Posh Avenues-5

In front of the shop facing the tarmac road edged with dust and litters were three able men: one quite hairy with long hair who could have been mistaken for some Bollywood star had it not been for his foul language, the rest squatting by a brown sack of orange and lemons. When the youngest among them two squatting rose to lift the sack with the intention to pour down the fruits. Some ran down towards the road, promptly he hurried off to get them. The young man said something which made the rest giggle, and then the Bollywood-wannabe’s face turned crimson red, he rose holding a long iron rod tipped with a hook, then the producer of the joke rose and darted off. He apologized, then the Bollywood man dropped the rod and went back to sit. Was he reacting in an acceptable fashion to the other person’s joke with the rod?

Further down from the juice shop was a narrow bridge which ran over a dry creek with the bed filled with thick refuse. On the parapets of the bridge perched tens of men, each holding a small bag containing painting brush, saws, hammers, chisels, etc. They were mostly workers from either Bihar or Utter Pradesh. In the near distance, on the bed of the creek, an intense work was going on to extend the track of Delhi metro train. The men were waiting for some contractors or foremen to come and pick them for the day.

After the bridge lines of shops began, some selling earthen pots, fire woods, grocery items, some selling tea and samosa , and behind huge woks on stoves. Few metres further from the tea and samosa place sat an old man below an area shaded by a low awning, his face wasn’t visible as he was reading a magazine. He had all the major newspapers and magazines put out on a board. Reading newspapers in school days was quite an important activity, now I only scanned them and hardly bothered to read those magazines with articles in the same patterns. Among those magazine was a tiny one which looked different, and it could be mistaken for Indian version of Granta. I wouldn’t easily judge it by the Granta-like cover, but it was for twenty bucks.

On the steps of Delhi metro I sat down to glance the contents, and my eyes settled to pick one interview of a young writer. The interviewer introduces him as the country’s most prolific young writer. And the interview begins with who inspired him and what was it like craps. They talk about forms, creation of characters and how art works are appreciated in India. As the conversation grow and becomes intense, the writer begins to talk just like his Naipaul. The more he talked , his intention to parody the other writer becomes clear.

It would have been better if he had said “I am trying to talk just like him, you know.” In the later part of the interview he criticises some writer who he didn’t want to parody because the writer goes across the country and around the world railing against the Indian hypocrisy. According to him it is gross that she had mentioned at some place that in India people even couldn’t gather for discussion and lives could easily be taken away.

Perhaps Taseer’s privileged background and his lack of experience among the real people subject to real confrontations made him talk like that. His parents must have encouraged him at an early age to read stuff like Proust, and unlike others he must have developed mastery over the English language. I bet he knows about those people who can afford to work out in high-class gyms and think of an India where everything is rosy. But I would say he is more ignorant than an ape when it comes to what people go through in places like the J&K and the North-East India. I read Roy’s works years back, her works after that have been quite polemical and they centre around the issues which the Indian media prefer overlook. For those people, the victims, she is a saviour who has lent her voice. Who among the well-educated have come out to battle for these peoples? So he has touched something which he doesn’t understand and will never. He is a creative writer who understands humanity so little that the only credit he deserves is his mastery over juggling words.

To be Continued.........