Three Tales of Three Cities

(Caution:You might find it too cheesy)

Tale 1:Bangalore

This is where the "intelligent" people work !

He came out of the Embassy Golf Link Business Park in Domlur. Paused for a smoke. It was Friday. The day you don't need to dress up in formals in your capitalist companies. He decided to walk, all the way to Koramangala Sony World. He looked around. There were hundreds of them leaving their offices for the weekend. Many of them wearing T-shirts of their fancy colleges. There was a lean young man with high power specs in his IIT-Kanpur T-shirt. Another lady in her IIM-Lucknow attire dropped her cigarette and walked towards her office cab. And as usual there were a couple of BITS-Pilanis around. This is the city where the so-labelled high IQ people work. Sacrifice their days and nights, sweat and brains for capitalists and churn out a handful of money.What do they do with this money? 

He walked towards the legendary Legends of Rock in Koramangala and found a score of them sitting there. He ordered a pitcher of draught beer. He gulped down a few glasses, staring at these branded young people.He filled his fourth glass when a text message flashed in his mobile.

"Zyada mat peena :P" ("Don't drink much")

He kept on staring at the message for a long time. He couldn't recall the last time when someone had asked him to curb his drinking habits. He searched for the picture of the sender. A cute, little face. He couldn't drink any longer. He knew she doesn't exist in his world. It was just a digital electronic message in this silicon city. But he decided to obey.

He didn't realize it was cupid striking.

Tale 2: New Delhi

This is where the "powerful" people work !

He was walking downwards the Raisina Hills. On the straight road that led to the India Gate. He looked around. There were the majestic buildings. Built in the regal British style. The Ministry of Finance, the Ministry of Home Affairs and what not ! Not very far away, there was the Parliament House where the so-labelled powerful people decide the fate of the nation. On the other side, there was Pranab Babu's home. The Rashtrapati Bhawan.

He glanced to his right. She was walking with him. In her own graceful manner. Dressed in her loving red kurta and giving smiles to him. They stopped a few yards away from the Central Secretariat metro station. Sat down at a  pedestal. The lake in front of the President's palace right behind them.

He looked at her and gently said, "Can I kiss you?"

She was taken aback, "There are so many people around"

He replied back, "So what ! We will always remember that we kissed right in front of Pranab Babu's palace."

The next moment he implanted a deep kiss on her lips. For a few seconds, he was in another world. A heavenly world. The next moment he opened his eyes. She was not there. Whatever comes must also go away one day. He was left alone, gazing at the wide roads and the colorful crowd at the India Gate.

He didn't realize it was cupid striking.

Tale 3: Mumbai

This is where the "rich" people work !

He started walking from the Charni Road station all along the Marine Drive. It was night. And this is another India. Far away he could see Ambani's giant Antilla. This is the kingdom where the so-labelled rich people live. Tata, Birla, Ambani, Bachchan, Khan, Tendulkar ! You name them and you will realize this is their Paradise. He was heading towards the Nariman Point. There were a few royal chariots. Chariots that charged in dollars. So that the foreign tourists could boast of a ride in a horse-driven chariot in this land of snake-charmers and magicians.

He looked at her. He always wanted to take her out for a royal ride in a white horse. He paid two grands to the charioteer and got into the chariot. She was smiling at him. He got into the chariot and held his hand out for her. For a moment he could feel her soft hands. Touching his hand. And then there was no one. He was all alone in the white-horse driven chariots that took enthusiastic foreign tourists for an extravagant ride from the Marine Drive to the Gateway of India. She had vanished into the thin air. Far away in the Arabian Sea, a small boat was struggling against the mighty waves.

He didn't realize it was cupid striking.

Bombay - The land where land ends

“Baarikhar Rati Tumar Kobik Monot Porene Arundhati” (Translates to: “Arundhati, do you remember your poet on a rainy night”).

It happens only once in a blue moon that the lines from an Assamese poem or song strike such a chord. Probably you need a rainy night for these lines to reverberate within you. Surrender yourself to the rains – on a rainy Bombay night. In the country’s westernmost end. The land where land ends and the vast sea begins.

Look around at the Bandstand in Bandra. On one end you will see the sea. The never-ending darkness it carries. You will see lovebirds chirping and holding hands merrily, oblivious and unconcerned that is raining. It is 11 in the night. It is weekend. And the city has just woken up from its week-long slumber. The gentle sea-breeze will hit you on the face, soothe you and also shake you. Sea-breeze cocktailed with doses of intoxication. Cans of alcohol and packets of cigarettes will seem trivial? Only the deep sea can cause the effect. This is the land where land ends and the vast sea begins.

This is the land where millions of dreams get lost. Look around at the statues, inscriptions and finger-prints. You will find the great Raj Kapoor standing and smiling in his “Mera Joota Hain Japani” attire. The man who could dare to stand up against the conservative Indian society and set his own everlasting trends. The “awara” who could dare to strike his own dad when he realizes that the man is not worth being his dad. The joker who could make you smile and laugh even when his own world was getting shattered into pieces. The man who could direct a Bobby in a bikini or a Ganga in a transparent white piece of cloth and still make the make the Indian moral police respect his art. Millions come to this city, aspiring to reign over the dream-world. And what happens? Get lost in the crowd of billions, heavy traffic and terrible downpours. Not very far away, you can hear a band performing. A young boy in his teens singing in his sublime, God-gifted voice. What will you feel? Jealous – because you can never ever sing so well to the Arundhati of your dreams. Respect – because the young boy deserves every bit of it. This is the land where land ends and the vast sea begins.

And then you see her. The Arundhati of dreams. Moving around gracefully. Did she look at you and smile? Probably she did. For a moment your heart will leap with joy. She smiles at you, she cares for you. The next moment you see a fancy limousine coming out of the Taj Lands End hotel. The car stops in front of her. You can see the rich and famous man coming out. He holds her hand, opens the car door for her. You can take a quick glimpse at the car. You can hear wonderful music playing from its imported music system. You will see bottles of expensive liquor near the front seat. She gets into the limousine and goes away for a drive. What do they do? Savor the pleasures of good music and expensive liquor in an imported vehicle? Make love? You don’t deserve to know. You will never know. A pauper in black shorts and torn slippers will never have the right to know what the dreamy Arundhati does in the rich man’s limousine. The city of Bombay strikes back. This is the world where a pauper can smile at his dream girl and see her go out with the man from Lands End. This is the world where you will realize your limits and your rights. You never have the right to know what happens in the world of Lands End, fancy cars and imported wine. This is the world where the slums of Dharavi and the Taj survive so close to each other. This is the land where land ends and the vast sea begins.