Somebody whom I respect a lot had told me that if one has the destroying aspiration to be a writer then one has to perfect the art of eavesdropping. You can’t just keep imagining and make your stories…your stock will finish soon or late. And then you have to borrow from here and there. Newspapers can provide you certain bites…but then those bites are available to all the dogs like me! And it’s a dog eat dog world! So people’s conversation is the best source for your stories, for your essays, for your rantings and other blah blah. So for the last one year I am trying to practice this art. Initially when I started eavesdropping I dragged myself close to dangerous situations. Once I got almost beaten by a strong wellbuild hairy Sardarji. And what was my fault. A hot Punjabi kudi was chatting animatedly with some not so hot Sardarji. Husband and wife: pathetic combination, I was a better candidate. Anyway I wanted to overhear. They were seating in one of the benches opposite the Woodlands showroom in the mall. I positioned myself few feet away from the lady. I kept looking at the Woodland showroom scanning shoes. She was complaining about Sardarji not coming home early. The Sardarji was giving excuses. And she told that Sasuma keeps saying that Khush Khabar kab sunne ko milega. I understood what she was trying to convey. If Sardarji is not much available with the Sardarni, how the newborn will arrive! I was hooked. Interesting material for my story. And then the Sardar boomed at me “Bhaisahab! Aap tab se picche khare ho! Koi problem boss?”. I tiptoed out like a mouse. But these days my ear has become much trained. I can follow conversations from a distance! Just like I take my measurements from a distance! And by and by I have developed an Eavesdrop database! It’s fully loaded in my head! But off late I hear no more interesting conversations! Am I getting rusty? Or the world is becoming a grimmer place? Last week when I was roaming around in the Center Stage mall I overheard something extremely painful. A little kid accompanied by his mom and dad were standing in front of Archies. The kiddo probably wanted to venture in. And the dad didn’t want any more expenses. They were already carrying lot of packets! The boy seemed hell bent in entering inside.“Baba cholo na! O Baba” the boy gushed in Bengali.
“Cant you say daddy? How many times do I need to tell you this son? Don’t say baba! Say daddy.” Boomed his father with his paunh and balding head. He was agitated.
Nice upward movement! This is what happens to most of the Indian families who leave their states and get settled in the big cities like Delhi and Mumbai. They want to forget their roots and embrance English! Made me remember my Indian friend who believes that this country is shit. USA is paradise! I think Raj should focus his “Marathi Manoos” campaign such a direction that a child can fearlessly say ‘daddy’ in Marathi without fearing his dad scolding him for not saying it in English. And I am sure if he does this he will win a few hearts!
Anyway I am continuing my eavesdropping. Yes, it is getting more and more painful. But I am an optimist! I know someday I will overhear something interesting! Something that will make you smile too!
