Search...

I search,
Like I have always,
to find myself, to find my purpose,
To know what I am meant to do,
and figure how to do it.
I'm sure it's something great,
I just don't know what yet
and until I know I can't do much
except
just search...

Beat of another kind

Last week I got frustrated with my life, work and everything. I felt horrible, bored, confused and irritated. The weekend came and I was sitting at home with these feelings bottled up inside me. I had to get out of the house so I asked an old friend to meet up. She was nice enough to oblige and off I went to see her. We had a great time, she introduced me to a few of her friends. It was a pleasant evening full of laughter, fun, food and chit chat. I was glad I got out of home. We all dined at a nice restaurant and talked of life, careers etc. It was getting late and I had to catch the last train so I hurried my bye bye's and took a rickshaw to the nearest railway station. Luckily, I was in time to catch the last local train to Kandivali (that's where I stay). The station at night was quite nice. No rush, no screaming and there was this eerie silence that I wasn't used to. It was nice. My train was 5 minutes late but it came for sure. I boarded the usual 2nd class coach and rushed to take the spot next to the door. I didn't have to, considering there weren't many folks competing to get that spot that time of the night. But I guess one becomes so used to fighting for a spot in the local trains that it just becomes sort of a reflex. The train embarked lazily on its final journey for the day. I stood at the door watching the city go by in a blur. The wind blew across my face as I struggled to stay awake. I love taking the train at night. The city looks very different through sleepy eyes. Tired shadows try hard to transform into something meaningful and just end up failing miserably. I was enjoying my ride, thinking about the nice evening I had had , thinking about how amazing it would be if I could just travel and meet new people, taste food from all over the world, become a food critic. That would be the perfect thing. I was imagining myself in new places, close to nature. With my eyes closed and the wind hitting my face it felt somewhat real. For a moment I thought I heard someone singing but I ignored it owing it to my imagination. It was not until the beating started that I pulled my head away from the door and looked inside. There was this boy about 12-13 years of age. He was bare from the waist above and he was singing. He was using the sides of his stomach as an accompaniment. Repeatedly he slapped it trying to keep up with his song. I don't know if it was the pain that made him cry at the end or was it just all a facade but I was moved. I went over to hand him some money. He didn't acknowledge my presence and I actually had to shake him to bring him back to reality. The right side of his stomach was bruised, his constant slapping had tattooed his finger marks on his body. The boy covered his eyes and began crying after his song was over. He struggled on his feet and walked over to the people in the train to beg for money. Everyone seemed almost as shocked as I was. I hoped he got enough to get a meal, a shirt, an instrument maybe. Here I was complaining about my life, feeling frustrated over not being satisfied and there in front of me was this boy who couldn't even get the privilege to complain. It's been about a week since this happened but even now as I write about it, I cry within for his misery. I looked the other way when it got unbearable and saw my station approaching. I hurried off the train hoping to leave behind what I had seen. I took the western exit and saw a few eunuchs dressed in saari's calling out to prospective clients passing by. I dropped my head low and quickly got into a rickshaw.

"Charkop" , I said and started back towards my almost sea facing home on the 14th floor.

And that's just my "Uncomfortable" life that I complain of. Sigh! :(