The Interview

Having pitched tent quite efficaciously back in my hometown,the Damocles's sword of employment loomed large upon me now.A boy can only remain a boy for so long,aunty said.Then he has to start earning bhai!He must have his own place to stay,his own stove to cook,his own tie to fool around in front of a mirror stone drunk,god forbid,beta.These were her words of wisdom as i tied up my shoelaces surreptitiously.Here,eat this,handing over a mottled cuboid that was called a sweet;prasad from the temple.Ramu's wife has no more deliriums.It finally turned out to be a rat's tail that was in the sabzi she was eating.Poor fellow wasted money on two allopathic doctors,one homeopathic physician,two purohits and one astrologer!At least he showed the basic courtesy of getting some prasad on her recovery...anyway you go safely.
The buses in this city are the only Government Transport Services making any profit in this country.I rued over this,waiting a half hour for the right one.Heck,when they come,they come in threes..maybe just to appease our irritation,I thought.One for Mayo Hall please,i said.The conductor looked like he'd gotten one whipping too many from his wife the previous day and wanted to take out his modest anger on us.No change,he said angrily.Collect later.He made a weird glyph behind the ticket,maybe a lewd,symbolic curse on his wife, and handed it over.I sat down and ruminated.It was a long way.I like travelling.The sheer purposefulness of transport is mesmerising.You just have to sit and watch.Of course ,there are others who prefer shit dropping into their ears through FM while moving about.But the sounds of reality are often enough,quite entertaining. I got down at MH and proceeded to the offices of one Spectrum IPL;a 5 storied building in an area that looked like the dumping grounds for the state's under qualified beach-sand.Dust,dust everywhere.Thankfully not inside the premises.The "front office executive" conversed lightly in the native language and after satisfying her,she allowed me into a room that would serve to be my intellectual garrote for the next hour or so.The interviewer was a slender,elderly man.Holding his glasses like a lorgnette at my resume,he proceeded to make his monthly income worthwhile and pounded me,one grotesque question after the other.I have attended interviews far demeaning in human spirit and so,was able to passably prove my worth as an engineer.Wrapping it up,he looked pitifully and applied soothing balm,in the form of peachy questions;for e.g where was i born(!),did my dad NOT want me to study further,had my mom cooked 21 dishes for this year's Ganesha Habba,things like that.
The receptionist helped me limp back to the lobby;allowing me a jolly good pitstop,mineral water et al.In about 15 minutes,another honcho invited me to a room with what looked like a serious ass-chewing intention.The epilogue,fortunately,turned out different.A request,to give him an account of how i had spent these 2 years without a job, saw me tuning my lying skills to a spiritually new high.Interspersing truth and fiction is a most refreshing activity.I recommend it to anybody who likes talking but doesnt know how.
Eventually,the offer letter came out.I took my old 'handsome-hunk of yester-years' photo and gummed it on.Followed by relieved strokes of signature.
Hey momma,look who got himself a job today!

Exodus

Cities are like people.No matter how screwed our perceptions of it, given enough time(that unequivocal leveler), it grows on you. You begin to see why it is what it is. What promises it had to offer;how unique are its fingerprints. I have had the misfortune of spending very little time in a city I had loved to explore;riding on a 350cc muscle-bound magic carpet,courtesy of the Enfield group;playing back in my mind again and again like the last drops off a leaf that just dont seem to end.
Delhi...A mammoth cauldron of people,cultures,lifestyles,food,greenery,the romanticism of history,the promise of a utopia.Shanty-coloured rooftops that I watched slovenly during long evening walks,watching the sun remove its makeup gracefully and serenely as it set itself to another few hours of unwinding.So many dull-coloured buildings.Blank-painted tanks.Pipes,at various stages of corrosion.Paan-stains.Fiery orange,tattered flags,tied to unseemly poles.Chimneys,blackened with the effort of preparing the inhabitant's meals.Pigeons and kites,hammering out diplomacies in their efforts to forage the day's sustenance.Dishes,by the hundreds,Tata Sky and Dish TV,testimony to the millions of eyeballs dwelling below them.Hoardings,half-painted,almost sagely comical.
Oh Delhi,what have I done to earn your wrath.That I am not permitted by destiny to share my life with you.Who's prayer do you listen to,that takes me far from you whenever I have seek to clasp you tight to my bosom?The banian-clad jawans, who accompany me in my running sessions?The bus-drivers?who wash themselves beneath malnourished taps,beside their giant petrol-guzzling paymasters?The ladies at the park?who undertake peculiar yogic exercises and are more prone to watching physical effort than participation?the chauffeurs?who keep their employer's cars spotlessly free of the muck that they lick on their way to workplaces?the milkman?who sadly nods his head at my sweaty shirt and makes an excuse a day for arriving progressively late for delivery?the goli-soda-waala?who's always grinning and snickering at my fancy watch and and shiny belt?or was it the paan-fucked mouthings off the autowaala?
I'll never know.Not a day goes by that I dont pine for a whiff of this beautiful city.With a desperate stare,I stretch my neck forward as far as possible,standing at the trains door;the wind,flowing in my hair;the blurring city horizon,snatching away yet another piece of my heart,forever;the tracks turning away to block my sight.