Two Worlds...

Its a long, straight road....long, straight and usually empty, flanked on both sides by big houses belonging to big people with big cars and big bank accounts...the exact sort of houses you know you will never live in, even when you get a decent job, until and unless you marry a millionaire, the chances of which are thin and fat all at the same time. Walking down this particular road, there is the cold air that hits the face...reminder of the fact that winter is settling in...in the air and in hearts of those who reside in these quarters. Traversing this stretch are youngsters with rich parents at home, their faces alight with I Pod screens and Blackberries. Somewhere a man stands in his best evening suit with a glass in hand, waiting for his ill-paid driver to chauffeur his million dollar car (exact amount unknown. but confirmed that it is more than the amount that driver will earn in a year) right up to his front porch, so that his shiny shoes, polished by yet another ill-paid servant remain so. There are other such million dollar cars rushing past. One might spot a couple of fat women, fattened obviously with their husband's salary, hobbling along to their rhythmic heaving breathing and constant bitching, their diamonds twinkling to the street light.

Further down the road is a sharp turn and an even sharper fall...Some would like to explain this particular 'fall' as the angelic descent into Hellfire...but for me it is no such thing. It is just a simple slope as far as the road is concerned with a little police post at the corner, where fat, giggly policemen languish all day drinking tea and watching TV. As we descend...the first noticeable change is the change in air temperature...warm...and warmer still...A narrow lane runs like a crazy little kid, hitting tiny little shops and entrances to mangled, sour-faced buildings with two-roomed apartments. There is a small board by the side that reads "Model Islamic School' and only God knows what would be so very model about it since there is no school visible as such. People throng the narrow street like its a festival...and why not? it is yet another evening...which means there might just dawn a tomorrow. The 'zari' from the last Eid still hangs low overhead and the dark night sky seems to sparkle in gold and green. Young men sit on bikes eating their Kebabs, discussing hot women in burqa. Men in their after-work kurta pajama attire holding hands of little children do their evening 'ghosht' shopping, with their wives gliding silently behind...shy as if it were their first night together. Big pots over slow fire cook biryani...e-special ones, Hyderabadi ones, horrible Delhi ones...and big trays sit beside, mounted with huge pieces of meat swimming in oil and curry. Mullahs in skull caps, avadhi pajamas and unkempt beards sit inside consuming their daily dose of meat and discussing world politics against the Muslims and the glorious past of Islam, often asking the poor boy in his torn shirt for more onions to keep their discussions fueled. Embers fly from the red, hot coal burning in ovens at which men sit turning sticks of delicious kebabs...only 5 rupees a stick. Steel plates laden with kebabs, mirch kii chatni and onions get passed around the mob that surrounds them. Big Kadhaiiz bubbling with oil and sheerah bring the jalebeez to life. Beside it a dog gnaws at a hen's head chopped off that same morning in God's name.

The warmth...it never leaves...the smell of food wafting through the air...the colourful crowds...the life of the toiling masses...This is where India lives...not in the brick walls of the rich but in the simplicity and the warmth of its populace. In these sour faced buildings with poor paint peeling off like the skin of a boiled potato...lives India's soul...its intellect. Lack of opportunity, poverty, responsibilities...but I hear poetry in these ghettos...poetry and harmony...I sense dreams, desires and an inexplicable faith...a faith that people like me will forever remain deprived of...

(in memory of a journey to Zakir Nagar through New Friends Colony)

Black

I can hear the bells

Of celebration

And yet all that rings

Is nothingness.

Like laughter echoed

In a skull.

The lights have stopped

Illuminating darkness.

Nothing creeps

Into that hollow

Empty rattling space.

Not excruciating pain.

No despair.

No joyful smiles.

Not even love.

There is no more whirling white

Impregnated with a million shades.

Only black.

Black it is.

Lighting with its enormous mouth

Recesses far away...

Its eerie touch

Soft like marshmallow

Omnipresent.

Omniscient.