अपनों ने मुझे ठुकराया
गैरों में क्या दम था
मेरी कश्ती थी वहां डूबी
जहां पानी कम था
Curious characters you meet when backpacking. On longer journeys, you don't tolerate them. On smaller journeys, you enjoy the temporary transport into someone else's eccentric world of eccentric tendencies. The shorter the ride, the more volatility you're up for. This one came across on the last day of my stay in Uttarkashi (Uttarakhand), volunteering for relief work after the floods.
He joined us on our way back to Gyansu, from Bhatwari . His company by the roadside seemed eager to see him away. I picked up a whiff of suspicion right then. In entered this frail, shabby guy, flush at his cheeks, wearing a set of clothes savvier than the average people around, but also dirtier. He got in talking into his cellphone.
Twenty seconds into his conversation on his phone, and the phone startled us by ringing. "There's something funny about this guy," I commented. I said that out loud. English works well for cryptic communication in this region. He then cut from his imaginary conversation, to the real one. Same gibberish, about life and all.
Upon inquiry, none of our fellow back-seater passengers happened to know him. "पिये होगा," वो बोले| They were amused at his demeanor and talk, much like us. We were giggling under our breaths. I was reminded of that weirdo from Lodhi Garden in a vest with a spray-can that I met on one of my photowalks.
"Since that Bill Murray movie ('What About Bob'), I really don't find it scary to be around such strange people," I remarked, in cryptic English. It had been only a week that I saw that movie, so I could imagine a desi Bill Murray of sorts, walking into a human circle trying to avoid all eye contact (as that would make him sick). What if he passed out whenever he looked into a stranger's eyes? The way we had to sit cramped in the taxi, half my being mingled with his. So if he upped his crazy in a violent way in the next moment (who knew), I'd be the first victim. But despite that realization, of all the people around, I was intent on reading this guy, and his antics. "Theater material" is what came in my head. And my smirk didn't hide that these city-dwellers weren't pushed into intimidation or anxiety by things like this.
This guy was worth my expectations. His conversation was twitterific... When he said out that 'Shayari', it was an epic moment in the day. That is when I asked R to turn on the voice recording. All aural 'happenings' of this ride now a memory.
"गरीब के घर में सोने के लिए एक कम्बल मिलेगा, और एक रजाई मिलेगी, और क्या!"
A while into the journey, and he finished his conversation (finally!) to take a look around. We exchanged glances, then his maw opened wide in glee, dirty tobacco-painted red-brown teeth baring, and an anticipation came over his face. He introduced himself to me, shaking hands. He told me about his village (Pilang), that was on the opposite hill "नदी के उस पार". Earlier, our teams has distribute relief in Pilang, so I well knew the geography of his home. He would have to cross a bridge and walk for another 20 minutes (at least). When Pilang came, he got off. His wallet was empty, and he didn't pay for the ride, much to the vexation of the taxi driver.
Parting words:
Him: "अब क्या करें अभी..." [what to do...]
Me: "घर पहुंच जाना" [get home]
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