LiGhT... DaIniK JaAgRaN

Afzal woke up with a start... it was already about five in the morning... it was late. He washed his face, grabbed a torn bag and rushed out, running... he did'nt want to miss the delivery... missing the delivery meant no dinner.

"Afzal ... kahan bhaaga jaa raha hai? Abey sun to !".

Some one called out to him. Between a pant, Afzal turned around and saw Sikander. Sikander covered the opposite road. They went to work together. He was Afzals best friend.

"Abey saale... delivery miss ho gayi to maare gaye... I have mouths to feed."
"Arey yaar... theek hai... Hop on... Aaj maamu ki cycle mil gayi..."

'Maamu ki cycle' was their mercedes... Sikander's ancient uncle gave him this cycle every once in a while when he needed groceries from the big market, which was close to the Paperwala office. In about ten minutes, they were there. It was a huge rush already. It had to start early, because the paper had to come with the morning coffee...

"They can't go to the loo without us", Sikander joked. Both squeezed themselves in between a hundred other Afzals and Sikanders and got hold of their daily quota. They rushed to Dalal street. Afzal sat his corner, and with a practiced pitch began selling everything he had .... India just lost a match he thought... 'aaj ka dhanda acha hoga'. He began calculating how much he would save on food, and how much he would give to Sikander's uncle. It was just fifty rupees, give or take. 'Today' he thought .... 'I shall finish off with these and then go get MID-DAY'. It was sensationalism... it was a tabloid... but for Afzal, it was just food. if he managed to sell off MID-DAY, he could notch a few more rupees. Maybe tonight they would eat well. Like a hundred other newspaper walahs around the city... a few more meant another meal. It was hard work, but there wasnt any other choice... Aamir Khans wedding was an occasion, for more than one reason.

"Anwar ki padhai kaisi chal rahi hai be?". Sikander had this lousy habit of asking the wrong questions at the right time. A rather thoughtful Afzal started talking about his younger brother..."Sarkaari school mein hai ... is liye padh raha hai... magar acha padhta hai ... ek din ...", he stopped midway. He imagined his father mouthing the same words, and then tried to read the headlines to THE TIMES. He gave up. Like he gave up then.

"Garmi bahut hai..", he tried. It worked. And this day across Dalal street was scorching hot. People rushing about their business, like there was no tomorrow. As he sat, he saw hundreds of sahabs rushing back and forth, buying selling, and making money... he did'nt care... as long as they bought a paper. The day passed itself by. The crowd across the street first thickened then thinned and then was just a trickle. Afzal had sold everything. Everything but one copy of the times. For Anwar. "Its good for him, he's preparing for his tenth grade exams... aur kuch humein bhi bata dega.... tu bol yaar... kya chal raha hai". The conversation continued, and the men made way to their homes. Sikander stopped midway.

"Chal dost, hum nikalte hain apni gali". He motioned towards a cheap beer bar.
"Arey yaar... you have to quit... become repsonsible and do something with your life, drinking will get you nowhere", Afzal said.
"Responsible?? Maamu ki cycle rakh... kal waapas dena"

Afzal rode the cycle at a snails pace back home.... There was no light.... Amma was asleep. Let her rest, he thought, as he washed his feet. "Oye Anwar..... Khaana laa yaar... im so tired. You went to school today?". Anwar, who was playing outside ran in and started washing the thaali. "Gaya bhaiya... I go to school everyday.... Aaj ka paper?". As Afzal sat down to eat he pointed at his torn bag. "Haan beta... tell me whats happening around the world". He liked this part of the day the most.

Anwar had the light of the world when he read out the paper to his brother. The light of the many dreams that Afzal saw for him."Leave the whole world bhaiyya... right now its about India... Likha hai ... aaj the stock market crossed TEN THOUSAND POINTS.... India is growing bhaiya... pretty soon... we'll beat those white men...."

Afzal finished off the rice and washed his hands. He felt cheated. He felt helpless. He lay down, and as Anwar began pressing his legs, he smiled. A tired Afzal went to sleep, thinking about another busy day tomorrow. Business as usual at Dalal street. "Desh tarakki kar raha hai(The country is progressing), he said aloud, and laughed to himself.

It started to pour.

JuNe anD WinTer

I don't like mornings. Really. They're strange, and I don't know them much. I haven't been around too many mornings to like them. Days should just begin in the afternoon, the suns up and its a sign - Its bright enough to go out and do your thing. Mornings are cold- even in the summer. It makes me think if they're Indian. I hate the predictability in life. That's why I hate mornings, why mornings should be hated.
Mornings are like a restriction, a rule, a pattern, a method. Mornings are a beginning to routine, and consequently to monotony, giving rise to boredom. What is adventure when you know where you will be at 4 in the evening, when you can look at your watch and count the minutes to dinner, when you sigh and tell yourself "Time for bed". Why does everything have to work like clockwork.
As of last Thursday, my question remains unanswered. Does anyone really live life on their own terms what with them being bound by the confines of the morning and bed time? Is 9 to 5 really the definition of a Monday? Am I really confused if im wondering why people dont crave ice-cream in winter? Why is every strain of thought governed by this definition of harmony brought upon by a thousand years of tradition? Why have we bound ourselves between a set of rules that limit our potential, let alone help us achieve anything at all? I don't hate mornings anymore. I just sleep through them.

Tired beginings...

The Octagon (Yup... thats what our computer centre is STILL called) is filled with people when I enter. There are people crawling over each other to get to use err, too few to count terminals. Just got lucky. I find this guy, who I see every day of the week while going to class, walking back from class and somewhere in between, yet after a year and half of his existence somewhere in the proximity of my awareness, I do not know his name. I go upto him and do the "Hey ol' buddy", routine. I doubt he wasnt surprised, but he relented and in a matter of 3 minutes, I was on the information superhighway. Effective Management. I chance upon blogspot, and it takes me a full 30 minutes to get through the registration, while juggling 3 email accounts and a few half hearted attempts at what I term 'research'.
Between typed words, and sporadic clicks, I hear the beeping of my cell phone. Its an alarm, asking me to wake up. I realise, I forgot to sleep. The fragments of a very wierd dream amuse me for quite a while before I remind myself that Im not doing anything useful. Its friday evening, I can sleep a long while before some one kicks me awake. So thats out of my checklist. Some how my tired mind cannot recall the reason I came here. Dads mail: Check; Useless trivia: Check; Blogspot: Check; VOID..... I couldnt recall the real reason why I came to the lab. I realised... I was hungry; no Lunch today, and no dinner last night. That explains a lot, doesnt it.