"Don't be a sentimental dickhead, I would have come even if the sky was falling." I said.
"Apparently not.", he said and we shared a light giggle.
I wished him a happy birthday again and waved goodbye as he approached his car. As the Honda Amaze sped off and disappeared in the busy roads of Connaught Place, I turned back to find myself surrounded by my contemplations of solitude and philosophical ambiguity. Connaught Place is such an exquisite sight in the nighttime, an immortal source of aesthetic pleasure, that the mind automatically begins to ruminate about everything deep and abstract.
Moreover, I was doing a case study on 'Philosophy of Buddha' then. While I was pondering over all the misery and pain in life and Buddha's ultimate solution regarding that, my feet betrayed my conscience and I found myself standing right in front of a cigarette seller. But this savage betrayal seemed so abruptly appropriate to me, that I went straight ahead and bought a Marlboro Gold Advance from the seller a.k.a Pandit Ji. I never understood why they called him that but I wasn't really eager to unveil that mystery then and there so I just got my cigarette and stood near the stall. A sudden light of consciousness engulfed my brain and I stopped just before picking up the lighter. Awareness rose. I had to either stop myself from doing it or convince my brain into doing it. Regrettably enough, I chose the second option as I had made a vow that I won't smoke until there's a big occasion and like clockwork, I tactfully tried to present AK's birthday as an occasion of utterly substantial importance. In the end, I peacefully lit my cigarette which made me think over the doctrine of everything being Maya(Deception) for I had deceived my own self into this addiction and perhaps this addiction is also a deception. Maybe, the vicious circle went on and on and on. Suddenly, my chain of thoughts was broken by Amitabh Bacchan's voice. Apparently, it was not Amitabh Bacchan but an old man with a voice like him talking to a much younger guy. I looked at him curiously while taking a drag and we had an eye contact.
He had a wheatish face with a double chin, grey hair, a grey french beard and was probably a patient of diabetes for he was sweating rivers and rivers even though it wasn't very hot or humid.
He had a wheatish face with a double chin, grey hair, a grey french beard and was probably a patient of diabetes for he was sweating rivers and rivers even though it wasn't very hot or humid.
"Kitne time se pee rahe ho beta?"(Since when have you been smoking?), he asked.
That question was actually obscene for me since I had been a victim of stereotypic comments like, "Umar hi kya hai abhi" and all that shit.
"1 saal, kyu?"(One year, why do you ask?), I answered with a weird look.
I think he realised that I wasn't giving a shit to his question and underestimated him so he did what every Indian does to establish his/her status in society.
"Oh, nothing son. Was just curious." he replied in a partially British accent.
Anyone but me would have been flattered by that accent for I had the utmost animosity for people who took pride in speaking English over Hindi. English is, and will always be my love but I never prefer conversing to someone who knows Hindi in English.
"What's your age, son?" he continued.
"20." I lied.
"Pandit Ji, the guy is 17. Why did you give him a cigarette?"
Pandit Ji started staring at me as if he was deducing my exact age by my facial features.
My face was inhabited by an expression that could be called a weird combination of rage, confusion and surprise.
"What?" I asked.
"Just kidding. Pandit Ji, don't worry, he's 20." He said, and then he came inconveniently close to me and whispered in my ear, "I used to say the same age when I was 17."
I was looking at him, awestruck. The three of us i.e. I, the man and his companion moved a little away from the stall so as to let the death trader sell other people their demise.
"But I'm really happy that at least you know how to smoke. I see stupid children all around smoking just for the sake of puffing some smoke out of their mouths. No class. You look like a serious smoker." He said.
His eyelids were narrowing and the eyes had a little tinge of red. Moreover, his shirt was unbuttoned to the stomach so I presumed that he was high. As for his companion, he was a young man wearing a nice red formal shirt and a black trouser with black formal shoes. I wasn't sure why he was stuck with the high guy.
"Yeah, I know about that but I'm not one of those douchebags." I answered.
"That is really nice. Delhi has lost it's vintage smokers. Now all there's left is a bunch of assholes who keep mouth-puffing all day and think they are really up to something."
I had been thinking about this for quite some time so I engaged myself in he conversation.
"People have started taking smoking as a means of showoff. The problem with the new generation is that everyone is really concerned about social status rather than self esteem."
For a moment, I felt like the lady who had hidden Anne Frank in 'The Diary of Anne Frank', betraying my own generation but doing what was right, for, I hated 13 year olds crying over failed relationships. I loathed 8 year olds with iPhones and I utterly despised 10 year olds taking selfies and clicking a million pictures of the food and uploading it on social networks rather than devouring the delicacy. Our generation was plagued by a duplicity disorder. Every individual was leading a fake lifestyle so as to run away from the myriad reality. But here I was, smoking a cigarette just to feel better about myself. Wasn't this Escapism? Didn't I belong in the same bowl of rice? I was in a subliminal dilemma of abysmal depth, which at the same time was quite imperative, for I had to find the right path.
While I was engrossed in my own delusions, I didn't realise that the poor man had been speaking all the time.
"You alright, son?"He asked upon realising my disinterest.
"Yeah, just drifted away into the mirage-like beauty of the Place." I replied.
"I see. You seem to have really deep thoughts and sometimes this mirage lures the depth of mind into negativity."
BAM! 2-0. He had me again. I don't know how he was doing it, but it was just beginning to spook me a little. It was like he knew I presumed he was stoned and didn't pay a heed to whatever he said and now he wanted me to repent that. He had my undivided attention now.
He continued, "Negativity is contagious. It's really easy to piss other people off when you are pissed off yourself. But the tough part is extracting positivity out of your misery. - "
"It's easier said than done." I interrupted.
"Never has greatness been easy to seek. Once upon a time, there was a man who had two pots to fill water in from the lake on the outskirts of the village. Everyday he would travel miles and miles to gather water from the only source of water in the entire area, the proud lake. It was like an elixir of life for the villagers. Now one of the pots was perfectly fine but the other one had a hole in it due to which it had only half the water by the time the poor man reached home from lake. It was really depressing for him realising the fact that it was because of him, the poor man's perseverance never paid off. He asked the poor man to throw him away as he was of no use but the man would just smile and walk away. One day, he decided to fall off the man's arm and kill himself. As soon as he looked down before falling, he saw something strange. His side of the path was decorated with beautiful flowers while the other side, was the same plain land. When he asked the man about it, he said, 'I always knew you had a hole, so instead of throwing you away, I began planting seeds on your side of the path. Now I have water, as well as many beautiful flowers to please my wife with. This is all because of you.' Just like this, everyone should know how to extract blessings from curses."
"Even if we can find positivity in misery, how does it help us with the circumstances?" His companion spoke for the first time.
"Optimism is not a superpower, it doesn't eradicate all the misery and pain in life But it definitely gives you the strength and courage required to fight your battle. If you remain positive, you spread alacrity. And one who spreads happiness will always go to bed feeling content."
My perception about this man had changed drastically in the last 5 minutes. Perhaps I was destined to meet him here. The coruscant street light gave me an influx of zeal while the man's words were bestowing wisdom on me. I wondered why a man of this attitude would have to roam like a vagabond. In an India stuck between corporate bar graphs and status quotients, here was a gentleman who didn't give a damn about any of the two.
I looked at my mobile screen and the time was 8:30, I was already late.
"Aren't you getting late? I'm also leaving." He curiously asked.
"Actually I am. You could surely accompany me till the Metro Station." I said.
We walked through the busy streets of CP. Like every judgmental Indian, I presumed from his attire that he would go by metro and was about to ask him which station he would de-board at when he stopped with his companion. We were at the car parking.
"This is as far as we can give you company, young man. The metro station is right in front of you. By the way, are you sure you don't want a lift? I live in Anand Vihar. If your place comes anywhere in between, I'd be glad to drop you somewhere."
As he said this, he took out the car keys and pushed the button in his central-locking remote. The lights of a blue BMW 520d blinked. 3-0. I almost drowned in shame for being judgmental that moment. My place was actually near Anand Vihar, but I couldn't accept his lift for I didn't deserve it. My embarrassment said 'NO' even before I could open my mouth.
"No thanks. I'd prefer the metro." I said.
"Alright, as you wish. I'd love to meet people like you again. Here's my card. It was really nice meeting you."
He gave me the card and put forward his hand to shake my hand. His name was written in block letters. I almost froze with awe as the next line read, "The Chief Executive officer, Cocoberry India"
I looked at the man again, shook his hand and greeted him with all my respect, "Nice to meet you too, sir."
I think he realised that I wasn't giving a shit to his question and underestimated him so he did what every Indian does to establish his/her status in society.
"Oh, nothing son. Was just curious." he replied in a partially British accent.
Anyone but me would have been flattered by that accent for I had the utmost animosity for people who took pride in speaking English over Hindi. English is, and will always be my love but I never prefer conversing to someone who knows Hindi in English.
"What's your age, son?" he continued.
"20." I lied.
"Pandit Ji, the guy is 17. Why did you give him a cigarette?"
Pandit Ji started staring at me as if he was deducing my exact age by my facial features.
My face was inhabited by an expression that could be called a weird combination of rage, confusion and surprise.
"What?" I asked.
"Just kidding. Pandit Ji, don't worry, he's 20." He said, and then he came inconveniently close to me and whispered in my ear, "I used to say the same age when I was 17."
I was looking at him, awestruck. The three of us i.e. I, the man and his companion moved a little away from the stall so as to let the death trader sell other people their demise.
"But I'm really happy that at least you know how to smoke. I see stupid children all around smoking just for the sake of puffing some smoke out of their mouths. No class. You look like a serious smoker." He said.
His eyelids were narrowing and the eyes had a little tinge of red. Moreover, his shirt was unbuttoned to the stomach so I presumed that he was high. As for his companion, he was a young man wearing a nice red formal shirt and a black trouser with black formal shoes. I wasn't sure why he was stuck with the high guy.
"Yeah, I know about that but I'm not one of those douchebags." I answered.
"That is really nice. Delhi has lost it's vintage smokers. Now all there's left is a bunch of assholes who keep mouth-puffing all day and think they are really up to something."
I had been thinking about this for quite some time so I engaged myself in he conversation.
"People have started taking smoking as a means of showoff. The problem with the new generation is that everyone is really concerned about social status rather than self esteem."
For a moment, I felt like the lady who had hidden Anne Frank in 'The Diary of Anne Frank', betraying my own generation but doing what was right, for, I hated 13 year olds crying over failed relationships. I loathed 8 year olds with iPhones and I utterly despised 10 year olds taking selfies and clicking a million pictures of the food and uploading it on social networks rather than devouring the delicacy. Our generation was plagued by a duplicity disorder. Every individual was leading a fake lifestyle so as to run away from the myriad reality. But here I was, smoking a cigarette just to feel better about myself. Wasn't this Escapism? Didn't I belong in the same bowl of rice? I was in a subliminal dilemma of abysmal depth, which at the same time was quite imperative, for I had to find the right path.
While I was engrossed in my own delusions, I didn't realise that the poor man had been speaking all the time.
"You alright, son?"He asked upon realising my disinterest.
"Yeah, just drifted away into the mirage-like beauty of the Place." I replied.
"I see. You seem to have really deep thoughts and sometimes this mirage lures the depth of mind into negativity."
BAM! 2-0. He had me again. I don't know how he was doing it, but it was just beginning to spook me a little. It was like he knew I presumed he was stoned and didn't pay a heed to whatever he said and now he wanted me to repent that. He had my undivided attention now.
He continued, "Negativity is contagious. It's really easy to piss other people off when you are pissed off yourself. But the tough part is extracting positivity out of your misery. - "
"It's easier said than done." I interrupted.
"Never has greatness been easy to seek. Once upon a time, there was a man who had two pots to fill water in from the lake on the outskirts of the village. Everyday he would travel miles and miles to gather water from the only source of water in the entire area, the proud lake. It was like an elixir of life for the villagers. Now one of the pots was perfectly fine but the other one had a hole in it due to which it had only half the water by the time the poor man reached home from lake. It was really depressing for him realising the fact that it was because of him, the poor man's perseverance never paid off. He asked the poor man to throw him away as he was of no use but the man would just smile and walk away. One day, he decided to fall off the man's arm and kill himself. As soon as he looked down before falling, he saw something strange. His side of the path was decorated with beautiful flowers while the other side, was the same plain land. When he asked the man about it, he said, 'I always knew you had a hole, so instead of throwing you away, I began planting seeds on your side of the path. Now I have water, as well as many beautiful flowers to please my wife with. This is all because of you.' Just like this, everyone should know how to extract blessings from curses."
"Even if we can find positivity in misery, how does it help us with the circumstances?" His companion spoke for the first time.
"Optimism is not a superpower, it doesn't eradicate all the misery and pain in life But it definitely gives you the strength and courage required to fight your battle. If you remain positive, you spread alacrity. And one who spreads happiness will always go to bed feeling content."
My perception about this man had changed drastically in the last 5 minutes. Perhaps I was destined to meet him here. The coruscant street light gave me an influx of zeal while the man's words were bestowing wisdom on me. I wondered why a man of this attitude would have to roam like a vagabond. In an India stuck between corporate bar graphs and status quotients, here was a gentleman who didn't give a damn about any of the two.
I looked at my mobile screen and the time was 8:30, I was already late.
"Aren't you getting late? I'm also leaving." He curiously asked.
"Actually I am. You could surely accompany me till the Metro Station." I said.
We walked through the busy streets of CP. Like every judgmental Indian, I presumed from his attire that he would go by metro and was about to ask him which station he would de-board at when he stopped with his companion. We were at the car parking.
"This is as far as we can give you company, young man. The metro station is right in front of you. By the way, are you sure you don't want a lift? I live in Anand Vihar. If your place comes anywhere in between, I'd be glad to drop you somewhere."
As he said this, he took out the car keys and pushed the button in his central-locking remote. The lights of a blue BMW 520d blinked. 3-0. I almost drowned in shame for being judgmental that moment. My place was actually near Anand Vihar, but I couldn't accept his lift for I didn't deserve it. My embarrassment said 'NO' even before I could open my mouth.
"No thanks. I'd prefer the metro." I said.
"Alright, as you wish. I'd love to meet people like you again. Here's my card. It was really nice meeting you."
He gave me the card and put forward his hand to shake my hand. His name was written in block letters. I almost froze with awe as the next line read, "The Chief Executive officer, Cocoberry India"
I looked at the man again, shook his hand and greeted him with all my respect, "Nice to meet you too, sir."