There is a Khirki chaat shop beside my house. Khirki, loosely translated it means window in English. And today is a 24 hour CITU bandh. Loosely translated, that means no office, and nothing to do the entire day, apart from sleeping and staring blankly at the idiot box. Not complaining, just plain bored.
Lots of people out today. Chevys, Mercs, Karizmas, Toyotas and maybe a glimpse of a few BMWs; females in strikingly "bold and beautiful"(not too sure about the beautiful part tho', but couldn't resist the pun!) clothes, men with a fat hip-pockets looking like they have a tumor growing out of their butts; ice-cream wallas, balloon-wallas, chana-wallas looking earnestly at the all-wallas to shell out a couple of hundred bucks for their stuff. Kids crying their hearts out for the oh-so-indispensable bhel without which their adolescent lives may remain incomplete; wannabe biker dudes, with their silencer-removed bikes zooming towards the gang of PYTs not there only for the mirch in their chaats; aunties shouting at there nephews/nieces for not going too near the fearless stuntmen,while secretly trying to avoid gazing at the charmingly bald uncle from next door. The crossroads eternally jammed with the madding crowd, and the this/that-wallas flitting from car to car, trying to put extra butter where required. Looks like Kumbhamela scaled down for the metro. The funniest part: I saw a horse-drawn fittan only seen in front of Victoria at the early dusks; maybe it's also a joyride out here.
...
Yet the door doesn't open. A door long kept locked eternally, after some rowdy, para goons, maybe after a joyous, spontaneously rippling day like this, wanted to culminate their intensely spirited evening, by looting away the last shade of fading pride, from the washer-woman staying beside the Khirki shop, in a state of drunken stupor after a gala evening. No colours, no noise, no wallas there.
The door remains bandh.Forever.
Lots of people out today. Chevys, Mercs, Karizmas, Toyotas and maybe a glimpse of a few BMWs; females in strikingly "bold and beautiful"(not too sure about the beautiful part tho', but couldn't resist the pun!) clothes, men with a fat hip-pockets looking like they have a tumor growing out of their butts; ice-cream wallas, balloon-wallas, chana-wallas looking earnestly at the all-wallas to shell out a couple of hundred bucks for their stuff. Kids crying their hearts out for the oh-so-indispensable bhel without which their adolescent lives may remain incomplete; wannabe biker dudes, with their silencer-removed bikes zooming towards the gang of PYTs not there only for the mirch in their chaats; aunties shouting at there nephews/nieces for not going too near the fearless stuntmen,while secretly trying to avoid gazing at the charmingly bald uncle from next door. The crossroads eternally jammed with the madding crowd, and the this/that-wallas flitting from car to car, trying to put extra butter where required. Looks like Kumbhamela scaled down for the metro. The funniest part: I saw a horse-drawn fittan only seen in front of Victoria at the early dusks; maybe it's also a joyride out here.
...
Yet the door doesn't open. A door long kept locked eternally, after some rowdy, para goons, maybe after a joyous, spontaneously rippling day like this, wanted to culminate their intensely spirited evening, by looting away the last shade of fading pride, from the washer-woman staying beside the Khirki shop, in a state of drunken stupor after a gala evening. No colours, no noise, no wallas there.
The door remains bandh.Forever.
2 comments:
That's a nice observation of a slice of life - filled with both nostalgia and satire. Bandhs - haven't we really had enough of these!
@shubho-Thanks...ya its always hell breaking loose out here during bandhs..!!
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