Do you read?
Yes.
Do you read books?
Yes.
What have you read?
Books.
Mostly, reading books is good for you. And reading good books, even more so. Who's to tell a good book from a bad one? For starters, my sister Parul. She trashed 'The girl on the train' as soon as she saw it in my hand.. I took revenge by leaving the book in her apartment.
I was taking a flight to bombay, planning on surprising my family over Diwali. I held a fat book by the name of Sacred Games for my journey. My major motivation to read this book is to cry out, when its proposed web series come out, 'The book is way better!!'. I've never done that and its annoyed me to tatters.
Fat books are scary. They remind me of the saying at Archies (the greeting card and snowglobe penholder store)
"Good to see, Nice to hold, If read, We consider (you) OLD."
Well maybe that wasnt the saying, but close enough.
I cant get through fat books. I'm talking Harry Potter after 'The Tri-wizard Tournament'. And I was such a hardcore fan that in my most "memorable" nightmare involved Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban and taking rounds of our dormitory, in Talegaon.
So i waited for its movies. Then slept through them. Dumbledore dies, someone recently revealed.
So I was thumbing my way, waiting for my flight to take off. To be truthful, which I try to be an awful lot, I was skimming through the pages, grinning on the inside of my face. You know how sometimes, you've bested your previous self. I had just gotten a free "Diwali" upgrade to a 800.Rs-leg-room seat that at my height, I didn't need but my charming self had earned it.
So as I peer from above my fat book, to see the lowly, uncharming peasants sitting, waiting for their coach seats, one person in particular stands out.
He wears thick glasses on a checked shirt. His face is tense, similar to yours, when you try to pick up that stuff toy with the help of that claw. You do not belong in that gaming arcade, and rightfully, never will that stuff toy belong to you.
His left hand is his writing pad, and his right index finger is a pen. He is writing furiously in thin air and does not look satisfied with the results. He feels my gaze on him. Similar to how I felt Luvkush's glare at the back of my neck when I refused to let him copy from my paper in 10th B.
As my look of amusement glints of his spectacles, he looks at me, slack jawed.
"Are you Ok?" I ask.
He gets up to his feet, as if awoken from his day dreams by his least favourite professor.
"Sir?".
'I'm asking if you're good?'.
He checks on his imaginary equations, relieved to find them right where he left them.
'Yes..yes..", confirms he, sitting back down.
I give Good-Will (hunting) a thumbs up. He goes back to his notepad and me, to my Sacred Games.
Sartaj Singh has just figured out who Ganesh Gaitonde's guru is when "Are you also going to delhi?" arises from my left.
I lower the book and turn to see a bald guy looking at me. "Are you also going to delhi", he repeats.
"No, I'm going to Bombay", i say, with bombay-wallah pride in my voice, which tends swell up when speaking to a Dally person. More on this some other time.
"Do you know when my plane leaves", he enquires.
At this juncture, if I was JD from Scrubs, I'd lift my head to the left and flashback to a platform at Damm station Circa 2015. But for DB's sake, I pull myself back.
'Maybe you should ask at the desk'
'Ya', he concurs. And leaves to enquire.
I notice our man here is ALSO reading a book. And what might its title be you ask? How FAT was this tome? The book was titled 'How to stop worrying and start living'.
'He asked me to check back in 15 minutes' , reports the Dally-boy, looking relieved.
(DB is has clearly reached the 'Stop worrying' part in his book.)
The 'He' DB is referring to is a man in camouflage, with a gun slung on his right shoulder. Unless there was a military coup at Indigo, I doubt G.I.Jai would've have shed any light on this matter. Infact, it was quite civilian of G.I.Jai to come up with a 'come back later'.
'What did it say on the display?' says the man with the fat book (Me!), pointing with his chin towards the display boards at the departure terminals that display such vital information.
'Oh ya. I didnt check that' says the delhi bound passenger.
'Maybe you should. And hurry' suggests the man with an extra legroom seat (Me!)
'It says Mumbai', he reports back to base.
'Well then your flight takes off from another gate. Figure it out quick!' quips the man with the extra legroom seat he got no extra cost. (Me! Me!)
'Yes! Thanks!' exclaims he-who-hopefully-will-now-make-his-dally-flight-now.
And with that he leaves.
I ponder on these recent happenings in my life while seated in the 6E. And as my feet stretch out and feel the nothing but dense, pressurised air of the aircraft, it comes to me.
Yes.
Do you read books?
Yes.
What have you read?
Books.
Mostly, reading books is good for you. And reading good books, even more so. Who's to tell a good book from a bad one? For starters, my sister Parul. She trashed 'The girl on the train' as soon as she saw it in my hand.. I took revenge by leaving the book in her apartment.
I was taking a flight to bombay, planning on surprising my family over Diwali. I held a fat book by the name of Sacred Games for my journey. My major motivation to read this book is to cry out, when its proposed web series come out, 'The book is way better!!'. I've never done that and its annoyed me to tatters.
Fat books are scary. They remind me of the saying at Archies (the greeting card and snowglobe penholder store)
"Good to see, Nice to hold, If read, We consider (you) OLD."
Well maybe that wasnt the saying, but close enough.
I cant get through fat books. I'm talking Harry Potter after 'The Tri-wizard Tournament'. And I was such a hardcore fan that in my most "memorable" nightmare involved Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban and taking rounds of our dormitory, in Talegaon.
So i waited for its movies. Then slept through them. Dumbledore dies, someone recently revealed.
So I was thumbing my way, waiting for my flight to take off. To be truthful, which I try to be an awful lot, I was skimming through the pages, grinning on the inside of my face. You know how sometimes, you've bested your previous self. I had just gotten a free "Diwali" upgrade to a 800.Rs-leg-room seat that at my height, I didn't need but my charming self had earned it.
So as I peer from above my fat book, to see the lowly, uncharming peasants sitting, waiting for their coach seats, one person in particular stands out.
He wears thick glasses on a checked shirt. His face is tense, similar to yours, when you try to pick up that stuff toy with the help of that claw. You do not belong in that gaming arcade, and rightfully, never will that stuff toy belong to you.
His left hand is his writing pad, and his right index finger is a pen. He is writing furiously in thin air and does not look satisfied with the results. He feels my gaze on him. Similar to how I felt Luvkush's glare at the back of my neck when I refused to let him copy from my paper in 10th B.
As my look of amusement glints of his spectacles, he looks at me, slack jawed.
"Are you Ok?" I ask.
He gets up to his feet, as if awoken from his day dreams by his least favourite professor.
"Sir?".
'I'm asking if you're good?'.
He checks on his imaginary equations, relieved to find them right where he left them.
'Yes..yes..", confirms he, sitting back down.
I give Good-Will (hunting) a thumbs up. He goes back to his notepad and me, to my Sacred Games.
Sartaj Singh has just figured out who Ganesh Gaitonde's guru is when "Are you also going to delhi?" arises from my left.
I lower the book and turn to see a bald guy looking at me. "Are you also going to delhi", he repeats.
"No, I'm going to Bombay", i say, with bombay-wallah pride in my voice, which tends swell up when speaking to a Dally person. More on this some other time.
"Do you know when my plane leaves", he enquires.
At this juncture, if I was JD from Scrubs, I'd lift my head to the left and flashback to a platform at Damm station Circa 2015. But for DB's sake, I pull myself back.
'Maybe you should ask at the desk'
'Ya', he concurs. And leaves to enquire.
I notice our man here is ALSO reading a book. And what might its title be you ask? How FAT was this tome? The book was titled 'How to stop worrying and start living'.
'He asked me to check back in 15 minutes' , reports the Dally-boy, looking relieved.
(DB is has clearly reached the 'Stop worrying' part in his book.)
The 'He' DB is referring to is a man in camouflage, with a gun slung on his right shoulder. Unless there was a military coup at Indigo, I doubt G.I.Jai would've have shed any light on this matter. Infact, it was quite civilian of G.I.Jai to come up with a 'come back later'.
'What did it say on the display?' says the man with the fat book (Me!), pointing with his chin towards the display boards at the departure terminals that display such vital information.
'Oh ya. I didnt check that' says the delhi bound passenger.
'Maybe you should. And hurry' suggests the man with an extra legroom seat (Me!)
'It says Mumbai', he reports back to base.
'Well then your flight takes off from another gate. Figure it out quick!' quips the man with the extra legroom seat he got no extra cost. (Me! Me!)
'Yes! Thanks!' exclaims he-who-hopefully-will-now-make-his-dally-flight-now.
And with that he leaves.
I ponder on these recent happenings in my life while seated in the 6E. And as my feet stretch out and feel the nothing but dense, pressurised air of the aircraft, it comes to me.
Anyone who's every been considered wise enough to follow, to be pursued for explanations and musings, has been accompanied by a fat book. No leaflet ever found a following. Apart from Aptech. Thats an exception to the rule.
Comments
Post a Comment