These dots, yes, those right after Y,circles filled with black ink,representing nothingness,representing void,a riddle, where you know you’ve got something to offer, to explore everything,yet nothing is achieved. These dots for me are bareiily, unclear, unimaginable,underestimated yet so unruffled, So unfettered .
In the first go, I hate bareilly, I vomit at the mere thought of abhaipur. Those memories of “Band Samosa” of Aslam (my MBIC canteenman) bring tears to my eyes when Kaushal’s daal-parantha meets the retina. I feel impugnant when after every 30 minutes there is a long jam covering all what’s there in Kodesia.”Kyun koi rehna chahega is shahar me” vikas Singh shouts in the midst of the jam. Me responding, “haan yaar, kahe koi rahega”. There are no parks,no malls,name any chicken dish and you’ve got the same taste. Road minus bumps equals nothing, cut the crap..its hideous.
Second round of thoughts , and I go down memory lane. I get wet with the colours of holi we play with ,every time at station. There are those tasety nights ,filled with chicken bhuja,roasted chicken and the uncle at Anand shouting ,”aaj aap log bahut dino k baad aaye”. One cannot loose those BP Mondays , guys clipped with accessories , smothered with perfume, and full of murmurs.” Abe aaj wo bhi aaegi!!”. My mind also comes across quiet moments of syndicate book house, only to get a book of choice, ending in failiure everytime.
Brain ,now turns creative, no, calculative, ‘coz now it counts the first timers, those maiden ones, the first time I started living alone, the first bunk,the first Monday,the first time I liked a girl,the first time I had a full plate butter chicken with only 1 leg piece(trust me , it happened),first time short attendance, the first curfew.
And here’s when the road takes a sharp turn, we’re at the by-pass, Raja and me in the college bus, 11 march, 2010 going to post our admission forms. The ride to junction(as station is called ) is always full of excitement ,as mostly it’s a trip down home, but this time I witnessed peace, no, quieteness.
There were no tempowallahs shouting “CB Ganja a jaao”…CB Ganj was hit with riots. The by-pass was looking like a dumb guy, shops all closed, everything deserted ,as a few days back, it had turned dumb to a mockery of humanity, shops all burnt ,everything destroyed. We are now on our way to fly-over and except for the choti li ne train,nothing at all. Tilak Inter College, the epitome of education in Bareilly was looking like a symbol of apocalypse.the ground opposite to that..no kids, no cricket..just mud with patches of dust.
We move a little further—a truck full of people shouting slogans. The driver stops the music. One faculty sitting looks around carefuly, sighs and says,”Truck bhar k jaa rhe hain, aaj fir bawaal hoga”. The bus moves through a different route this time. I didn’t see Syndicate , BP, Selection Point. Places, I was just imagining ,where I had searched for my definition for 4 years, how were they in riots, in plunder, the book house, the chicken hotel, those model shops, the ‘outlaw’ showroom. Heartbeat was getting faster, eyes were getting closed.
My fourth round of thoughts were ending, we were reaching junction, I was missing bareilly I hated. we were moving through a place where on one side there were green flags fluttering , in stiff competion with the orange ones on the other. Somewhere in the middle there was a Gandhi Ashram shop still carryin a tri-colour..Jai Hind written all over it.
P.S.
B.P. Butler Plaza
Anand Anand Chickem Shop.
