looks to my friends, to which he reacted instinctively and asked me to take a look at his menu on a wooden board. As I started going through it, I came across some of the most bizarre names of the world such as - chikan chowmean, freid raice, bund butter, mango shek, banana sake, pasty etc. I tried my best to control, but eventually burst into laughter. Not wanting to hurt the owner’s sentiments, I quickly turned around and tried to control myself. But I was, by no means, helped by the neighboring shop which read- chinesh food and sek carnar. A few moments later, I finally regained some sanity and placed my order. I was asked to have a seat. As I waited for my order, I looked around to check out its people. Besides the owner there was an elderly helper and to my shock, there were two very young boys who looked like brothers and an even younger girl. The sight of that little girl in dirty and tattered clothes, cleaning up the dishes with utmost effort, was a horrifying one. I was brought to my senses by one of the boys who inquired in a rural Hindi, whether I had placed my order or not. I tried to distract myself by taking a glance of what the others were having. My eyes got fixed on the Aloo paranthas garnished with some lovely pickles and a very symmetrically cut, piece of butter. Hang on, there was still more to come. The young boy alias chotu came out with a plate of noodles. That was it! I had started to salivate profusely now. Thankfully my wait ended quite soon when the lad shouted out-“egg chicken roll”. I hastily claimed it. The next few moments of my life were just out of this world. The roll contained some delicious fillings, topped with some tempting pieces of red meat, all of which had been pretty meticulously compiled. The taste could not be described in words. I devoured two of them in no time. When I asked him where I could wash my hands, he gestured towards one of the water jugs; the same from which people drank water. I reluctantly rinsed my hands, but drinking that was out of question. After that I decided to go for a chocolate shake as dessert. He gleefully accepted my demand, cleaned his blender and took out some milk from his fridge. After that he added some crushed ice, heaps of sugar and chocolate powder and switched on the mixer and my shake was ready to be served. Considering the amount of chocolate and sugar he had added, the taste just could not have been bad. Well, my whole meal summed up to a mere forty bucks. No wonder this place was so popular. Ever since, this place became a part of my daily routine.

Every evening I enjoy my daily snakes or rather snacks along with a glassful of my favorite cold coffee without ice, over here. Cold coffee and that too without ice may sound a bit funny, but I have no choice. The manner with which the ice is transported and then crushed can make anyone lose his or her appetite. The chunk of ice is brought on a cycle and the same jute bag is reused each time it is crushed. In fact there is a big question mark on the hygiene of this place. With time, I noticed that, the dishes are merely dipped in a soap water solution in the name of cleaning. The workers rarely wash there hands and it is better to ignore the water supply being used. No wonder these guys charge so less. They have to manage their family’s whole living in that meager sum. This also accounts for the hiring of children as labor. They are not only cheap, but can also be better exploited. The sight of these young boys and girls toiling hard in a time when they should be playing around is quite heartbreaking. What make matters even worse are the conditions under which they work. Their masters force them to grill under the relentless heat and the biting cold, with dirt and germs all around and adding to all this, they do not even have a permanent toilet. It is very easy to say that the government should steps to eradicate this evil but unfortunately, these children are major earning sources for their families and will have to live under worse conditions if sent back home.

Well, despite the sorry state of affairs in these places, there is a spirit about its people. The kids always seem to be cheerful and find some or the other source of entertainment while working, which is heartening to see. The owners and workers are quite down to earth, polite and completely dedicate themselves to our service with a lot of curtsy. The people who are found here in multitude are generally from the lower classes. It is interesting to see these guys sit back and relax on those dilapidated plastic seats and wooden benches to enjoy a samosa with a glass of boiled tea and indulge themselves in animated discussions most of which are political. My astonishment reaches its pinnacle when I see the mutual trust among the people. After ordering a dish, one may enjoy it anywhere in the vicinity as per will and pay after that. There is no stress upon ‘on the spot payment’ and very rarely does anyone take undue advantage of this system. All these highs and lows taken together make these sorts of places truly amazing.

Part 2: The world above…

Back home to Kanpur after a tiring and financially tight few weeks in college, I get a much needed breather. The first desire which props up in my mind is to hang out somewhere either with friends or family to enjoy some tasty cuisines. I instinctively think of a mall, owing to its happening atmosphere and more importantly, its absence in the city where my college is located, the pious Allahabad. Kanpur though, has rapidly improved in this respect over the past few years and is now home to some of the better malls of its zone. This could be credited to the growing business class of the industrial city.

As soon as I enter the mall premises, I get an adrenaline rush. The parking lot itself has a lot to tell about what one could expect inside. It is generally full of cars of all the popular brands in India, with the gleaming high class luxury sedans dotted in between, but visible distinctly. After walking through the wooden security channel, which seems to beep for every person and a rather lousy security check, a blast of air conditioning welcomes us into the mall. The atmosphere inside is simply electrifying. The high glass roofs, the lighting, the cleanliness, the glitter, the crowd, everything is really attractive. The first time I came to this mall, I was awestruck at its splendor. I simply gazed around the whole structure, trying to count the number of brand names lined up. Well, that was a few years back. Since then, visiting malls, for me has been a patchy yet regular feature of my calendar.

This time I decided to have my dinner at McDonald’s, a multinational fast-food outlet chain, in case you did not have an idea. I pushed open the very meticulously polished glass door besides which was a sitting figure of Ronald, the mascot clad in red and yellow, and entered. There was quite a buzz inside which blended with the beats of the English songs being played in the background. I walked straight down to the counter and waited in the queue to place my order. I looked up at the lighted and attractive menu board. There were some appealing names with their even more tempting pictures along side them. What were not quite as enticing though, were the exorbitant prices written against them. I decided to go for a McChicken burger, some fries and a coke to go along with them. The cashier asked me whether I wanted to go for a combo meal as it would have offered me an extra item at a lower cost. I was not very keen on that extra item and hence refused. I was then thrown in with yet another deal, this time in the form of yet another complex permutation and combination. With my mathematics not quite being the best in the world, my mind was in a scramble. I shrugged all those snarls off and asked my man to adhere with the request made by me and finalise it. He keyed in some data and out came a bill from that electronic device with a characteristic high pitched buzz. The weight of my wallet reduced significantly soon after. As I waited for the order, I got a chance to have a glimpse of how the activities taking place in the kitchen. It was absolutely spic and span and was full of some rather sophisticated ovens and grills. The workers in there were highly professional, with some of them dipping the already cut fries in shining oil bath, some compiling the constituents of the burger and some responsible for the beverages and other nitty-gritty jobs. Very soon my order was handed out to me on a tray and I sat down on a suitable location, not being able wait to get my hands on the food, especially after getting its captivating fragrance. As I chomped through my burger with intermittent sips of coke, I did what I loved to do the most. I looked around to see the brilliantly illuminated ambience, the happenings and of course the people. It was astounding to see the glitter of wealth in the crowd, the majority of which comprised of youngsters. The teenage boys wore some rather flamboyant T-shirts with baggy jeans that were strapped at alarmingly low levels. In addition to these, the hair gel had been brought to adequate use, with hair-spikes oriented in all possible directions as a fashion statement. The girls were clad in scintillating apparels with as many exposures as possible within the present socially accepted limits. Their trendy hairstyles, sparkling accessories, glowing make-up and mystifying fragrance were all abiding the latest fashion standards. I could have carried on describing their attractive appearance had my mother not brought me into my senses by a typical parental statement-“My goodness! What has happened to the kids nowadays? Just look at how they are dressed.”

It was true. Being a teenager myself, I could, for once understand this trend in my age group. But what was more shocking, was to see the kids’ jazzy outfits. Clearly inspired from Television, the children seemed no less than little celebrities. I tried going back to my own childhood, which was not very long ago and recalled that even in my time, we flaunted around our simple shirts and jeans or frocks and skirts as in the case of girls. Well, seeing their parents’ dressing sense, one could lift the lid of the fact of who was responsible. The unnecessary artificial aids to reduce their apparent age made them look rather ghastly. They were murmuring away with each other in the most sophisticated of English with least possible usage of Hindi, which of course is inevitable for any Indian.

I was finally over with my delicious course and scurried off that place in fear off getting an inferiority complex. Howsoever complex is their world, the fact is that there was clear cut happiness radiating on the faces of those relatively young, higher middle class section of people. They seemed to get a sadistic pleasure in reiterating their superiority by showing there neighbors down time and again. Who doesn’t though?

So there we have it; two absolutely contrasting worlds in almost all respects. Both of them seem satisfied, but there exists an underlying urge for development. The lower class wants to go higher and the higher class holds the desire to fly even more higher. So the direction of shift of momentum is clearly evident. Every year there are myriads of people from home and returning from abroad who are establishing themselves in the elite business class. The cost of living index (COLI) is increasing exponentially and the western influence is clearly evident.

Well, all this could give nightmares to a normal Indian who is witnessing his countrymen get spellbound by an influential country’s lifestyle. Did Gandhi ji and Nehru vision a developed India in the form of another America? This may not be a pleasant thought, but it has to be accepted. The world is dynamic. Evolution is a basic truth. Development is always for the good, though it may bring along some side effects along with it. You may hate it, you may like it, but you cannot ignore it. It is also a fact and a heartening one, that the current trend towards commercialization has helped the ones in destitute. So as long as it promises to facilitate those young child labors in the block, it has to be good. After all, we have to set our priorities.

As far as us normal Indians are concerned, we should try to recall our chemistry lessons and remember the fact that spontaneous reactions always occur in order to establish a state of equilibrium. Hence without worrying too much about the disturbing westernizing trends and trying to keep ourselves away from it, let us enjoy the best of both worlds.

AGRA @ 345678

Kanpur

June 2007

It was a pleasant evening and we had gathered in our usual meeting place i.e., the local sports ground. We had just passed out from school the year before and since then this type of meeting had become a part of our routine. Everyday, during the breaks, when the clock struck 6, an initiating phone call (many a times by me) would give rise to a chain of calls in order to inform each of the dozen odd guys regarding the place and time of meeting. The necessity of engaging our telephone lines like this could be questioned as we passed the same old message daily. Well, despite all this our average delay time was about half-an-hour with some stalwarts, who had their own time zones, arriving as late as one and a half hours if not more and that too with no signs of guilt on their faces. Oh well! What to say! Our group had many such variations to offer in terms of physique, interests and several other aspects of life and our unity amidst all this disparity made us as a unique friends circle. That’s right, we were considered to be one of the best gangs of our locality. We were initially either single or in pairs with several permutations and combinations and gradually got together to form what we were on the present day. All of us, namely (in alphabetical order), Abhimanyu (manyu/lalla), Ashish, Christopher (christo/kaka), Karthik (Kaki), Nishant, Pradeepta(apu, that’s me by the way), Srijan (chotu), Sudhendu (sonu), Tarang and Vaibhav with Bharath and Rajan being the subsidiary members, together made an inseparable unit.

Our meetings used to start at the break of dusk when the beautiful twilight sky beamed over our heads and extended till the dinner bells rang. We generally discussed meaningless topics with all rubbish content inside it and burst into hours of uncontrolled laughter, something which eventually became characteristic to our group. I would like to make a special reference to Ashish and Nishant here who are undoubtedly the two most jovial characters of the lot. We also passed our time by searching for the minutest of mistakes in the speakers’ sentences with Tarang leaving no stones unturned in doing so. We never got bored of doing this. Today, though, it was going to be different. Amidst all the chuckles and laughs, Srijan had the guts to raise a serious issue, the issue of our not having been on a tour together. There was a sudden lull. It was true. We had gone to Lucknow once, but that was on a school excursion trip when we were in ninth grade. Four years on, that memorable trip still elates our hearts whenever we chat of it. Despite all this, we laughed off all these notions. But this topic had come to stay. After a few arguments all of us agreed on the point that we seriously had to go somewhere. Our light-hearted group, though, was not going to let the mood of the camp go sober. We started thinking of some rather hypothetical destinations such as Switzerland, Bhutan, Goa etc. Simla, as suggested by one of us, was not such a bad idea though. Well, good or bad, most of us were certain that this idea was not quite going to go down in our parents’ good books, especially considering the fact that most of us had been brought up in the caressing atmosphere of a campus, in contrast to the ruthless outside world. Another factor we had to take into account was that most of us were about to settle in college and had to complete several formalities prior to our admissions which included counseling and registrations. The trip, unfortunately could not afford to be our top priority under the circumstances and we had to consider it cancelled for the time being.

Kanpur

June 2008

A rather sultry evening and we had assembled yet again at the same time but this time at a different venue as our old hub was undergoing a renovation process. One year down the line, most of us had changed a bit. All but two of us had spent the whole of last year in our respective hostels, and the development was evident. Not that we had not met in between, but it generally takes a year in the time scale to be able to gauge such changes. Our talks, though, in contrast to our overall nature, had not quite changed. We still talked the same old amusing crap stuff and laughed at its hilarity. As expected, the matter which had been left incomplete last year was raised yet again and this time with more seriousness. With all of us being far more relaxed this time, the response was quite positive. It was unanimously decided that Agra would have been the most appropriate place not only for its popularity and rich heritage but also because of its proximity. We wanted to go as soon as possible but there were a few bottlenecks, one of them being my absence (then how did I write all this?).

I finally was back from my gratifying trip of Kolkata and my hometown, Bhubaneswar. One trip over and straight away I was discussing another one. This one though, was going to be different. But the problem was that were my parents, who took years to allow me to commute in a tempo, going to subscribe to this? Could they look at this with a similar perspective as me and my friends were? With numerous apprehensions in mind, I asked Ma for her permission. A stern ‘No’ gave me a jolt. I received negative signals from her but never before such a loud and clear one. But I was quite steadfast about this one and was all set for a fight. I was just about to explode when to my abashment; I saw a wry smile on Ma’s face. “If you have already decided to go, then why ask for my permission”, she uttered. I was not quite sure whether it was intended in a friendly manner or a hostile one. Well, I soon found out that she had truly understood the reason behind my strong desire and the importance of the trip. That’s my mother! She may have all her reservations about an issue, but eventually she does agree and that too with an extension of her support. Next on the line was my father. I decided to throw the ball straight at him as soon as he would enter the arena and wait for his reaction. He too gave the green signal but presented his own set of concerns. I reassured him by stressing in the point that my roommate was a resident of Agra to which he took a sigh of relief. I could not believe it. This was the visa for Agra. I was actually cleared to go and was exuberant about it.

After remaining a mere plan for at least a week, the whole party acceded to the fact that some concrete steps had to be taken towards this, which should include the chalking out of a fool-proof plan and reservations. Most of the meetings held by us to do so proved to be failures as the venue for the same lacked the required infrastructure i.e., the box, more popularly known as the computer in order to check the availability of tickets and other such information. Our laidback group could not manage this when we had time on our hand and it ultimately took us an emergency meeting to do so. We met at Manyu’s place. As usual it took us at least forty minutes and a few bashings from Srijan, who had to leave that very evening, to set apart our jokes and come to the point. We still had to clarify a few issues. First of all, not all of us had gotten the nod from their parents. We called up Sudhendu who lived nearby and asked him to update us with his status. The reply was to our disappointment. His family did not approve and his dejection clearly reflected in his apologetic smile. This was a major setback for the mission, but it just had to go ahead. After that there was a confusion regarding the dates. With a few of us busy on the weekdays, we had to choose a weekend. It so turned out that there were only two weekends which fell within the purview of our vacations. One would just be overlooking Vaibhav’s all important end-semester examination and the other posed a few problems for the host. Surprisingly Vaibhav was not even present to defend his side of the case but that is exactly why friends like us are rare. It was only after some repeated appeals from us when Manyu forwarded the petition to the higher court i.e., the parental level and returned triumphant. It was now official. We were leaving in the early hours of 6^th July and were scheduled to return just before midnight on the same day. Nine of us had been short listed. Christopher, Tarang, Rajan (Manyu’s cousin, an associate member of our group), Ashish, Nishant, Abhimanyu, Srijan and Vaibhav along with mine were the names which had been registered in the tickets booked within 48 hours of the announcement. Even after that, there were a few clouds surrounding Ashish’s availability, but were soon cleared. Nishant was quite content with his practical jokes to make a fool of us, the most effective one being Manyu and Rajan’s trip to Bhopal. That was funny.

Kanpur

5^th July

It was the eve of our much anticipated trip and all of us were really thrilled. Of course the excitement levels had to be assessed from our online chats as none of us could meet that day owing to rain. It had been pouring incessantly throughout U.P. and yet again the scenario was looking precarious. I called Divy, my roommate, to find out the state of Agra. His reply made me feel a bit optimistic. We kept in touch throughout the day, enquiring about what to take and what not to. Srijan also circulated a checklist with the eight last one being rather bizarre. I packed my rucksack, ate my dinner and got ready. I also kept a few paper soaps for the inevitable, finding the suitable venue for which was a concern. The clock struck midnight twelve and the vehicle was to arrive soon. I began to have an adrenaline rush. I finally heard the much wanted honk which indicated the car’s arrival. After picking up the remaining three to four guys we were on our way. It was drizzling and the otherwise crowded and bustly Grand Trunk road was rather serene at this hour of the night.

We reached Kanpur Central railway station in no time. The situation there was quite pathetic with muddy puddles almost everywhere. Most of us got drenched in trying to rush into the station premises. We checked at the enquiry that the train was on schedule at platform number 2. We had more than an hour. We walked around the station, ate some snacks and also used the gaudy weighing machines to settle a few internal rivalries. We then got into our customary huddle and launched our worthless talks. Our violent laughter outbreaks did raise a few eyebrows in the vicinity but we were quite accustomed with it now and were unfazed. The station is a hub to some rather interesting characters and we met one too, who claimed to be a DIG and also offered us a role in his movie. We shifted our base to the second platform with a few minutes to go. A train soon chugged in and we got armed only to find out that it was a passenger train called Jan-Sadharan Express. We found out that there was a bit of a delay which was okay as it fell within the limits of Indian Standard Time (IST) which could be compared to a zero error in instruments (no prize for guessing the field of education we guys were pursuing). The platform was soon vacated and we could see a diesel locomotive pulling on into the same platform. The announcement though was not in our favor as it was the Unchahar Express. This one had almost settled its household here. I tried to show off my years of railway traveling experience by predicting that our train, Allahabad-Mathura Express, would arrive as soon as this one left, only to be proved completely wrong. We updated ourselves and learnt that the Indian Railways had started living up to its reputation. It had now started raining cats and dogs and, we now waited on the top of the pedestrian bridge which was badly leaking. We unleashed a few umbrellas and carried on with our chatting. My eyes fell on some rays of light of an approaching train. Yet again we were deceived. Our legs had started to pain now and we decided to buy some newspapers in order to sit, as the floor was all slushy. The latest news was that our train had now been delayed by three and a half hours, which is more than the actual duration taken to reach Kanpur from Allahabad. We got some rest before we were woken up by some pigeons that left there stamps on Srijan and Vaibhav. It was dawn now and I received a phone call from Ma who was shocked to hear that I was still in Kanpur. She forced me to abandon the trip but I clearly refrained from doing so. “There is no stopping us now” were my words before I hung up. We climbed up the stairs yet again. The awesome Rajdhani Express was clearing the badly flooded tracks. This was when I heard the characteristic three, descending pitched beeps followed by the computerized nasal announcement, “Yaatrigan kripaya dhyaan de”. Only, that this time, it was for our train which was now to arrive on platform no. 1. I shouted to the rest of the guys and rushed. We breathed a sigh of relief when we saw a WAP4 locomotive drafting in the bogies. We got into our compartment and occupied the seats, most of which were wet. Our berths were randomly located but we settled into one of the eight sub-compartments. After a chatting and photography session all of us except Srijan dozed off.

I was woken up by the impudent TTE but not before a much needed rest. I received summon from nature, in response to which I very reluctantly used the in train facility which was highly filthy. Nice going Mr. Lalooji. I then conversed with Srijan and Manyu for a while before the others came to their senses. It was around 11 am and we reached Tundla which is just on the periphery of Agra. We pacified the rats in our stomachs with some light snacks. It should have taken 30 more minutes had we not landed up in this place called Kuberpur where the train came to a rather lengthy halt. We had our photos snapped in all the possible sites nearby and flattened a few coins but the train just would not budge for the next two hours. We came to the consensus that we were falling short of time and had to extend the trip by a day. Srijan was not too sure due to his summer project but eventually agreed to somehow manage. After several such frustrating stoppages all of us were highly bored now. Christo, Tarang and Manyu were rather quiet, Srijan and Vaibhav resorted to music and Rajan went back for a snooze. Ashish and Nishant still had a lot to talk about and cheer. I carried on doing my favorite thing on trains i.e., looking outside, when I received an interesting SMS. Then, much to everyone’s ecstasy I spotted the glorious Taj Mahal. A few distant pictures of the Taj Mahal and the subsequent Agra Fort in Tarang and Vaibhav’s digicam and we reached a station called Raja-ki-Mandi. Our calculations showed that this should have been a convenient place to alight. After some indecision we got down and went to the booking office to cancel the return tickets. The official their informed us that Agra Cantt., the next stop, was the place to go. We were marching back towards the train when the driver pressed the horn. We started hurrying a bit and got into a run. Some of us though were in their own world and were unaware of the proceedings. This rush took a dramatic turn when Rajan almost slipped but recovered quickly, unhurt. We were in the train once again and taking some deep breaths. Christo, who was one of those lately informed, was not very amused at what just happened and expressed his extreme displeasure.

The train finally reached Agra Cantt where we got down. We quickly got our tickets cancelled and left the station. I checked my watch to see the time and instantly remembered the SMS which Rishabh, my college friend had sent me in the train. It had just hit 3:04 p.m. and I glanced at the seconds slot which read 3…4...and 5...bingo!!! We had set foot on the soil of Agra at 03:04:05, 06.07.08. It was quite a coincidence. Nobody seemed interested though. It was understandable. We were now desperate to get something down our throats. We got enticed into a rather unhygienic dhaba which seemed more than a bountiful under the circumstances. Vaibhav refused to touch anything but we were too tired to find a new place. After that episode, yet again indecision made its inroads into our group. This time it was about where to go first. Considering the time and our physical state, Taj Mahal was out of contention. Our tiredness now was clearly portrayed in our body-language. After some spats and furors, we thought that we had to hang up our boots for sometime. Nishant and Ashish, who were the professional bargainers of the gang, had a long chat with the Auto drivers after which we rattled off. It was a strict order that we should not be mentioning our not being native to this place to avoid being cheated badly. The bargainers were in business once again, this time for the hotel rooms. They managed to extract a lucrative deal and we just dashed off into the rooms where, led by Srijan who was tired of arguments, all of us retired.

I woke up after sunset and found out that we were going to a mall to watch a movie. We were quite okay with this notion. We had another round of bargaining before we were on the roads yet again and reached the TDI mall soon. Hailing from a city which was home to three very famous malls, it was astonishing for us to be visiting a mall in Agra. Well as it turned out, this mall was far mightier than the Kanpur malls and we could just gaze in amazement. We got our cash ready for the movie tickets when I accidentally revealed that we were Kanpurites. I was hushed by my colleagues and this was not for the first time in the day. I was anyway not too good at this and hence lost my temper. It was one thing to act so in front of the auto drivers but was it needed for a private mall official. I calmed down soon and we entered the mall. I looked around the stupendous building to see the same old outlets. Of course we saw some fresh and refreshing faces in terms of pretty girls, a characteristic of all malls and one reason why boys enjoy malls. McDonald’s was the best food outlet there and we had our dinner. Unlike previous outings, we averted chaos this time by separately placing our orders one by one. We were through with our dinner and still had two hours for the late night show. We killed time by wandering around, visiting the nearby malls, playing pranks with each other on the escalator and finding suitable matches for us in the crowd. Just before the movie was to start, we had some coffee and went in. The movie was Jaane tu ya jaane na, an unconventional love story produced by the highly talented Amir Khan and starring his nephew Imraan Khan. It was a highly entertaining romantic flick and we exited the mall, jubilant. But we still could not affirm to the fact that we were in Agra. It was raining outside and we were lucky to get an Auto. We were deceived by the notorious driver who took the longer route. This time though I thought of giving a shot at bargaining. It worked, but only to an extent. We immediately collapsed on the beds and before reaching a quiescent state, I thought what would happen if we have a downpour tomorrow? We would have to say,” We went to Agra to watch a movie”.

Agra

7^th July

As per the plan we woke up early in the morning, with some exceptions of course. We had packed our best possible attires and we got clad in them. As I stepped out I saw a drizzle and some dark clouds overhead. Our luck which had unsuccessfully tried all the possible steps to stop us had struck yet again. We started our mission anyway, with the first job being the reservations. Our dreadful run with the auto drivers continued when they took us to some travel agents who asked for some exorbitant under the table sums. As per my earlier suggestion we went to the Agra Fort station only to face some more bad luck. There were no tickets available in any trains which left us with only one option, the bus. Many of us had our objection towards the bus especially considering the monsoons. We had a few more arguments but were choice less. We decided to commence with the proceedings by first having our breakfast. I ate a rather tasteless dosa. After that we were finally set to invade our first destination, the Agra fort. But the rain gods drew first blood that morning. We held our ground and umbrellas and viewing our determination throughout the last 30 odd hours, they finally gave up. For the first time in the day we saw a diffused but nonetheless pleasing sunshine.

No sooner had we entered the fort than the guides started to encircle us. The bargainers were back in business and they had a long day ahead. Getting someone down to Rs 20 from Rs 175 really deserves some credit. The guide introduced himself as Mr. Arun Kumar and started his demonstration. He acquainted us with the names of the gates as ‘Delhi gate’ and ‘Amar Singh Rathore gate’. He then showed us the diwan-e-aam and diwan-e-khaas which were the assembly halls for the public and dignitaries respectively. He also showed us the Macchi Bhawan (Fish Enclosure), Mina Masjid (Heavenly Mosque) and Sheesh Mahal (Glass Palace) to the grandeur of which we could just gaze with awe. One thing which left us in dismay was the damaged piece of marble on a wall caused by a canon ball fired by the British Army which rebounded to also damage the black marble platform. They subsequently stole Shah Jahan’s peacock throne. The scenes of the recent bollywood super hit, ‘Jodhaa Akbar’ came alive in my mind. We also got a glimpse of the Taj Mahal from its creator’s viewing Gallery. Meanwhile Vaibhav and Rajan who were preoccupied with their mutual photography seemed anything but interested in all this. The guide though who was now pretty much involved in us, did not quite find their behaviour appropriate and also expressed his dissatisfaction. Vaibhav, who was quite headstrong, gave a solid but rather rude answer which was, “I have no interest in your history”. We giggled off that incident and Mr. Arun resumed his story. Such was his involvement that he now had two favorite disciples among us in the form of Tarang and Nishant whose jokes he misinterpreted as their serious interest. Nishant also extracted some information about his opportunistic brother who was now happily settled in Belgium. We snapped a few group photos and were soon wrapped up with the fort.

Second in line was the monument which earmarked Agra, the amazing Taj Mahal. This is where we were joined by my Roomie, Divy. We bought the tickets and got in. Surprisingly the security rules were not that stringent. The subsequent sight was stupefying and this reflected in our radiant faces. We wasted no time to capture a few individual and group stills. Manyu and Rajan were particularly elated as it was a debut for them. We roamed around to just get more charmed by the grandeur and splendor of this symbol of love. It was incredible to see the number of foreign tourists who had come to catch a glimpse of this white marble dome created by 22,000 laborers in 22 years. The whole undertaking cost the emperor a whooping twenty two crore bucks and the highly skilled workers their gifted fingers. We sat down and enjoyed the gushing but rather polluted Yamuna River. Once again, the shutters were off the lenses. This was when the extremely stylish goggles, as per Srijan’s last requirement in the list, were unveiled. The guys now behaved no less important than celebrities and flaunted around with an intention of drawing attention especially from the fairer sex. Seeing the very shy Manyu reluctantly put on the shades, I too endeavored and gave some mirror-cracking poses. After appeasing ourselves, we finally made a move. It was high time too, as we were hungry. Divy split from the group and we headed for our hotel. In between we purchased the famous ‘pethas’ of Agra. We also consulted a taxi operator as to what would be the most judicious conveyance for our next and final destination, the relatively distant Fatehpur Sikri. Taking the time-factor into the equation the car was the only option we had. But it also threatened to have a bad impact on our pockets. We had some animated discussions-turn -heated arguments on this issue in our rooms. The fact that the fare was brought down by a good 300 rupees made the taxi a good prospect. But the concurrence of opinions was yet to be achieved. Well, a few of us, including me, finally raised our hands to accentuate the point that since we had traveled so many miles and audaciously confronted myriad adversities, Rs. 700 should not prove to be a restraint and cut short our trip.

We refreshed ourselves and checked out of our hotel, Samode Inn before the van arrived. It seemed that we had to be content with our morning meal as we were running behind schedule. All set to leave and ‘the tenth and eleventh members’ of the convoy were back in the limelight. Confusion and chaos struck again when the hotel manager hailed yet another taxi on the request of a still anonymous mate. This one though, was an SUV and would have much better accommodated our battery which housed some rather bulky affiliates. So we bode the displeased van helmsman an adieu by handing over a fifty rupee note and hit the road. An hour on the highway and we were there. The locals advised us to take a camel ride inside the fort campus. It was a bumpy but unique experience. We first visited the Sikri fort leaving the other one, the Fatehpur fort for the latter half. Both of them are situated on a hill of the Arravali range. Inside, we roamed around, this time without a guide. We filtered out some photogenic site and photographed. My camera too, had now joined the league. We captured some beautiful stills, though not having any clue on what they signified. We realized our foolishness and got bargaining again. The guide gave up to our patience and asked us to pay as per our judgment of his performance. Our muddled up minds finally got oriented when the fellow who I learnt was a fifth generation guide, familiarized us with the nooks and corners of the great Akbar’s temporary domicile. He got this constructed when Jodhaa Bai, one of Akbar’s three wives, was blessed with a child after offering their prayers in the neighboring Dargah of Sheikh Salim Chishti. He later had to return to Agra owing to water-related problems there. The British had left permanent imprints of their sinister avarice over here as well. They had stolen the extremely alluring bits of gem-stones which just enhanced the beauty of the already ravishing red sandstone, manifold. I was quite fascinated to see the ‘char chamal’ where Akbar’s renowned ‘Navratans’ assembled. It also reminded me of Shahrukh Khan’s ‘Pardes’ which was shot here. This is where Christo had had enough of his history lessons and joined the photography club. His stylish poses added to his towering height making him a more than eligible candidate to be a super model. We moved across to the Fatehpur fort which was characterized by the colossal structure of its entrance better known as the ‘Buland Darwaza’. While we cooled our heels after a look around, Srijan and Vaibhav visited the dargah and reiterated their faiths in a plea for benediction. I wonder why I get this gut feeling that their wish lists somewhere or the other may have had an entry regarding the opposite gender. Okay, jokes apart! I then went on to buy some native decorative stuff for me and my mother. My bargaining skills had improved significantly and I fared pretty well this time. Back in the car as we looked to quench our thirsts, Nishant timed his joke rather inappropriate to the situation to which the victim Manyu displayed his discontent. His ever lasting rage, which had taken the back seat for the past few years, had shown its ugly face again. He wouldn’t speak, and worse than that, drink a drop of water in spite the endless mercy appeals from the then faultless Srijan. Srijan too brought back his similar reputation into action on Manyu’s adamancy. The rest of us were highly fatigued and hence the car was quiet.

We reached the bus terminal at around 9 p.m. where we saw only one A.C. bus. They say fortune favors the brave and so we indeed were. After undauntedly fighting our luck for the past two days, it finally appreciated our valiant effort and placated. That very bus was headed for Kanpur. We were happy until we remembered our unattended tummies. Welcome back, ‘the two uninvited members’ (confusion and chaos)! We tackled the situation by purchasing surplus edibles with us. The bus started the ignition and geared on to motion. We were now bidding a final farewell to the awesome Agra. After a few clogs inside the city we finally rolled freely on the highway. On checking our wallets, we found that their weights had gone down considerably. Srijan, here was the worst sufferer as he ended up paying over two ‘pink leaves’, despite the establishment of a common fund. We passed our time with some dumb-charades which provided some wonderful entertainment not only to us but to our dormant co-passengers as well who had not quite demanded for it though. Our game continued till late in the night and in its course met with some rather silly but hilarious pieces of acts by us with Nishant’s and Tarang’s being especially noteworthy. After two consecutive ‘night-outs’, we tried to get some sleep on the bus. But the so far smooth road took a turn for the worse as we came across a dilapidated phase of the route. We still tried for a few winks but failed badly as the deluxe bus now felt no more than a rickety city bus. After hours of treachery, we finally reached the I.I.T gate. We hopped out of the bus and tottered towards our houses. Some of us still had the strength to recall a few funny incidents and names. We lifted the spirits of the camp by establishing the fact that we had finally concluded our Agra chapter. In our words, we had gotten ‘Fateh’ over or conquered Agra. I was particularly buoyant about the fact that I had achieved so many new feats in the past 50 odd hours. But more importantly I wanted a bed, a bed to just lie dead, to sleep like a log. I rang the door bell viciously, rammed in and virtually fainted on the bed. Ma asked me how the trip was. I had a lot to say but was rendered inarticulate by my worn-out body.

Well, this is what I would have said.

UNDER THE LIGHTS OF EDEN GARDENS

Kolkata
25th May 2008, Sunday

The clock struck 6 when the car arrived. While getting ready to go, it occurred to me to wear my white college T-shirt as per the promise I had made to my friends in a social networking site. This was supposed to make them spot me in the crowd . We made a quick scan of things to be taken and avoided and then hopped into the car. There were five of us which included me, my family and a couple of my father's students. Everything was set and we were ready to go.
By the way, I forgot to mention that we were going to the Eden Gardens Cricket Stadium to witness a match of the ongoing Indian Premier League between the hosting Kolkata franchise and the visiting Mohali franchise. I was going to watch a match live in a stadium after nineteen years. Coincidently, it so happens that this is also the number of years that I have been on this earth. If we eliminate the possibility of me being an alien then we are left with only one answer. This would be my first live match in a stadium and boy, was I looking forward to it!
We were finally on our way. Very soon we had reached the main roads of Kolkata and were now amidst its hustle and bustle. Traffic lights seemed to be a prominent feature here and could be found in every corner. Such was our luck that we hit almost every single red light on our way. Mathematically, we were in phase with those lights.Well, the city of joy doesn't seem quite joyous if one is looking to reach a destination on time. As we moved along my mind was clouded by thoughts (not that it was new to me), thoughts backed up by corresponding emotions, the emotions of a young and passionate follower of cricket who was about to witness something big. I don't think my emotions were very well portrayed on my face which was justified by my mother's statement which said- "Why Apu, You do notquite seem very excited about your first match despite being such a passionate cricket lover?"
Passionate indeed, or rather an understatement. I considered myself as one of the greatest fans of cricket. I don't quite remember when I first watched cricket but I had started enjoying it during the onset of the new millennium when I was eleven. Of course I watched cricket but along with that I had these unique knacks of observing the stadium and carefully following the commentary. The latter helped me quite a lot in improving my actual game on the field. I had a group of friends with whom I played almost daily. But unfortunately the circumstances did not allow us to play with a leather ball. This left me with a major flaw as far as my cricketing skills were concerned. But despite all the odds I still managed to make it to my school cricket team. But what I thought to be a major leap forward turned out to be an insignificant one-off chance as I was soon caught in the stressful trap of academics of high school. Well, that was probably the painful end of my dream as I had to take several other factors into considerations, the first one being that age was no longer on my side. Sounds funny but that's how it is in India. Seventeen-eighteen was just too late to start. I also had to consider the number of "passionate cricket lovers" in this cricket crazy nation. I definitely was not alone (Let the number be n). When you compare this figure with eleven,which is the number of players who are in the team, then thinking of the remaining n-11 could give unpleasant thoughts. Oh well! it was asad situation but by no means could it dampen my spirit towards the gentleman's game. Besides following each and every match in any formof the game, I also had my own manifestations of cricket the mostprominent one being the one played indoors with a T-T ball. I had also continued to nurture my commentary skills which was of course my lasthope of being close to cricket. But I still believe that I had it inme to make it to the big stage.
My ride towards being a spectator of the big stage meanwhile, had come close to its goal. We had reached Park Street and were now getting a glimpse of the floodlit Eden Gardens with its lights illuminating the whole sky above Kolkata. One final red light and then the intensity of brightness kept increasing as we neared the stadium.Gate number four was where we had to report Due to a shortage of experience regarding a real stadium, I was clueless regarding our gate. But our Bengali driver knew exactly whereto drop us and he did so. Now this should have been the part I had dreaded the most, had there been a long queue. Its surprising absence
got us inside in a flash. We showed our tickets, went through the routine security check, and completed a couple of pr-event emergency formalities. Now only a second round of ticket-checking was what lay between me and the ground. The excitement had now scaled heights which left my heart pounding and my stomach churning. But I was enjoying it and somewhere inside wanted it to last a bit longer. I guess that is why I took my eyes off nearby gate ahead of us which had just given me a glimpse of the green with a floodlight in the background. Perhaps I also did not want to ruin my mental picture of the stadium and subsequent events. Drawing mental pictures is quite a common human tendency and which more often than not, turns out to be absolutely different. Despite this our anxiety forces us to create one before any new event.
"Apnar teecket ta kothaye?" asked the bengali security official in charge of the gate which meant- where is your ticket? "Theek aache!"or go ahead was his call. It was a bit astonishing that the guys responsible for handling the base of a multi-ethnic place dealt in their local language. Anyway who cared now. My nineteen year drought was finally over. I was now inside the best and the biggest stadium in India. My mental picture in this case turned out to be quite accurate which was not surprising, taking into account my stadium observing habit on television. An exception though was that the biggest stadium seemed rather small. Carrying on, we had a few confusions regarding the location of our seats which were in the lowest tier. A policeman showed us the way. It was while I was climbing the endless stairs to our row, when I started to realise the magnitude of the stadium. At last we were seated. I checked the stadium clock which struck ten past seven. With too many things to look at, I decided to go one at a time.
My eyes first hit the cricketers, who were busy with their nets session. My mother, who was not quite as passionate as I was, or actually lost any bit of it owing to my over-interest, was also starting to get the kick. She asked me to spot a few stars for her.Now this was when I realised that my first perception of the ground being small was absolutely wrong. The players looked quite ordinary and indistinguishable. But now it was a question of my prestige.Having watched so many hours of cricket on television, thereby depriving my mother of her freedom, I could not have afforded to tarnish my own reputation. With a good height and long hair it was not quite difficult to spot my contemporary pace bowler, Ishant Sharma. Iwasted no time in naming him. Soon my mother and I got into a spotting spree. Shoaib Akhtar, Sourav Ganguly, Umar Gul, Irfan Pathan,Yuvraj Singh, AjitAgarkar (whom my mother spotted!) and Romesh Powar were a fewrecognisable faces we managed to spot. Preity Zinta, the owner of theMohali team was the only non-cricketing star we saw as her counterpart, Shahrukh Khan could not quite make it.
With still a few minutes to go for the toss, I gazed around the stadium with amazement. The crowd turn-up was no where near the actual stadium capacity, a rare scene at Eden Gardens. This could be attributed to the fact the home team had already been eliminated from the competition. But this was not going to demoralise the very attractive and talked about cheerleaders, who went about their routine nano-skirt fluttering dance steps each time the music was played. After enjoying a nice glance at them, I looked up to check out the huge towers under the lights of which the Eden gardens bathed. It was like an array of white dots floating in a sea of the black night sky. I took a sigh of relief on the fact that it was clear as I had had an early morning nightmare of the match being washed out, which in principle is considered an ominous sign. I just shrugged off all those negative thoughts and let my mind drift into the glorious past of this the oldest ground in India. The very famous B.C.Roy pavilion, the giant electronic board, the characteristic lush green outfield and of course the great clashes which have taken place here. The first match which came into mind was the India Australia test match of 2001which was arguably the best ever held at this venue. The match was highlighted by the outstanding performances of Harbhajan and Laxman whose efforts took India home. The Hero cup finals in 1992 and the Indo-Pak test in 1999 which was followed by riots were other such historic matches which flashed in my mind.
The two Captains finally arrived for the toss. Sourav Ganguly was leading the Kolkata Knight Riders and Yuvraj Singh, the Kings XI Punjab from Mohali. The latter was definitely the stronger side with bigger names and a better performance in the IPL. I still decided to support the Knight Riders as I did not want to end up being alone in this huge gathering of supporters. As I had guessed it was Arun Lal who assisted them in the middle but gave rather lethargic welcome to the 50,000 odd in the stands. Yuvraj Singh won the toss and elected to bat first. A few more minutes, and the fielding team was out and doing its final touch ups. As the batsmen walked out the crowd came in unison for the first time to give a loud cheer. Umar Gul ran in to bowl the first ball with the Aussie Shaun Marsh facing at the other end. As Gul released the first ball, the next thing I knew was that the point fieldsman had the ball in his custody and the crowd cheered.What happened in between was a mystery. I recalled an acquaintance's words describing this kind of a situation. I tried my best to focus on the ball in the subsequent deliveries but not with much success. After a good start the Kings XI finally lost their first wicket in James Hopes who was trapped plum Leg before the wickets. It took me a replayon the giant screen to clarify myself. Of course my parents are yet to understand what exactly happened. Kumar Sangakkara, who was the next batsman, did not appear to be in a mood to waste any time as he hit two huge sixes which landed straight in the crowd. My mother and I exchanged nervous looks reminding each other of the hypothetical notion discussed between us, of wearing a helmet during the course of the match to avoid the white leather meteorite hitting us. As the innings progressed, Kolkata scalped a few more thereby making way for Yuvraj. Yuvi lived up to his reputation and sent a couple towering out of the ground. The elegant wicketkeeper batsman went on to complete a quick fire fifty. Lankan skipper Jayawardene contributed too. During the course we gradually tried to accept the fact that it was not the easiest task to get the ball as deep into the stand where we were. The knight riders struck late in the innings thereby restricting the visitors to 175 in their allotted twenty overs. It was a decent tota lconsidering the past scores in the IPL.
During the break my stomach expressed its dissatisfaction to the rule of not allowing outside eatables. I also wanted to get one of those placards which had 4 and 6 printed on them to take home as a souvenir.On my way to the gate I noticed a couple of security people sitting on those cards. On asking where they got it from they told me that it was being distributed free but somehow or other I had missed it.Anyway I bought myself some chips and a soft-drink and marched off.One of the stalls on the way sold the Knight Riders T-shirt. One can be sure of some exorbitant prices with these multinational sports merchandisers. Well, I still dared to hope against hope, which was soon shattered as I saw the price tag which read Rs. 1499. I was returning to the stands, heartbroken by the fact that I had no other souvenir except for that ticket. The ticket which we had managed to avail at the last minute despite having ample time, thanks to a couple of mismanagements by an internal source, namely my father. Anyway what mattered now was that I was midway through that match. On my way back,when I saw a bunch of those cards with the policemen, suddenly there was a ray of hope. So I thought of giving it a shot. I started off in Hindi but seeing the other guy reply in Bengali I decided to put all the bits and pieces of Bengali which I had picked up over the years from acquaintances, to a test. He insisted on giving one but I said "dooto"meaning two. He was reluctant but agreed. I thanked him and was about to leave when he asked," Batting ke korbe?"- Who will bat? I very cheerfully replied "Amaar dada batting korte ashbe!"-Dada was about to bat.That was more than enough to get him flattered. He happily replied,"niejao! niejao!"-take it! take it! I felt quite satisfied now.
It was not long before the next innings started. This was one of the advantages with this new T20 format which did not waste too muchof time. The Kolkata openers walked in to a huge roar as one of them was the crowd's very own Sourav Ganguly. The knight riders started off well before losing Pakistani opener Salman Butt for 24. After that the innings was just not able to gain any sort of momentum as they kept losing wickets at regular intervals. They were soon reduced to 90/6and were in dire straits. Sourav Ganguly though had firmly held his ground on the other side and was fast approaching a half-century. But these little known local players were proving to be useless and the match on the whole had started to become highly boring.
I had never thought that I would want to leave the stadium midway through my first match. Well that is how the situation was. I thought for a while of my grandfather's advice of leaving the stadium early to avoid the crowd. However I brought all my off-field cricket experience together and recalled how and why cricket was called a funny game. A possibility of a miracle was now becoming dim. The monotony of the game made me feel bitter and negative thoughts started creeping into my mind. What were these players being paid for? You get all these new methods of bidding for players and team and this is what they offer us. What would I tell my friends? Maybe, agreeing that the match was boring but stressing on the fact that I at least saw one of the best stadiums in the world, would be an apt explanation. But the Eden Gardens ceased to appear as one of the best as I have started to sieve out all its defects. How could they possibly allow smoking at such a major public place? I noticed yet another security lapse in the form of a man taking shots with his digicam which was strictly prohibited. As far as the stadium structure was concerned, the architects seemed to have focused more on depth of stands rather than height which made the audience feel far from the action at the centre. The dingy seating arrangement was a major flaw. The lack of shades around the stadium was yet another example of the designer's callousness. It was not hard to see that the focus was more on packing up the stadium above capacity without leaving behind any interstices. Simultaneous to this thought I recalled an archive picture of a stand in this ground filled up with people for a test match, each of whom had just managed some cloth orthe other to cover their head, to protect themselves from the mercilessly blazing sun - a picture symbolizing the true spirit of India and its people towards cricket. This automatically siphoned out all the hostility from my mind and prompted me to consider myself lucky to have gotten an opportunity to watch the shortest version of the game and that too on a pleasant Sunday evening. This catalysed a flurry of positive thoughts in me.
My positive thoughts apparently managed to creep into Umar Gul'smind, who did not seem to be in any mood to hold himself back. With about 50 runs to get off less than half the number of balls, Umar Gulcut loose and swung one for a maximum. "That's great!", I said, "butwe will require a few more of those!". At your service sir and he hitone over the bowler's head for the same result. The crowd erupted inanticipation. There was a glimmer of hope. Sourav Ganguly now followedon the lines of Gul and hit a couple out of there. The crowd was infrenzy now and the Eden Gardens finally came alive. All of them chanted in unison- "Dada! Dada!"for their local hero. I myself could not resist standing up on the benches and joined in the party. I alsoshed all my inhibitions and finally brought those placards to theiractual use. Umar gul departed soon but not before playing a valuablecameo. A few more lusty blows from the skipper and the match was nowthrillingly poised with 15 runs to get off the last over. A rathernervous Irfan Pathan was handed over the ball with the undeterred Royal Bengal tiger on strike. Irfan succumbed to his nerves, ending up giving a juicy half-volley which Ganguly gleefully hit for a six. The next ball was elegantly driven for four, which was a clear indicativethat the tables were turning. With 7 runs needed off 3 deliveries, oneexpected them to play it safe, but Sourav had other ideas. He took afinal gamble by giving himself some room and going for a glorious loft straight down the ground. He had middled it to perfection thereby collecting half a dozen runs which meant that the scores were nowleveled. The crowd was on their feet now and was sure of a Kolkata victory. I also promoted myself to the top of the backrests of the benches, which was the highest level possible. Sourav Ganguly had doneeverything right so far and wouldn't have liked to mess it up at thisstage. He very maturely knocked the ball with soft hands and rushed
across the wickets for a single. That was the end of it, a historic three wicket complementary win for Ganguly and his men in black and gold. They had lived up to their punch line which said, "Korbo LorboJeetbo", meaning we will perform, we will fight and we will win. UmarGul deservingly won the man of the match with 4 wickets and 24 runs ofthe blade. Their campaign in the inaugural IPL was a failure but they ended on a high. As far as the Kings XI Punjab dressed in grey mergedwith a Preity Zinta reflective feminine pink were concerned, this loss may not have had any impact on their standings as they had already qualified but it was a definite setback to their confidence. For aviewer like me, I could'nt have asked for more on my first outing.Twenty20, Eden Gardens, Thrilling Kolkata victory and to add the icingon the cake a Brilliant knock by the prince of Calcutta-Wow! What a summary! I kept looking back at the magnificent lights of the stadiumas I was bidding a final farewell to the stadium - an image which hadnow been permanently etched on my mind to keep reminding me of this day.
Now in post match era, all I am left behind with of the match are its memories. As I trace back to relive some of the moments, I realise that big occasions like this prove to be huge learning curves in life.A young boy gets hooked to the beautiful game of cricket and becomes a devoted fan. But due to some unfortunate circumstance continues to remain a near yet distant observer of the game he cherishes the most for a long time. He has almost given up hope of ever being able to make it to a stadium. But that is when he is blessed with this golden opportunity which somehow works out this time. The young boy is rewarded for his patience and gets to witness a thrilling T20 contest at Eden Gardens in contrast to a dull test match at Green Park,
Kanpur. My conclusion is that opportunities come by in life and must be grabbed, but missed ones do not necessarily mean the end of the world. If one is truly devoted to his wish or target and maintains his or her faith, then bigger and better opportunities are bound to knock at the door. If I summarise the whole thing then I could only say that whoever had written the script for this, couldn't have done a better job. Now what I have done here is that I have tried to pen down this very script in order to convey this story to you.
I hope you readers enjoyed my effort.

INDIA ON THREE-WHEELS
(A Tempo Ride)

I finally reached Allahabad after a long journey. I was only left with the final stage of my trip, from the station to my destination, MNNIT Allahabad. I set out of the station in search of a means of transport. I did not have much of a clue about the Allahabad transport culture and the bus I thought should have been the best option. But there wasn’t a single one in the vicinity. Private taxis were of course out of question taking into account their impacts on an average man’s pocket. I was in a bit of a fix.
It was just then when my eyes caught something unusual but hopeful. A few metres down the road there was a vehicle approaching me. There was something about it. It was a rickety, queer-shaped, 3- wheeled vehicle painted in yellow and green shades, with most of it’s exteriors either rusted or dented. Furthermore it was overflowing with people. After enquiring I learnt that it was called a TEMPO and that it was a public transportation mode.
As the tempo neared on, my mind revolved around on whether or not to take the risk. Even before I could make my decision, a man popped out of that tempo chanting “Teliarganj-Teliarganj……”.He grabbed on to my bag and virtually dragged me inside assuming that I was going to that very place. I asked him for MNNIT and the looks on his face said the rest. He rubbished me as though I were joking with him. I gave another shot in the form of ‘Motilal Nehru’ hoping I would get his blessings as well and my man here would understand me. But it wasn’t my day. I simplified my thinking and went for ‘Engineering College’. Bingo!!!!!!!!. That was the keyword. Well, his assumption also turned out right as Teliarganj was the name of the area.
I started getting with a feeling of respite which wasn’t to be for long. It was jam packed as it seemed to me. Dejected and furious, I was about to step out when my man spoke out once again-“Jagah hai toh, Aaram se baithiye”(there’s enough space, sit comfortably).He made two of the passengers shift apart inspite of their reluctancy.That did create some space but it was only enough for my radius. But wasn’t it my diameter which was to be considered. Anyway I recalled the advertisement with the tagline-“India me bhai adjust bahut karna padta hai” and tried to fit in.
We finally set off. Everyone seemed to be staring at me as though they were planning a conspiracy against me. I ignored and looked out. As the tempo caught some momentum one could feel the cool air hitting hard through the numerous open spaces present. I had just started getting used to the terrible rattling noise when there was a sudden blast of an unpleasant, unbearable and unwanted music. It was some cheap lower grade song sung by singers whose voices at that moment resembled Chip-n-Dale. It was giving me a headache. I took it as yet another adjustment.
I counted at least 14-15 of us instead of 8-9 as it should have been. There were 4 in the front. The driver must be a real expert. We were 8 in the rear along with my man-the conductor on the door step and a couple of bags on the floor.
We also had a couple of guys hanging behind on the bumper. Boy! That takes some courage. The standard rule followed in seating was the ahead and behind alternation where one sits completely while the next one partially. The fact was that one was completely surrounded by people. People from different religions, castes, races and classes put together face to face and side by side.
It was starting to get dark now. The tempo rattled along the as most of the people were somewhere deep in their own world. All of a sudden the lady across raised her hand and started banging the roof. Everyone seemed unperturbed. The music stopped and we came to a halt. She had reached her destination. The driver turned on a bright yellow light which got me into my senses. There was a slight delay due to an argument over the fare. I thought it was probably a bit expensive or something.
I was told that I had finally reached my venue. I jumped out and asked the fare. I was prepared with a Rs 100 note when I heard something shocking. “Bhaiya aath rupaye ho gaye”. A mere eight rupees and that’s all.
As I walked along I couldn’t help thinking of the latest experience of my life. I spared a thought about the tempo drivers and conductors. They must be spending most of their days and presumably nights as well out on the streets. Be it the freezing cold, scorching heat or rain they have to be out there for the sake of their families and for their own sake. They are the lifelines of several major cities. They provide uninterrupted services despite all the odds and for all this the only cost a handful making them a real boon for the poorer mass. Above all they never seem to be gloomy or unhappy making them a representation of the true spirit of India.

(This story is purely a work of fiction. Though most of the story is based on my few years’ experience of commuting in tempo. I am pretty sure that most of you tempo commuters will find several resemblances with this account of a man on his first tempo ride)