4 days in Ber Sarai

My experience as it happened

I was on my bed staring at the bright glass panes on the window. It was 9:30. I have always been an early riser for my roommates and this day was no different. I could hear sudhir snoring under his bed sheet. With little care, I made my way out of the room, washed my face and went down the stairs into the street. Got some milk and a few bananas! 3rd floor is a good place to stay for lazy exercisers like me. Although I was always interested in building a good physique, exercising was never my cup of tea. But, this was a different day altogether. I was on a four day vacation and this was the first day. I was full of vigor and hope that these days would bring in a lot of excitement.

I put the milk to simmer and went into the other room, a bleakly decorated so-called drawing room. The only thing making a mark in the room is a desktop computer placed on a table and another empty table waiting for one. I push the chairs close to the tables to make space for little workout. 20 push-ups and a little more sit-ups…. that’s more than my usual routine. I give it a break and go back to check the milk.

A little workout, Milk with fruits for breakfast; a feeling of perfect morning raises my hopes for the rest of the day, only to realize the truth later.
I suddenly hear sudhir complaining about something. He woke up to a phone call and it got disconnected. Victor isn’t yet out of his yesterday night’s hangover.

I try to plan out the day with sudhir and after a psychological scanning through all the available options filtered through our available resources and efforts needed to realize them (sudhir still isn’t out of his bed completely and my laziness undaunted by that half hearted workout), we decide to give Harry a visit. And for it, all we need to do is cross the street.

We three were part of a group in BBSR, and were good friends. Being of the same age group and from almost the same field in studies, we had a good time together. Although later everyone branched out to different streams. Hari (Harry) into advertising, myself into computers and sudhir – trying to build a perfect bridge between both the fields, entering advertising with a BE in computer science.

I never got to know victor very closely while in BBSR. We started as friends of a common friend and it didn’t grow much. May be because, we never had a common topic to discuss on. We both were from two radically different fields. Victor is engaged with the pharmaceutical industry, in which I have little idea.

Bachelors are a lot clumsier than I expected, and the fact that after 6 months of rigorous training into bachelors’ life, I still find surprises; is hard to believe. Harry was on his bed, his face carefully tucked under his arms, fancying complete darkness. He got into his bed only a few hours back after a whole night’s work in his office, and showed no signs of getting up. I tried my best to wake him up. Kicked him, jumped on him, but this bothered him least. His roommate was gathering his piled up clothes for washing and we tried to make ourselves comfortable with the newspaper and a few books we found lying below the bed. It was already 12 in the noon. I tried to wake him up once again and this time he managed to buy him my silence with a box of cookies. We had our heart full reading every crap we managed to find. And in a few moments I had completely lost track of everything that going on around. I woke up only to find that I had a good 2-hour sleep lying beside Harry and its time for lunch. – MY IDEA OF A PERFECT HOLIDAY came to an abrupt end.

Sudhir invited Harry and Srinivas (his roommate) for lunch at our place and I earnestly nodded my head asking them to make it as fast as they can, my hopes getting re-energized.

The next moment we were on the street again, buying rice and vegetables. Dalma – a dish patented by the people of Orissa, was on our mind and we got a kilo of potatoes selected more on size and less on quality, some onions and capsicum. A few other items would have made the dish better, but I knew Sudhir could make it equally good even without them.

In our room back, I was busy washing dishes while sudhir worked on the onions and potatoes. I have always been a terrible cook. I remember, once I made rotis and all my roommates had a memorable dinner – a dinner that lasted long. They spent most of the time, trying to break those rotis and chewing them. But then, Time teaches everything, and then there was the necessity. They had the guts to give me another try and though cooking never fascinated me; I had to give those half-hearted attempts. Now, I manage to get rotis into good shape (no more country maps).

Sudhir was in the kitchen making Dalma and I found some time to take a quick glance at the books we carried from Harry’s room. America’s Dumbest Criminals, Losing my virginity by Richard Branson, and a small book of idioms, phrases and some hard to believe facts.

I heard those heavy footsteps on the stairs. It was Hari and Srinivas. Hari had put on at least 10 kilos. While Srinivas got engaged with the computer, testing his programming skills, Hari was busy helping out Sudhir finish his cooking.

At around 3 we had our lunch, rice, Dalma, fried channe and a perfect salad. Our, died out hunger (time lapse) never let others down. Each one of us shared the burden of finishing all of the cooked food.

We were again at the receiving end of the divine force, snoring our day out. I wonder if anyone reading this hasn’t yet had such an experience.

By 5:30, Harry had left, Srinivas still tinkering with the keyboard. I took a bath and got ready to go out. Destination – Nehru place. I wanted to get back my system, blown up long back and deposited with a hardware dealer. It’s only after I reached there, that I realized, my ladylove is no more. Although I knew it all along, I had refused to give up hope. Hopes last till your last breath. She couldn’t bear the wrath of her own life-giving source and had burnt herself to death. She is now the world’s most expensive paperweight.

Rest is History

There has been a dramatic change in our eating habits. While in Laxmi Nagar we managed to have a proper diet, if not completely, partly resembling what we had at our homes. Food was one thing I never bothered about at home, and why should I. Before I could realize that I am hungry, my mother would offer me something to eat.

Life is Ber Sarai is far more different compared to Laxmi Nagar. A so-called village, 90 percent of which is occupied by students is a nice place to hangout. A proper shopping complex welcomes anyone visiting Ber Sarai, and this is where I remember spending most of my free time. Every morning you find people sitting on the steps and the low compound walls within the complex, reading newspapers. Whenever I get time, I too find pleasure in being a part of this group.

Looking for a maid seemed more tiring and cumbersome that cooking food. Everyone had there own work to do. Mornings went off getting ready for office and once we left, it’s only after dark that we returned. So, till date we manage to make our dinner, if not regularly, at least thrice weekly. Rest of the days we live the Ber Sarai way – eating out.

My 3rd day was a big let down. I spent my morning the usual way, workout, milk and fruits breakfast, reading newspaper sitting on the steps of a closed shop in the complex.

I was in the cafe browsing when the cell rang. It was a call from my colleague informing me that I am required at the office. Doing a routine work on a holiday was the last thing I would ever like to do. Bathing, dressing up, checking time every now and then, I did it all and by afternoon I was in my office. Finding little work was relieving. Attendance was about half-a-dozen. With little work to do, I killed time browsing and chatting.

By evening I was in a big mental depression, tired. Not having anything to do frightens’ me. You start thinking of things, which seldom cross your mind otherwise.

Last night I didn’t had a sleep. Harry had given us a visit at around 10 at night and had stayed for the night. We had spent the whole night outside, sitting at the steps of a shop in the complex, chatting and smoking. It was only after 4 in the morning that I had some sleep.

Back in my room, after an imaginary holiday spent in the office, I tried to take some rest. Slept for an hour or so and then went out for dinner. Even a satisfying dinner couldn’t raise my spirits. I ran my fingers through the pages of Richard Branson’s Autobiography. It was already late night and I was not sleeping nor was I reading. Surfing and chatting with some stupid chatter mongers seemed the only alternate solution, and so I decide to spend some time in the café.

Next morning, it was victor who woke me up. I wondered, what on earth could get him out of his bed so early. By early, I mean the usual 9 O’clock. Later on, I discovered that his aunt had called up and had invited him to her house. It was Dussehra, and Victor is a Bengali. Now, everything made sense. Even for me, Dussehra is no less an important festival. Back home in BBSR, it means big pandals, and mela. We have a community center that puts up a fairly large pandal in our colony. Luckily, it’s a few hundred meters from our home and during my school days, I used to spend hours watching those sculptors and artisans create magic with clay. For me, Dussehra started weeks before schedule.

Here in Delhi, I didn’t see a single proper pandal in the last four days. This festival seemed to have little meaning. Or is it the length and breadth of the city, which had put me out of reach of these celebrations. Whatever may be the reason, I have missed this festival for the first time. It’s gone, and in my memories it remained, only as a holiday I got from my company.

I did have had some big plans for Dussehra. I wanted to go to BBSR. It’s almost 6 months since I last saw my parents and my brother. I do miss them. But, they miss me more than I miss them. I realized it every time, I had a conversation with my mother, and she said in the middle of the conversation, “won’t you get a holiday?”. I realized it every time my father said, “See if you could get a leave for a few days. You can come home for sometime”.

My plans to go home got postponed, when I felt that asking for a leave in the middle of an ongoing project would be the last thing my boss would expect of me, and that it would let him go berserk. Then, I had last moment plans of visiting my cousin brother in Dehradun, but then, he was luckier than me and had taken a leave home.

Rest, how I spent my Dussehra holidays – you all know it now. My holidays have ended 2 minutes back. Its 12:02 A.M, the 16th of September. With sunrise I am going to pick up every thing from where I had left it four days back.

GOOD NIGHT!

Come to think of it, I haven’t included much from today (the last of my four days).
I had my lunch at Sudhir’s uncle’s place. Victor and I had been an unexpected (unwelcome) guest for them. Sudhir had gone locking the room behind him, and we had to follow him to his uncle’s house to get the keys back. Visit during lunchtime and the least of the dignified will offer you a lunch (Though grabbing a free lunch was not our intention). But, it was not just a courtesy. Lunch was the Prasad from Jagannath temple. By the time we finished our lunch it was almost 4:30. Sudhir and I gave Laxmi Nagar a visit. Although we had shifted all our belongings to this new house, the ceiling fans were still waiting to be picked up. Samir, another of my BJB friends, at whose place we dropped in first, was of a great help getting those fans down. After frittering away for an hour or so, we decided to call it a day and bid him goodbye.

The lighter side

Some of the least gifted compose some of the greatest poems.
Who knows who will end up where…

2nd day (13th Oct. 2002)

Kal ke katha lekh rahe hain abhi
Aaj tak pohunche nahin
Kal kya hoga pata nahin
Parson ke khabar nahin abhi

3rd day (14th Oct. 2002)

Beete hue kal ke intezaar mein
Abhi pohunche nahin ho kal tak
Kam pe lag jaoge parson se
Khatam karoge ye kab tak

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