[Reader-list] My Dear diary's IPO

khalid jamal zzjamaal at yahoo.co.in
Sun Aug 27 03:07:05 IST 2006


Hi!
   
  This is just a re-production of one page of my daily diary. Today’s page.
   I am convinced that if diarists are paid anything, anywhere in the world, I will not starve.
   
  I read somewhere, sometime that a “personal narrative in a public domain has “its” own dynamics”. My English then, was, as it is today. Weak.
  So I didn’t understand this too well and that put a full of my agreeing to it or not. 
   
  Over all these days, I made a lot of friends and one of them is Rapidex, with the help of whom I now understand it and wants to see “its” dynamics.
  So I am putting a personal narrative in a public domain. Keen, restless and hungry for the feedback that you may send at your own risk: For, “I may respond”.  
   
   
  Aug 26.2006. 11-30 PM
  My Room
  Mughal Aps.
  Zakir Nagar.
   
  A long day, indeed!
   
   My bike is growing younger day by day and I am enjoying it km by km. Ever since I have studied about camera in my post-graduation, I have started thinking a lot about it
 
   
  “If I had a camera ready, I would have taken the shot of  guy  sleeping on the edge of the  loaded -rickety truck , pacing fast on a buzzing crowded ring road of Delhi while I am on my way to meet a friend in greater noida on this new toll bridge, where these robbers are robbing us of eight rupees/one way in the broad daylight, with the help of some Japanese who are not seen  around but are collecting the toll
.”
   
  “And if I had a camera, I have taken picture of Ammijaan, now that she is sleeping, still wearing her old worn-out specs she loves dearly because daddy bought it.Wrincles on her forehead worries me because she’s yet to attend Gudia’s and Pappu bhai’s marriage, become my wife’s mother-in-law and grandmother of at least half a dozen, assuming our Govt’s  DTC bus- sonnet “ Hum do.Humare do..”  Each for three of us.
   
  Infact, the very thought of the camera while I am riding a bike, with the headphones plugged into my ears , and wire fixed  at the other end of my cell phone’s fm  radio at full-volume, converts me into a camera with damn good lenses and no focus ring.
   
  Now I look at the big luxurious Sita Travels bus ahead of me..some 100 meters ahead. My eyes takes long shot(LS), and abruptly zooms-in on to the iron bar, ordering “Keep distance” fitted at the rear of it, my hand turns the throttle and bike dollys-in
Now I am just 3 feet away with  the two words in sharp focus in a  CU.I tilt up to take a low-angle shot   of few human heads with variety of hair-style. MCU.
   There‘s a traffic signal ahead. I can’t see it. I know it. The throttle turns back, allowing the bus to move ahead and I am back to the long shot. Well, I forgot to mention a couple of cut-aways in the rear- view mirror of this middle aged man approaching me on his Bajaj scooty and this red old Maruti 800 overtaking taking me from left. 
   
  I stay on a LS as the road is abandoned but slowing I am approaching a flyover to switch to a tilt-up LS , almost immediately reaching the peak and start climbing down, in a high angle tilt-down shot

   
  The journey goes on for another 16 kms and I continue to jump from one shot to another until my phone rings, music goes off and there’s “jump”. No cut yet

   
  I met Jasvinder and spent time in his newly bought house. I liked the door. I like open doors and closed windows with people having no-hot- head and no-cold- heart. I was not lucky to get it all today, except the open-door.
   
  So in fifteen minutes, which I spent in collecting my notes and in swallowing the cold coffee, without sugar and single- toned milk amids hot heads and cold hearts.
   
  Now, I was on my way to Sarai. Today’s a Presentation’s third day and mine’ first. But I am glad even today, there would be breaks filled with good tea & crispy biscuits. I will also have sexuality, post-modernism, colonial history, work culture and many such painful terrains  after which we would arrive at dinner
There’s surely nothing like free lunch and free dinner either

   
  I liked the food.( as I always do), and noticed few little kids who came with their parents and loitered around, in innocence,  adding a kind of ventilation to this space which is, by now, full, with people doing  serious and deep work on the terrains I mentioned above. 
   
  May God bless them and their victims

   
  In the midst of all the conversation, beer, chicken, paneer tikkas and beverages someone, with a pat on my back, told me something that took me back to AIIMS, a premier hospital in Delhi. 
   
  It was 25th Feb. 2005. Wednesday.11am. 7th floor. C-7 ward.    
   
  I was sitting in the corridor watching my daddy lying on the bed, equipped with all the possible medical gadgets and surrounded by restless, and reportedly, meritorious doctors.
  The time on the big circular white wall-clock, with a layer of dust on its glasses, was   exactly 11.02 am.
   
  In the next 20 minutes, daddy would make his final departure. I some how sensed it. I loved daddy dearly and I know he loved this place, his workplace dearly too. But at that moment I hated it. So I moved and sat at the door few yards away.
   
  All the memories I had of him, was scanning through my mind as if I was now a scanner. I wanted to do some thing because I knew I was not and that I didn’t want daddy to leave.
   
  In my helplessness, I looked up and found an old man gazing at me. He asked me if I could take him to the stiching room.
   
  I found some thing to do. So I stood up and took him to the concerned unit. He said we was in hurry because he had to go to the nursing home to have breakfast with his wife, to which I thought of my Ammi at home, unaware,unknown.
   
  I managed to enquire about her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was victim of Alzheimer’s disease.
   
  While we were standing, the doctor called him. He had his stiches removed and asked me if I could help him get an auto. I agreed and went down with him.
   
  On my way, I kept thinking about daddy, on that white hospital- bed and Ammi at home ,and unintentionally asked him if his wife would be worried if he was a bit late..
   
  He replied she no longer knows who he was and that she had not recognized him in five years..
   
  I was taken aback, again, and asked, “And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?” He smiled, patted my hand and said, “Son, she doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.”
   
  He left. I saw his auto leaving with those familiar words: Keep Distance.
   
  When I returned to C-7, daddy had indeed kept a distance. My sister was crying inconsolably. Daddy was no more. But the lesson that I learnt from the old man, didn’t let me cry. I wanted to, though. But I knew that true love is neither physical nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be and will not be.
   
  If only we could prevent our mind from thinking like a camera, like a scanner, like a human being..Sometimes, life would be so much easier..
   
  It’s the new day and has rendered one digit on the calendar useless
Will return with life’s new day’s menu. 
   
  Welcome Aug 27,2006.   
   
   
   
   


ONE LIFE. ONE SHOT. 

Happiness, Health & Peace, 
Syed Khalid Jamal   

 				
---------------------------------
 Here's a new way to find what you're looking for - Yahoo! Answers 
 Send FREE SMS to your friend's mobile from Yahoo! Messenger Version 8. Get it NOW
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://mail.sarai.net/pipermail/reader-list/attachments/20060826/2fedd175/attachment.html 


More information about the reader-list mailing list