50 Rupees

Yesterday, on the way to my gym (yesss...folks, I am trying to treat my body like a temple and it is no fun. ), it was around 6 am and I was the only person on the street. One has to be very careful when walking through the streets of Old Rajinder Nagar, Delhi thanks to the doggy poo lying around (a rant post on this in the offing) and there I was carefully walking with my head down looking out for potential "mines" and I saw a crisp 50 rupee note just lying there in the middle of the street. I checked for any strings or attachments to see if it was a part of some one's early morning joke but I found none.

I wrestled with my conscience as to whether I should pick it up and if I did pick the note what would I do with it ? And then I had a flashback.....

1997 I was in college and practically starving, I lived on a sum of Rs. 100 per week and one week, the horrid landlord that we had took 100 bucks off us for carrying out some "repairs" and there I was left with no money for the week. I managed the first two days going without breakfast and then on the third day, I really ahd no clue as to how I was going to make it till the end of the month. I was scared and worried and I did not want to borrow from any one. I just sat down in the college library and prayed with tears.

After college got over, I began walking back to my room and once again I was on a deserted road and I found a 50/= note just lying there (sounds cliched but I swear it's the truth)and I looked around, saw nobody and decided to pick it up. The saved me and lasted me till I received my next meagre replenishment.


Standing there now, 12 years later staring at a similar situation, I recalled my earlier need and desperation and I took a decision. I decided to let the note lie there . On my way back, I saw that the note had gone and I hoped that either :


a. the person who had dropped had picked it up or,
b. a really needy person had come across and found the money just like I had years ago.

Cool-Cooler-Coolest

My thoughts on reading through some exhchanges of "scraps" and "wall posts" on Orkut and Facebook amongst some old foes from my school days :

At 14 - They were hip and cool in school.

At 24 - They thought that they were hip and cool...and not so far from school.

At 34 - They are still trying to be hip and cool...still living in their dad'd pockets like they did in school. (Never found the time to get a means livelihood)...........The TWB takes a bow and continues lurking and sniggering.

The Erratic Blogger

At this rate , I really ought to change my name from the "The Weekend Blogger" to " The Erratic Blogger". I just seem to be either busy or tired. And the worst part of all this is that nothing that I am being pushed into doing has any direction nor making any sense nor giving me any pleasure. When will this madness end ?

Drawing a Blank

Buying a book is one of the greatest pleasures in my life but I don’t think that it is going to remain so for long. The reason is simple. I like to leisurely browse through the books before I make a choice and for that I need to visit one of those new age bookstores.

The problem begins when I need a specific title. I walk up to one of those smart, young assistants who eye me suspiciously as I approach them. I hesitantly name my request and I am greeted first with an absolutely blank stare and then an expression that breathes fire on the fact that I dare to ask for something that calls for some legwork and the exercise of some grey cells. I hold my ground with persistence. They realize that I am serious and then a mad rush to the computer. Some rapid staccatos on the keyboard follow with much shaking of heads before I am sheepishly asked to spell either the book’s title or the author’s name. As this is now the norm rather than the exception, I have taken my custom to the online bookshops….and yet I find myself dragged into bookshops just to feel myself surrounded by the smell of new paper and the possibilities of the words that the pages hold.

I remember one pleasantly plump assistant at a prominent bookstore in Kolkata and she was a pleasure to deal with. She knew all about the books, authors, and basic storylines in both English and Bengali. In fact, she was the one who encouraged me to try reading Bengali literature and when I hesitantly told her that I was an extremely slow reader in Bengali she gave me Ashapurna Devi’s “Prothom Pratistruti” and had me hooked. The other thing that I remember about her ( For the life of me I can’t remember her name) was the passion that she brought with her, her face glowed every time she made a recommendation or when she sought out a title that the patron wanted. I interacted with her during four or five visits and then like all good things in life she disappeared and I was back to dealing with blank faces.

I too moonlighted as a bookseller’s assistant many years ago in a bid to escape the bullying bosses and two-faced colleagues at the “shitty-bank” that I worked for …but that’s a story I’ll save for another day.