Of ticking and sea-saw battlebookwallahs by Puneet Rajhans

Of ticking and sea-saw battlebookwallahs

The conductor ticking me off for the seat i occupied was meant for the ladies (the tamil code in buses have no subtitles in Hindi), i probably failed to sense the larger picture. Probably he wanted to befriend the lady who would later board the bus as the nine hour travelling time would have been hard to kill given dispensing ticket and looking at the odd man getting in and out is an exercise that lasts few minutes. THere was an interesting mix of people on board with the young couple from Oriya looking to be dismembered and the oldish one from Tuticorin very much alive to the proceedings. The Tamil guy wrapped in lungi and shirt (most visible faces are in this outfit and they look blessed)next to me spoke in Tamil but gestured wide enough for the places where i could have the meals.

Having taken another seat, i gave the conductor a note big enough (as that what the bank could manage at the odd hour)where he could hand me changes of veritable proportion. Holding the note in his hand, for the next two minutes his stares were divided between me and the note. Probably he wanted to ensure the veracity of the note and the verification of the guy whom he planned to grill and grate for the entire commute. Sadly for him the seats for the ladies were taken by a couple and he could hardly go the extra mile given the odd man(hubby) in picture. The man he could barely throttle him with his lung power and dispense with as his heavy built posture was enough to keep the likes of conductor and the bus miles apart.

Verification over, he moved to other passengers blasting some here and there for their temerity to take a bus that would consume nine hrs of their hard won existence on earth. Well for me, the verification had to do with the zombies who were claiming to have millions of followers by tweeting every hour/writing scripts every week on papers and paper-folded tvs on issues close to the heart of the lobbies they worked for. Their shows on tv flaunting the fabric they wore and hideouts they visited, the followers in all probability would be from the elites of Venice to Venezuela who have no other preoccupation than blow the vuvuzela .
It was better to align with a better train of thought than be detained by these happenings. Probaly like some enhancing their reading skills for a specific period in this period of seasonal flu and viruses. WEre these seasonal glasses or no glasses meant to babble before the camera for endless acquisitions and hopeless propositions?
Quite taken aback their mentors at place of work would have sought an answer and the lady in question would have purred: "Sirji, the heat and dust from the debris of Never-Before-Seen- Games-In-Delhi has blurred my vision of the people who report for duty. Though i have followers from Kashmir to Kanniyakumari (the sea-saw battlebook has put the figure close to 170; adding and dropping each passing hour), the followers at place of weekly-dispensed salary have dwindled and my search is for the followers who could keep my system up and running beyond midnight hrs."

As the bus shakes and moves with Nagercoil body unit inscribed on its body, i come across different packs on the way to my destination. First the daily pack from DOCOMO that spelt 600 seconds of STD/local talk for Rs 5. The next the face pack; essentially the multani mitti that is employed to get the sheen back on face. Finally the glass pack wherein the glasses are worn for reasons and period best known to the customer.
A character with untamed duration on cell along with the need for sheen and shape to return on the face would settle for the three packs. As i try to figure out one such character on bus, there the conductor blasts another guy who is standing next to the bus stop. First he tries to board the bus, stops and herds in a different direction, noting that he hasn't had his meals only to be stopped on his tracks by the conductor.
"You made us stop this bus with 50 other hungry souls who haven't had meals since last night and you want your meals when afternoon has just set in. I won't let you give this bus a miss as well as have the meals at the appointed hour. Faced with no choice, he boarded with the conductor yet to complete his debating skills with him.

The man sitting next to me is a desolate character who goes to sleep now and then, at times making a point to look at the writing notes being made-and-thrown by me to the lapping janata. Since all along he has spoken to me in Tamil and i responded by stressing that my life is an open book with no pages to pore over. Probably you need to look at the sea-saw battlebook inheritors who have surprises saddled with them given their urge to add new followers. Finally both of us agree that 170-odd followers won't even foreclose the possibility of security being forfeited in a municipal election if ever they wished to contest.
Quite predictably the couple sitting behind the conductor are past their smooth conduct of operations and the next one hour they are engaged in a hostility bid where each wants to smother the other to history. They settle for a period of peace only when they are threatened of 50-odd food denied entities joining the mayhem to pack both of them to history.