Four Stories from Book Fair

4 stories from Metro rides to World Book fair at Delhi

1.       On the way back from a long 7 hour day at the book fair, at the Yamuna Bank intersection, in an uncrowded train, this guy with a heavy bag gets in and turns this way and that way. When his bag brushes real hard on me, I tap his shoulders and ask “what the hell” in an angry tone. He takes off his headphone and looks at me, and says “it seems there is no forgiving in your world” and smiles. “what a strange thing to say” I ponder. Yes, he is right, may be; I want to ask “should there be forgiveness in me, when the action you did was inconsiderate, though not intended?” I do not ask anything. Thankfully, he does not pursue either. I get down at my station on the next stop. We watch each other once, I at the stairs and he across the door panels, as train whizzes away.

2.       At the end of the day, at 8 pm, when the bookfair closes, the crowd inches to the Pragati Maidan station. A small girl is playing in the mud, her dirty sweaters held around the neck by an open safety pin. Her dad is selling some liquid that wades off dirt in clothes, yelling “No need to wash clothes this Delhi winter when Sun is invisible”. Occasionally, she looks up and gets back to her job – of digging mud to find some sharp stone or wood that she can use to dig more mud. 

3.       The kachori seller with two tin boxes mounted on the cycle handle has neatly arranged plastic bowls with two kachori’s crushed in. As soon as about 4 of us gather, he swiftly turns, opens the aluminum drum with mashed alu sabji, and pours it on with masala. Every minute is critical. As the fog mingles with steam, you notice that Winter is actually great. Legs aching, hot snacks at hand, metro lines forming, pirated book sellers shouting on the pavement, - heck, you even smile at the India physical map seller, standing like a caricature from Malgudi days quietly. Ther, in the map, is Delhi all lit up.

4.       In the crowded streets, in loud cheers and soft curses, in the dumping of the “free” accumulated garbage of pamphlets and flyers, the crowd meanders like an angry river. So much movement all around and then you see two people holding a cancer donation box and placard, saying nothing, keeping quiet. Asking us to spare a moment for the dying and dead, with all this life around. Indicating that when all this life is around is when we should consider it. In Katha upanishad, This is what Nachiketa did, when he asked his dad why he is not sacrificing in the yagya altar what he considers precious.