Just Another Day

I was waiting on the sidewalk outside my workplace under the fuzzy light of a street lamp for a city taxi that was caught in a horrible traffic congestion. I was contemplating the city that was relentless 24x7 - the city taxi drivers, travelers coming out of the airport located a stone's throw away and the DHL courier guys, ready with their yellow, almost windowless parcel vans. Another tiring day and I was restless as the city itself. In fact, a city has a life of its own, just as humans do. It is born, it grows and eventually, dies. As humans do. It delights in its achievements, suffers in its tragedies and withers with age. As humans do. It is loved, loathed and exploited. As humans are.

The roller coaster ride of a taxi commute (through roads more like Om Puri's cheeks than say, Deepika Padukone's) was rejuvenating after a practically sedentary day - a muscle here and there ached though - still not used to the early morning gym workout schedule. I slid the windows open, allowing the breeze to kiss my face, hum into my ears and ripple through my hair, soothing my frayed nerves and reinvigorating my hypnotic soul. The driver had to blow the horn aloud (possibly jolting the residents of the locality out of sleep) to frighten away a dog that refused to be subdued by the larger entity demanding its share of the road.

I pressed the calling bell and waited for my roommate S to open the door (I knew that M would not have reached home yet as I'd called him up a few minutes ago). No response. I tried again. And again. Five different call tones and no sounds from inside (Nightmarish thoughts as to what could have happened to S started flustering me). At the sixth one, thankfully, a slumberous S, struggling to see through the slits of his sleepy eyes, opened the door. Nothing can ever disturb S's sleep. His sensitivity to sound during sleep decreases with distance in an inverse square (negative exponential, to be more accurate) manner. The only reason S woke up at my sixth jab at the calling bell switch was that he was sleeping in the front room. A few days ago when he happened to be sleeping in the bed room, even my twentieth attempt was in vain (so were the numerous bangs on the door - first with a knuckle, then with a palm and ultimately, both fists - anything more and my neighbours would have dialled 100). I finally had to call M - thank God, he was home then (he's no better than S in this aspect though) and rudely order him to open the door. And I bet he received the call only because he was expecting a call from his girlfriend in his dream.

But more was in store for me. I noticed that the entire house was plunged in darkness - only the kitchen light glowed. S muttered something in sleep which I deciphered as "the fuse was blown away when M tried to press his clothes in the morning". I realized with a start that the fan wouldn't budge and I should be prepared to choose between the devil (the mosquitoes that'd devour me over the night if I opened the windows) and the deep sea (suffocation if I didn't). I thanked God for two things. One, there was power in the kitchen, so that I could cook a humble maggi for supper. Second, the calling bell worked (it stores charge so that it can work during power-cuts as well) but for which S would never have woken up. Had he not, M (who came later) and I would have had to cuddle up on the roof, under clothes tugged off the line, to survive the wintry night. And our maid would be petrified on seeing us when she came to get the clothes off the line the next morning, imploring God to forgive her for what she'd witnessed inadvertently! (a la Kantaben in Kal Ho Na Ho)

I felt sincerely grateful to the inventor of Maggi, whoever (s)he was; I was apprehensive about the ill-effects of frequently having semi-junk food like that every other night though. I scolded S (in my mind) for leaving the kadai on the stove to get stained with the dried remains of his maggi. As I struggled to scrape it clean under the tap, I felt I could see an ecstatic S sniggering at me from the oily surface of the vessel, like they show in an ad for Sabena (or was it Vim? the specific name makes little sense to a bachelor, anyway). A confused state of mind can sometimes drive you crazy with a high of creativity!. I very badly wanted to rebuke S with a "do these small things instead of pumping iron in the gym every day if you wish to retract your tummy that has grown with India's population".

M was back and we ventured downstairs with a torch to have a look at the fuse. We would have looked like detectives at work (or maybe, like small-time burglars trying to make off with the power meters!). The fuse wire was intact and we retreated. We found that a safety switch in the front room had tripped to prevent an imminent electrical mishap - a real example of (electrical) engineering saving lives!

As I was ruminating over the day's happenings that replayed riotously in my mind, propped against the kitchen slab, a glass tumbler slipped through my fingers. The din brought me back to the present and reminded me. That it was just another day.