It's about the Journey.

Someone once said, 'It is not about the Journey, but the destination'. Now, I'm new to Mumbai (sorry, Bombay) so I'm not sure, but most definitely, it was someone who traveled, and survived that travel in the city.
The good thing about traveling in Mumbai is the local train. The bad thing about traveling in Mumbai is the local train. To catch the 9.50 from Andheri Station to Churchgate or CST, I need to prepare myself, mentally. And have a Plan B. These trains have a mind of their own and a mean sense of humor. Like when you reach the station and see that you're train has just arrived on the platform, you run for your life, throughout the length of the platform, huffing and puffing, looking stupid. You finally reach your compartment and jump in. You would expect the train to start moving immediately, giving you the 'Yes!'  - Fistpump in the air. But no. You're sweaty, our of breath, and fifty people are smirking at you. Because the train decides to stubbornly stay on the platform for five more luxurious minutes. Just when it is about to move, a girl walks by prettily, climbs in and sits next to you. Deranged, sweaty, out of sorts, you.
Or, the more frustrating happens; you arrive at the platform, all of thirty seconds late, and the train sticks its tongue out at you, and leaves. You run, trip, fall and then sigh.
Getting on to a train at places like Dadar is warfare. Literally. On the platform, where I get on the Ladies coach, the 'ladies' size each other up, before the train arrives. You're the enemy. You're competition. And if you're not ready to play dirty, get out of the way. When the train lords in over the platform, and the women go wild. They punch, kick, hit, push, pull. One they are in, they have won. Emerging victorious, they scramble to find the best seat. Here's the pattern, first you pick the side, forward seat, or backward seat. Then you pick right or left. Then if it's raining, aisle seat, otherwise rush to the window.

These enemies forget fast. Once inside, the women are best of friends. They chat, laugh, gossip, and share stories and lives. They know each other's families, kids, offices, and worlds. They have these 20-30 odd minutes to connect, before they are disconnected again. The network these ladies have is amazing. They know everything , yet nothing about a total stranger's life. Questions from, "How was your sons birthday?" to, "You should leave him, he's just not worth it." float. What is beautiful is that they are all in this, together. Last week, two women got into a fight, one having accused the other of pushing her kid, and the other one was probably having just a bad day. The fight escalated quickly and the screaming began. It was an evening train, with tired women traveling back to their husbands and kids, already planning  dinner in their heads. Tired heads began to turn to watch these women argue. ( A fight is more like an show in Mumbai. There are actors, an audience, side actors, and props). As women were enjoying the show, the argument elevated and the mood became tense. Statements like, "They shouldn't let people like you in" "If you can't handle kids, don't have them" were yelled. Just when I thought it was going erupt into something more, a sleepy, elderly voice called to them, "Arre kyo apni energy waste kar rahe ho. Dono ko ghar jaake apne baachoon aur patiyon ko sambhalana hain. Thodi energy bachake rakho.", after which the mood lightened. Women smiled, sighed and returned to their earphones. The two women exchanged small apologetic smiles and moved on. It was really wondrous to watch.
Speaking of passing time, people do everything there. Books, songs are the most preferred. Other than that, in a noisy train, people just close their eyes and disapparate somewhere. I can never do it. Interesting to watch is a woman who sits in the train, combs her hair, accessorizes, and proceeds to apply kajal and eye makeup, without poking her eyes out. I can only watch in amazement.
The sale business is enterprising. Apart from earrings, rings and makeup, the hawkers bring in freshly cut fruits and vegetables, phone covers, headphones, books, pens, pencils, nail cutters, hairbrushes, clothes, toys, you name it. They have it all.
Of all these things, the stories are my favorite. Every person in the train has a story to tell. You just need to ask. You can ask anyone about their day and get a story. These are hardworking, sincere, real people with fascinating lives. They have sons who won't study. Daughters who don't want to marry. Husbands who cooked last night. Parents being difficult. Friends in an accident. Friends getting married. At the end of the story, they sigh. It is the sigh that takes them to the next topic.
The train arrives at the station. In seconds the people climb out. They don't once turn back to wave goodbye. They are strangers once again. Until next time.

Walk.

I was waiting for three more songs to finish downloading. I had my shoes on, and my hair tied up. It was starting to get really hot. I wondered if taking a walk would really be worth it at this point. But it was an empty evening, and well, I had my shoes on. So walk I would. Besides, I really wanted to try out this new song, 'Paradise', by Coldplay, and what better way to listen to a song, than when its playing only in your ears, and you are walking.

Download complete. Great. I spotted myself in the mirror on my way back. To say that my shirt was crumpled was sheer modesty. And I was sure that I'd meet someone on my way. Damn Murphy. Oh well, I grabbed the nearest jacket on my way, and rushed out.

It was a beautiful, and rather late evening. Though a little too hot for my liking. Me, I like my evenings to be on the chilly side. And what more to say, I'd put on my rain jacket. So, so far, it was a hot evening, and I was going to get strange looks from people on the road for wearing a rain jacket. But what the hell, I needed a walk.

I'd been having some problem at, well, work. Its not 'work' work really, just some free lancing that I do. And all my articles were getting rejected by my new editor. I was not feeling good. I would walk.

On my way down to my favorite square and street, my mood started to change. See this is why I like walks. They make you look around. They distract you, and show you that there are a million people around you. A million people with a million problems. I saw a woman, with groceries in her hand, walking home. She was my 'crossing the road' partner. We stood for a long time, next to each other. She with her groceries, and me with my, well music. She cast a worried glance skywards. Here's another human tendency, when someone looks up, you look up too. And a beautiful leaf fell down from the branches, right in the middle, separating us. I saw the tree from below. Have you ever seen a tree from underneath? It looks eerie. Pretty it looked though today. I must have seemed like a total idiot, because when i looked down again, the woman had vanished and the road was empty. It was really getting stuffy.

This is when an old favorite came up. I was listening to 'Leaving on a jet plane', and thinking of my friends who would've left, this time next year. Isn't it sad that everything has a deadline?
I was walking by an old car, when I looked in it. Another reflex. Humans are not very respectful of feelings, I'm afraid. You see someone having a fight, you have to stand and stare, you see a couple on the road, you have to check them out, you see a dog lazing on the road, and you check the poor guy out too. Just like when you look inside of a car, when you pass it. At this point, I'm really hoping that I was brought up normally, and I'm not the only one who does these things.

So I looked in the car, primarily to check my reflection, and started to wonder what would happen to my gentle soul if someone looked back at me. Thankfully there was no one. Just then I realized I was walking on the right side of the road, which is just well, wrong if you know what I mean. While crossing the road, i eye crossed   a pizza delivery guy. He was wearing his uniform and a worried expression. I think its the 'thirty minutes nahi to free' theory that keeps these people worrying. I don't think its very necessary or fair. People at my house are delighted that its been twenty five minutes and the pizza's not here, and are sincerely disappointed when he reaches spot on, on the twenty eight minute. Talk about pressure. Why do we like to defeat the people who don't need to be challenged? I certainly would not like to drive halfway across town, having to zoom through the city, dodging traffic signals and hyperventilating about the time, only to probably reach a minute late, and lose your job. Or worse, have to pay for someone else's food. Though that's not probably what they make you do.

Leaves were falling faster now. I walked under a tree and some twenty five-thirty leaves fell, as if only for my welcome. It makes you feel special, that is for sure. To my left, there was a big sign, with a ferocious dog on it, saying (the sign said) 'Beware Of Dog'. Well, the gate was open, and there was no dog in sight. So i guess I was safe. The dog either ran away, or the sign was fake.
An old favorite came up on my screen. 'Quit playing games' Backstreet Boys, was on. Now don't go rolling your eyes. It was a very famous song once upon a time. And it is my comfort song. You know, like chocolate. Again, a falling leaf made me look up, and squint in the direction of a streetlight. Tiny drops of water, were highlighted by the light of that no-longer-dull streetlight. Its beautiful to see rain in light. Have you seen it? Sometime, when its raining, just go and stand below a source of light. Ignore the glances, and look up. Its beautiful.
Just like in the song, it started to rain. Well, drizzle actually. It was splendid weather, just a few drops of rain, and windy. With the correct rain jacket, you'd be just snug and comfortable. Ha! Who's looking silly now!

I smelled smoke. Naturally expecting a disaster I was drawn towards it. Meanwhile I crossed an old Police Station. There were twenty two wheeler vehicles parked outside it. Disowned. What a waste. But I had reached the source of the fire. It was coming out from an old house, and a watchman was sleeping soundly at its gate. So there was no danger, or excitement. Just some crazy guy burning his garbage. Some environmentalist huh.
It was late. I was six songs away from home, and rain was coming down faster now. Though strangely I didn't feel a drop. It felt like I was the only person for whom the rain was scheduled. I started walking back. I crossed the street.It was beautiful. I no longer looked around me. Now my eyes were on the road. When water falls on a road, it creates a small puddle. And when you see thousands of such puddles, its pretty to see. It was raining hard now. It seemed. Again i was oblivious to the rain. God had probably decided that I was not to get wet. I walked under the many trees on the road, and watched people getting drenched. At every tree junction, there were bikes parked and some  thirty people standing under a singular tree, with three leaves on it. But it was shade to them. Why wait under a 'tree' when you can walk in the rain?
Since it was raining so prettily, there was no traffic on the road, and no one one the roads. Everything was cleared for me. I saw an old guard, instructing someone on the road, how to park. While they sat comfortable and warm in their car, he was getting drenched. And the driver looked like in no hurry to park and get out of his car.
I almost reached home. And 'Fireflies' was the next song that came up. I had to look up again. A million fireflies, little drops of rain, were falling freely from the sky, all randomly, but they created a beautiful shimmering effect. There was no one to see them like I did, floating above me. I had to cross one last street to go home. It usually takes me twenty minutes everyday to cross this street, its always full of traffic. Today there was no one. Well almost no one. A car zoomed past me, taking full advantage of the empty roads, and spraying me with water,and another car was behind it. I waited for it to pass, when it slowed down. Reached right up to where I was standing, and stopped. A hand waved at me, to cross. An ARMY sticker glistened on the windscreen. I waved back my thanks. And crossed the street.

I was back. Hardly an hour. A little puddle had formed near the gate of my house. A little frog danced happily in it. I guess he was just glad that he had small things to be happy about. And found happiness in those puddles, no matter how small they were. 

TIME FLIES.

I've reached a certain point in my life ( although I really do hate it when someone uses the word 'life' in a sentence, I just can't seem to take them seriously) where again me and people my age , around me, are  faced with a choice, and a decision after four whole years of stability, laziness, routine and monotony. Even though we weren't sure if we had made the right choice for our careers or not, we were sure that till we graduate we don't have to worry about it, because, hell, we're doing this for four years anyway. My friend calls it her 'comfort zone'. We're happy moaning about our semester exams and we find literal delight if more severe torture is inflicted upon us as that makes the reason to moan, complain and hate, stronger. It makes us happy, comfortable.

Then suddenly you enter a certain year when people around you start acting funny. They don't crack up and burst out laughing when someone asks them " So beta , bade hoke kya banoge?" I mean its funny that they think we have it figured, but that's about it , now.
Suddenly everywhere people are in a flurry to join classes to pursue their GREat careers, they look solemn and pull very straight (and hilarious) faces when this is mentioned. People either already know what they want to since they were kids (freaks) or are figuring our what to do next. They eat up their " Ghaddyat jau de engineering" attitude that is so popular ten minutes before an exam , consult smarter and elder people ( evidently, the 'seniors') , impulsively agree to internships and write their first draft of their resume. They Google the outline for a CV (and the meaning too probably) and then conversations like " Abe mere achievements kya hain be?" " Are chod, ye le , mere likh le" float around a lot. Forgive us for the xeroxing act, but after a while, the copying just becomes a habit and no longer even registers after the initial few times. Training and Placement is an issue that everyone is talking about, and the T & P in charge becomes the most talked about person in college.

Photo: 4cherrylimos.com

My point is , that everyone is already started with their next lives. Slowly now people will begin to use new phrases like "application form" " accepted"and " package". You'll see the people who you've come to know in jeans, shorts , suddenly turn up after an internship or a job interview wearing trousers, shirts without three fourth folds or a brand new salwar kameez. You'll be left wondering if these are the same people.
The Sunday morning breakfasts will be rarer, the surprise birthdays at twelve am might demote to a phone call, the college friends bunking a lecture and running to a movie will not probably have a lecture to bunk..
And what is so great about moving on and growing up anyway? Growing apart so I have to miss my best friends engagement (Oh, did I mention, that might start to happen to.) or not be around for the simplest things like birthdays, holidays and Tuesdays?

Let Go. Photo: forums.soompi.com 

I wish we were given the chance or the time to stop and say " I've studied for almost 18 solid years of my life, going from school to school and running around for classes (It's a big thing from where I come) , and I deserve a break . To stop running, find closure for completing an era, indulge in its success, congratulate yourself for not turning out to be a complete mess, clear your mind a little, maybe think about my family and how every vacation was ruined due to the perfect combination of orals , practicals and  written exams, maybe spend a few weekends with them, or the friends that I met till now, get in touch with those who slipped in  your 'friend list' along the way, satisfy myself by   (finally) learning the guitar, or taking dancing lessons with my friends, getting back to an old sport. I deserve to take a breather and look around. " Live a little.
Kaash.
But during that time, so many useful things can be taken care of, further studies, jobs, moving out, moving in.. moving on? I'm just guessing so, I would never wholly agree upon it.
I think its only fair to mention that alongside this tab, I also have ' Top schools for further education in..' , 'Internship for students' , ' Procedure and requirement for application' and ' Top ten fun careers' open. (The last one doesn't have anything to do with this, but its just good Googlesense). So I guess we're all guilty here.

My sister is very prompt and particular about sending cards for my exams. I can always do with more luck during exams. This lastest one said, " All the best kiddo, Your last year will be easier- more time. Use it well. Learn languages, read a lot, indulge in yourself, hang around people who'll leave by this year, because , time flies." - Love, Didi.

How I taught my grandmother to text. And other stories.

I recently bought a shiny new phone. It's a smart (ass) phone which I'm completely stuck onto these days. I log in and out of Facebook (so as not to seem completely jobless), I play Angry birds all day long (you really should check it out), I shoot arrows at humans who are tied with a noose and save (yes, save) them, I play tic-tac-toe for hours and also play around with my very cute and a little annoying pet ostrich called Joe.
So here I was, coming home after a long and exhausting fifteen hour day in college , with this new phone in my hand. I had assignments and submissions that were screaming for my attention. I sat at my desk. Deep breath. Looked around. Opened the first page. Wrote one whole line. Looked at my phone. No. Will write at least one assignment . Or maybe just find out what this friend is up to. Unlock. Messages. Type type type..type type type..giggle..smiley. Silence. Silence. Bing Bing. Vibrate. New message. Open message. Click click.. Smirk. Reply...Type Type Type..
" Nice way of passing the time na?" Oops. Mom? Nah. Grandmom. Just saved.
"Okay, No problem. If you don't mind, I'll just rest my legs here. So tired after today" She said.
"Sure" I replied easily, already in the middle of another message. I typed for a while. This one friend said that she got admission in a nice university abroad. Congratulations. Another friend texted saying a girl from my college passed away today while driving to college in a freak accident. Shudder. Sympathy. Silence. A reminder from a girl in my class. Money for Seniors' farewell due tomorrow. Another message . Unknown number. Ditch. New message. Rajnikant forward. No thank you. One new message....

Silent cough. I look around. I'd forgotten my grandmother was still in the room. I expected her to be fast asleep by then, but she was very much awake, wide eyed and excited. "Are you messaging on your mobile phone?" she asked. I said I was. She got up and went and opened her bag, looked for something in it, shuffled around some things in it and finally drew out a small Christmas stocking-ish purse from it. She placed it in front of me. I stared at it. She took out her cell phone from it . It was a simple LG mobile . Nothing fancy. Nothing new. She looked at it with pride and her cheeks turned red. She said " Can you teach me how to do that? Send messages?" She looked so cute, I thought, with her light pink Saree and her white hair tied carefully at the back. She held out her wrinkled hand , and in that nervy hand was the handset. Her eyes twinkled and shone . Hopeful and expecting eyes are such a wonder to look at. She looked slightly taken aback at herself for having actually asked me that. Man, you don't say no to people who look like that.
I took her hand , her phone and sat on my bed . I switched on the phone. I showed her the options. We had to wait until she went and found her glasses. After she found them, I took her to the menu. Call options..Alarm clock..Calculator..Phonebook..And finally. Messaging.

Now the thing is, this cute little thing called my grandmother is going away on a Europe Tour next month. Along with her cousin sister. I can almost see the photos clicked at the Eiffel Tower. Bright yellow Sarees, and white sport shoes. So anyway, she always answered calls on her phone and made calls from her phone. But that is all she ever did. Recently it occurred to her that it would be kind of cool if she could message us something like , "Hello, reached London safely". For which she needed to message . Which was why we were gathered there, that time.
I told her about the symbol of messaging. A big white envelope. I showed her the right button to accept and the left button to go back. Then came the lengthy process of explaining how to type a message. Deciding that the dictionary mode would be too much to handle, I decided to teach her the normal text. Non-t9. So here, c will come after pressing a thrice. Press the button the number of times in order of the letter. I showed her how to. I typed a message. She look impressed, and a little worried. I handed the phone to her. It took a while. She kept missing the right button so that the whole thing would just refuse to budge. There were certain moments where I saw she was not finding this easy or encouraging. In the end she finally got the letter writing , I was trying to explain. Now,she said, she needs to write all the procedure down so that she could revise. Okay. Pen and paper were provided. She sat with me and we went through everything again.. Menu-Options-Messaging-Type message-Text message-Type-Select-Select recipients-Add number-Select-Okay-Send.
She wrote everything down serially, drawing symbols and making notes wherever needed. Then she read what she had wrote and was satisfied to try it out now.
We never really see our education like this , do we? As a need? A necessity? To satisfy our curiosity? To take notes on our own and to revise them for our sake. To make sure that we know. WE keep up with the world. There is no need for her to learn how to do this, is there? But she had explained once, that if one isn't inquisitive enough then that should be the end of his growth. I tried to remember when was the last time i put everything I had into my work. To make myself feel happy. When was the last time you achieved a sense of accomplishment because you did something for yourself? Something that you probably didn't want to learn. Was too difficult to. But something you felt like you should do. I looked at her. Her tiny body hunched up and her brow wrinkled in concentration and hard work. Here was a winner.
I smiled and no longer tired, left the room for a glass of water. I took my phone along with me and just as i left the room, it beeped. New message.
"Hello, reached London safely." 

The red light.

We're having a technical event in my college.Which is a supreme excuse for all the students to get together, work a little, and enjoy a lot.On this very excuse, me and my friend went to buy some stuff cheap from the city's old market. This market is away from the heart of the city. It is crowded, with more people and vehicles on the road than they can handle, and full of activity.Whether its ten am in the morning or two in the afternoon. Which is when we went. Me and her. 
After checking off about seven-eight items on our list we asked this very pleasant uncle where we can find old tin cans. How many did we need? about fifty.Okay, no problem, we were told.Just take the first right,another right and you'll reach the old scrapyard.Silence. Actually,said he, I wouldn't exactly say its the safest place for you two. 

Now that was confusing,but desperate measures call for desperate action, so we went anyway. We found the shop (again, a very nice uncle helped us there) and with thirty tin cans in our hands and content blooming in our minds..we turned to find the way back to our parked car. Now meaning  no disrespect to any kind of area in my "laadki" city, it seemed to us that every small crooked lane, every single old building and every single shop (hardware , mostly) looked exactly alike. So my friend came up with the bright idea of hiring a rickshaw to our car, as we couldn't find it anyway, and by the looks of it, weren't going to any time soon.As we loaded ourselves and our humongous pile of junk into the rickshaw and gave him very questionable directions, we were off.
My friend was fidgety from the start. Something about the streets and the people made her uncomfortable.I , however, was having fun.The place is truly amazing.Its startling how much space is being used here.Every inch of the city was used up for either business or..err..pleasure?
The thing is we missed a turn.Which did not make my friend any calmer.So our rickshaw uncle (not nice) assured us not to worry. We;ll just take a turn in here.This left. Thats the one.
Left we went. 
She said" Apna naseeb hi kharab hain , do you want something cold to drin....."

Open. flickriver.com 

In one second, my mind went numbingly blank.Its like i was transported to a different world.The kind of world we get to see on screen. Or read in those  very descriptive books. Someone was holding my hand. Shaking it. Panic.
It was my friend. Her face was white and her hands grabbing onto my faded kurta, cold.I wanted to see her terrified expression or mine reflecting on her face.
But i was too caught up.
There they were. Broad daylight. 
Its like this. The lane has a hundred tiny wada-like places.Which have some more windows and lots of doors.At every single door,window they were there. Pink.Red. Silver. Golden. Pink. Red. Green. Just flashes we caught at first. But the crowd ( oh yes did i mention, very crowded) slowed down our rickshaw. 
They were heavily dressed for a hot summer day. With fake brands embossing their ( otherwise naked) bodies. Tight black skirts, ending well before their thighs. heavy gold jewelery.And the Pink Lipstick.
Not just that though. Their heavily made up eyes, scanning the crowd. Filtering people who're there to browse and potential customers.Leaning against the doors or each other smoking, laughing, talking,yelling , shouting and passing the look.Their clothes too tight for their bodies, and vice versa.
They came in all shapes, sizes, ages, colors, and costs. On careful observation, you could tell, the important ones from the newbies. 
The lane was filled with people. It was so crowded that there were people walking exactly next to our rickshaw. shoulders and body brushing-wala crowd.
A movie started playing in my head. A tall strange man. Approaches a house. The other house owners try to entice him to look at themselves. He points to one house and enters.Its 43 degrees outside. Hot and sticky. Scorching heat. Two pm in this heated afternoon. The room is small and hot. No ventilation. Dirty. One small bed. On the floor. The man and woman are in for about twenty minutes. After which he zips up and leaves. Out of that impersonal world to come back only next week.
She gets up. Cleans up. Washes her face. Reapplies the pink lipstick. And resumes her place at the door . Her purse one note heavier. And the luring game begins. Round two for the day.


Its not about seeing this, or imagining this. Its when you see a hundred such similar sights that a persons head bursts with the events surrounding him.Hundred, i kid you not.
The red,  pink , green flashes do not end. The shouts , the pulling and pushing of bodies on the street do not end.
Or so you think.
Just as abruptly as the lane arrived , it vanished.


We arrived in front of our parked car. It was my car alright.With the happy yellow sunflower on the dashboard. 
The rickshaw driver turned back and said, " Thirty Rupees, madam."

The Silent Siren.

Today, I bought a new lip balm. It was fruity, and sparkling. It felt good. After a long day, it gave your mood the tiny lift that it needed. I put it on, and went to pick a friend up. On my way I got stuck in a traffic jam, which is nothing new , if you live where I do. Checking to see if my fresh new balm was still intact, I peeked in the rear view mirror and saw blue lights flashing my way. It was an ambulance. Without the siren. The light was flashing but the siren was switched off. 
The driver was trying to gesture with his hands, and by sounding the car's horn. People shifted aside, grumbling and mumbling. No one seemed in a particular hurry. I hastened aside and since it was a slow moving traffic, the Ambulance didn't get too far, and neither did I. It was standing right beside me by now and trying to pave its way out of the mess. I couldn't help myself, I did the most obvious and the most impolite thing to do in such a case. I peeped inside. There was an old lady sitting inside, her hand lying on a shape covered by the blanket. She  looked scared, as if it was her first time in a vehicle. She was looking at the traffic,confused, her worry lines becoming more and more prominent with every second. She wore round glasses and a defeated expression. The silent ambulance meant only two things. Either the siren wasn't working. Or there was no need for the hurry.


While we travel by road, most of us forget that we're not the only ones on it. Lanes are non existent to us. There is no concept of a fast lane, or a slow lane. There are just slow vehicles , around whom we buzz through.There is no zebra crossing. There is just a traffic police. Its not the zebra crossing we don't cross, but , forgive me, its the police we don't want to cross. Subways and over head bridges are an unnecessary option which are,eventually, ignored. Driving in the safe speed limit is considered a waste of time. There is  always a reason to speed. A traffic signal is followed by a sly look at the traffic police, if there is none, well then you are off, with the trace of a smug and superior look. Overtaking is  now an art . Don't get me started about seat belts and helmets. Since when did safety go out of fashion? The helmet is the best creation till date. One of my relatives brother recently passed away in a bike accident. My mother still has nightmares about it. 


When you are on road, it stops being just about you . Its about the people you are interacting with when you share a road with them. Its no longer about the image , its about the responsibility. The traffic rules that we no longer even notice while breaking, are there for a reason. It may not be clear why to follow them. But they're there to keep you safe. Every single one of them. Think about your mothers and fathers while you speed. Think about them,when you wrap a scarf around your head , instead of  a helmet. And if you can't, at least , keep others safe. 


The ambulance finally passed. The old lady looked down upon the shape lying beside her. Arranged the blanket. And then looked up at the traffic again. I said a silent prayer and moved on too. The purpose of the lip balm was completely defeated.

Photo: www.fabrica.it 

"Yes Mas'r "

Recently i read a book that did something to me that had never happened while reading a book before.Many of you will have read "Uncle Tom's Cabin- Harriet Beecher Stowe" .For the last couple of days i have been carefully reading and re reading this beautiful book.

Never before has a book had this effect on me.Never before has a book evoked so many emotions.Never before has a book made me feel so depressed and yet so hopeful. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncle_Tom's_Cabin

The best part about this book is its characters, that are so strong and well crafted that mid-book they've become you're friends and family.The characters Uncle Tom,Eliza,George Harris,Mr.Shelby,St.Clare,Eva,Cassy have made me laugh,cry,cringe,and hope at the same time.These world famous characters have such extreme lives and such strong opinions.

To illustrate a bit the book is about African American slaves when each slave was owned by the master.The slave was the property of the master and the master was permitted by law to do as he pleases with his slave.Be it marry "it" off, tear apart a family of slaves piece by piece and sell off the kids to all different parts of the country,make the slave work as field hands all night and all day or be it whip the slave to death.It was believed that these Negroes were no better than dogs and were treated like them.Or maybe if possible worse. They were agreed to have no feelings towards their family and they were not permitted to love.Even if they did love, it was considered meaningless.

In such a terrible and miserable climate Uncle Tom is one such slave known to be infinitely faithful and pious.He is the epitome of trust and loyalty.His two greatest joys are his family and a tattered copy of his bible.Our Uncle Tom is sold off to a St. Clare.His new master is someone who particularly never liked owning slaves and treated them extremely well and with proper respect.He despised the slavery system and is found to meddle with the idea of slave freedom.His relationship with his slaves is amusing and Uncle Tom's concern and care for him is touching.St. Clare has a daughter Eva, who Uncle Tom perceives as no less than the Lord's Angel.She is kind,patient,generous and a thoughtful child who embraces her Negro friends and loves each and every one of them with a heart melting sincerity.Uncle Tom's relation with her is most extra ordinary.Instances where both of them recite verses of the bible from Uncle Tom's copy are extremely memorable.

Another story is of the magnificent escape of Eliza, beautiful and strong and her husband George with their child to freedom.

Uncle Tom is tested and treated by the Lord's ways towards the end of his life and his firm belief in God and his undying hope breaks your heart.

The biggest irony of the book is the struggle of the slaves and the masters to live with each other.It is said in the book,often,that the slaves are better off living with their masters.Its is also said that this burden on the conscience of the master is much more than any human should handle. 

         This book signifies so much more than oppressed labour.It symbolizes freedom,courage,strength and the will to live and hope - seen in the eyes of the most ill-treated human race in history.