Bombay - It’s been more than a year for me in this city. And the journey – though small – has been eventful. I’ve come to love this city – to the extent that when I go home to Delhi – I start missing Bombay. Though living alone in a city like Bombay has its own hazards. For one, my lifestyle has gone for a toss. My life here can be described, at best, as erratic.
And my room? Well..it’s a little untidy and cluttered. Toothbrush lying on the laptop, shoes on the kitchen shelf, books on the pillow, bottles – mind you, water bottles – kept on the window. And ya clothes – some on the chair and some on the door. In short, the whole scene is chaotic once you enter my room.
So yesterday, I decided to clean up all the mess. While setting my books in order, something caught my eye. It was stuffed in a corner – like an unwanted, abandoned, forlorn spirit.
It had dust all over it, and it was decaying. It was a diary. A diary, which was once dear to me until I forgot it existed. The edges had become pale yellow. The colour of the pages was a bungled mix of brown, yellow, and grey. Intertwined with black spots. They look rather like symptoms of skin disease. There was a pen stuck in between the pages. My hands trembled when I picked it up. It’s been almost a year since I last used that pen – a Reynolds. I was sad but then realized may be it’s their fate. May be I don’t need them anymore or may be there’s nothing left to write. I kept the diary and the Reynolds on the bed and continued cleaning and rearranging the books again.
Cleaned all the books. Will rearrange them tomorrow. Ek din mein ek kaam bahot hai. Ufff..enough for today! Feeling tired, I fell on the bed. And then…
“Aaaaocchhh!!!”
What was that? Who said that? Startled, I looked around..Did I hear someone say that? I must be hallucinating..Itna kaam karne ke baad aisa hi hota hai.
“Aaaaouchhh!! Gaawd..save meee..”
Again the strange, loud voice. Something’s wrong. Mere kaan to nahi baj rahe??
“You fatso, look here…down…kaminey, motu..You’re sitting on meeee…”
Me: Where?
Startled, I stood up to see I was sitting on my diary and the pen.
Reynolds: Haaaiii, maar dala re..You bloody fatso. Ek mai hi mila tha baithne ke liye. Can’t you see me? Aah..mar gaya re. Kamar todd di kaminey ne.
Me: (Looking wide-eyed at the pen.): Wh..wh…what? Is this you? Are you talking?
Reynolds: Yess! This is me, the pen.
Me: Seriously..God, this seems straight out of Harry Potter. The pen can talk …the pen can talk..Woof!
Reynolds – Stop staring at me. Why did you sit on me? You lousy hippopotamus. Aah..my bones are still twisted.
Me: Hellloo!! Dare you call me hippo. I’ll break your bones once again.
Reynolds: Hunh..Such thankless people. Remember, you used this diary and me to write all your blogs. For a year, we were your favourites. And then, last September, you forgot me…
Diary corrected, “He forgot ME too.”
Reynolds: Ok ok. And, then one fine day, you forgot US and dumped us in the heap of your books.
Me: Yeah..yeah..so? It’s my life. It’s my choice. Mera mann nahi kiya likhne ka..isliye.
Diary: It’s your life? It’s your choice? How cheap. You used us. Did you hear Reynolds? Did you hear this chap?
Diary starts sobbing profusely at my nonchalance.
Reynolds: Excuse me. You abandoned us not because you didn’t want to write any more, but because you got involved with someone else…that ugly camera.
“That’s not true.” I protested.
Reynolds interrupts. “That’s true Mr. Lier. We can see your coveted camera on the table. We hear you have picked up photography.
Meanwhile, the Diary still sobbing. At times, it did make noises below the pen, but mostly it lay in hopeless and sullen silence.
Me: (Red-faced and caught red-handed): Okay- okay. I accept. I kind of got attracted to this camera. Its curvaceous body, stylish looks, beautiful viewfinder, sleek and smooth LCD, its round-shaped, crystal clear lenses…did make me go weak in my knees. After all, who won’t. The first time I saw it, I fell in love with her and since then, I am on a shooting spree. And…
Reynolds: Enough! We’ve heard!
The sobbings of the Diary convert into cries. Louder and louder.
Reynolds, looking at the Diary in exasperation: Can’t you stop your rona-dhona for a moment, Mr. Diary?
Afraid, the Diary tries to swallow her cries.
Reynolds, turning to me: Yes. Mr. Blogger-turned-Photographer! So I was talking to you. Are you never going to use us again? Have you left your first love..blogging, for good?
Me, straight-faced: Ahem!! Umm…Well, I don’t really know. I think I have a writer’s block. Every time I try to write something, my thoughts get blocked midway. Jo main sochta hoon wo likh nahi paata.
Reynolds, in rajnikant eshtyle: Jo tumm sochtha ai..wo ota nai ai, aur jo ota ai wo sochne lagtha ai. Tumhara kya oyenga ji..
Me, perplexed, scratching my head: Jo hum sochta hai woh hota nahi hai..jo hota hai woh sochta nahi hai.. Ye kya re..sab gadbad jeee..Tum kya boltha hai jeee?
The Diary laughs sheepishly at the tongue-twister.
Me, looking angrily at the Diary: Why are you laughing like monkeys?
Reynolds: Abey dhakkan! Main tere ko bolta hai ki tu likhna to shuru kar..tabhi to jo sochta hai woh likhega. And still I have half of the ink lying unused in my wind pipe. So use me to write your blogs. I am itching to get scribbled.
Me: Okay baba..But what do I write…Dimaag kaam nahi kar rela hai
Diary: Abey Gogo..likh nahi to aankhen nikal ke gottiyan khelunga..
Me: Okay okay Mr. Teja..likhta hoon...But what to write?
Reynolds: Kuch bhi likh de…Shuru shuru mein kuch bhi bakwaas likh de..At least meri exercise to ho jayegi. Pade-pade jung lag gaya hai.
Me: Bakwaas..bakwaas..bakwaas…bas! Khush! :))
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