Not all that bad (Part2)

You need to look beyond.Say, you take a walk from the metro station to my apartment.
First, you will learn to ignore the whistles and provoking comments by the pan chewing, gutka dribbling bidi fuming men who idle aorund there all day.Next you will have to learn to be oblivious to the well-practiced but heart-afflicting appeal for spare coins from the few street urchins(that will be easy as time passes especially if you discover them smoking bidis behind the metro car parking area,and hurling offensive abuses at each other for making off with one of their 'bottle' or something of similar nature).
In the next 100 metres you will come to the line of furniture shops,this is the most irritating of all.Every half hour or so,the men in the shops gurgle and like skilled showmen,throw the jet stream from their mouth ,right in the middle of the street.They may hold the water in their mouth a little longer ,if a car happens to pass,but not for passers-by on foot.
By now,you may curse the place,but just then you see a teen-aged school boy guiding a blind-elderly man by the hand,to safety,even as his mom yells at him,from the balcony overlooking the street and threatens him with dire consequences if he doesnt come into the house immediately.He turns a deaf ear to his mom and an attentive ear to his young conscience.You smile inwardly,first at his obstinacy and then ,at his thougtfulness.
Walk a few more steps, and you cross the half crazed destitute who wears a bandage on his forehead for as long as you have seen him.He is peacefully sleeping on the footpath, you know that he sleeps here .All day,he loiters in the nearby streets.Someone who lives in one of the apartments closeby,provides him blankets every night and warm clothes too.Someone else provides him 2 square meals a day.
Finally,you reach the rented apartment called home.On the stairway,you meet your landlady.First thing she asks is"have you eaten anything today?".Reminds you of mom,years ago,asking the same when you got back home from school,sensing you skipped lunch.
Even though you smile and nod your head,your landlady assumes the authority of your mom and orders you to change and quickly come down to her for some lunch."You will collapse soon,if you dont eat well."
You did come down.Inspite of all your reservations and shyness,its hard to refuse her.
And at the end of it all,you will see that there are many wrongs in this large strange dirty Indian city,still some things warm your heart towards its people.If you stay long enough,they will have won you over.

Not All that bad

At a gathering,a young man with sparkling eyes,who worked for the army announced, how proud he was to have been born in this country, and given a chance,would smilingly lay is life down for it.Hearing this , a drunk cynic remarked, "Sure , you ought to be.Because if you live to retire, you may go home with a few medals and a pension benefit, perhaps.But if you get your 'chance' the media will cover you,and the country will thank the hero-that-was.Atleast for a little while you will be a celebrity.Nevermind that after a few days your memories are trashed with the old newspapers.O ,Dont wonder about your family at all, the country promises 25 kg of rice every month, at Rs3 a kg.What fortune that you were born here!"
There indeed are no ends to the atrocities prevailing.The deserving dont get their dues.The corrupt,prosper.The ruthless are celebrated,the gentle are taken to be fools.Those in authority and power treat others as their inherited slaves and keep the seats within their family.Those who can make a difference if they wanted , do not have the much needed vertebra.The poor are hapless ,rich are crushing while the rest in the middle - think that the whole country is an extension of their dumpyards.
One is awestruck at the sheer lack of basic civic sense or responsible parenting - leave alone the hope of contemplative responsible citizenry.Its quite commonplace to find the neighbour carry his three little children together on one bike ,to school everyday.Or the shopkeeper dispose his waste just on the sides of the pavement, or the pedestrian spit his phlegm in a parabolic motion - nonchalant whether it landed neatly on the other man who walked barely a metre behind him.
Apparently, there is no reason to be proud.But there is more to this country than meets the eye

What if?

Someone suggested to me that regular practice and discipline is the key to creativity..Or is it?Have we not come across those who have written spontaneously and engagingly from the time they ever begun to write?Remember those essay competitions in school which were invariably won by only a handful,and in every grade the same faces won?
But, I like to believe my suggester..That gives more hope and more control over one's abilities