On my way back from Lucknow yesterday I met a person, actually I just ‘saw’ him. He was sitting on the berth opposite to mine in the general compartment (the only place where you find the most unnatural terra inhabitants). He was sitting along with four others on the berth which could hardly bear the weight of the bulky demons resting their unnaturally bulky bums on it. What a bum deal it was for the berth! I was seated with five skinny men and was with the window.
The man of the focus was quite accomplished in health terms; he was dark and must have been around fifty. He talked like a prodigy, as if he knew everything that people in general avoid, everything that is weird for igniting a conversation. I don’t remember anyone from earth or heaven that begins a conversation by asking the prices of real estates in Lucknow or Jaipur. He asked such questions and later I got to know that the question was rhetorical and was intended to down-show the other intellects sitting there which comprised mainly of the Google expert millennial including me. His smirk of the victory was heavenly as if he conquered the Marxist ideologies. I did not participate the blind debate other jumped in, it reminds me of the news channel debates which are dominated if and only if you have a highest volume in the panel, these debates never reach to a conclusion. I plugged in my earphones, without music though, intending to hear the expert panel and snub the messers at the same time.
The holy man of the hour was strange man. He was a clerk in some government institution. He was all tied and tangled up in strings. He had around eight strings ruling his pathetically thick neck (I guess the neck stored fat ‘under the table’). Those strings were attached to different pouches made in army camouflaged cloth piece. They were different in sizes, quite like his eyes which had unbalanced size. He kept his phone in one, pens in other, dedicated a pouch for his broken spectacles and wallet in one of them. And his shirt’s pocket had ‘chana’ in it. He had, maybe, a compulsive fear of pickpockets, but did he know that we had chain snatchers also, for this purpose. But I guess chain snatchers look only into women’s cleavage for pendants and necklaces and the fatso looked manly enough to bypass their skepticism. He was different in a funny sort of way. He had a holster like leather pouch where he secured his ‘paan masala’. Besides all of these securities he had a leather bag too which had a lock on the zipper and the strap was fastened to his waist.
I deduce mathematically that if one pouch corresponds to one kangaroo he represented a complete kin and kinship of the specie. It was rakshabandhan and thus he had one more string on his wrist representing that he was in stringed relationship with his sister as he was with his props.
‘Kafan mein jeb nahi hoti,’ someone, I remember, recently said, to which, someone else replied (I remember the voice of Lalu Prasad Yadav), ‘Inke kafan me jeb nahi jhola hai jhola.’ Who knows this very man maybe lusty enough for his props to get a designer ‘kafan’ with pockets and strings reserved for himself .