The man who was scratching his crotch

Trains as i have told before are a fascinating place where you meet people from the various walks of life. Lesser the class more is the fun, more is the variety. This time I was again travelling by sleeper class from calcutta, sorry Kolkota to puri by the night train when I met this man, he remains nameless because truthfully i dont remember his name, even if I remebered i would have hesistated to put his name because he remains the most disgusting man I met in my life.

He was disgusting not because he was constantly scratching his crotch, not at all because of that, for I have stayed in an Hostel where taking bath is a rarity and a luxury that you indulge in when you have nothing else to do or your teachers have warned you of dire consequences. So the constant scratching never bothered me, Let me not deviate from the story and I will tell you about the person.

The train I was supposed to take came around a hour late, nothing to be surprised about, trains sometimes do come earlier than expected. I clambered along with my luggage with my cousin tagging along. I sat at my seat, a side lower seat which I mostly prefer when suddenly some loud music hit my ears, the music was exceedingly loud and was overshadowing the words. I turned around and saw this man dressed in a clean green formal shirt and some cream colored trousers, the hair was well kempt and he looked neat in appearance and he was giving me a stare, i just nodded and continued to chat with my cousin in oriya.

The train meanwhile was chugging along, people had started getting ready for sleep, and I was reclined on my seat when this guy sat near my seat and we started the chit chat beginning with politics, the normal way of beggining a conversation. The person was a contractor of sorts, a middle man, a dalal in hindi but his anecdots were fascinating, I had never met such a person and I was listening in fascination and my cousin was hanging on to each word of his. The loud music was forgotten and he was gloating along blabbering about his contacts, his rags to riches story and what not. The blabber was paused here and there with the equally vigorous scratching which was oxymoronic to all that he was talking about.

The train had caught up speed and was roaring along the lonely fields and the man too was keeping up speed with stories that i was loosing interest in. Suddenly a young lady moved along near our seat and the man made way for the lady to move along. When she was away from earshot, he made a statement like "Kya maal hai" and I was shocked for a second for first I had never expected such blather from a person who was 35 at the minimum, a person who was just a moment ago was talking of the the talks he had with Rajiv Gandhi in 1987. I just looked at him with a look that maybe he thought of as interest. Now he took out his mobile which was a expensive Nokia model and he started showing pictures that he had clicked without permission of course of ladies in the station, this lady who passed along included. I was looking along with disgust, when he said he will show me some videos that he had taken. I said nothing expecting more videos taken without permission when he started showing me videos of a small kid dancing and the man started telling me abt how talented the kid was who incidentally was his daughter. I was shell struck, the person who a moment ago was talking abt babes and "maals" was now happily swaying in paternal bliss. This complete change in personality baffled me. I, not knowing how to react, kept on looking at him speechless, and then outside, through the window.

The person, having lost an audiance in me , was talking to my cousin and was telling him how people are always impressed by him, he said it was the brand of cloths you wear the boots you use... He said it is his high end Nokia which made him look respectful, I just glared. I was thinking maybe the uncouth man was correct, all the scratching, all the loud music, all the staring , those laschivious pics he took with his mobile was nothing, he will always be respected because of his cloths and his mobile. May be the man was correct, maybe it is the cloths we respect, maybe it is just that high end mobile which makes a man.

Whatever I say, i knew the man was correct. For the first time I slept early in the train.

Sullen Faces- MRT Rides in Singapore

"Singapore is a fine city." The billboards, all hoardings, every building seemed to scream this all through out my stay here. Its not that i dont agree with them, I do belive singapore is a rich city, great place to live in, big condos, bigger roads, high rise tall buildings , people with deep pockets filled with money, grass through out the city, tall trees, beaches, exotic animals and what not... but a fine city?? I dont know. What makes a city a fine city to live in, whats make a city u always want to visit back, what makes a city u want to call it ur home , what makes a city your own?I have no answer.

I have stayed in many cities, called them my own, become a part of it and finally made it a part of my life. Cities, which were not only different by geographies but different in respect to people and their food habbits, their likes, dislikes, politics, happiness and misery alike. Cities(some of them were actually towns)which were poor, destroyed each year by calamities but bounce back to celebrate the next day. I do think that it is not the richness of the city but the richness of the people, the happiness in their hearts, glee marked on their faces makes a city, "A Fine City".

I dont have any qualms about singapore, its a lovely place with warm people, but there is something missing and that is the typical Indian character of making friendship with strangers. In India i was pleasantly surprised on every travel, with amount of personal information i used to gather, number of people whom i became acquianted with and the closeness i felt towards the whole human race. I do remember those bus rides to my village, when we used to ride in the rickety bus which was supposed to carry 60 but would be carrying 200. Still the people were happy, smiles all around. A three seater, without exception, used to hold 4 and then the talks will begin. Happy talks, religious talks, talks of misery, talks of pain.Some ruffian stole the fruits in one village, the neighbour is cheating on his wife with the washerman's daughter-in-law, the headman's daughter ran off with his driver, the priest eats mutton in the night, the ghost of nathu's 1st wife was seen near the pond and she was crying, lots other stories, lots other emotions, why not, when there is so much to life.

I assume, this loose talk is because of our culture of self pity or may be it is because we are not sophisticated, in plain words just coarse. May be when India becomes richer, when all of us are rich, when we also have deep pockets, then may be we will stop talking, and may be start thinking, and become grumpy and sullen. I have travelled on these trains and each time I find people entring with serious faces, a newspaper or book in hand, earphones tugged in and an Ipod hanging around in them. The eyes dont betray emotions and the lips, those are sealed, the train filled to the brim with people is silent with an air of melancholy. My heart bellows a silent cry, it cries for the well remembered smiling faces, it cries for the faintly familiar din, the noise of the honking horns, the barking dogs, the willy cows which stop the traffic and the ubiquitos corrupt traffic policemen.

My reviere was broken by a smiling cute little chinese girl, all of 4 years, dressed in pink, who was playing around. She was trying to stand without support and she fell so many times but she still tried to get up.The little pink bunny was throwing embrassed smiles and the cute dimples, i thought, touched the sullen hearts. I beemed to see that the landscape had change around me, all people around me were smiling and looking at the little girl, she was still playing around and they were remeniscing the past with her.The sullen faces still had hope, the sullen faces were no longer alien and the girl was still dancing, hope was still afloat.