In Search of nothing particular...

We have all lived our entire lives in a certain way. This is what we eat, this is what and where we buy from, these are the people we talk to, these are the places we go, this is how we see the world.

Travelling (should) changes and challenges a lot of these things. It introduces us to new places, new people, new cultures, and new ways of living. One thing I have learnt is that travelling doesn’t just have to be to faraway places. It can be your neighbourhood or your city too.

“What? My own city? Come on, I know my city very well, dude!”

Well, if you think so, you might be very wrong. Luckily, there is no one right way to know your city, but to get us started, a walk through a different locality/neighbourhood can be a good first step.

The first time it will feel like, "Why am I doing this?"; the trick is to act like you are lost or have entered a new city. To make it easier: Board a train to a random station, get out, and start walking. Remember, nothing interesting will happen if you are not curious.

The journey of searching for nothing particular starts...

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While walking, you come across a roadside lunch joint, you see a line of daily wage workers eating, some office goers taking parcel. The aunty making and selling it feels mom-like, the smell feels home-like. You get tempted, you are confused what and how to order, you stand there for some time listening, you gather the courage and ask for a rice plate. The chapatis are soft exactly like your Maharasthrian neighbour’s home. The sabjis, one dry and one gravy, have no unnecessary oil. There is rice with dal on it, and a papad too, which you want to save for the end but it ends up being the first thing you eat. The sabjis are perfectly spicy, just the way you like them. The dal lacks some salt, but you're too shy to ask for it, so you add the topping that makes any dish worth eating. You add ‘Aachar’ to it. The meal changes you.

The tasty Rice plate and the icing on the plate 'aachar'

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You observe a woman walking with a jhola full of plastic bottles in one hand. In the other hand, she has a picker. While on the other side of the road, your gaze turns towards her as you are having your last sip of Maaza. She picks up a bottle of Pepsi, empties the leftover liquid, puts the bottle in her jhola and sits at the edge of the footpath. She breathes a sigh of relief. Her dark tone shows her everyday journey in the sun; her wrinkled face and grey hair show her age; and her eyes avoid any gaze. Instead of throwing the Maaza bottle in the nearby dustbin, you cross the road and keep it in her jhola and smile. She smiles back. “How much do you walk everyday?” you ask, and this question turns into a conversation. She ends up telling her where was she born, her past jobs, her granddaughter's dream of becoming a doctor and this remains in your mind diary. The conversation changes you.

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You pass through a quaint salon. The handwritten signboard, the wooden interior, the vintage chairs attract you. Cutting hair would be a bigger risk, you think, so you ask him for a shave. Just when you are thinking, “Am I going to regret this?”, PSSSSSSSS…. the barber sprays water on your face surprising and freshening you, the cream feels cold, he starts applying foam, skips the moustache. You point to the moustache to tell him to include it too. He asks are you sure, you smile and nod. He doesn’t see the smile as it is covered in foam but understands the nod and applies it. The barber is clean-shaven himself, but with a moustache just like Jethalal’s. His “Are you sure?’’ regarding you shaving your moustache seems justified. While your head is facing upwards, you see a couple of posters of foreign child models with funky haircuts. You ask him if anyone comes to get such hairstyles, and he laughs it off. The shave goes smoothly except for the alum bar rubbing on your face, which burns. You ask the uncle, “How old is the salon?” and he takes you back to the days when his dad started it under a banyan tree, which is still there outside the salon but has no room to grow anymore because the new concrete road is choking its trunk. You leave the salon with a new face to show to your family certainly, and a new confidence to face uncertainty. This experience changes you.

Tom and Jerry Hair Styles

You feel thirsty again. Your bottle is empty by now, and this time you are conscious about buying a packaged bottle (yes, the aunty with the plastic jhola changes you). You come across a masjid where all the ricksha drivers are filling their bottles. Your thirst and the urge to save the planet by not buying a plastic bottle take you there (actually, the urge to save ₹20). You are apprehensive. You take a sip and taste it. AAAAAAAHHAAAA, you feel energised. You fill the entire bottle, and out of respect, you put your right hand on your chest and bow your head in front of the masjid.

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Now, you are tired, and I mean really tired. You are looking for a peaceful place to sit. You come across a garden and realize you have never ever visited the garden in your neighbourhood. You go inside, sit on a bench sponsored by a local politician. You drink some more water and realize this is much better than the Bisleri bottle you are used to which you now feel somewhat tastes like coconut water. You remove your phone to google if Bisleri adds something related to coconut, but don’t, as that’s when you see two squirrels playing with each other, which seems more like fighting. Your mind now deviates to how squirrels have accommodated to the rapid urbanisation. The other squirrel has now gone, the first one has picked up a yellow flower and is eating it from all sides in 10x speed. Your gaze is now stuck on this scene. You remove your phone to capture this cute moment, you realize the squirrel doesn’t have one foreleg, so you don’t switch on the video, you again fix your gaze on the squirrel. The squirrel leaves after a few seconds but your gaze is still fixed there, and now you are lost in your thoughts.

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You slowly start walking on footpaths, waiting at signals, slowly start asking people working at your home and building their stories, slowly start filling your bottles from nearby restaurants/temples/masjids instead of buying one, slowly start going to your neighbourhood gardens rather than malls, turfs, theatres, slowly ditching your friends to spend more time with yourself, slowly preferring simple meals instead of fast food, etc, etc...

SLOWLY. I repeat ‘Slowly’. These changes don’t happen suddenly, they take time. We have all lived our entire lives in a certain way. So when we are open to explore, observe and experience, the way we see the world changes.

A fresh perspective on looking at things

P.S: I feel the end could have been different/better. If you had to think of a better ending to this story/piece, what would it be? Do suggest in the comments.