Posted on Saturday, September 18, 2010 | By Gautam | In #TrueStory , fiction , Mumbai , random
An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind~ Gandhi
A poke in the eye will make Mumbaikars blind.
Picture this: A street strewn apart with construction, clogged gutters, ankles submerged in water, a continuous supply of humans from either side, rains lashing and wetting masses with whatever paltry means they have to protect themselves (rain gods must be having a good time watching all this, live). Everyone just wants to get into or out of the local station. And then you have a beautiful, petite figure walking towards you with a sense of urgency. There's an unmistakable ruthlessness in her strut. But that innocent face hides a sinister secret. A secret that you're going to find out soon.
Very soon.
The Mumbai mob pushes you forward towards your destiny. There's a poke. Pain starts to grip your entire head. Soon you feel it all over your body. There's a moment of blindness (pray that it isn't permanent). Giddy, you come back to your senses with rage getting the better of your rationale. You turn around to catch hold of your attacker. But the cold, wet, emotionless mob pushes you further. Your femme fatale is long gone. You curse her, the rains, crowd, the infrastructure, government (maybe even your birth!!!) et all.
But you vow to take revenge. A revenge against the system. The crowd. You walk like a man who has found meaning in his life. Pushing aside and cursing, somewhere in the crowd your figure disappears; nudging, elbowing and pushing aside fellow humans. Humanity died today. You are now a part of a vicious cycle, engulfed by the monster that is Mumbai. At a poke. The weapon of choice: A rather innocent looking umbrella.
Gandhi died today.
Based on a true story. No humans were harmed during the course of writing.
A poke in the eye will make Mumbaikars blind.
Picture this: A street strewn apart with construction, clogged gutters, ankles submerged in water, a continuous supply of humans from either side, rains lashing and wetting masses with whatever paltry means they have to protect themselves (rain gods must be having a good time watching all this, live). Everyone just wants to get into or out of the local station. And then you have a beautiful, petite figure walking towards you with a sense of urgency. There's an unmistakable ruthlessness in her strut. But that innocent face hides a sinister secret. A secret that you're going to find out soon.
Very soon.
The Mumbai mob pushes you forward towards your destiny. There's a poke. Pain starts to grip your entire head. Soon you feel it all over your body. There's a moment of blindness (pray that it isn't permanent). Giddy, you come back to your senses with rage getting the better of your rationale. You turn around to catch hold of your attacker. But the cold, wet, emotionless mob pushes you further. Your femme fatale is long gone. You curse her, the rains, crowd, the infrastructure, government (maybe even your birth!!!) et all.
But you vow to take revenge. A revenge against the system. The crowd. You walk like a man who has found meaning in his life. Pushing aside and cursing, somewhere in the crowd your figure disappears; nudging, elbowing and pushing aside fellow humans. Humanity died today. You are now a part of a vicious cycle, engulfed by the monster that is Mumbai. At a poke. The weapon of choice: A rather innocent looking umbrella.
Gandhi died today.
Based on a true story. No humans were harmed during the course of writing.
