Stepping into a world of contrasts

I looked carefully at the route indicated in the ‘Google maps’ application that was running on my mobile phone. I then raised my head and looked ahead. I had to walk about 500 meters straight after which I had to cross the road and walk another 500 meters to reach the gate of the IT park where my office was situated. I looked at my watch. 20 more minutes to the time specified for entry at the office. I did not want to be late on my joining day and hurried.

After I reached the spot where I had to cross the road, I stood quietly hoping that I could join some random small group of IT professionals who would cross the road for the opposite side served as the source of livelihood for more than thousands of ambitious people. But as I saw people walking down the road hastily, some not caring about the speeding vehicles and some raising their hands thereby making cars swivel around them, I couldn’t believe that those people belonged to the same city and same profession of people who so quietly and so politely had filled the AC buses I had frequented the earlier day. It took me some time before I managed to cross the road, thanks to a lorry driver who took pity on me and stopped his vehicle, enabling me to walk across.

10 more minutes to the reporting time. And I was 200 meters away from the gate of the IT park after which lay another 600 meters to my office situated inside. I hastened my steps. After about five steps, I heard a feeble cry of “aiyya!”. A momentary feeling of excitement grabbed me on hearing a Tamil voice in a city where Hindi and Kannada (in that order) are mostly heard. I then looked ahead and saw a very old woman, dressed shabbily, seated at a corner, holding her hand out. I kept walking. “Aiyya!”, she called out again as I walked past her. I stopped on my way and reached for my pant pocket. As my hand moved over an empty back-pocket, I realized that I had kept my wallet inside my bag. I held the left strap of the bag and as I slowly pushed it down my left shoulder, the time displayed on my watch caught my eye. Not even 7 minutes left. With the bag hanging from my right shoulder, I sprinted ahead hoping badly that the lady would not call out to me again. She didn’t.

A 600 meter walk. A one-minute wait for the elevator. 10 floors up. A security check. After all these, I entered the room that had been assigned for the new recruits. Seeking a desk at a corner, I seated myself, placing my bag down. Most of the people in the room seemed interested in introducing themselves to each other. A guy behind me tapped on my shoulder and extended his hand. I grabbed his hand and shook it, glancing at my watch.

There was a minute more to the reporting time. A minute more.   

And I spent the rest of the day in the tinted-glass walled, marvellously designed, sufficiently air-conditioned office building with the cry of “aiyya!” echoing in my head.

****

Finding a PG (a place to stay as a Paying Guest) in Bangalore is not a hard task. But it is not an easy one either. The options are aplenty but it might take an eternity till you find one that suits your needs.

The one that I and my two other friends locked in on turned out to be a slightly uncomfortable one after we moved in. A small stretch of land with wild unkempt shrubs that lay near our ground-floor room, separated by a small wall, turned out to be a waste disposal yard as opposed to our perception of a waste land.  

We tried to analyse the severity of the 'garbage' situation, examining from behind the small wall and discovered that it served as an abode for many a plump rat.

“We are screwed.. totally! We need to find another good place by a month or two!” said one of my roommates as we gathered in our room after our analysis.

The next morning, I woke up early and with a desire to witness the morning Bangalore sky, I stepped outside my room. Muffled sounds could be heard from the garbage yard and I understood that the rats were busy. A few minutes later, an old man with a stick in his right hand and a jute-bag in his left, walked inside the garbage yard. I silently observed him as he collected the empty plastic bottles lying around. He then noticed me and waved his hand. I waved back, a couple of seconds later.

“Naye waale ho?!” he asked me. I nodded.

“Yahaan chuhae hain.. patha hai tumhe?!”, he asked me eagerly. “Haan! Kal raath hi pathaa chala!” I replied, smiling.

He let out a chuckle. “Par gabraane ki koi baath nahin.. Yeh chuhae toh bahoot achae chuhae hain!”  he said, giving the rats a certificate of appreciation. I smiled again after which he left, having collected the empty bottles in his jute-bag.

Today morning, as I stepped out of my room, I could see a rat busily eating a dish from a small plastic cover. I made a small kissing sound trying to grab its attention. The rat quickly dropped its food and rushed towards its hole. I tried the kissing sound again but the rat seemed to pay no heed.

I then remembered Ruskin Bond’s amazing little piece – Those simple things - in which he describes his friendship with a mouse during his stay at London.

“Seems like I too might become a Ruskin Bond someday” I told myself.
“Think about what stands in your way from becoming one” a question arose, followed later by two answers.

Writing.

Developing a friendship with mice/rats (After all, they belong to the same family).

I decided to begin with the easier one and started working on the kissing sound.