Co-passenger

Mr Sarkar couldn’t thank the angels more!

It’s a two-and-a-half day journey. The train just started six hours back and Sarkar was cursing himself for choosing this mode of transport. He started counting the hours left. Thirty six minus six is thirty hours! He turned pessimistic.

But his crack management training had taught him to be strong and not to resign even at the face of hardest adversity. He had to find out a ray of hope anyhow. he calculated the time he would spend sleeping. At home he sleeps for eight hours a day. So for two days it would be sixteen hours. Voila! fourteen hours left. Now, if he stretches himself a bit more, he would sleep for four more hours. ten hours left.

Ten bloody HOURS!!! And does he really expect to sleep in this non-AC sleeper class compartment? With all kinds of sounds spilling from all over the place?? He hardly can put his eyelids together and forget his misery. The train sounds so much.

He again turned gloomy.

He didn’t want to come by train. He never boarded a train in his last ten years of life. Earlier, when he was a junior level executive, and the company used to give him tickets for train, he always used to come in the AC compartment. Where the sound is less and the pople carry the halmark of a certain standard.

But thanks to this nation-wide airport stir for three days and the eleventh-hour news that he had to attend an important hearing at Calcutta three days from now, he had to take the train. Sadly, all the AC compartments were booked. If he had to come, he had to take this sleeper class. Damn!

But this can be tolerated to some extent if he had a ‘standard’ person here with him. No, none are worth having a quick intelligent chat. These are mostly clerks or small time traders who travel by this sleeper compartments. Since the train is from Bangalore, half of the travellers are students from West Bengal or Orissa, returning home.

Being the CEO of “hi-tech” he cannot afford to chat with them. He hates Indians. If by any chance they get to know his identity, the first thing they will do will be to ask for a job for their sons, cousins or nephews. Give them an inch and they will … Bloody damn race of a bloody damn country.

He likes to spend his summer vacations in Europe. Such a beautiful country. Such beautiful people. Shit! His bloody damn skin. It’s a bit on the darker side. Bloody damn Indian blood.

Why? Why on earth he had to take birth to bloody damn Indian parents? Sometimes he ask this question to God. Of course He doesn’t exist, or if he really existed, must be envious of His creation. He still has to float in His ancient chariot and is bound by the earth’s atmosphere. Man travels by rocket and lands in moon.

He got a few brownie points with his European potential clients when he cracked this joke at a party.

Of course, that was a business requirement. To secure a business, anything is fair. He apologised for this joke going at a temple. He told his mother at Calcutta to arrange for a special puja. His sins, if at all, were cleared within a day.

Mr Sarkar was thanking the Gods now for finally listening to his unuttered plea. The man in the font seat, with a blazer and a beige tie looks like a top executive. Of course, it might not be possible for this man to be a CEO like him. But a man doesn’t wear a tie if nothing is in his head.

Looking at the ways of the man, Mr Sarkar rightly presumed he was also facing similar dilemma as him. For the man was looking impatiently at the windows and was sighing. Mr Sarkar waited for half an hour. He rightly guessed that both were thinking who will start the conversation. As both were exchanging a thousand words by their actions and were not hiding their mutual impatience as to get caught in this jam.

Being a free and frank man, Mr Sarkar decided to start the conversation.

“Airport stir eh?”

“Yes, yes. Indeed. It’s such a pain.”

“I am Abhishek Sarkar, CEO of a small software development company. Although our Bangalore office is the headquarter, our R&D is in the Silicon Valley. London is our marketing hub. Our Germany and Paris offices are not big though. But yaa, Mexico is picking up. We plan to list our company on the NYSE and LSE next month, what about you?” Mr Sarkar brought out a card from the pocket of his rucksack that he bought in Austria last summer.

“I am a farmer by profession. I have five tea gardens in Assam. I had a small refinery too, before it got bought over by Shell some five years ago. Hard business, they gave me a handsome amount, smartly exited. Dibyangshu Roy here.” Mr. Roy also gave him his card from his coat pocket.

As is the custom, you should not inspect the card in the presence of the person concerned, unless of course, you want to know the name. Mr. Sarkar kept the card in his wallet.

“What’s the name of the company you said Mr Roy?”

“It’s ConAgra Tea Estate,”

“I know one ConAgra … it’s a food giant in US.”

“Yes, we are their India distributor, we handle the tea-side. My own tea garden … the brand is theirs. You know how things work in these big companies,” Mr Roy said rubbing the dial of his watch. A Pierre Cardin masterpiece.

Yes, YES!!! This is the kind of man he likes to interact with. God! May be whatever happens, happens for a reason. He was really thankful now to the angels for forcing him come on this sleeper compartment.

They had a wonderful time after that till the time for lunch came. Mr Sarkar is sure that however his skin may be coloured by the nature the wrong way, but he is a true European by nature. He has taken every step to ensure he remains as European as his friend Martin Smith is in England. The hardest part was to keep a stiff upper lip and say words in a hush hush manner. He really likes how Smith argues in a perfectly normal tone. Europeans never raise their voice and he has finally mastered that. He was proud of his English bed-time and table manners.

But two things of the Europeans he never could approve was their using toilet papers and eating breads for lunch.

He needs at least five litres of water to wash himself properly and he needs rice for lunch and dinner. Without having rice, he could never imagine he had eaten anything at all.

But of course, some things are climate specific. When the British conquered India, they couldn’t retain their English signature as it was. They were hooked to afternoon siesta. So it’s no issue if he is exception to these two rules.

So when the lunch time came, he had to, had to order rice for himself. But he was hesitant of what his co-passenger might think. Mr Roy turned out to be a bird of the same feather.

Without even Mr Sarkar could say anything, Mr Roy brought out a Tiffin box from his suitcase.

Not to worry, he also couldn’t do without rice.

Angels can’t be better than this.

Mr Roy neatly divided the food in two different plates. Apparently, it is a custom in his family to carry some extra food and an extra plate, in case he had to entertain a guest like what he was doing now.

Both had a bellyfull. The food was out of this world. The biriyani was just as he had that day at a five star hotel.

He was content. He was happy. The food was so good that after a long long time he wanted to sleep in the afternoon. He was very happy. His eyelids were getting heavier. Ah! This is paradise on earth. He thought of cracking a joke.

“You know what Mr Roy? This is paradise on wheels.”

And both were laughing heartily. For a moment he let his English sensibilities go and was laughing like all the bloody Indians do.

Soon he was dreaming about his girlfriend whom he is going to marry once he gets rid of his menacing wife.

When he woke up it was six in the morning. Wow! He slept for bloody SIXTEEN HOURS!!! If he can continue this performance, he don’t need to worry about when he reaches home! he will just open his eyes after a round and lo! Howrah station!

He stopped a tea-wallah passing through the alleyway.

He took the chai, it feels so nice to sip something hot after a good night’s sleep!

While reaching for his wallet in the back pocket, he realised he must have kept that in his bag. Keeping the tea at the berth, he came down to get his bag.

It was nowhere to be found.

When he enquired about it, he got to know that the bag was taken by its owner who got down at a station last night itself.

“What do you mean the owner? It was my bag. Who was the owner otherwise?”

The man in the next seat looked at him, astonished! If Mr Sarkar remembers properly he wanted to lock his bag because this man was sharing the same cubicle with him.

He would have done that at night, but before that he went to sleep.

“Why, your friend. With whom you had lunch yesterday. I was thinking whether to wake you up when this gentleman was leaving with the bag. I sort of challenged him, he said that the bag was his. he said his name was Abhishek Sarkar, he also gave me his card. See,” the man forwarded a card to Mr Sarkar.

That’s his own card. His last possession left.

“Bloody that’s my card!!! That was my bag. I am Abhishek Sarkar”

Then a light bulb flashed in his head. That man has given him his card.

Dibyangshu Roy.
Chairman and Managing Director
Con-Agra Network
Agra, Uttar Pradesh

At the back of the card, it was written in bold letters, “SLEEPWELL”

Mr Sarkar rightly presumed he was cheated by this con man.

May be because he just had woken up, or may be because a long sleep had made his brain dizzy, he was in no position in remembering his English sensibilities and forgetting that in the same compartment, there were a lot of girls and elderly people, he started shouting rather in a typical bloody Indian manner.

“Madarchod, Motherfucker, Venchod, Suoerer Baccha, Khankir Chele, Son of a bitch, brother of a whore, fuck you bastard, up on your ass you asshole,” he was reported to have shouted for at least half an hour.

A witness was later found to have told the police that those were the choicest slangs that a man, even from a slum, could ever hear of.

But then, this was a sleeper class full of bloody Indians.


Dedicated to Kaushik Som who, after his long six months of stay in US, is finding bloody India a bloody shitty place with bloody people all around.

got this gem of a mail from my friend jennifer in bangalore (of course my bangalore friends won't let anyone know this)

Hey Anup,

Purwa went off on a holiday and so has no idea of the impact she has created. the mail from Martin Howell, the editor for RAM equities said it was the biggest scoop from Bangalore. I guess she will get her kudos once she gets back.

the weekend was rather hilarious. am wondering if this is a common occurence? i went to get my haircut done and was trying out this place called Cheveux near KFC. now this is a unisex parlour. first there was this guy who was getting his hair cut and his girlfriend was hovering around the poor hair stylist and generally being quite positive. the boyfriend said he wanted his hair to have a bounce, (was he planning to appear in a dandruff shampoo ad?) and wanted to get up out of bed and without much fuss, be able to go out. after his girlfriend oohhd and aaahd, he promptly decided the hair dresser was fantastic and took his name down so he can fix the next appointment with the same hairstylist.

the second guy was even more entertaining. he comes in takes a seat and then hands his phone to the parlour lady. the lady on the phone is giving out precise instructions for the haircut for her man, including what kind of scissors to use.. the parlour lady was rather cool and having an animated discussion to find out what exactly the lady wanted - she wanted some George Clooney type effect. the parlour lady replied a bit puzzedly that Clooney does not have that kind of hair cut, the lady on the phone had to clarify that it was some Clooney haircut from years ago (perhaps when she had some crush on him?). anyway, after the discussion ends, the guy simply asked, "did you get all that?" the parlour lady then effortlessly dissed the lady on the phone's idea on various grounds and suggested they go for halfway to which the guy simply nodded. All this for a guy who had perhaps two inches of hair.

so now my question to you? Is this a common occurence? The people in the parlour did not seem to be surprised or taken aback by any of this behaviour.

Anyways, hope you are not feeling too pressurized. i think it really makes a difference to the kind of people you work with and in some sense, blessed to work in a bureau where people are quite low key. when you work in an office where the very air seems to be filled with hammers, even small non-issues become long drawn out affairs.

as for forgetting friends, its only natural. one of my favourite phases - friends for a reason, friends for a season, friends for a lifetime - these are the three kinds of friends. there's nothing wrong with being any of them. all of them have a purpose and a place in everyone's life.

more later,

jen

freedom

He watched the little house-sparrow as it hopelessly continued crashing against the glass.

The little life could see the whole world outside, it could see its clan but could not reach out to them. As if an invisible monster is putting its hand on the way just for fun.

Panicked, the bird was fluttering its wings against the glass, as if to break it. But it's too strong against the little creature. Monsters are always strong.

He joined this organisation about a year back. It was a double promotion with a 100 per cent hike. The offer was too lucrative for him to ignore and he was confident about his ability.

Life in his last organisation was painful. He never could adjust with his boss. His boss, who was as if straight from a pig farm, used to abuse him everyday, every moment. Belittling him in front of others were a routine affair. And that fellow had lungs. People three floors down could hear what was being dished out to the subordinates. It was embarrassing thereafter to share the lift.
The new office is smooth. Bosses hardly call him. It's all communicated through emails. Here you only here whispers. Perfect civilised culture.

When he left his last office many things doubled. His post, salary, responsibilities, prestige. Abuse was a thing of past now. The work hours are now saner. No one forces him to stay till midnight. You can leave when the clock strikes five. Only thing is that you have to meet the deadline.

Absurd deadlines.

Since he joined the office, he doesn't remember a single day he didn't come to home past midnight. No one forces him to stay, yet he is too scared to leave. If he doesn't meet the deadline, his job will go. And he is not going to get a better paying job with the same designation.
Everyday his right to existence is questioned ... by no one, but by himself.

The bird was now losing its strength. It is fluttering its wings less now. Its more resigned kind of attitude. Perhaps it is waiting for the inevitable. And like all inevitable, it doesn't know what it is.
He sat on the chair. The door is shut, the window is the only escape route, so the bird thinks, but he sees it as closed through the glass. Who knows where from the bird came ... ah ... that hole in the wall. It just slipped in. But now it is not getting the hole back. Or may be It has forgotten about the hole. Just to ensure the bird doesn't escape through that route, he plugs the hole with a newspaper. The bird flutters again. May be thinking the giant has arrived finally to claim its life.

He sinks into his chair once again. He lites a cigarette. Soon the room will be filled with smoke. The bird will panic more. Or, will it get drugged? He will wait and watch.
His boss sent the whole office a congratulatory message heaping praise about him. It was a perfect polished English. Every word was chosen, fullstops, commas, parenthesis were carefully weighed and executed. It was a sharp sharp business mail. It was copied to the entire office.
Everybody was congratulating him for landing a major project for the company working day and night.

He had to deliver an impromptu speech. He started with thanking his team. The members of his team roared in appreciation. He praised the company, the work culture and of course he promised more such projects to come. There was a never ending round of clapping. The whole world was excited. Still, he was feeling uneasy, he didn't know why.

When he was on his way to the cafeteria, he heard some floating conversation. The participants stopped and greeted him with a smile that only tie-doning executives can flash. It's always like the email. They were cursing him in the filthiest of language. He wondered why.
He didn't expected this quick an action. His entire team got a fat bonus. And the target for the month was almost double. There was a note faintly indicating the next month's bonus will also be double if the deadline is met. Of course, the 'if' was just for the sake of language. Just to erase the green line appearing in Microsoft Word when you write a wrong or fractional sentence.

He was quick in distributing the responsibilities. There was no time to relax. There was no past achievement. There is no time to relax. If this project is not met ... the company is going to sink – something this sort he wrote. It's always sort of similar tone. Every time they meet the deadline to keep the company floating. Yet, the next time a bigger project comes and his top bosses forecast a doom if the project is not done. The company is only stable in the intermediate period when the work for the project is going on.

Next day two resignation letters came. Again two the following day. These are all junior level executives. They all have 1-4 years of experience. They hop job at will. And you cannot stop them. He doubled the salary of his existing staff. There were cheers. Many of team came to his cabin and thanked him.

Today, two more resignations came.

The deadline is only five more day to come.

He didn't had a proper sleep for may be eight months. He was feeling tired. He was looking at the bird and puffing his cigarette. The bird has given up. It is not moving now. It is sitting idle at the corner. It was intently looking at the open sky. A whole wave of sparrows are dancing in the wind. It's autumn. Although there is not much of trees here and nature is of course a distant possibility, but there's romance everywhere. It's there mating season.

Do birds feel sad?

He sank into his rocking chair bit more. It's a nice one. He bought it from the US when he was there for a week-long business trip. He looked at his wrist watch. A nice Swiss one. His first watch was a local one. His father gave him during his class ten board exams. It was a proud possession for him. He used to sleep wearing the watch, he used to rub it everyday with a fresh linen. There was not a single scratch on the glass. Whenever he used to sweat, he used to spend at least half-an-hour time cleaning its chain. It was a prized possession. His sister never dared to touch it, she was not allowed to touch the gem in his collection. It was a state-run cheap watch company. Made for masses. And it was still working after fifteen years of its life.

But he is not sure where it is now. When changing his flat this time, he gave it to a packer. He gleefully took it with him and thanked the generous Sir a thousand time. The watch was the last link to his old poverty-stricken life that he has left many many miles away. Never to return.
The watch that he is wearing now costs some five thousand dollars. It was given to him by his European bosses for landing a big project for the company.

He handles it very carefully. It's heavy. It's no fun wearing, but, it was given by his bosses.
Oh shit! It's 10.30 already. That means he was sitting and watching the bird for three hours now. God! Three hours wasted from the five days of deadline!

“Hey birdie, would you talk to me?”
“free me”
“who am i to free you?”
“i cannot lift the window glass, do it for me and i should be free”
“what if i want to keep you here in this room? Forever? And i would be giving you good food. And everything you want. Accept my proposal. It's better than freedom isn't it? anyway all you do the whole day is to search for food only”
“but why do you want to keep me in bondage?”
“that's the question. That's precisely what the question is. Why?
“why?”
“i don't know.”
“free me”
“no. No way. You have entered my den. And i don't free anyone. live with me or just perish.”

He started laughing like a maniac. As if the same invisible monster that was blocking the bird's way was shaking him now violently. His tone was changing. It was almost like a hissing sound, the waves of laughter was choking his breath. Just as a snake hypnotises its victim before injecting its sweet venom, he was fixed on the now tired birdie.
The sparrow again started fluttering and crashing against the invisible monster.