The Ramblings of a Restless Mind- Part 2
I hate waiting. There is nothing worse you can do to me than make me wait for you, especially on the road.
Note: There is obviously a Part 1. The two parts aren’t related except for the fact that the said ‘Mind’ is mine. And if you choose to read it, you might just know me better. No pressure.
I pull up on the side of the road and switch on the distress lights. Tick, tick, tick.
There’s ‘non-stop geet sangeet' on All India Radio.
Waada raha sanam, honge juda na hum… Khiladi. Ayesha Jhulka. Is there a horse in the song? Oh, there are cows in that other very famous song…
‘I am here. Don’t make me wait’. Message typed. Message sent. Swoosh.
Single tick. Double. Blue. ok.
Wooooosh— a car goes by. Then another. What the fuck! Can’t they see my car? It is not even that dark. This is Cayenne Pepper or orange or whatever. Idiots.
We, the Duster and Me, are parked on the side on Tolstoy Marg, somewhere in between the No Stopping sign and the traffic intersection. The road ahead of us, curves and merges into KG Marg.
Dusk is creeping in while the city waltz to the tune of the traffic lights. The street lights light up like they have arrived in life. The traffic lights blink in symphony. The horns honk in chaos.
Buses honk. Can’t they see the red light from far? People on cycle, cycle oblivious to the lights. Don’t they get hit? People cross the road. Also oblivious to the lights. They cross when ANY light turns green. ANY light. How more people don’t die in road accidents in this country is a miracle.
Dheere Dheere se meri zindagi mein aana… Kumar Sanu. Aashiqui. Deepak Tijori —the evergreen friend.
I continue to wait. Green, Amber, Red. 30, 29, 28… tick, tick, tick…
I get comfortable in the driver’s seat; he is supposed to emerge from beyond those buildings. I hate waiting. They lead to scatological emergencies.
Is it IBS? Should I get it checked? I have to keep my mind from focussing on potty.
It has only been a few minutes. The ignition is off and so is the air conditioning. It is humid. Don’t drivers sit in AC when the car is off? No?
Sweat builds up on my forehead and the stomach churns. ‘Beti, I am here. And you know…’ I begin to type and then…I delete it.
Tick, tick, tick… Should I turn the distress lights off. This is like a ticking time bomb. A ticking potty bomb… (how smart!)
A half eaten sandwich, wrapped in a foil, on the passenger seat is now making me nauseous. DID I GET HUNGRY DRIVING FROM MANDI HOUSE? I keep it a little further away — on the dashboard.
I need air. I turn to the window. Uff the dust inside. And how dirty is the windshield! And crumpled paper napkins are stuffed in those little pockets of the car door. This car needs cleaning!
Damn it. No water. The Absolut Vodka bottle is bone dry. I should have checked.
Thuk thuk… A boy, in a grey sagging baniyan and long shorts, pops up next to my window. “Seesha Saaf karde?” He offers to clean the windshield. Haan. Yes. Please.
Something to take my mind off. He splashes water from a bottle. Dust and water —petrichor. Yeh kaisa word hai! Petrichor.
The water slides down in contour lines just like the topo sheets in school. 45 D/10. Mr Kripal Singh. How is he doing now?
I turn on the wiper on his instructions. The drops of water fall on my hand as the wiper swooshes from right to left. Petrichor on my hand!
An older man pops up next to the open window.
Hai Rama, yeh kya hua, kyun aise mujhe satane lage… Urmila. Rangeela. Jackie can’t dance, walk, stand, or ride a horse in this song. I up the volume.
“Shani Bhagwan ke liye de do”. He shoves the tin can with the black cutout in my face. I nod. Nope. I roll up the window. The man moves on. Udit arrives.
Do you want a sandwich? Are you hungry? “THIS sandwich?” He points to the half-eaten, foil-wrapped sandwich sitting on the dashboard.
He turns towards me and lunges back to keep his bag in the backseat. I steal a kiss. I go for the lips but he is unexpectedly swift. I land on his cheeks or whatever real estate is left of it. I slobber. We lock lips before resuming our driver-drivee positions.
The Shani guy turns up again. Thak thak thak. This time on Udit’s side. "Hum Mussalman hai bhaiyya”, he says stoking his thick grey beard. The guy goes away.
“May be I should get rid of the moustache. What do you say?” he says stoking his moustache. I must ignore this question.
If I say ‘Yes’, he will shave. If I say ‘No’, he will definitely shave.
What next. It’s been 10 minutes. The potty urge is now gone. It is hunger. “How is it even possible? You are not potty trained,” Udit mutters. Of course I am. “Sitting on a potty is not being potty trained. Controlling it is being…..” he fades away in my head.
Badi mushkil hai, khoya mera dil hai…. Abhijeet. Shah Rukh on a trolley. Shah Rukh on a car. Anjaam.
The countdown on the traffic light begins. We are 50 metres away. I have to take the left. Is it a free left? Am I supposed to wait for the light? Oh that one time the traffic police stopped me on a left turn.
30 seconds to go. I steer the car gradually in to the waiting traffic. “So, dinner?” The woman selling gajras heads towards me. I don’t want. The smell gets to me. Maybe I should try drawing ‘women in gajras’! Maybe I will give it a shot tonight.
20 seconds. Buses honk. Hawkers make one last pitch to sell pirated books— five Chetan Bhagats’. The Alchemist. Da Vinci Code. You Can Win. Really?
10 seconds. The Shani guy tries his luck one last time.
The light is green. Udit has set the map. The sandwich is forgotten. But I must remember to throw it. And clean the car.
“Where are we going. Tell me. I am not wearing my reading glasses. The phone’s a blur.” I take the left. We are on KG Marg. It is a free left.
“Andhra Bhawan.”
Bin tere sanam, mar mitenge hum… I up the volume. Yara Dildara. Udit Narayan. Kavita Krishnamurthy. Nirja’s favourite song. Oh yes. And this is the song with the cows in the background.
“We don’t need a map for that,” I am grinning. Mutton Fry, here I come.
…aana hi pada sajna zaalim hai dil ki lagi.
A version of this was written during
workshop, with and . This was a scene writing exercise (well sort of) and it took me to this one evening (among many) in Delhi when I went to pick up Udit after work. He has obviously been at the receiving end of almost all my potty emergencies!
Loved the nineties songs in punctuation👍😀
Enjoyed this as usual :)