For those of you who thought this would be a Life-stops-at-Dehra write-alike (I am sure there is no such word) a la Ruskin Bond, you will be highly disappointed.
This is just an account of how I see the world at siesta time, from a dilapidated building in the heart of Tam land.
To come to the crux of the matter, I am hopelessly obese. As a last attempt to do a hocus-pocus on the adipose, I decided I‘d take the stairs to the seventh floor pantry, during lunch. Little did I know that taking the stairs would teach me such a lot, apart from the truth that adipose is here to stay.
The Ashok Leyland guys sit just outside our first-floor cubicles. When I move out for lunch, there is this sad guy in a blue uniform, swatting flies and making friends with the Chennai heat. I pass him and reach the next level. There is someone else sitting there and for whatever obscure reason, there seems to be a perennial line at his desk…must be some kind of a gold-mine fellow. I wonder if people are ever going to change…if they are ever going to run after money, if they are ever going to learn to make a propah queue, if they are ever going to learn to use deodorant in this stifling heat…but of course, they tell me, I haven’t faced true-blue Chennai heat just yet.
A couple of floors above that, there is this deaf and mute fellow, perceiving the world in silent terms. Everyday as I pass by, I see him happily increasing his network of similar people. It’s interesting to watch the fourth floor stairs, turn into a podium for a silent orchestra. Little would I know all this, if I had continued using the elevator.
This is just an account of how I see the world at siesta time, from a dilapidated building in the heart of Tam land.
To come to the crux of the matter, I am hopelessly obese. As a last attempt to do a hocus-pocus on the adipose, I decided I‘d take the stairs to the seventh floor pantry, during lunch. Little did I know that taking the stairs would teach me such a lot, apart from the truth that adipose is here to stay.
The Ashok Leyland guys sit just outside our first-floor cubicles. When I move out for lunch, there is this sad guy in a blue uniform, swatting flies and making friends with the Chennai heat. I pass him and reach the next level. There is someone else sitting there and for whatever obscure reason, there seems to be a perennial line at his desk…must be some kind of a gold-mine fellow. I wonder if people are ever going to change…if they are ever going to run after money, if they are ever going to learn to make a propah queue, if they are ever going to learn to use deodorant in this stifling heat…but of course, they tell me, I haven’t faced true-blue Chennai heat just yet.
A couple of floors above that, there is this deaf and mute fellow, perceiving the world in silent terms. Everyday as I pass by, I see him happily increasing his network of similar people. It’s interesting to watch the fourth floor stairs, turn into a podium for a silent orchestra. Little would I know all this, if I had continued using the elevator.
There is really a wonder world beyond the known....its just a matter of stepping out and finding yourself through the organized mayhem of the macrocosm!
