On the afternoon of Independence Day, i came to the Mysore Railway Station to drop my mum. Little did i know that this would be my day of significant importance.
A kid who looked like Chucky (from the horror series Child's Play) and his mum (who should have been on the goods' train for her bulk) were following me. They were to board the same train as my mum. In the chaos which signifies every unreserved compartment in Indian railways, the kid stepped on my sandal and as i yanked it out, it fell below on the rails.
One look at where my beautiful sandal was made me realize that we were better off when Laloo was the Railway's Big Daddy. It had landed between a can of Mountain Dew and Baskin Robbins look alike shit.. I decided against "Doing the Dew". Instead, i remembered a childhood game of throwing stones on cow dung and seeing who splashed the farthest. But this was not of something, but of someone's. I flung the other sandal in disgust and never looked back. I proceeded to send off my mother.
Lo and behold! that very mother-son pair were sitting right next to my mum. I kept my silence, but gave them Ghajini looks and once the train had left, i realized that the vehicle keys and wallet were with my mum. Too late. Here i was, bare feet in brown hoodies and jeans, at a railway station. Going in circles on the platform did not help, and once i had figured out the exit, i made a dash, faster than the British did in 1947.
With no money, and in an extremely foul mood, i made my own Dandi march to my house in Vijayanagar, 6 km away. My cell phone was a post paid one, but in those moments, i decided to "Boycott" my contacts. Throughout the way, i got leering looks from motorists and passersby alike. Hippie? Revolutionary? Lost? or just plain Crazy? i kept walking. Instead of Gandhi, my mind went back to Forest Gump.
45 minutes later, i was washing my feet under cool tap water. It was a huge relief, when i saw my creepy neighbor staring at me from his window. I decided to make the best use of this and signaled for help. After a brief explanation, he came back with tools, some of which i thought had been lost from our tool box. Two and half hours later, we had broken into my home. YES! I HAD BROKEN INTO MY OWN HOME! The neighbors who had conjured their opinion of me just gave a sigh and mumbled "That poor disturbed child".
Still in hoodies and bare feet, we entered through a window and even invited a carpenter to join us. We were not breaking into the British Treasury.
Whatever cash was available at home went to the carpenter and new locks, and whatever snacks and goodies i had went to the neighbor. I thanked him profusely, and he gave a broad buck tooth smile. Well fed, he dropped me to the railway station, where i punched in the spare key, started the vehicle and was at a friends place for emergency cash.
Smelling of sweat and with bathroom slippers, my friend gave me a suspicious look. Just like SIMON GO BACK, the words 'Lobo go back' were shot at me. I pleaded for support to my Rupee Revolution. Once i had the moolah, i went back, take away food in hand, gulped down the Desi brand and plonked on the bed.
66 years of Independence, and my ordeal felt like all of those years combined into one day. Walking bare feet and breaking into my own house, that's something i would never want to go through again. I love my Independence.
A kid who looked like Chucky (from the horror series Child's Play) and his mum (who should have been on the goods' train for her bulk) were following me. They were to board the same train as my mum. In the chaos which signifies every unreserved compartment in Indian railways, the kid stepped on my sandal and as i yanked it out, it fell below on the rails.
One look at where my beautiful sandal was made me realize that we were better off when Laloo was the Railway's Big Daddy. It had landed between a can of Mountain Dew and Baskin Robbins look alike shit.. I decided against "Doing the Dew". Instead, i remembered a childhood game of throwing stones on cow dung and seeing who splashed the farthest. But this was not of something, but of someone's. I flung the other sandal in disgust and never looked back. I proceeded to send off my mother.
Lo and behold! that very mother-son pair were sitting right next to my mum. I kept my silence, but gave them Ghajini looks and once the train had left, i realized that the vehicle keys and wallet were with my mum. Too late. Here i was, bare feet in brown hoodies and jeans, at a railway station. Going in circles on the platform did not help, and once i had figured out the exit, i made a dash, faster than the British did in 1947.
With no money, and in an extremely foul mood, i made my own Dandi march to my house in Vijayanagar, 6 km away. My cell phone was a post paid one, but in those moments, i decided to "Boycott" my contacts. Throughout the way, i got leering looks from motorists and passersby alike. Hippie? Revolutionary? Lost? or just plain Crazy? i kept walking. Instead of Gandhi, my mind went back to Forest Gump.
45 minutes later, i was washing my feet under cool tap water. It was a huge relief, when i saw my creepy neighbor staring at me from his window. I decided to make the best use of this and signaled for help. After a brief explanation, he came back with tools, some of which i thought had been lost from our tool box. Two and half hours later, we had broken into my home. YES! I HAD BROKEN INTO MY OWN HOME! The neighbors who had conjured their opinion of me just gave a sigh and mumbled "That poor disturbed child".
Still in hoodies and bare feet, we entered through a window and even invited a carpenter to join us. We were not breaking into the British Treasury.
Whatever cash was available at home went to the carpenter and new locks, and whatever snacks and goodies i had went to the neighbor. I thanked him profusely, and he gave a broad buck tooth smile. Well fed, he dropped me to the railway station, where i punched in the spare key, started the vehicle and was at a friends place for emergency cash.
Smelling of sweat and with bathroom slippers, my friend gave me a suspicious look. Just like SIMON GO BACK, the words 'Lobo go back' were shot at me. I pleaded for support to my Rupee Revolution. Once i had the moolah, i went back, take away food in hand, gulped down the Desi brand and plonked on the bed.
66 years of Independence, and my ordeal felt like all of those years combined into one day. Walking bare feet and breaking into my own house, that's something i would never want to go through again. I love my Independence.
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