Beethoven and the Symphony of a Chetak Scooter

There exists no greater adversity than what Indian men have to go through every single night. They take it upon themselves to prove their valour and mettle in a fashion similar to that of their ancestors who had fought the great battles of Independence.

Confused? Let me illustrate through another example. Imagine a train compartment. 1 college student, desperately in need of sleep. 7 middle aged men. The college student hears the entire Beethoven’s symphony on a 100-piece orchestra. Don’t understand how 7 men can sound like a 100?

Clarification: The orchestra is the ear-splitting, nerve wracking, absolutely eternal snoring of Indian men. Yes, the louder they are, the braver they act in their dreams. That’s how modern men have chosen to fight their battles.

But just like in an orchestra, different instrumentalists contribute uniquely to the melody.

The gentle snorers are the messengers. Constant rhythm, constant pitch. They might even seem cute. Might work like a sound machine that sings a gentle lullaby to put you to sleep in a swaying hammock.

Then comes the snorer with false pretences. They take a loud breath in, but while breathing out sound like a popped balloon. They usually have snout stuck in their respiratory tracks or drill on their chins. And not in a cute baby kind of way. They sound like someone is forcing them to do Kapaalbharti in their dreams.

Then comes the real deal. The trumpet snorers. The false snorers consider them their idols. They have loud, uneven and obnoxious snores. Yes. They put their heart and soul into it. They make sure there exists absolutely no tempo, no rhythm. After all, that’s how they surprise their enemies. You can also imagine trying to start an old Chetak scooter. Yes, exactly the sound you remember. That’s what these fancy snorers sound like.

But the most harmful of them all are the competitive snorers. They lose in snoring matches as gracefully as Monica did the Gellar Cup. They gauge what the intensity of their enemy-snorers will be, and match that. They see it as a guitar riff-off battle. Or the jugalbandi of tablas. Either way, they are into professional snoring.

Granted that it might be due to a medical condition. But I just want to check if these men know they have a condition. And yes, women snore too. But when has the vacuum tight patriarchy ever let women warriors fight it out on the battlefield?

Remember the college student who couldn’t sleep? Yes Sherlock, that was me. Was this my way of ranting about middle-aged men with congested respiratory tracks? Perhaps.

Dilwale Dulhaniya Nahi Lejayenge

Go to BITS, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Oh, it was fun. The most surprising thing I took back from this trip was a lesson on women empowerment and the fact that never trust your Uber driver. Here goes nothing.

25th October, 2018.

5:00am : Three of us were waiting outside the college gates, you know for those who were (deliberately) running late. No worries.

6:00am : S and I secretly mocked a jogger, who had actually not bothered us at all. But us having absolutely nothing better to do, we contemplated how one can be stupid enough to sacrifice his sweet sleep for ‘exercising’. Huh, where are the other people?

6:10am: Tired of waiting now, SD, S and I hailed an Uber, put in the destination as Sarai Rohilla Railway Station and settled in.

6:30 am: SD brings up the Google Maps, realises that we in fact ,have traveled in the complete opposite direction to Sarai Kalle, instead of Sarai Rohilla. (Psst…our train was to leave at 7:00 sharp. The journey from my college to Sarai Rohilla took about 30 minutes. And we were now at a place at least 20 minutes from my college) This was going to be fun!
Having had a lively conversation with the Uber driver, we started off towards the correct destination.

6:40 am: We notified the driver that our train leaves at 7:00 sharp. After this, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The driver (we’ve called him the driver too many times for my liking now, let’s name him, Dum-Dum (this is in no way a reflection of his intellectual capacity, okay?! )) underwent a metamorphosis. The change was not only at a spiritual level, but he changed physically. He sat up straighter, his eyes sparkled, he gripped the wheel a little too hard. Dum-Dum had transformed into a Marvel superhero. And his exact words were, “Udade?”
The three of us were bamboozled. How could we deny Dum-Dum his superhero moment? Also, we decided it’ll be better to spend the days laying in a hospital bed, than willingly accept the fact that we can’t make it. We nodded out heads in unison. And then we flew. We flew over other cars. We glided over red traffic lights. We were immune to the sweet melody of horns being honked at us, as glided through the air.

6:47 am: We crossed the gates of my College.

6:55 am: S goes into despair and says we should just turn back. The adrenaline filled me was not having any of that. SD joked that it’ll be fun to see the train pull out of the platform as soon as we step out of the cab. I knew she was just as anxious as I was.

6:58 am: We stumbled out of the cab at the correct destination, this time. I had already paid the amount to Dum-Dum according to what SD had told me. I could hear the horn of the Salasar Inter-City Express (our train) in the distant. Two porters came running towards us. Dum-Dum was dismounting our luggage from the over head carrier, directly onto the porter’s heads. The three of us were grabbing our backpacks. Dum-Dum comes up to me and goes, ” You’ve paid me Rs 45/- less”. I still have no clue exactly what descended over me, but I stared at him so hard; I’m sure he glimpsed the portals of hell in my eye sockets while I just said,”Kasam se, agar apki wajah se train chutti toh….” (I swear, if the train leaves without us…) He scurried off to get the rest of the luggage down.

7:00 am: Before, we knew what was happening, we were running, as fast as these ‘un-exercised’ legs would carry us. We had to run up a staircase, along an overhead bridge and then down a flight of stairs. We were panting like our lives depended on it. The porter’s were running behind us too, calling out phrases of encouragement, ” Aap bhago beta, hum peeche aa rahe hai. Rukko mat beta.” (You children keep running, we are right behind you. Don’t stop.) And the only thought that crossed my mind was that he didn’t say that he was actually following us. They could have run off in the opposite direction, with our luggage. That’ll be a real shame and really cinematic.

7:02 am: We practically flew down the rest of the stairs to the platform. Seeing the Salasar Inter-City Express still there, we were rejuvenated. SD and I got onto the first coach we saw. S followed behind with thee two porters. As soon as they threw out luggage inside the coach, the train started of with a thud. SD quickly paid the porter’s (who really did over-charge).

7:03 am: Now inside the coach, next to the toilets, we stood panting like pigs. Followed by laughing like mad propel for the next several minutes. When we finally caught our breath, and realising we were in a General coach, we asked a man standing next to us, if this was indeed the Salasar Inter-City Express. He shrugged his shoulders. I mean did that guy have a death wish? Even if it wasn’t, looking at us, he should have just said yes, right? Then he does go on to confirm that it was the correct train. He adds smugly, ” You people know, it is only today that this train started a little late. Otherwise it is exactly on time”. Geez, this guy really had a death wish.

7:12 am: After a few frantic searches on the internet, we realised that the train will stop at Delhi-Cantt next. But guess what? Only for 2 minutes. I made a note in the back of my mind to curse whoever makes these unrealistic schedules. We got down. Having absolutely zero clue as to which way our correct coach was. We started running off in a direction. After what seemed like a blink of an eye, the train started moving too. This was not happening. We had not nearly killed ourselves in the cab and then again while running to miss the train here. I held onto a bar, swung my luggage in, threw myself in. I did not care for any injuries, as far as I was on the train. Picking myself off, I peeked out to look for SD and S. I did not see them. This meant they got on, right? after frantically messaging them about their whereabouts, I realized they got on.

7:16 am: As these were not General coaches (tho still the wrong ones for us) they came up ahead. And now we started off towards our correct coach. This time, thankfully, from inside the train itself.

7:18 am: We reunited with the other members of our team and sat down. I’m not very sure, if there was an applause, because the wind had been knocked out of me.

7:20 am: I set on the task of discovering why I was unable to call using my phone. Yes, this entire time, my phone, for whatever stupid reason, was not functioning. Cherry on top, you could call it.

12:57 pm: We reached Loharu Railway Station, you know our destination.

Every adult that I’ve told this to, has advised me to leave for my destination with plenty of buffer time from next time onwards. What I have learned from this is far different. Here are the two things I have learnt the hard way-

•Karma is a bitch. Remember the innocent jogger we made fun of? And look who had to run in a life-or-death situation. Exaggeration I know. Moreover, make sure that I have enough stamina to run away or to (depending on the situation) the catastrophic events in my life.

•The second thing I learnt that day was, I am the Simran AND the Raj in my DDLJ flick. No one was around to offer me a hand while I nearly dismantled myself. That’s women empowerment for you all. Don’t wait for your Rajs to offer help. Be an independent Simran, who does not wait for a dramatic ,”Jaa Simran, jaa. Jee le apni zindagi.” ( Go, Simran. You are free to enjoy your life.)

We gave Dum-Dum  4 stars out of 5.

Not Cool Man. Not Cool.

I call everyone’s attention to a prevailing issue. It is such a horrid pathological sickness and the fact that it has been ignored till date is alarming. Let me illustrate this using an incident I encountered.
My professors were on strike. Classes had been cancelled. I was happy and hungry. I stepped up to a food cart, ordered a sandwich and after waiting for what seemed like a millennia, I was handed that delectable plate with a gorgeous sandwich staring into my soul, making me realise how deprived I’d been, how ravished, how starved. Turning around with these delicious thoughts, a man, a predator, the devil himself, pushed me sending my sandwich flying off to the ground in the slowest of motion I have ever experienced. Following which he tweaked an eyebrow and scurried of to his hell-hole. Is this what I get? Not an offer to buy me a new one? ( I would have said yes, if you’re wondering) not even an apology? Dude, you just wasted a perfectly good sandwich and my mood for that matter, and you can’t even blurt out a sorry? Who raised you? How did you turn into this fiend? Even the eye contact did not make you realise your fault. Man, you need to know that a tweaked eyebrow did nothing to the sandwich, that was now lying there in despair, looking outright sad and pitiable. Dude, you were even oblivious to the how-disappointed-I-am-in-the-entire-male-race expression I had on my face.

Through this I would like to appeal to everyone who reads this, it’s okay to mess up sometimes, but make sure to buy the other person a new sandwich before strutting out of there.

Also you might be wondering why I haven’t described the man in detail, cough cough, but if I did he would be easily recognisable, and that might end up in him being boycott. I don’t want to do that to him (and also the fact that I have no recollection of how he looked. I just went up and bought myself a wrap).