A tale of four cities

So T made a mockery of the three word rule. And he blogs as often as a constipated orangutan does its business. And he is random. No matter. He shall be forgiven. For his name is nobody. (Another’s name is red though personally feel that it is not interesting enough to be read). And he is s____. God bless his soul. God or rather the Quintessential Personification of Hope, QPH, my God.

Gurgaon is a wonderful city. Village. Urban village. As I stood with M on the balcony of his guesthouse room on my last day there, gazing at the menagerie of malls and men and all things concrete, I felt strangely comfortable in this confused fusion of rapid commercial development, teeming immigrant professionals and the indigenous population trying hard to cope up with the numerous immigrants accompanying the furious expansion. I think it was something to do with the comfortable speed of life. Comfortably slow. Uneventful for most parts, but with its share of fascinating days as well. Fantastic days. As a thin stream of smoke escaped the balcony in search of some unattainable destination creating a hazy veil over a distant show of fireworks heralding some lucky couple’s entry into holy matrimony, M expressed his mild dislike of this place – its coldness in the midst of the contrived warmth of crowds. I let a noticeably loud silence express my mixed emotions to his harsh opinion.

Bangalore has been kind enough to welcome me back. When I was younger, this was the garden city where people sought a moment of peace and solace to console their hectic stressed lives. Or so was my perception. But now it is yet another unenviable and inevitable victim of the timeless human desire for continued success and prosperity. But tell us about the weather, won’t you kind H? Of course. Pleasant and snug with an eternal hint of rain, constantly providing entertainment through an unending game of hide-and-seek with the sun. Rainbows, clear as you would ever see, brightening up your day merely by their presence. Making up for all the irksome traffic of men and vehicles, loud, continuous and rude traffic, all of whom are rushing around for some activity which has the proverbial urgency and patience of time and tide.

In our world, indolence has turned into having nothing to do, which is a completely different thing; a person with nothing to do is frustrated, bored, is constantly searching for the activity he lacks. – Milan Kundera, Slowness

Off to Bombay for the weekend. Apparently our apartment contract is ending and our landlord has decided he has had enough of us. So P, T and I are homeless. Homeless in the beautiful city of brilliant lights and inviting sea faces. T and I think we like the situation. Nomadic we shall be.

Sitting in the airport with T, waiting for the boarding announcement, bombarded by constant messages of delayed flights and sincere regrets by ladies paid to be apologetic. We are in a race to reach our base city, having chosen two different airlines. Our flights play along with us not being able to decide which one should be the first to leave. T talks of a character he has met who had introduced himself as a hybrid and one who used both sides of his brain. He who has infused a new sense of fashion in our style-challenged lives. T makes remarks, both rude and insightful, about the appropriateness of colour and elegance of clothes on the many passengers biding their time away. Our boarding happens simultaneously. We stand up and walk away in silent smirking, alluding to fake wishes of good luck.

Normally a flight from Bangalore to Bombay takes an hour and a half. Its been 6 hours since we parted ways. Neither the winner. T could still potentially win. Lets hope for his sake he doesn’t. Inclement weather in Bombay caused my flight to return by which time I had lost all enthusiasm to try again. T’s flight is still stuck. In the capital of the abstinent land, with an uncertain future. Poor T. He is not as fortunate as I, who on diagnosis of the situation as a warning from QPH, have decided to fly to my real base city. Chennai.

Just to make the title a little more appropriate, I have decided to add this last section which may sound unconnected. But I have to.

It was the best of times, it was the best of times.

Thanks, QPH. Thanks for listening.

Smiles,

H