Nut/s

There are not many street vendors in this small city. Most of the evenings I have been to this place, I have seen this peanut seller. He carries a small bag of roasted peanuts. What make him special is his pestering ways of selling his merchandise. He importunes everyone to buy at least one small packet of peanut. I feel, he thinks everyone on the street have only one intention for coming here, that’s his peanuts. He is very lean and hungry look. Sympathy I have for his state often overshadowed by his manners.

Last night I bought a packet of peanut from him, it didn’t taste good. I think it was roasted a week ago or so. Fact that he still has an old stock of peanut is disturbing; he did not sell much last week. A small packet of fried peanut costs 2 rupee, that’s the only size he sells. His bag is very small; it can hardly contain 50 small packets. If he usually sells entire stock in a day then I would not have this old stock. He can’t sell 50 packets a day, that’s what it’s coming to.

Let me try to guess how much he earns by selling peanut. “Have you ever heard about success story of millionaire MR. Peanut”, mother asked her kids. She started narrating MR. Peanut’s story. She explained to kids how I got myself to peanut business and made my fortune. May be I would conclude roasted peanut business is profitable after I find how much the peanut seller makes, this could really inspire me to start new business. Years later this fictitious mother and kids would become real.

One kg of ground nut would cost around Rs 20, fuel for processing ground nut to roasted peanuts would cost around Rs 10 and packaging would cost around Rs 2. He can make 50 packets of peanuts from one kg, this is just my speculation in fact I am unaware how much a packet of roasted peanut weigh. He invested Rs 32 for producing 50 packets. Now comes the difficult part calculating operating and marketing costs. Business is not just math or peanut it’s a vision; if you have it you can sell anything, not necessarily you would make profit though. Labors nowadays are paid Rs 150 for 8 hours of work (minimum wages). Every hour peanut seller work on his peanut can be rated same as labor wage. Say he spend one hour to prepare peanuts and 8 hours to sell it then total human effort has a value of Rs 168.75. He runs his business in loss; loss percentage is increasing with every other word he said to customers. May be it’s his frustration that is transferred to his customers when he compels them. There should be someway to help these two groups, buyer and seller. Yes, Eat More Peanuts! That is how we can resolve this. I have decided to buy peanut every single time I see him. At sight of this guy, I will walk to him get one packet at least and won’t let him utter a word.

Never Turn Back

Back bench, the reason I always chose her was to have a broad vision. Nerds were on first or second row, insignificant souls like me preferred back bench. Those who sat in front saw nothing but a black board and teacher; I knew a bunch of things about his classroom which no one else knows since I sat on my favorite spot “Back Bench”. The law of perception is very simple; depth of perception is directly proportional to distance from black board. I believed and followed this theory; in fact that was the only homage that I can do for my own theories.

She was sitting sideways and presented frequent glances and smile. She joined school today as a member of student exchange program.

I was under transformation and at most curious about physiological and psychological changes that I was undergoing. Smile, touch, company and scent of girls never felt the same as before. My sound was not hard enough though; there were thin layer of facial hair I admired on mirror every morning. This is my adolescence.

She was standing in principal’s office with other students when I first met her, they are from Uttar Pradesh. They spoke different language, had different culture and they came from very far state. I live in South and they live in North. Its destiny that brought us together and it’s my destiny to be loved and love a girl who traveled more than two thousand miles to meet me. What else than love she would have in her mind if she were to spend this much time looking at me with a sweetest smile ever? Love, Love at first sight I could not wait to hear this from her, Can this happen to me?

Gradually many boys noticed the silent strong currents for love flowing through that class room. To be truthful, I enjoyed those envied harsh looks of other boys. A boy with a notorious diffidence won heart of a girl on the very first day, first hour, first moment, and first sight. It’s hard to digest for the majority of heroes and other stars. My reputation was growing every second, I heard murmurs, and I felt like a celebrity chased by tabloid reporters.

“I hate this fame, I am simple man; only thing is a girl loves, she fell in love at first sight. She is beautiful, she does not speak my language, and she is different from other girls in my class. Guys we are all same, don’t be jealous may be she might not be your girl. Good luck next time boys”. I addressed all other boys who never proved that a girl fell in love with them at the first sight, in mind. No one heard anything, but I smiled as with a glittering success of instant love.

She will be in my school till next year; however she can opt to stay here for one more year. We will have two years together, two years …two years of loving… two years of being loved… Then she would leave…
After another two years I will join college in Delhi. We will miss each other for two years in between; the flame of this love will never dwindle. Delhi is not that far from UP, even she will be in Delhi. Delhi is much colder than here during winter. We would walk hand in had feeling the warmth of love. This love is what nation wants, cultural union, embodiment of national unity among diversity.

With each of her smile and glance there was a new dream born, feathered its wings and flew to sky. One after the other I dreamt all stages of our life and love.

I have to learn Hindi, my Hindi is poor. I know for sure she will learn my language, how can she neglect her lover’s language. In those special moments of love she may speak only her language, I can’t really run for dictionary or ask her for translation all the time. I am going to library tomorrow to get some Hindi book. Prem Chand I heard that he is a good writer. I will get one of his works. Unfortunately I know only one writer.
I know Hindi film celebrities, Hindi films that would be a good way to learn Hindi. Moreover her name is Rekha, most desirable woman in Hindi Films has same name. Yes, Hindi films, that’s what I should do..


Study hour passed very quickly, now its dinner time. We will be in same class again tomorrow at seven o clock. I sat there motionless; everyone is busy keeping their belongings to locker. There she comes, with her friend.

As she came closer and closer my heart trembled and made big pounding noise, this is painfully sweet. She stood near to me, she is prettier when closer. I could hear her panting, Come on, don’t be scared, and make this night unforgettable.
I love you, aren’t my eyes saying that, so please I can’t wait. I said to her without words or sound in my mind. Then once and for all she broke silence. “You know what; you look like my younger brother. I miss him so much; I can not meet him again in next six months. I can’t keep my eyes off you, I like you”

She wept and left, castles of dreams I built was shattered. She loves me for a different reason that I thought. She left after one year, during that year she saw her little brother in me. My lover Rekha died at my presence on the very first night I started loving her. However north Indian festivals brought her memories today is Diwali.

Sculptor’s Story

“Pavement was covered with dried leaves; trees were blooming spreading the fragrance and colors. A warm day of spring set perfect stage for that romantic walk. He was overwhelmed with love and admiration for her. His senses where tickled with touch of her soft palm. They walked hand in hand slowly in silence. He knew she always enjoyed his playful nature, they stopped near the fence and he sat on it. Offered his hand in charm like a dancer, she need help to climb over the fence for sure. In these romantic moments body and mind would dance in synchronized rhythm. There wasn’t any reason I would say but I am not sure, for her body to let her mind down. Complex gastro intestinal reaction in her body produced some unpleasant sounds of nature. His eyes are filled, trees looked withered, flowers looked dry and dull, warm day felt as heat of hell. Her palm felt like dirty mold of moist clay. “

“Next day it rained and washed away their love“

Sculptor’s narration went to a pause, and then he lighted a cigarette.

Though I haven’t met sculptor in last few years I could not bury this story he told me. It came to my mind many times; I saw its interpretations change. These lovers reincarnated; they loved, admired, strolled through the same pavement and finally lost on the way somewhere.

Fever

I wouldn’t have met him if I wouldn’t have missed my bus station. I overslept in the crowded bus and missed the station. Soon after the bus passed the station the bus conductor woke me up. Alas!!! I am nowhere; “you need to get out of this bus right now” bus conductor gave me an order which I was not expecting. I contended saying it’s not my fault. He made the bus stop with his powerful whistle. Bus stopped at whistle of conductor like an obedient child. Then he made a comment that I can’t ride this bus for free, and he has seen this tricks many times in his career. I was deeply insulted; I walked back to my bus station. Those days there was something or other written in every penny, every penny had something to do for me. I can’t change what is written on it. If I did I would have to walk all my way to my home. If I take a taxi to bus station I would not have enough money to buy ticket for the next bus I need to take. I walked under the blistering sun, cursing my bad luck.

I reached noisy bus station exhausted and soaked in sweat. I have started my journey last night and haven’t had a good meal by then. I felt miserable and less privileged than any of my friends in the college. I was thinking about my friend who always booked his ticket on A/C bus, I never traveled in air conditioned bus. I wasn’t jealous, I was sad though. I stood there brooding over the revilement that a conductor showed.

I wanted something to drink; sun really oozed every drop of fluid I had in my body.
I walked up to a small tea shop. I realized I am going to rewrite something which is already written on the coins I had in pocket. While I was having tea, I saw a little boy staring at me. When I looked back, he kept his head down. He carried a writing pad with some papers clipped on it. He wore a shabby shirt and shorts which is not to his size. He looked miserable and lean with his eyes sunk. I called him waving my hand, he looked scared. We walked slowly to me. I smiled and asked him what his name was. In fact I don’t really remember his name now. I will call him Irfan.

I have carried a writing pad and papers long time back. I knew what that meant. I did my primary schooling in a government funded institution. All we knew about in the school was scarcity, scarcity of books, pencils, food and sometimes even water. The best things I could think of in that school are teachers and a mango tree. There was this day when school kitchen fell on its knees crushing my friend to death. After moaning for one week, school reopened and started operation as if nothing happened. Though it left many parents in agony; that his child being in danger of old buildings which are waiting for a reason to fell down. By gods grace nothing worse happened there after bloody incident which took life of an innocent kid and my friend. During the exam season government would not supply schools funds to buy papers. Student would bring paper for the exams, which would be clipped to the writing pad. That’s how I know about the Irfans who carried writing board and papers clipped on it.

I asked him if I can see his question paper, he showed it to me.
“How was your exam?”
“It was OK”.
“Did you attend it well?”
“No”
“Why?”
“I don’t know anything”
I didn’t ask him anything more, for him like every other less privileged one would have a sad story. Story about his abandonment, misery, struggles and anxiety, I wasn’t prepared to hear that. Now that I have rewritten what was written on my coin all I can do is repeat it. I asked him whether I can get him something to eat or drink. He didn’t say yes, neither had he said no. I ordered something for him. As soon as he finished eating he ran away.

I realized I had to walk for some distance to get home; I didn’t have enough money for whole journey. Good thing that I am not thinking about the conductor, and I don’t feel insulted either. I was thinking about Irfans running around my state, deprived of childhood. That fever lasted for two to three days, I never thought about him again. I went back to college after a few days. There after no Irfans ran to me either.

Smoky House

Every habit that is a part of our lives now, would have nurtured over a period of time. Even after recurrent persuasion to oneself to keep away from certain habits they keep falling for it. I know I am one among the million smokers. There is absolutely multifariousness among smokers. Heterogeneity among the platoon of smokers is not a matter of big surprise when compared to number of smokers in the world. I am referring to diverse smoking habits and not any diverseness of other sort. Before I write all these let me place one thing on board, I don’t intend to glorify smoking habits.

Some smoke only when they are drunk, some after every meal some need coffee and there are some who always smoke. There was some special kind who needed a house under construction, to smoke a cigarette. I started smoking when I was a high school student (17 years old maybe); my family would be extremely disappointed if they see me smoke or even if they hear from someone that their son is a smoker. This would cause drastic cut in the pocket money thus leading to mental agony which affects my enlightenment. It’s intertwined; everything had a bearing on smoking which in turn was possible only from that house. So I smoked only under cover.

I am not sure even to this day that house is fully built. This house is very near to the place I lived; only half of the construction was over. No doors no windows, walls are not plastered, floor wasn't finished either. There were piles bricks kept in some of the rooms, there were other stuffs used for construction as well scattered all over the places. This house is sitting in middle of 3-4 acres of land this offered a lot of privacy, silence and solitude. One could not ask for more than this place to be a breeding ground for budding smokers. We smoked, we spoke, we discussed a bunch of stuff, we argued, we planned and once we even drunk from that house. Trespassing is not a crime in those days, those times where prehistoric before I wrote this and published in my blog. In fact I enjoyed every moment I spent in that no man’s house. I never met or argued owner of this house about my visit to his house.

This house stood as a symbol of someone’s aspiration. I wished that house stayed the way it was forever. I haven’t cared about the man who would have weave dreams around his house. For me it was a place to hide and smoke. Now it has lost its glory, I wish when I see the house again it’s completely build.

I am going to my hometown this weekend; would go to that house again, if it is completely built and there is some one staying. I would ring bells and ask them whether they have found my lighter lost there 8 years back. No, I don't think that's a good idea, they will be scared and moreover I am acting crazy for no reason. I may sometimes just pass by and see our old hangout place. Now trespassing is illegal I would just abide by the law.

Cousin From Salvadore

"My cousin, she is from Salvadore. She was in United States last month. She said she miss her land. For me countries like Salvadore, Ecuador are poor countries. I can't imagine why she wanted to go back". I wasn't expecting him to talk to me; I was standing near to the pool in the Hotel I stayed for eight months. I met him once at the gym and once from office. I knew he was a new employee in the office I worked as a contractor. It was very late at night I was waiting for my laundry to finish, so as the Arab lady. She told me that I look like someone she already met. I asked her whether she is sure that I am not any of character in "One Thousand and One Night". Anyway she is not that significant character in my story. She plays a part of silent witness. Mazin, he is main character. However this is all about me so he comes only second, though he has been quoted at the beginning of the story. Having said its all about me I should give my characters a fair introduction.

Mazin: He says he is from Algeria; however he doesn’t have any root there. He is an American, born and brought up in US. I was confused when he said he is originally from Algeria. That wasn't typical, Mazin. We will deal with that matter later anyway. If I explain everything here I don't have anything to write for the third character. He is an advocate, now stopped practicing. He wanted some different kind of job and joined the company I was working in US.

Arab Lady: When I was walking through the hotel lobby I found a lady in black dress covering her head. I turned back and looked at her again and smiled. I saw her and kids most of the days from that day, when I was leaving for office.

Before all the characters in the story met, the third character was in hot water tub thinking about the hotel and this placed he lived for so long. He already has a belonging to that place; some unknown force is pulling him to that place though this place offered me high altitudes of solitude, and boredom in abundance. The Arab lady came to the hot water tub and started talking to him. She asked do you have any cousins or someone who lived in the same hotel last year. He said it may be same person that you met previous year. She said she comes here every year from Kuwait to spend summer vacation. He just spoke to her an hour before everyone met near the smoking lounge. That's the reason why this lady does not contribute to main theme of the story.

Me: It’s not important who I am. I lived in that hotel for eight long months. Now I am standing there smoking and talking to Mazin and the Arab lady. Mazin was so different than I thought; when we met in Gym he said this gym is not going to work for him. It’s in a way true; the gym had only three equipments. Someday out of tiredness some of the equipment stopped and took rest. He came to gym on the day when the steps machine was on leave. I was on my good boy thread mill. He asked me do you go this gym everyday. I looked at the pathetic gym but I decided to say truth. I said, most of the days yes. I am not going to leave this poor gym alone. She has been supporting me well, though some of her equipments were misbehaving at times. It’s not her fault, moreover there comes a stranger who has never seen her in real beauty if he is to make fun of her, I am going to stand besides her and support her. I told him that there is a big gym near by and gave him directions, he thanked me left. I gave myself to my love for that poor gym.

Now Mazin speaks totally different things than o first meeting. He is asking me whether I am happy to leave US. He expects me to be sad, for him India wasn't a better place to live than US. Then he told about his cousin from Salvadore. While we talked he told me and the silent Arab lady lot of things about his life. I was thinking about how mazin introduced himself to us. He said I am from Algeria, then he said he don’t know anyone there. For him only place he know as his country is US. I am in a dilemma why did he say he is from Algeria. Why he is not saying I am an American? What would I be telling if I have been living in US for say 25 years? Can I introduce myself as an American? I don’t know. I wish Mazin was not confused. I was a bit confused; I already have lot of things imbibed from that life style. Not that I have changed beyond recognition, still I would say I am not the way I was. One part of me always wanted to go back, but I agree there was another side for that coin. I have already started enjoying the glory within scheduled mechanical life. Glory of intoxication and sound of bar music may be that was the force of gravity. May be smile of Thai girl who served dinner the other night in the bar was the impel I felt. May be the hot water tub, may be the poor gym that nobody cared to visit. I don’t know what I am going to miss when I leave here. I know one thing for sure, even mazin is not American. I want to be a place where my identity is not questioned, the place where most of others and myself where identified by not so broad term for distinction. However I still loved that place.

I said there are only 3 characters in my story, now I have so much in mind I may need to introduce many. No it’s not easy to do that, it’s not reasonable too. “The Boy” thinks authors should introduce all characters when story starts. I agree with the boy who traveled to Egypt for finding the treasure. So there are no more characters.

I am just another man who has been distracted by influences of this affluent nation the comfort and the freedom that it offered for some time of my life. Again I stand corrected I need to go back, I don’t belong here. I haven’t enjoyed all it offered, I can’t. I am not leading a futile attempt to act like someone else. I have to be real; the first thing I am going to do after coming back to my place is go fishing. I am glad that when I reach there, there will be rain to wash away what I have conceived. Let it wash away. I will have a clean start all over again.


On my way back I saw the movie “Name Sake” directed my Mira Nair. This movie pictures truthful sides of integration of cultures, assimilation and cultural struggles. I am glad I saw that on the very moment I needed more insight to the matter. Finally this is not a story and mazin is happy living there, the Arab lady would have already left to Kuwait after her vacation and me… oh well I am back to my place, started wearing the costumes that never suited the climate, sitting in office dreaming of new places to visit and working on meeting my targets.

"Why Not"

I got into Auto Rickshaw, Are you wondering what an Auto Rickshaw is? Okay let me explain, Auto Rickshaw is a three wheeler vehicle. Its cheap and one of the popular public transports.

Anyway that's not my story. Again I got into Auto Rickshaw and told the driver the place I wanted to go to. To my surprise he said "Why Not". I didn’t say a thank you, I was shocked. I have been living in small towns in India for more than 25 Years. I am sure I would be able to understand what "Why not" means from age of 15. This is the first time I am hearing a rickshaw driver saying "Why Not" in 10 years of my Auto Rickshaw expeditions. Most of the time the words I have exchanged with drivers where argument about the fare, when they tried to over charge me (Way too much than what’s displayed in fare meter). There were some good drivers I have dealt with (me gratefully remembering their service); however they never said "Why Not". I was impressed with the courtesy that this driver showed to his passenger. I am honored.

With that unusual pleasant start of my journey, I was sitting in the rickshaw relaxed and watching the driver cruising through the idle road to take me to the destination. The silence was broke spontaneously. Driver turned back and asked me have you used perfumes? Now I am sure that I smell good, how ever he sounded like I did some awful mistake. I wasn't sure that what I should tell him or what he would say or act if I responded that’s none of your business. I didn't respond to him, I just watched him driving. He continued, "You know what perfume kills sweat glands, don’t apply in on your body". "I won’t" then I smiled. I didn't want to disappoint him moreover I had this feeling that he is different kind of Auto Rickshaw Driver. What is different kind? To this day I believe that there are four kinds of men. Sane, insane, men who are pronounced to be insane by others and men who decided to act insane by choice these are the four kinds. I was trying to figure out category he belongs to. Soon I decided not to think too much about it; sincerely I don’t want to be included in "others" referred in third category. He is just different rickshaw driver who said "Why Not" and thought me perfume kills sweat glands. If perfume I used really killed my sweat glands then he has every right to accuse me for having done that to my body.

Then he started singing some songs, for a moment I thought I am in Venice. How cool will that be if every Auto Rickshaw driver sings all the way he drive? He asked me if it’s OK if he is singing. Its ok I said, for whatever reason I haven’t thanked him for doing that.

After a while he stopped singing, I was just waiting eagerly for next. I had this feeling that he is going to tell me something which no other rickshaw driver said before. He already did it twice, the third is obvious. I didn't have to wait too long. He said "There is nothing in this world, but sex and ego" he said this in English. Allah! I never heard these kinds of philosophies from an auto driver. I didn't say anything. He continued, "Don’t fall for it; I don’t know what kind of man you are".

I was just shocked... then he started singing again.
He wished me good luck and drove away when I paid and got off...
I had everything in that auto rickshaw... music, science, health, theology and philosophy... The fun ride is over... again back to Auto Rickshaw... driver who does not sing... and do not speak philosophy... And who do not speak English.

Now onwards I am expecting more from any auto rickshaw drivers so that I don’t have to write these again.