I have come to accept that no matter how much I reason, I am not immune to the whims of surroundings. How else to justify the Bournvita-milk I have been drinking after dinner for over a week now.
Last week, while shopping for grocery at a food-mall, the Bournvita bottle caught my eye. Destiny? It wasn’t the first time that I had seen it there. But, don’t know how or why, I put it in my cart; just like that. I hurried away from the aisle to proceed with the regular shopping.
I came back home, stacked the food and grocery items at their designated places, poured some milk in a glass, put a spoonful of Bournvita in it, stirred it well, and then drank the milk slowly, without daring a look into the mirror by the basin. I washed the glass thoroughly after emptying it (I don’t want my maid to know; the bottle is kept hidden behind the bookshelf.)
Such has been the routine since then. Sometimes in office, I find myself thinking in anticipation about the taste and right quantity of Bournvita. I’ve researched the health benefits as well on google (not many).
So far I have not been able to find a reasonable explanation of this new addiction. I like the taste of course, but “why now” remains unanswered. I don’t think I am doing it for nostalgia, I am not the kind. Present times are far better, provided you apply the right filters.
Will I buy a new bottle when this one is finished? I might. Or I might forget about it and let some other such nonsensical fixation captivate me at its own will. I roam, and I let the world affect me, the way it wants to.
While we are talking about helplessness, a recent Bangalore-Traffic-Police initiative has caused me a great deal of amusement. They’ve made it mandatory to remove the sunfilms of the car windows. I chuckle.
I bought my car when I was in Gurgaon and it didn’t have sunfilms as Delhi region already had this no-sunfilm rule. Now it gives me immense pleasure to participate in “Have you removed your sunfilms yet?” conversations.
More amusing than the conversations, is to observe the ‘victims’ on the road. Most of the city-folks have complied by now. When the rule was announced, I received a couple of “Bangalore against removing sunfilms” type group invitations on Facebook, which I heartily declined. Of course, the protests failed. Yet again, citizens resigned to the fate. Feeble, feeble.
And now they drive, all exposed. You can see the covers of the seat, the toys on the backseat, the breakfast that they are having, the color of their skin and the look in their eyes (inquisitive/accusing). They are yet to get accustomed to the idea of sitting all exposed.
There was once a boy of 8, who used to always wear full-length trousers to feel like a grown up. He wanted more respect. Once his family went on a train journey and forced him to wear shorts, so that he looked below 6 and hence eligible for half-ticket. He resisted and wailed, but all in vain. They promised him a seat by the window. When he got in the train, the window-seats were occupied by other kids. He had to sit squeezed between grown-ups. All through the journey he stared at his knees, and he shuffled his legs, whenever a fly sat on the bare skin.
He adjusted. So have the citizens. And how they look at each other through the transparent windows, praying for the signal to go green. Privacy lost. Vulnerable. Fellow sufferers. A general feeling of “Is Hamaam me sab nange hain” prevails.