Was listening to ARR yesterday. ‘Slumdog
Millionaire’. I really am surprised by how this man always sends me to a
state of trance combined with hypnotism through his compositions. There is a
track, ‘Dreams on Fire’, which couples melancholic strings with the
partially masculine voice of Suzanne d’Mello. Wow.. A typical lullaby type.. I
was enjoying it. Closing my eyes, I wondered what my dreams were and are….
Ok. So, I started with this sub –
conscious therapy (Remember the flashback of Vikram in ‘Anniyan’??) Oh,
hey.. help me!!! It seemed as if I was falling somewhere into a dark well.
Then, I landed there. Where? I looked up and around to see that I was a little,
4 – year – old child, sitting peacefully on mom’s lap in a bus. Well, well…
Fine. This is the day when my first ever dream started butterflying.
Those were the days when I asked mom
too many questions. Excerpts: “Why don’t you feed me nowadays but just give
milk in tumbler?”, “Why can’t a baby be born before people get married?”
Now, back to the scene. There were many people in the bus, most of them
laughing at me. Some, in the prejudice of making me laugh, made awry facial
expressions (Maybe, I must have got ‘enlightened’ there because I have never
shown those ‘plastic surgery face’ kind of expressions to any baby ever since).
Wait!!! When everybody was either
sitting or standing, only one man was walking here and there. He was in khaki
overalls, holding some papers that varied in colors from violet to red and with
a handbag. I noticed him keenly. There was more to explain about him. He had a
whistle in his mouth, which he was blowing periodically. And, there was also a
pen stuck in the gap between his right ear and face. He asked something to dad
for which he replied. Then, that khaki man gave three blue papers and got money
from dad. Then came that striking moment. He suddenly opened his handbag and
shook it in some weird fashion. The bag responded with a ‘cling clang’
noise. Out came some coins and he handed them over to dad. (Later, I learnt
that he was the ‘conductor’ and those papers were ‘tickets’) He went on
doing this to all the other people after which he sat in a different seat. He
took out a sheet and ticked here and there. Then, he made some notes. I was
watching him as if I had been ‘moon – blinked’. Dad and mom were
surprised because I hadn’t spoken a word with them during the whole travel.
Even I didn’t know at that time that I had had a ‘dream job’.
I don’t know how many schools still have this tradition, but
during my 1st standard, there was the tradition of asking about our ‘so
– called’ passion. (If a 6 – year – old is asked today, he/she would detail
about the pros and cons of engineering and medicine. Watch ‘Kutti Chutties’ to
know more :P) All students were trained to answer the question in a
particular tone. ‘My aim iiiiiiissssss to become a……’ followed by their
dream. The replies were alien to me: President, collector, doctor, cricketer,
bank manager et al. When my turn came, I was anxious and a bit nervous. That
was not a hesitation to express my desire but I was afraid of speaking (I
heard you uttering, “bluffer”. Oh, believe me, in those days, I was so.) I
eventually managed, “My aim iiiiiiissssss to become aa……….. conductor”.
I opened my eyes and came back to
reality. Do not imagine I got embarrassed by the giggles and guffaws of the
other students. Nobody laughed. Only my teacher had that expression ‘which has
not and cannot be named’. Maybe, the other guys were not aware about who a
conductor was. But, I was and still am confident that I didn’t say those words
intentionally. That day taught me about ‘sub – conscious mind’ albeit my
being so young to even realize that. The ‘cling clang’ of the coins and
the conductor’s skill of taking out only few of the large pile of coins always
fancy me till date. After the arrival of the ticket printer, there is no possibility
of seeing those colorful tickets except for some town buses.
Next in the playlist was the Theme
Music of the movie, ‘Bombay’. (I still feel proud while showing my
ARR collections to my friends; There’s everything from ‘Roja’ to ‘Million
Dollar Arm’) Again, a slow, low – toned instrumental. Closing my eyes, I
tried to rewind the time machine. Wow… Now, an 8 – year - old, about 4 feet
tall, was sitting in a hotel with his mom and dad. I wondered why in the earth
we had gone there when mom could make delicious food even at home. There were
other questions, too: “Why don’t we have these many tables in our own dining
room?”, “When will we go back home?” When I was about to shoot them
in a chaotic manner, I noticed that there were some people roaming here and
there with clothes that resembled my school uniform.
By then, I had registered in my mind that people who walk
when majority are being seated are to be termed ‘conductors’. So, I asked
mom, “Are we travelling somewhere, ma? Is this a bus or hotel? Why does this
place contain these many ‘conductors’?” At that moment, one of the ‘conductors’
arrived. I was afraid because I thought he would beat and slap me heavily for
some reason. The ‘bus kind of’ conversation happened here also, but in a
different manner. Now, I had ‘mastered’ the art of listening to other people’s
chat. He first greeted us with a smiling face. I noticed that he had smeared
too much of sandhanam and vibudhi one above the other such that
his forehead itself looked like an half – boiled egg. Dad told him something in
a very calm manner. (Even today, the only person whom I can’t eavesdrop is
dad; He almost always converses in a serene tone) I could hear some words,
but in an obscure and disorderly way: ‘Dosa, plates, poori, (some number)’
He nodded and went. I wondered how much more time I had to
wait to eat. Then, I saw that these ‘Men In Uniform’ were carrying
plates with various food items, ranging from idlis to chapathis to different
tables. I could sense ‘Butterfly Effect v2.0’!!! Shortly, our ‘conductor’
arrived with three plates, carrying them effortlessly. He placed them neatly in
our table and waited without another word. When dad signaled him that it was
over, he bowed slightly and went to the entrance. By then, I was really
enthused and thrilled by this sequence of incidents, right from our seating in
the table. He returned with a black book, which when opened contained a white
paper. Dad kept some money in it and returned it to him. Then, he also gave
that man a 5 – rupee – note. (When I was 8, 5 rupees was an amount worth a ’Milk
Bikis’ packet)
While returning home in TVS Champ, I was bursting with
a list of queries. First in the series came, “Why did you pay for eating?”
After I had got a convincing reply, I geared up for the next. “Then, why did
you give some money to that ‘conductor’?” Mom is a woman who is never taken
aback by the stupid inquisitiveness of her child. So, she explained me
everything. And, on that day, I came to know that the ‘smiling face uncle’ was
a waiter.
Whew….!!! After all, dad had to work separately to earn money
and spend some other time for eating daily. This man had no such issues. He
could earn and eat, simultaneously. (It was then at 12 or 13 that I learnt
waiters couldn’t eat every kind of dish that they served; they were allotted a
separate menu, which was by far limited) Oh, I forgot to mention one of my
interesting habits. I used to smell each and every food item mom made. That
satisfied my hunger to the 50% mark. Now, I imagined how much food this guy
could smell daily. It easily could go beyond ending my hunger.
