The Conveyor Belt

I step down from the airline bus at the entrance of the arrival section of the airport. I immediately rush towards the conveyor belt where my luggage is supposed to come by. Within seconds the conveyor belt starts moving, bringing forth different luggage. Soon I relax noticing my bag smoothly coming towards me. I shall pick it up in the next few seconds, I wonder, and then I’ll hail a prepaid cab, reach home on time, have a warm shower, chill, have dinner, surf the internet, complete the book I started reading in the flight and probably sleep early! The mere glimpse of the bag has made me design a particular future for myself.

I also take pride noticing how few of my co-passengers are admiring my bag. Why wouldn’t they? It’s a brand new bag and the design too is quite unique. I remember the storekeeper told me it’s a limited edition too. In less than few seconds the people around will also know whom it belongs to.

As my bag takes a turn and comes further close to me, I’m just waiting to put my hands on it. It belongs to me and it forever shall.  The next moment I see a hand, out of nowhere, pick the bag up. I’m too shocked to say a word. By the time I get my voice back and shout out the person seems to have disappeared. I scamper towards his direction but I haven’t seen his face. I ask someone if he has seen the person. He nods no. Damn! I would now have to complain and probably wait for hours for the airline people to respond to it. I will have to verbally fight, be irritated in the process and still there's no guarantee I'll get my bag back or not. All in all the well-thought-of relaxed evening is non-existent now. Moreover there are some valuable things in the bag. How will I be able to live without them? They meant so much to me. I slowly sit down on a nearby chair; feeling defeated. 

Minutes pass by.

“Is this your bag sir? No one else claimed it.” An airline staff says holding a replica of my bag. I take the bag from him and try to unlock it in order to confirm. I am able to unlock its number-lock. I smile holding my bag tight. Its silly how I emotionally accepted something which only seemed mine but it wasn’t. How conveniently I created my own emotional truth and wove an eluding futuristic world for myself which when I didn’t get disappointed me to the hilt. But the simple thing was it wasn’t meant for me. It wasn’t mine! I only thought it was.      

Some things only look like they belong to us. And we immediately convince ourselves they are meant for us as well. That difference costs us a lot of things.

*

The Cast:

The ‘I’ in the story is Anyone.

The Conveyor Belt is Life.

The First Bag is ‘the one you are sure is yours’.

The Second Bag is ‘the one meant for you’.

Special Appearance: The Person who takes the first bag is ‘Destiny’.

*

Even If

As I entered a friend’s apartment campus, the other day, so did a girl from another end of the gate. She carried an unavoidable pleasantness with her. We walked almost together till we reached the ground floor. I pressed the elevator button while she waited. In between we shared a faint smile. The kind strangers share when their eyes suddenly meet. When the elevator arrived I let her enter first. She thanked me with a warm smile. It made my heart feel younger by a life. Only the two of us were inside as the elevator door closed. She pressed the eleventh floor button and glanced at me expectantly. I leaned forward and pressed the same button hinting I too was going to the same floor. Could she be one of my friend’s friend he mentioned was coming? My phone buzzed with a Whatsapp message.

‘Where are you?’ It was my friend. While replying him I heard the girl speak on her phone.

“Almost there.”

Finally the elevator door opened. I let her exit first. The warm smile appeared again but also accompanying it was a certain twinkle in her eyes. She went and stood in front of my friend’s flat. I rejoiced in my mind. I stood behind her and pressed the calling bell. She turned to me but before I could read her face she got a call.

“Standing right outside.” She said.

A second later my friend opened the door. And then another door opened to the right. The girl looked surprised. It was obvious she had goofed up the flat number. As she disappeared inside the other flat without caring to turn back even once I realized one should always be aware of the fact that even if two people get to the same ‘floor’ together doesn't mean they are heading towards the same ‘flat’.

*

Getting Used To It

“You are late!” I said when the person I was supposed to meet dropped in an hour post the fixed time.

“I’m sorry. There was this mad traffic today.”

“You could have moved out early.”

“The traffic was pretty unlike other days else I would have. I have been travelling in this route for many months now.”

“What would you have done if you were traveling for the first time on this route today?”

“I surely would have moved out early.”

When we initiate a relationship we don’t know exactly what to expect and hence we remain extra alert about everything. But as we get deeper into a relationship we steadily start getting used to the ‘emotional route’ that connects us to the other person. Just because there's been no traffic for a long time its foolish to presume there would never be any and the journey shall forever be smooth. Only if we don't allow ourselves to get used to the favourable factors of a relationship, we would leave no scope for any kind of traffic to mess the appointment of our companionship. Not even for one day because one day is a lot to steer a relationship into uncomfortable lanes.

* 

Book Spine

The other day I was in the process of keeping a book (I had just finished reading it for the first time) in the book shelf when my eyes fell on another book. There was a time when I had read it at least ten times or so. I took it out, caressed it wondering how much thrill and happiness the book gave me every time I read it in the past. The next instant I noticed the wrinkles on the book's spine. It gave the book a 'worn-out' feel. Immediately I glanced at the book I had just finished reading. Its spine looked fine. I sighed. 

The more you read a 'book', the more you risk the 'wrinkles' on its spine. 

*

White Rum or Water

Al-Eye, a friend of mine, (I call her Al-Eye because I think her eyes resemble almonds) told me how one day she accidentally drank white rum. She was thirsty. And when she saw a bottle on a table she drank from it expecting it to be water. It was actually white rum and since she had a bad cold that day she couldn't even sniff the difference to begin with. Only when she had taken some of the alcohol in, she realized something was wrong. She said she hated the taste. Later when I asked her to try the same white rum mixed with a soft drink, she thought it tasted better.

Allegorically speaking the same thing happened to me when I was a lot younger. My soul was thirsty and I ended up drinking love assuming it to be life. As I said I was young at that time and hence ignorance was my guiding angel. I chose love with steep expectations because, by the look of it, it resembled life.

Love, back then, seemed too harsh a drink for my emotional taste buds. And because I didn't find life in the love I drank, I started hating love. But when I grew up and drank the same love after allowing reality to dilute the element of expectation in it a little, it seemed not that bad after all. Something manageable it was. I realized our baseless expectations play a manipulative role in shaping up our perception of things we value. And thereby make us a prisoner of those perceptions forever. 

.

*

Who decides your interior?

A close friend of mine, who usually sported a beard, clean shaved himself before a get together. When all of us friends met, some laughed, some mocked and some thought his bearded look was far better than the clean shaved one and asked him, I thought rudely, to shut himself in and come out only when he had grown his beard back. But this friend of mine seemed unaffected. When I was alone with him, I did apologise on behalf of others for our rather kid-like behaviour.

“Don’t be sorry.” He said. “I’m happy I took the decision.”

“What decision?” I was interested.

“Last night, I happened to look in the mirror quite accidentally and all of a sudden realized how much I hated my beard. And yet I was carrying it for more than three years now. Why? Simply fearing what other’s reaction might be seeing me clean shaved. Then it struck me: I was actually living a life which was dictated by other’s preference of me and worse still I was wrongly calling it my life. It was as if I was staying in my own flat but with the interior decided and done by others. Even though I wasn’t comfortable with the interior, still I lived by it. Whether I’m conforming to other’s perception or preference - or whatever you want to call it – of me doesn’t scare me anymore. I agree I may suck with this clean shaved look of mine but what the heck; it’s my choice! And I strongly think the earlier you answer the question ‘who decides your interior’ the better!”

*

Pehli Baar

Wrote a Hindi poem after a long time. Thought of sharing. Cheers!

'Pehli Baar'

Jab humne ek dusre ko dekha,

Kahin kisi bachche ne pehli baar Ma kaha hoga.

Jab humne ek dusre ko pehchana,

Kahin kisi gaon mein pehli baar bijli aayi hogi.

Jab humne ek dusre ko mehsoos kiya,

Kahin kisi naujawaan ko pehli tankhwa mili hogi.

Jab humne ek dusre ko samjha,

Kahin kisi garmi se tang rickshewale ko din ki pehli savaari mili hogi.

Jab humne ek dusre ke saath, saath phere liye,

Kahin kisi padhe-likhe ko bhagwan par yakin hua hoga.

Jab humne ek dusre ko chuwa,

Kahin kisi qaidi ko sukoon ki neend aayi hogi.

Jab humne ek dusre ko savara,

Kahin kisi musafir ne, zara rukkar, ghar basane ki thani hogi.

Jab hum ek dusre se bichchre,

Kahin kisi kavi ne apni kavita puri kari hogi.

*