A Dull Winter's Eve

I had been lying underneath the warm orange glow of my quilt for a few hours now. Fully awake. I threw myself out of the bed in a sudden jerk. It had to be done immediately.


My room, was dark except for the ugly glow of my monitor. I turned on some music, the sound of it was strange and out of place for my room had been silent for too long...I pulled on my socks, stiff with grime, torn and cold. Then my shoes, muffler and jacket. All this before a single song was over. Its always a shame when that happens, isn't it? I turned off the music, picked my wallet and cell phone - slung my bag and stepped out into the dark corridor.

Kahan ja raha hai be??
CP!
Ladki?
Nahin!

Sometimes I cant stand it when people speak to me for no reason. They just ought to know when not to say anything to me. Well, at least they shouldn't ask stupid questions, it pisses me off beyond belief.

I escaped from the hostel, quickly and without looking at anybody. The rickshaw guys weren't around so I had to walk to the Metro station. It was an entirely uneventful walk. Because it was not the purpose of my evening. If I had set out to go for a walk (which I'd never do) I'd notice the gray brilliance of winter, feel the cold breeze or simply count my steps. But that's not why I jumped out of bed. In my mind I compared this walk to being in an elevator on the way to Floor 38 for a very important interview - wouldn't you just ignore the time spent in the elevator?

Such obscure thoughts accompanied me to the Metro station. It was more or less empty and yet the bloody security fellow didn't frisk me well enough. Almost wanted to remind them of their job - but what the hell! Any how I got too busy getting a kick out of not having to stand in queue for a token because of my fancy Metro Pass, and completely forgot about the relative ease with which one could sneak in a bomb into the station.

There are two ways of getting down to the platforms. I always took the one that was hardly used by anybody else. It was an old habit, I did it for the first few times without thinking and then I guess subconsciously it made me feel like I was different and special and nice-weird. But of course all that was crap, since nobody cared which way I took.

On the platform, the people waiting for the train are distributed in a way so as to form a normal curve. The X Axis being the train; so if I was to wait at the tail of the curve ie in front of either the first or the last coach of the train I had the greatest chance of getting an empty seat inside the train. Because the least number of people would be attempting to enter with me.

Of course, the train was always empty at Delhi University since the route commenced there, so the empty seats were always aplenty and probably everybody else also thought like I did (albeit without bringing in normal curves and X axis) but were too lazy to move to the tails.

The ride to CP would have been another dreary torture like the walk to the metro station, after all I hadn't set out to simply sit on the train. But then there was the great chance of meeting a nice lovely girl on the train and starting a grand and interesting conversation. Of course this tiny dream of mine never ever came true in almost three years of needless trips taken on the bloody train. But it was a nice little hope, always fairly possible despite the high rates of failure. Come to think of it, I was as likely to meet someone taking that stupid walk - but that would be different since we wouldn't be forcibly confined in a compartment for half an hour and therefore the chances of actually getting to have a conversation would be very bleak.

By the way - another bit of analysis. I never ever sat on a seat next to an entrance. It's the area of the coach that gets particularly crowded. Plus on subsequent station when a number of people are trying to get in the first ones that manage to shove there way into the coach are uncouth young men, followed by women of similar age and character and then the rest enter in order of increasing age. So the last to enter are the elderly folk. They stand next to the seats near the entrance and look down expectantly at you with their eyes slightly moist and their lips quivering. Or at least the overall effect is such. Now I may be anything else but I cant help but give up my seat to someone bent double with age. Its the way it is, but at the same time I hate standing through the rest of the trip. So I always chose the seats furthest away from all entrances. This I'm certain nobody else thought of...but even then I have observed that the seats next to me in a bus, train or anywhere, get filled only after there is no other place to sit at all. Maybe the others sense my hositility...

Rides in crowded trains with nobody nice to speak to can be really really boring. But after a while I didn't care much since I was so close to CP. Once there, I got off the train, hurriedly made my way through the CP station, which by the way was teeming with a million people crawling around like ants, and escaped out through the escalator...

I love escalators. I really do...especially when they lead upto CP, its like making a grand entry into an arena.

Even though I have spent a thousand needless hours roaming around the CP I always get lost there. I think its both because I'm a bumbling idiot when it comes to remembering and tracing routes and the fact that CP seems to evolve constantly. But that day I knew exactly where I had to go - I walked quickly, without looking up, as if in a purposeful trance. I didn't notice the various sounds, colours or smells of CP, and continued till I was there finally...

United Coffee House. I stood before its kitschy white door for a while, a few minutes ago I was under the warm orange glow of my quilt, in my room. Then I turned away to face the old pan-wallah who sat there faithfully, like always...I wanted to find out how long he had occupied that place. Must have been a few decades. But I didnt - left it for another day. I bought, in preparation for United Coffee house, a fresh blue pack of Camel Lights. Paid the man, and turned around to say - table for one!

Sure sir.

Typically, I have noticed they make Indians sit on the top floor, the ground floor is reserved for the firangs. Atleast thats what I believe. But today I was alone and the coffee house half empty. So I sat right in the centre of the ground floor. They were playing some cool jazz. I ordered it. Cona coffee with cream. Rs. 55/-

It came in a borosil round bottomed beaker and I was allowed unlimited refills. I dont remember what was going through my head at that time...but I do remember yawning at least once every two minutes.

Then the coffee arrived...I spent an eternity trying to perfect the proportion of sugar, milk, cram and coffee. I generally go by the colour but it takes me a while. I was celebrating. My soul danced with joy for I had complete control of my life - I had the freedom to act on the strangest of my whims and fancies. I could decide that I wanted to watch a movie even at 2 am, and not worry that I'd wake up late the next day. I could grow a beard, shave my head, wear torn clothes, eat aloo parathas and scrambled egg with tea at 4 am and fall asleep. I could listen to the loudest music, I spoke to only those I wanted to, I didn't 'need' to put up with anyone. In those days I could do what I wanted without telling anyone anything, without being asked any questions, as long as I managed within the money I was sent from home and delivered the goods (basically decent grades, which too I worked towards because I wanted to).

Another cup of coffee later, I paid my bill, got up, smiled at an old wrinkled couple, walked out of the coffee house, went down into the metro station, took the first train, didnt get a seat to sit till Kashmiri Gate, got off, took a rickshaw to the hostel, was running up to my room ...

Aa gaya ladki se mil ke?
No you meddling son of a bitch. (silently, to myself)

I was back under the warm orange glow of my quilt. Fully awake.