"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.
