Piece of cloth or a semi pressed animal?

Have you ever noticed while driving down on a fairly empty road, these rugged things or pieces of crap lying aimlessly. Black or brown due to the pollution and dirt brought by vehicles, to me these seemed like maybe injured animals from far off. Maybe highway road trips I took as I kid have instilled this thought - I used to without fail look back at every piece like that on the road and sometimes it was actually a semi-pressed cat or dog that probably tried to cross the road without caution. Fear or the sub-memory thought of those injured animals makes me leap every single time I notice such a disturbing thing lying on the road.

My utterly active mind especially when it comes to things that don't actually require so much over-thinking doesn't leave this instance to imagine the worse. I used to think to myself -  where did this piece come from? Has it traveled a lot? Maybe it was a part of someone's wardrobe. Maybe a dupatta? I don't know it used to leave me a bit intrigued about the history of those pieces and where they came from. A very similar thing happens to me  when I sit in an airplane. I used to look down during take off and wonder where the lights were coming from until there was complete darkness. Especially while traveling when you come across barren areas with just a light or two visible - I used to ponder about what those prime lights could be illuminating. Could the lights be coming from a house? Are people around that light able to this plane?

It might sound shocking to some but I have this incessant habit of keeping things that mean absolutely nothing apart from the fact that someday sometime I happened to find them somewhere and they looked fascinating. I know it can be formally referred to as hoarding by the way I explained but actually things that I am mentioning here are the most unimportant tiny ones that I link my memories to. Say a napkin I found with a note for someone in London, a bottle that looked stunning but was abandoned, pink paper clips stained due to paint, tickets to the show I never attended etc. I just think we come in touch with things or even people for a reason. The reason may not be entirely clear initially but as time passes I think one might find a connect. For example - the ticket of the show I missed reminds me every day that I still haven't seen it! Or the bottle - it instantly takes me back to the moment in London when I missed the 12am train and was stranded. Everything teaches me a lesson or brings a smile across my face. 

Madam "wok" (vogue) le lo

Everything becomes a business in seconds in this place and everything shuts shop in even milli seconds in Delhi!

So I live in Punjabi Bagh, a place primarily renowned for its filthy rich people with every car possible and the stamina to eat/pay for good food. There has been no such ice cream brand that has not targeted this region. So in a line of shops you'd find cocoberry, hoki poki, baskin robin, gianis, 24x7, nirula's and of course not to forget the existing hawkers of mother dairy, amul, etc. I mean yes the people like ice cream but how much can they eat! That's what I thought. But was surprised to find later that yes, they can eat A LOT and something new every night. Its crazy how none of these brands claim they've had a dry sales time ever in this place!

Target market/group analysis has such a widespread application in everything India does. Its almost like marketing skills have been drilled in all of us. Think about it - the vendors on the traffic lights know exactly who will buy flowers, magazines, car chargers, books etc. Now they did not study anything its just experience that talks loud.

At this red light recently, this tiny guy selling magazines comes to my window and suddenly changes the order of the magazines. Says - madam "wok" (vogue) le lo. I told him while pointing at a hindi publication and said - woh kyun nahi dikhaya? He started giggling and said "firangi type Indian  log toh "wok" hi kharidte hain". So this barely 8 year old guy knew the exact market for what he was carrying to sell! Similarly, this girl selling flowers at the signal tells Dev (a friend) - "phool le lo bhaiya, madam khush ho jayengi". Yet again they knew that a guy and a girl sitting together would be ideal for selling something like flowers.

There is this word called - "jugaad" that exists in a lot of our dictionaries, at least it does in mine! I absolutely love how people here have a gut feeling that if something is not possible, there has to be a sidelined way to get it done. We do not take NO as an answer very easily. If we go to a shop and do not find our size of say a pair of shoes, it would be 99percent that we would say - "please check in the stock." I mean why is it so hard to believe something when told once. Its probably because there is such a high probability of being cheated in every sphere! Even the sabzi wala will try and quote wrong prices so you can imagine how big decisions would be so tough to take. How do I know that if someone is telling me the right thing so I just haggle until I know that I've done my best. From the auto drivers to desi sharaab places - all cheat us and we still keep believing we made a good deal! That's the beauty of business here.

My nails will never be the same again

It is very weird when someone you see for 5 years, two times a month, one day is declared dead. Sometimes you can't imagine where death takes you and when you actually do its too late. Something similar happened to the man who always made sure my hands looked presentable.

It might be considered very trivial in a lot of people's lives but my manicurist was very dear to me.  Even during my years of being out of the city, he would skip any appointment if he knew I was coming back for a couple days.

Many are in this business because they couldn't do anything else in their lives, many are not even proud of the profession just attached to the money that comes with it and few are just happy having uninterrupted access to women and their lovely hands. In my experiences with salons in Delhi, I have never noticed a male manicurist who is so committed and  honest to what his work demands.

The last time I met Harish, I was going to get my nails done after ages and I was very well prepared to hear him rant about the state of my tanned hands. He was up and about as usual, complaining about his daughter creating tantrums at school and him having to go regularly to fetch her. He had been missing work quite a bit due to her.

He often joked about when I would get married and how old I had become to find a nice guy. I would laugh it off saying - just because you ruined your life early don't expect me to. He would laugh but always added - "if I wasn't in love, I wouldn't have".

Never in my imagination would I have thought, a hurried holiday to his home town would turn fateful for him. I entered the salon on a casual saturday not aware of what had happened and could literally feel the eerie atmosphere as everyone was uncomfortably quiet. Since, Harish used to often take holidays, it wasn't a surprise to me when another guy volunteered to do my manicure. In the process, he said -"whatever happened to Harish was not fair, I don't think it was an accident, it was definitely a murder". I was shocked! For a second I couldn't believe it. I asked him again -"what are you saying? What kind of a joke is this?" He apologized for breaking the news so abruptly and said - "ishita madam I thought you knew, otherwise no one in their right senses would do your manicure if Harish was here because we couldn't match his level of work."

I was very hurt. It was almost like losing a friend, a family member. I asked the guy what had happened and how his family was doing. Turned out his wife didn't know about it too until they rushed him to a local hospital where he was declared dead due to brain damage. The people from the salon had gone to visit his family in the hospital a day before his death. Harish's close associates at the Salon told me stuff that left so many questions in my head - it didn't seem like his parents were shocked, they claimed that he had a drinking problem so he lost his balance and fell from the first floor of his village house, his brothers were not there to assist the parents in the hospital, they did not admit him in a Government hospital which would be far more affordable as compared to the local private one, his wife was not given clear answers to what happened to her husband, the police was asked not to interfere in the case.

It all seemed like a cover up for something that went terribly wrong. The damage that his body took couldn't possibly occur even if he fell down from atleast 5-7 floors, in fact it was very possible that someone beat him up. The puzzle pieces fitted well - him rushing to his hometown without notice to the salon could have been due to a property matter, his brothers would have been unhappy with sharing the part with him so probably beat him up under the influence of alcohol, them not going to a Government hospital because the police would ask 'n' number of questions to raise the possibility of murder and finally, his parents not being shocked because they knew exactly what happened in the village.

He is no more but I can't possibly stop thinking about the state of his wife. A completely dependent woman lost the support of her husband and is stranded with two children (4 and 6 years old). I want to help her in some way but monetary help is not what I have in mind. What do you think one can do for her without making it look like charity? Knowing Harish, charity would disgust him and pity would make him sick.