The Involuntary Satyagrahi

It’s been 100 years almost to the first experiment of Satyagraha by Gandhiji in Champaran district of Bihar. The phenomenon still rings loud and it still is effective in its own ways. I am influenced by Gandhiji in a lot of ways, but I never fancied myself to be a satyagrahi. I am always a rebel. But life has its own ways of teaching you what you don’t want to. 

It was the vacation season and I wanted to take my son to my native. Flights are still not an option to reach there. Plus, the amount of time it takes me to reach Mumbai airport and then to the nearest airport to my native and then by road to my uncle’s place, is nearly the same as train travel. Also, train travel has its own charm, or at least I used to believe it till a few days ago. Getting confirmed tickets is always an issue for lowly mortals like me, so I tried to get them through some devious means, I am not proud about it, but in India, do as the Indians do. 

I somehow got 1 ticket confirmed between my son, my mother and me. I figured I will butter my way to another seat and things should be fine. What I didn’t account for was that half of India was also trying to butter its way. Plus, there were no more seats left to butter. I had a family with me in a similar situation. The husband had two tickets but had given it to his wife and daughter and he was also sitting like me on one corner of the berth, trying not to fall while dozing. 

The TC was merrily minting money, doling out whatever few seats he had to the highest bidder. There were 2 other guys like me in the same octet of seats. We got woken up at 12 30 by 4 armed guards that we weren’t allowed to sit in the compartment as we didn’t have valid tickets. We were forced out of the AC coach, like cattle almost. We protested as much as 4 hot blooded young men would do in front of 4 heavily armed police. 

We first argued like Indians would – Why should we leave, we have paid in full for the ticket, we will sit. We were told to shut up and move out. Then we argued like stupid people – why are we being targeted when there are several others who also don’t have valid confirmed seats, but are sitting. We were told to shut up and move out. Then we argued with logic, the rarest feat an Indian can do maybe – that what is wrong and why are we being singled out. Then came the reply. The guy with the family, in our octet of seats was some high-ranking railway official, who was denied a seat as he was ready to pay only the difference amount and not grease the TC further. 

The TC shamelessly gave away the few available seats to others, without considering the rank and the stature of the officer.  An act of rare stupidity, considering the fiefdom of Babus that runs amok in the country. The official seemed to be of a high moral fibre, another rare breed in this country. And to have both pitted against one another and we put in the middle of it, was so ridiculous, that it seemed like the stuff that Yash Raj movies are made from.

The officer said that as a rule he is not allowed to sit in the compartment, and he will not allow anyone else like him to sit in the compartment either. That explained the 4 of us out there in the cold of the train corridor, along with the 4 armed soldiers, the train attendant and the officer. We talked to him, cajoled him, made reason with him. But he stood his ground. He said, he is used to standing 12 hours as a part of his duty and he is ready to stand 8 more hours. It was his Satyagraha against the corrupt TC, and we were the satyagrahis. Out of respect we stood with him in the cold for 5 hours. The TC realised the repercussions this would have and offered his own seat to the officer, which he should have done some few hours ago, but it was too late by then. The officer warned him of severe action. The rifled security personnel stood with us for 2 hours and then left for patrolling. But we continued to stand in protest. Right next to the stinking train toilet, 4 young boys and an honest Assistant commissioner stood the whole night, as a form of protest. The TC stood as well – a meek spectator.

We spent our time with the officer, exchanged stories about honesty and corruption. I had been working nonstop in the day and then standing in the cold night in a cramped place with 8 other men. But I wasn’t tired. I was thrilled. I was finally part of something in my country. I was giving my 2 cents in forming this country. I was the involuntary satyagrahi.

Zindagi ka Safar

Well, we all face this. Only not all of us would be wearing a necklace. But we all can safely attest that something is upside down in this life of ours…. Or is it that everything is and we should turn upside down too to see things straight… except for maybe that necklace that will irritate us reminding the orientation. 

Urban life is weird, in fact, I think Urban life is a myth. There is very little life left to you if you are staying in an urban setting. It’s a finely orchestrated dance, one that we perform everyday, relentlessly and like Phoebe would say “Lather, Rinse, Repeat.. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.” We do it so well, others who actually have a life, envy us. That’s our success I believe… Well because we cannot have any other u see. 

I am working from home, a lot, these days and maybe that’s why I get time to write something. I have my office sufficiently far off. I easily spend 4 hours in commute. 9 to 10 hours in office. 6 hours of sleep. Well that leaves me a precious 4-hour window to do the rest of the mundane things in life. Like be with my family, spend time with my kid, entertain, daily chores, maintain general hygiene, relax and refresh. Of course, this is permitting that the office doesn’t call and I have untwisted myself back into normal shape after the super-yoga kind of commute. One look at the numbers and I realise, I have the same free hours as the number of hours that I spend in travelling. That time must be utilised.

I decided to finish my socialising while on the way, to the extreme irritation of my fellow passengers. I also listen to their social interactions. In fact, we have become very close now. A set of people now daily meet in the AC bus that I travel in and discuss our problems. I sometimes feel we spend more time with each other than we will ever do with our spouses. We also add the Indian touch to it. No no, I don’t mean we gossip about it with other people, we all bring snacks for one another. We make a party out of that commute. 

Some of us must use multiple modes of transport to reach home. Like rails, buses (provided we get space to fit a few toes), autos (provided they have mercy on us and are kind enough to overcharge us and drop us where we want to go), walking. Once someone had gotten tasty pav-wada for all of us and one of the fellows had to leave. He took the snack and ran to the station, lest he miss his favourite seat on the 7:24 local. Turns out the local was crowded that day, because I think there was no political rally, or a BMC digging plan and traffic surprisingly arrived faster at the station, to everyone’s surprise. And all of them boarded the same train. Poor guy, couldn’t move his hand. The hand in which he had held the Wada-pav. After 15 minutes of everyone seeing it and getting intoxicated by that smell, losing control, one guy took a bite out of it from his extended hand, which my friend couldn’t move. He relished it. He told my friend, “It was very tasty, you should get one daily.” Everyone had a hearty laugh, I guess not because of the situation, but out of realisation that we cannot do anything about it.

Hilarious as this may sound. This is what has happened to all of us. Our tasty tit bits of life are eaten away by someone else. Someone who we barely know and really don’t want to meet ever again in our life. Is It ok to feel that I might enjoy the jhunka – bhakri in a remote village more than the wada pav here? Well I gotta go, my next mode of commute is waiting!!

Band Bajaa Baraat

“Chikni chameli, chikni chameli” blared as loud as it could, even distorting the sound by going all dhinchak on the jhankar beats, at 1 AM in the night. You might say, its OK on a New Year’s Eve man, lighten up. Enjoy a bit. Alas, it was only August and it was Ganeshotsav. 

My house is prominently located, at a junction of sorts. We paid a premium for it. I am still wondering what the premium was for. Maybe it was for teaching me the 10,000 cultures of India, a bit of Audio technology, and the Dummies guide to using LEDs and lasers on a handcart. I now know of all the festivals and pseudo-religious events in cultures that barely have a population of a 100 in the entire country, but the din is larger than what you can hear at the Niagara.

We, as Indians, painted secular by the most partisan politics over time, have become a country of festivals, loud noises and processions. Processions, processions, processions. The idea of celebrating a festival has somehow been tied to having a tempo with loudspeakers, a music mixing system and a handful of vela people dancing to vulgar songs, till late in the night. There are processions for Ganpati, that go on till 2 AM and sometimes 7 in the morning. I wonder, that if the Siddhivinayak Ganpati sleeps from 2pm to 4 pm and then again dozes off for the night, who are these extreme devotees worshipping by playing item songs at 1 AM in the night. Maybe Ganpati has special night duty during the festival!! God help him. Then there is Id, Mohurrum, Janmashtami and so on, one for each of the 33 Crore Gods and Goddesses that we have in Hindu culture. Add to it Muslims, Sikhs, Christians and others and you have a calendar more tightly packed than PM Modi's itinerary.  

I was wondering what else can we have a procession for, maybe the next time a girl attains puberty, but wait, the slums right next to my house, do celebrate that already. Maybe when the random Cow-mata gives birth to a calf, but I think I have seen that already in the middle of a main road in Delhi. Maybe we can have a procession when Rahul Gandhi makes an intelligent comment? Yes, I think that’s the perfect solution to the cacophony on the roads. It will be called the Mother of all Processions (pun intended). The government should introduce a Pappu Clause, which would be enforced before granting permission to any event. The rule would be that only when RaGa makes an intelligent comment, you are allowed to play Ragas on your loudspeaker. My what peace we shall get then. Sounds music to my ears… ting ting da ting