The Richer and Poorer

Who decides who is rich and who is a beggar?

Who can tell how life makes a man richer than a rich or poorer than a poor?

Who fixes the deal between a penny and a beggar's hand?

Story 1#

It was the month of April, not a peak season for flyers. The man in flat number 210 was checking out cheap flights to fly back home this summer, considering it will be significantly hot in the western part of India. However tickets might come easy to pocket. But still he finds, for three people up and down, the amount is endangering his next month's post tax deduction cash in hand, his daughter’s annual school fees to be paid in next 2 months and the next installment of their house.

Bimol, the security guard from the North East , sitting in the parking lot area of the same building was thinking about his bank balance. It's been 12 years he is in this city. With his 10k salary package he has been managing father's treatment in the native, brother's higher studies and now he has a baby. So this April he will leave the city forever to reunite with his family. His next plan? Well not thought so much, he might buy an auto and give his tractor to rent or he can also drive . As of now, last time he leaves the city he wants to make it big. So this time, no, he's not gonna spend 4 nights in 3 tier sleepers.

After an hour..

The man shuts down his laptop, cancelling the tour plan in dejection.

Just then, Bimol rings the doorbell of 210. The man opens the door. Bimal handed over 6000/-  cash,‘ sir ji, mera flight ticket karwado zara, ye raha ticket ka paisa, advance ( slaying his broad wrinkled smile)’.

#Story 2

It's 5 days to celebrate Diwali. Avinash retired from his office 4 months back. This is the first Diwali in 30 years he won't need to apply leaves to visit his ailing parents. He won't be buying new clothes for the orphanage his father was running for last couple of years; it was such an 'unnecessary expenditure’ he used to complain all the time. After many years , this time he wouldn't argue with mother on selling the old rusty house and settling down with him comfortably.

This Diwali, Kalki has got a new home, a new room, and 12 sisters.This Diwali they will lighten up the aangan with Diyas and there will be their Dada and Dadi…..Smiling from the beautiful black n white frame.

This Diwali, they are no more.

#Story 3

Vignesh is famous in his class. Not because he always brings 100 in math, but because of his tiffin box. The ordinary stainless steel made square lunch box, two tiny compartments inside.His box always contains tastiest aloo ki sabji or yummy sabudana khichdi. And often he unfolds surprise coconut ladoo under the chappatis.

Rihanna, the biggest fan of his lunch box,is secretly so jealous of him. She gets 100 Rupees everyday to buy lunch in the canteen.

Maya ordered a corn spinach sandwich and a small shot of espresso. The waitress returned with cappuccino. Wrong table. Furious customer.Maya complained to the manager, made a scene about how uneducated unorganised the waitress is, in the crowded coffee shop.

Unknowingly…...Rihanna's mother took a revenge for the tasty dabba her daughter was jealous of. That night Vignesh announced 'Ma when I grow up I won't let you work in that coffee shop again!’

Love where you live, live where you love

02.01.2010, that was the date.I boarded my first flight and my father too. It was morning 06.50 AM flight, Kolkata to Bangalore, Kingfisher Airlines.

Now the airlines does not operate any more, so does my grainy memory,on the flight experience. Only things I remember are I got a window seat, saw the clouds above the sky and then the sky above the realm of clouds. In-flight idli-sambar-chutney did showed the upcoming trailer of the city cuisine.

And yes. I was strangely more excited than nervous, it was the first time I was out of the comfort zone of home yet I was surprisingly confident and charged up to see what's next.

7 years passed by ever since I landed up here in this city. 7 years which delivered the most critical turning points of my life.

First cubicle bearing my name plate,

First laptop I bought and hugged like a baby,

First time I braved to live alone in a flat,

First ticket I bought and I travelled alone,

My first blog- first grammatical mistakes,

My first guitar- first chord out of tune,

My first camera- first disaster in lightmeter,
My first child and how I met his father,

My first car and my hilarious confidence.

In 7 years  conversations like “ I am from Kolkata, live in Bangalore” has been slowly changing to “in Bangalore where I stay, life is…”.

My macher jhol ( fish curry) -rice has somehow got engaged with akki roti and green chutney and they are soon to be married in one plate one day.

Surprisingly at this point of time, I have less Bengali friends in this city than number of friends who doesn't speak Bengali. And that's wonderful. Over the years, living with them,sharing my room,my desk,cubicles,lunch table, weekends have made me realise language doesn't matter. For that matter I still talk aweful hindi ( yes the usual gender + verb problems of ‘ti’ and 'ta’) but that never made my day bad.

This city has taught me how to live baggage free, how to travel luggage free, how to take responsibility,pay bills,save money,look into the maps,plan trips overnight, search house,pack up and unpack your household again and again, live with anyone who's a stranger but as stranger as you, and also how to live alone if needed.

Bangalore is changing fast, so do I.

Greenery and open fields, those beautiful walking lanes of BTM and J P Nagar are converting to traffic lanes, 9 km E city flyover doesn't give the best view it used to give 6 years back, Corner House has increased their rates, 13th Floor is always crowded nowadays, the old lady of the kachori shop in HAL market is not there any more,and so is the 6th Ballygunge Place in Indira Nagar, amazing 144 happened last year and how it shut down life for 48 hours,Bangalore traffic time that surging like global warming, and so do the price of a mere 700 sq feet flat in residential areas.

Most of the old good friends have left the city, all scattered here and there. Facebook, Watsapp failed to bridge the gap between coffee cups we left in office pantries or over a weekend adda.

Memories always make me write same old nostalgic melodrama. May be 7 years made me old, not to blame my greying hair.

So ,here is the final line:

When life gives you “Bangaluru” , cheer up” Namma Bangaluru”