कबूतर, मुंबई और मैं.

क्या आपने कभी कबूतर के पंजों से जख्म खाया है? क्या अजीब सा सवाल है? - आप शायद पूछ रहे हों. जख्म? और वो भी कबूतर के पंजों से? ये कैसे हो सकता है भाई? कहाँ एक तरफ दुनिया का शायद सर्वाधिक शांतिप्रिय प्राणी और कहाँ दूसरी तरफ आदमी, जिसने ना सिर्फ अपनी ज़िन्दगी में ही अफरा-तफरी मचा रक्खी है, बल्कि मानो पूरी सृष्टि का ही संतुलन बिगाड़ने का जैसा बीड़ा उठा रक्खा है.

मैंने खाया है कबूतर के पंजों से जख्म. और मेरी बाईं हथेली पर लगा घाव अभी भी ताज़ा है. गलती मेरी ही थी. कबूतर तो शायद फिर भी बच के निकल मात्र जाना चाहता था.

मेरे घर के सामने वाली सड़क के दूसरी तरफ एक छोटा सा मैदान है. मैदान क्या है, यों मान लीजिये कि जैसे एक छोटी सी ज़मीन है; खाली और समतल. धुल और मिट्टी से भरी हुई. मायानगरी मुंबई में सर छुपाने को एक छत मिल जाए वही काफी है, खाली और हरे-भरे मैदान के बारे में तो शायद कोई दूर दूर तक नहीं सोचता. 

कुछ दिनों पहले मैंने सुकेतु मेहता की किताब मैक्सिमम सिटी पढ़ी थी. मुंबई की इस बायोग्राफी टाइप की किताब में मुंबई का परिचय काफी डरा देने वाले तथ्यों के साथ लेखक ने दिया है. उनके मुताबिक मुंबई में पुरे ऑस्ट्रेलिया महाद्वीप से अधिक लोग रहते हैं. मैंने इस बात की कभी पुष्टि नहीं की. कोई ज़रुरत ही नहीं समझी. वर्ग आठ की भूगोल की पुस्तक में लिखा था कि भारत हर वर्ष खुद में एक ऑस्ट्रेलिया जोड़ता है. मुंबई वाला तथ्य गलत हो इसकी संभावना काफी कम है.

लोगों से इस प्रकार लबालब भरे इस शहर में यदि एक-दूसरे के लिए वक़्त ना हो, तो इसमें आश्चर्य करने वाली कोई बात नहीं होनी चाहिए. यहाँ आदमी एक बार सवेरे जो भागना चालू होता है, तो सीधा देर रात को ही जाकर चैन की दो सांस ले पाता है. अगले दिन से फिर वही कल वाली ज़िन्दगी चालू. कई लोग तो यहाँ अपनी एक चौथाई ज़िन्दगी लोकल ट्रेन में सफ़र करते हुए ही काट देते हैं.

खैर! ये तो मुंबई की समस्या है. मैं तो अपने घर के सामने वाले मैदान की बात कर रहा था. मैदान छोटा सा है - धुल-मिट्टी और छोटे कंकरों से भरा हुआ. हरियाली नहीं के बराबर है. कुछ इक्का-दुक्का पेड़ अवश्य खड़े हैं इधर-उधर गुमसुम से - मानो डरे हुए हों की ना जाने कब किसी बिल्डर की नज़र इस मैदान पर भी पर जाए और कब ना जाने उनपर भी ठीक उसी तरह आरियाँ चला दी जाएँ जैसे कुछ महिनों पहले बगल वाली ज़मीन पर खड़े पेड़ों पर चलायी गयी थी.

अगल बगल अच्छी खासी अट्टालिकाओं से घिरा यह मैदान लगभग दस-बारह टीन के झोपड़ों से भरा पड़ा है. गरीबों की एक अत्यंत ही छोटी सी बस्ती है - डेली वेजर्स हैं शायद. हर दिन सवेरे काम की तलाश में निकलते हैं और देर रात वापस लौटते है. ना पानी की सप्लाई है उनके घरों में और ना ही बिजली का कोई पुख्ता इंतजाम. हाँ, एक रोड रोलर अवश्य काफी दिनों से खड़ा है उनके झोपड़ों के सामने, मैदान में एक किनारे की ओर.

कबूतर वाली घटना इसी मैदान की है.

मुंबई की एक खासियत है. लोगों के पास एक दुसरे के लिए वक़्त हो ना हो, मगर कुछ लोग हैं यहाँ जो हर सुबह और शाम को इन नादान पंछियों के लिए वक़्त अवश्य निकाल लेते हैं. ऐसा नहीं है कि ये लोग किसी एक संप्रदाय या फिर किसी एक प्रोफेशन से जुड़े हों. जहाँ एक तरफ वह एक छोटा मोटा दूकानदार है, झुग्गी में रहने वाला इंसान है, वहीँ दूसरी तरफ कुछ ऐसे भी हैं जो अपनी पोशाक और चाल-चलन से किसी अंतर-रास्ट्रीय कम्पनी में काम करने वाले वेल पेड प्रोफेशनल जान पड़ते हैं. हर रोज़ नियमित तौर से ये लोग बोरियां भर-भर अनाज इन पंछियों को डालते हैं. निरंतर कम होती प्रकृति से जुड़े रहने का मुंबई का यह शायद अपना तरीका है.

कबूतरों को दाना डालने के लिए दादर और खार रेलवे स्टेशनों के बाहर तो जैसे एक अलग इन्फ्रास्ट्रक्चर ही तैयार कर दिया गया है. एक छोटी सी जमीन को पक्की दीवारों से घेरकर मानो उसे इन पंछियों के ही नाम कर दिया गया हो. जिस मैदान की मैं बात कर रहा हूँ, वहां ऐसा कुछ भी नहीं है. कोई इन्फ्रास्ट्रक्चर, कोई ज़मीन कबूतरों के नाम नहीं की गयी हैं. 

शामें तो अब अधिकतर ऑफिस के वातानूकूलित वातावरण में ही कटती हैं, मगर सुबह सवेरे मैंने अक्सर दो-तीन अत्यंत सामान्य से लोगों को इन पंछियों को उनका रोज का राशन देते हुए देखा है. एक बुजुर्ग से सज्जन भी आते हैं बराबर जींस और टी-शर्ट में. वो तो ना सिर्फ कबूतरों के लिए दाना लाते हैं, बल्कि सड़क के आवारा कुत्तों के लिए बिस्किट भी.

मैं कुछ लेकर तो नहीं जाता, मगर जब भी सवेरे नींद खुलती है, एक बार इस जगह जरुर चला जाता हूँ. काफी अच्छा दृश्य होता है यहाँ पर. करीब सौ दो सौ कबूतर, चार पांच लोग, दर्जन भर कौव्वे और दो-तीन आवारा कुत्ते - सारे मानो एक सामंजस्य में एक-दूसरे के साथ वहां इकठ्ठा होते हैं. दाना डालने वाले लोग जहाँ दाना डाल रहे होते हैं, कबूतर उन्हें काफी समीप से घेरे रहते हैं - इतने समीप से की अगर फुर्ती के साथ एक झपट्टा मारा जाए तो एक ना एक पंछी तो हाथ में अवश्य आ जाए. कुत्ते भी आराम से कबूतरों के इस झुण्ड में घुमते हैं, मगर कभी उन्हें भी उनपर हमला करते हुए नहीं देखा.

सुबह-सुबह वहां जाना अच्छा लगता है. पंछियों को इतने पास से देखना और उनके बीचों-बीच चहलकदमी करना कहीं और संभव है या नहीं कहना मुश्किल है. आश्चर्य की बात है कि इतनी अधिक संख्या में होते हुए भी और भोजन की लिमिटेड सप्लाई के बावजूद इन पंछियों में एक अजीब सी ख़ामोशी व्याप्त रहती है - मानो वो जो भी मिल जा रहा है उसी में संतुष्ट हों. आपस में ना तो कोई कम्पीटीशन की भावना और ना कहीं जाने की कोई जल्दी.

हाँ. जब उनके बीच से गुजरता हूँ और वो कभी भाग कर तो कभी उड़ कर रास्ता देते हैं, तो उनके पंखों की फरफराहट की आवाज़ अवश्य तेज़ होती है; और तेज़ होती है उन पंखों से निकलकर शरीर को छू जाने वाली ठंढी प्राकृतिक हवा भी.

Sharing of resources can be real fun.

Clicked these photographs a few days back early in the morning at Powai Lake. These two standard 3 kids - one is Govind, the name of the other one I forgot - were sharing  a swing in the small park at the side of the lake. And they were laughing their hearts out. They seemed to convey the message - Sharing of resources can be real fun. 

Sad, nobody around seemed to understand.

Sadder still, by the time they grow up and are already fed the idea of "good living standards" a million times over, they would themselves have forgotten the simple message they delivered to the world unknowingly that morning. 

The question to be asked is - Can't we start putting concern for the planet at a higher pedestal than our immediate comfort? Is it really too hard to go, for example, car-pooling?  Is it really too hard to start sharing the resources that we have?

I remember ours was one of the first homes in my paternal place Mahnar to have purchased a television set. Those were the days of Ramanand Sagar's Ramayan and a whole lot of village folks gathered every Sunday in our home to watch the magic of Lord Ram unfold on the small screen. With so many people watching, there used to be chaos all around. But still, it was great to watch Ramayan that way. 

Years have passed.

Today I watch movies on my personal laptop; mostly alone. The level of comfort has certainly gone up. But somehow, watching movies alone does not give the same happiness as watching Ramayan with 30 odd people on that small television set gave.

Santa must be a lonely guy.

Winters are long gone and this is not Christmas season. Going by the human standards, this is probably not the right time to remember Santa either. Even then, I would like to remember him now, at a time of the year when everybody seems to have forgotten the big, friendly old man.

Santa, in all probability, is a fictitious character and although I have never read Bible, I am pretty sure he does not find a mention in the Holy Book. He must have developed over a long period of time, mostly by the way of bed-time stories that grandmothers so fondly tell their grandchildren.

Why do I remember him now? I do so because of a guy in my office.

This guy has a weird habit which most of the people fail to understand. Almost everyday, whenever he goes out of the office for a tea break, he brings gifts for his colleagues. Nothing great, but gifts as simple as say 1 Re chewing-gums or 50 paisa Coffee Bites for the people who happen to be  working in his team at that point of time.

People in the office have nick-named him Santa.

He is a small town guy and does not seem to be very much at ease in the office. He is not satisfied with the job that he is doing and very often feels like running back to the small place from where he has come.

I feel out of place in this office; full of people with plastic smiles and cosmetic faces. People who keep talking about the Rs. 15 lakh car that they plan to buy and the costly Hugo Boss perfume that they love to wear. He told one day over a cup of roadside tea that we were having. The guy used to talk little and today he seemed to be in a mood to do so.

Why do you distribute small errands? That is a habit way out of place for an office like this. I asked, sensing an opportunity that he might tell the reason behind his weird habit. 

I have spent almost all my life in a hostel, where we used to share a lot of our resources. The school had a small portable TV and all of us 400 guys used to watch the occasional movie together on that small television set. Sometimes, our hostel warden used to bring small items like samosas or Hajmola. The whole hostel used to stand in a queue and get its share. It was not what you got that mattered. Instead, it was the feeling of companionship. He finished his tea and added. - Present day world seems to have forgotten that sharing of resources can be real fun. 

This is interesting. I thought. But probably not entirely right.

The guy is a fairly lonely one and people seem to remember him only when they feel an urge for their daily dose of chewing-gums or Coffee Bite.

Why does Santa, the real one, the one who comes at the time of Christmas, brings gifts with him?

People go to Church all the year round. The faithful remember Jesus almost all the 365 days and pray to Him for a lot many things. Why then do they remember Santa only once? And then forget him as if he was never there?

Is it because that the gifts that he brings are too small in front of the powers of the God? Is it because while Jesus is supposed to give life, all that Santa has to offer is 'insignificant' chocolates?

Isn't forgetting him as soon as Christmas gets over too materialistic and selfish on the part of the humans? Doesn't Santa understand the parochial nature of the mankind?

Something tells me he does. But still he comes – year after year after year. May be this is his way of beating his loneliness, at least once in a year. With nobody remembering him ever, he must be a lonely guy after all.

The Tiger I Touched and Their Present Day Status.

                                                                      

                                                                            

It has been 13 long years to this incident and to this day I regret not having even a single photograph of it. My father never invested in a camera. He is probably not interested in one, probably not even in the normal day to day use of the equipment.

The day I speak of is one of the most exiting days of my life. After all, it is not every day that one gets to touch a living, fully conscious, grown up tiger. And not many people in the world can claim to have done so, can they? Yes dear, you read it right. I have had the good fortune of getting as close as one can possibly get to one of these magestic animals. And so has been the case with my brother. We did that together.

If I remember it correctly, it was 7th of June, 1997. Just one day back we had come to Patna from Muzaffarpur to board the (very) early morning Danapur-Tata Express, the train we usually took to go to Vidyapith at the end of our one and a half month long vacation. Although she seldom did so, this time Maa had also decided to come along. We were staying put at the place of Munni Bua, and had a full day to kill and not really many places in the town to pay a visit to.

It was at the morning breakfast table that bua suddenly suggested that we must go to the Sanjay Gandhi Jaivik Udyan, the Patna zoo. A few days back, Boski Didi's school had taken her whole batch out for a picnic there. And she had come back with this information regarding a grown up tiger there which could be touched, obviously in the presence of Ram Pyare, the guy who was responsible for taking care of the animal.

So, as soon as our breakfast got over, the four of us - Maa, Papa, myself and my brother - left for the zoo. Bua had decided to stay back as she had some more mundane things to take care of.

Now, as is the case with most of the cities of our generation, Patna zoo happens to be an oasis in an otherwise desert. Full of greenery and an island of tranquility, this is sadly the last and the most open space left in an otherwise over-crowded, tightly packed city.

Once we were in, finding the place of the tiger was not a difficult thing to do. Ram Pyare and his tiger were obviously the hottest news those days on the zoo campus. I remember Googling Ram Pyare out a couple of years down the line when I was in my college, and I was delighted to find an article regarding him in India Today. Sadly, I am not able to find that link now. However, one page concerning him still happens to be on the net and interested readers may go to it by clicking here.

Although I am not an expert in this matter, with its orange skin and black stripes, I am pretty sure the tiger that I am talking about was a Royal Bengal tiger. It was 'kept' in front of the white tiger cage. On its left was another big enclosure with 3-4 similar looking Royal Bengals in it.

The time we reached the place Ram Pyare was not there. Yet, to our utter surprise, the only thing separating the completely unchained tiger (or was it a tigress?) from the visiters to the zoo was an iron fence not more than 2 feet high. If it had so wished, our tiger could have easily jumped the fence and gone for a long, solitary walk anywhere in the zoo, putting the whole system in disarray. Instead, completely oblivious of the onlookers and its eyes tightly shut, all it chose to do was to lie down lazily in the bright early noon sunlight. Oh! What a breathtakingly beautiful sight it was! I have never been to any Wildlife Park in my life and this remains the most free tiger I have ever come across.

After around half an hour, Ram Pyare came along to pay a visit to his tiger. Short, dark skinned and shabbily dressed, he was just like any other person one can ever come across. I and my brother were exited. The ultimate purpose of our visit to the zoo was to touch the tiger, not just to have a look at it and go back home. That we will get a number of chances to do. This was a life time opportunity. We urged our father to talk to Ram Pyare and get us an opportunity to do that. Luckily he obliged. Maa was shit scared, but by the time she could start protesting, Papa had already started talking to Ram Pyare.

The time we were waiting for since morning had arrived.

Once Ram Pyare was inside the fence, he called us to join him. The instruction given to us was simple. We will get a very brief duration to touch the hind legs and the back of the animal and then we will get out fast. While we did so, Ram Pyare was stroking the tiger on its face, sitting comfortably on its side. So, we touched the dream animal on its hind legs. And, my good gracious god, what a soft skin it had! Isn't it surprising for an animal so feared of to have a skin so soft?

While the memory of that day will always be alive with me, sadly it is the tigers themselves who are facing extinction. So much so that in order to publicise the plight of the jungle cat (and obviously to serve its own corporate needs), a mobile company - Aircel - has come up with an advertisement in collaboration with the World Wildlife Fund. I have a television set at home, but I have decided not to have cable connection as I find it to be less entertaining and more irritating. As a result, I have not seen the concerned advertisement till now. I am sure it must be a great ad. But isn't it sad that we the humans have brought the world to such a stage that we need to come out with advertisements in order to help equally important lifeforms survive?

India has already lost all of her Cheetah-s and I am afraid the day is not far when, in spite of all these cosmetic efforts, the country will lose all of its Panthera Tigris population as well. From around 40,000 at the turn of the 20th century to 3,642 in 2002 and 1,411 in 2008; their numbers have come down really fast. It will be a dark day indeed, if it ever comes, when my children will ask me to show a tiger to them and the closest thing that I would be able to do would be to tell them this story of my personal, friendly encounter with one of them.

Panthera Tigris: Going! Going!! .. Thankfully NOT YET Gone Away.                                      

A Tale of Two Ghost Ladies/Alka is back, is she?

Part A - Ghost Lady Number 1

She told her name was Shalini. She did not tell her surname. What she did tell however was that she had a younger sister and that she was named Malini (interesting name ... hmmm?); and that they shared a common e-mail id shalini_malini@yahoo.co.in. After all, she lived in Bangalore, the global capital of Information Technology, she claimed.

However, the letter that she posted for Khastagir was not via internet, but through the age old Indian Post. This was 2001 and we were still in Vidyapith. Most of us still had not opened our first e-mail account and had no access whatsoever to the wonderful world of internet. As against Bangalore, we were in the small holy town of Lord Shiva – Deoghar – that not many Indians will be able to pin point on the vast map of India.

The letter she posted was in a simple white envelope with the stamps of required value duly pasted on it. Khasta's name was written on the top of the envelope in a beautiful English handwriting. The moment Khasta opened the envelope; the news broke out in the hostel faster than a forest fire.

He had got a love letter. All the way from Bangalore. Travelling through a major part of India.

As if in a fairy tale, Shalini had come across a photograph of Khasta in the house of one of the ex-students of Vidyapith in Bangalore. Even more interesting was the fact that it was a simple batch photograph in which Khasta was just one of the many standing in one of the queues. He must have had been damn smart and good looking even in those days. How dumb the whole batch had been not to have discovered the hidden star amongst it. After all, there must be something in you if you are attracting a girl all the way from Bangalore.

This was the first love letter that anyone from the whole batch had ever received. Khasta had become an instant hero. There were celebrations all around. And there were a few who had fallen into depression thinking - Yaar .. saala Khasta abhi se baaji mar raha hai. Mera kya hoga.

The letter was as good as one should expect it to be at that age. It was written neatly in Hindi by a girl residing in Bangalore to a Bengali guy based in Patna and studying in a boarding school in Jharkhand. Mr. Bhagat, if one of the purposes of your book Two States is to promote the national unity, then our Khasta had definitely beaten you in the game far before you had even arrived on the horizon.

But then, the fairy tale ended.

People were already investigating the letter, trying to find out whether it had genuinely arrived from Bangalore or was it a fake. Someone noticed that the stamp pasted on the envelope was lacking in the thappa of the Postal Department that any stamp really going through the Indian Postal System must carry on itself. A little more investigation, and someone suggested – Yaar ye handwriting kucch jaani pahchani si lag rahi hai.

Ultimately, it turned out to be a trick played by Aayush on Khastagir. Aayush had gone to the rooftop - The door to the roof top was still unlocked; Bob Cut had yet to arrive in the collective life of the collegeboys - and had meticulously written the letter there, far away from the prying eyes. Then he had tried his level best to make it look as original as possible. The trick had held its ground for at least 4-5 hours that day, which in itself was a big success.

The tables had been turned. Faces that had gone into depression were smiling again. Khasta, saale, there is still time for the competition to start. You just wait for us to reach out to the greater world outside. Khasta, on the other hand, was sad. He had just lost the hope of having his first girlfriend.

Shalini had turned out to be nothing more than a beautiful figment of imagination. She had turned out be a Ghost Lady who simply never existed.

Part B - Ghost Lady Number 2

I was in my first year of college when Priyanka came into my life for a highly brief duration of 20-25 minutes. I was surfing in the internet cafe in Hanuman Nagar, when she buzzed me on Yahoo Chat. This time the e-mail id used was priyanka_kanpur@yahoo.co.in. I have not visited Yahoo Chat for more than past two years, but I am sure this e-mail id must still be there in my friend list.

I am an UP-ite from Kanpur and am pursuing M.B.B.S. in Ramaiah - She introduced herself.

I replied something, more than happy at heart.

I have seen your photograph at .... - Came the reply from the other end of the internet, in case there is one. The story of my discovery by her followed.

Hey! Am I going through a deja vu? No, surely I am not. I pinched myself. Something is fishy here. Priyanka's story can’t be so similar to Khasta's. This is not a girl! I need to go on offensive. I must save myself from falling into the trap. I said to myself.

So, where are you these days and what are you doing? - Next question popped up in my chat window.

This is the right moment. Go! Hit!!

I work with the directors of the Naughty America series. Just yesterday we have returned to Las Vegas, where we have our studio, after shooting some great short movies in the ice cold locales of Alaska. - I typed the first thing that came to my mind.

And what Naughty America exactly is? - She explored further.

My dear sweet lady. You pretend as if you don’t already know what it is. I explained NA to her.

Whosoever was at the other end pretended as if he/she was pissed off and went offline; never ever to bother me again. The whole conversation must have lasted not more than 30 minutes. I have never again received any mail whatsoever from that e-mail id. And I have never tried to contact this so-called Priyanka.

A few days after this incident, I was talking on the phone with Victor Mayengbam. He asked me something about some girl in Bangalore. Although I have not been able to make him confess it, I doubt to this day that Priyanka in Bangalore was actually none other than Mayengbam himself.

So, this is the story of Ghost Lady Number 2, the first and the only one that I had ever come across. Till, I guess, the very recent past.

Then, I too got a love letter. My first one ever. From Alka.

Yes! She has written me a love letter. Any reader of this blog interested in reading the same is most welcome to go to the comments section of (My Dear) Alka.

Part C - Welcome, ‘Alka’

Dear ‘Alka’

(You must have noticed that three things have changed in my way of addressing you. Since you claimed my brackets make you conscious, I have removed them. Also, I am not using the word ‘My’ and am putting your name in hyphens. This, I hope, will be indication enough that I do not consider you to be the Alka whom my letter was originally addressed to.)

I hope you will not be taken aback by my discussing both you and your letter on this public platform. After all, what other means of communication do I have with you, if not this? Also, your being just a name in the vast virtual world of internet will surely provide you great respite.

The day I read your letter for the first time, I was not only taken aback, I was also confused for a moment. But then, thankfully, I remembered the above two Ghost Ladies, and I was more or less certain that this is again someone playing a prank.

It does not mean that I do not appreciate the effort you took in writing that beautiful letter. Contrary to it, I fell in instant love with the way you write.

You do seem to have a great flavour for written English, which I simply cannot see coming from a girl from Muzaffarpur. Sadly, my – or, as per your claim, our – home town lacks any good library whatsoever to speak of. Also, I have never come across even a single student there who takes enough pains to reach out to the beautiful world of English literature. The way you write must follow reading good literature over a good duration of time.

Also, you have claimed to have found me by CHANCE, while moving through this vast blogosphere. Now, you do not need to be a great student of Mathematics to know that although there is indeed a chance of such a finding, it is almost next to impossible. My name is a highly unique one, and a simple search on Google, I am sure, would have given you some lead at least to reach out to me. I am afraid I don’t understand what this ‘moving through this vast blogosphere’ means.

Having said this, I must thank you profusely for taking your time out in order to write such a beautiful letter to me. Thanks a bunch once again.

And, hey, don’t you worry dear, I don’t have any intention whatsoever of trying to find out either where my real Alka is or who you really are. So, take it easy, mate.

Abhishek.

P.S. –

1. Khastagir has grown into a brave man. He is in the Indian Army and is currently posted in Manipur. He happens to be the only guy from our batch who has shot dead a homo-sapien. It was in Kashmir, and the guy killed from his bullets was a terrorist. He is surely running ahead than the rest of us in this field at least. When he was posted in Kashmir, he fell in love with a rustic Kashmiri beauty. I hope he is still in touch with her.

2. Aayush graduated from IIT Kharagpur and is currently pursuing his MBA from IIM Kolkata. He will definitely carve out a great life for himself. My best wishes are with him.

3. Mayengbam was in Bangalore when I had my brief conversation with Priyanka. He did his MBA from ICFAI Kolkata and is working currently in the City of Joy itself. A highly jovial guy that he is, I am sure he will also do great in his life. My best wishes to him as well.