Deaf Ears

During my college days in Delhi, I have experienced a very common phenomenon every Diwali. The city, otherwise renowned for its coldness and aloofness, could not have been more, there is no other word for it, aroused when it comes to the festival of lights. I guess every man needs a reason to celebrate, even the stingy traders and the common farmers of our mother India. Thus, they flock the Capitals most important streets and choose to graze there for new clothes and whatnots till dusk. I am not one who usually wastes time pondering over such philosophical observations, but if you have just missed the bus to take you to college, and you have to wait for the next one to come after about 15 minutes, solely because of the so-called unprecedented rush of shoppers on the busy streets of Kalkaji early in the morning and be all alone in the bus-stop, well at least figuratively, you would be quite grumpy too. And I didnt even consider my empty stomach. I looked across the road. A splendid Pulsar passed by. Dont worry, Keshav, you ought to get one this Diwali. As usual, I was surprised and taken aback by the sudden appearance of my room-mate Revati. She was sitting on the her customary spot, Bus-stop railing, and was observing the outer world through her thick rimmed glasses with the point of view of a 6 year old. She, as usual, correctly fathomed my silence as a stunned reverie in awe of her deduction. My, My Keshav, such big words so early in the morning! Well you see I have known you for a little less than a decade and know your expressions too well to even let you begin to express yourself. Now although living in with you had its ill consequences-. Immediately, on hearing her words, there was a sort of a ripple in the crowd; I guess Delhi had still not understood the difference between living in and just plain living in, Revati swept around her soft, brown eyes across the crowd and spoke, more to them than to me, At least when I start a real live in I shall have enough experience about what exactly a guy needs. I chuckled, I had to. Trust Revati to seriously live up to the phrase, I give no damn. Oh well, I thought, so maybe being late had its advantages through pleasurable company; before Revatis arrival, I didnt really have anyone to even communicate with.

So we have our Keshav Thind, the brave chhorra of Haryana, bold enough to fight with his folks at home to pursue an education in Delhi but too timid to even buy a decent bike of his own choice! I gave a stern look at her. There was to be no mention of my deeds in public. Hey relax, man., she must have noticed my clenched jaw muscles , No need to get the folks thing on you, I mean who wants a dumb bike anyway, I would prefer the DTC (Delhi Transport Corporation) buses any day. I sighed. She had spent 2 whole years in the murk and mud of Delhi, had been through the ragging of Delhi University, had been through the harassment of local brokers who give two-room P.Gs at the price of gold, and also had tragically lost a parent, the father, in a car accident. Revati had still not really understood how serious a game life was. There was no place for dreams, for flightful fancies of feelings, for wishes and blossoming aspirations. Life, as was for me, and as would unfortunately be for her later on, a predefined path of sustenance, of survival, Life was about struggling to be a part of the society which was changing every day, every hour, every minute, and to which we all must blend ourselves into or perish in the attempt. Thinking of a new poem, She asked. I nodded, she knew. She had read my previous poems on the same strange topic of life. She had even stolen some of my works and took them to her college for her Communication lectures. She said that after listening to them, the class looked as if it was in mourning, with silence and musings heavy in the air. I guess she might have made that part up. She often said all these things to please me, to cheer me up about life, to make my feel wanted. She did ease my pain a little that way. The bus was due any minute. We would be taking the same bus till Khel Gaon and then she would catch another one to Gargi College while I would be heading straight for Malviya nagar and then the main bus to Delhi College of Engineering. Thank heavens for her lack of knowledge of Delhi streets, else I would never be able to give a logical reason as to why I waste 13 rupees every morning while going to college accompanying her since I could simply take the shorter route through Connaught Place and avoid making that additional bus journey. I looked at her, her longish face, her soft, brown eyes, her dark curtains of hair, loose to be dried along the way and giving the distinct fragrance of jasmine. I sometimes wonder how I shall convey to her what I think she already

knows. The trouble with me is that I want to speak to her, to even sing to her and tell her about the things in my heart she couldnt otherwise have deduced, surmised or inferred, but simply felt. As a 19 year old Honours Student, she was considerably perceptive and intelligent. But as a teenager, she was exceptionally insensitive about all the things that one cannot read about in books. But I cant think on those lines. Revati would never possibly be that happy with me and anyways, I can never give her the standard of living she deserves with my curse on me. I checked my watch, the bus was due in a few minutes, I showed her the watch but found a leery street ruffian standing behind her eyeing the cell phone visible from her purse. I stepped forward in the most aggressive manner I possessed only to panic the thief into haste. He tripped, and quite convincingly at that, to conveniently slip his hand through her purse and swiftly slipped out the phone. Sorry, Behenji, he said hurriedly before making a dash for the road. I ran after him immediately, with cramps in my body and murder in my eyes. Oi Keshav, relax, let him go yaar, he is just a perverted idiot. But I was after him already; it would have taken precious time trying to explain exactly what I saw in simple communication. The bus stop too, most inconveniently, seemed to have suddenly become packed with morning commuters as a bus had stopped in front of them. I ignored all summons from Revati and managed to hold on to the collar of the thief. But from nowhere, he sprang out a six inch long Knife and stabbed my right side almost clean through. After that, as is typical in Delhi, the crowd parted to let the criminal pass, and flocked like flies on a forgotten ice-cream on me. The stabbing had caused more of a mental trauma than actual physical pain. I remembered, as I lay straight on the stretcher of the ambulance, how astonished I was that I had been actually stabbed was causing the pain. It was then that I heard the weeping Revati being questioned by the police Inspector, The bleeding is severe, I do not know what chances he has, Maam. This Keshav boy is a true fool, he could have raised an alarm. If he had pointed out the theft or even yelled out aloud, the thief would have panicked and resisted from the theft altogether What a dumb boy, trying to act the hero when he could have easily used his brains, said a man who was standing in the distant corner of the bus stop. I couldnt see him, my eyes were shut.

Arre, kamsekum tumhe to bolta( For godssake, this lad could at least tell you 1) , said another person, some illiterate woman, it seemed from her pronunciation. Beti, eise log zindagi mein sirf hero banne ki koshish karte hai, Yeh aisi harqat firse karega(My dear, these kind of boys are truly good for nothing. This boy would pull off these kind of stupid stunts again to show off), she continued. No, no you dont understand, sobbed Revati, She stood a little away from me. Her voice, broken and sad hurt me more. She continued, He is mute, he cannot talk, and he can hardly run because of the condition of his nerves. But he was an idiot to risk his life like that, Doesnt he know that I love him? She seemed to be speaking to only one particular person now, and the person was lying on the stretcher wondering why life must be so cruel.