(Wrote this long back but it still holds true...its not raining..but the traffic..the anticipation of victory ..an excuse to leap up and dance...still teasing the controlled 'professional' facade!! read on my heroes..)
It's raining. White streaks of water etching out the grays. The gray bridge, traffic, sky with occasional red, gold and green. Huge hoardings almost an eyesore instills some life in the stillness of the cars desperate to stretch their limbs. Wipers seem to be showing off their easy sways clearing away the thick droplets from the windscreen.
After few crawling kilometers in my taxi, a loud crowd jolts me out of my morning slumber. What's going on? Is it a riot? But to my relief the crowd was joyous. I go back to my sleep. Somehow the serpentine row of enthusiastic rain-soaked people doesn't seem to end. Must be a minister visiting. Don't these people have threatening bosses to report to? Lie detector swipe machines in the offices? Are they paid to stand like that? But the smiles look genuine. My neurons were short circuiting by now. Nothing made sense. It was not a political rally as the crowd was actually enthusiastic.
And then, I saw the hoarding of hoardings. Welcoming the Great Indian Cricket team. The winners. Alexander the Great would not have enjoyed this adulation. Everyone loves a hero. It’s uncanny how people blatantly celebrate and bask in reflected glory. A temporary lapse of reality. Who cares about a job lost or feelings of being non-existent in this human infested city? It's the present that counts. At present the glimpse of the winners will save us from our penury. So what if it's a lie? A borrowed moment of triumph. We are connected. Why would we feel so happy otherwise? We must be one like the saints claim. At least a part of me is a winner. Yes, indeed. My cynicism escapes in a yawn. Eyelids close the door to this farce. Let's catch up with some rest before reaching the office.
It's raining. White streaks of water etching out the grays. The gray bridge, traffic, sky with occasional red, gold and green. Huge hoardings almost an eyesore instills some life in the stillness of the cars desperate to stretch their limbs. Wipers seem to be showing off their easy sways clearing away the thick droplets from the windscreen.
After few crawling kilometers in my taxi, a loud crowd jolts me out of my morning slumber. What's going on? Is it a riot? But to my relief the crowd was joyous. I go back to my sleep. Somehow the serpentine row of enthusiastic rain-soaked people doesn't seem to end. Must be a minister visiting. Don't these people have threatening bosses to report to? Lie detector swipe machines in the offices? Are they paid to stand like that? But the smiles look genuine. My neurons were short circuiting by now. Nothing made sense. It was not a political rally as the crowd was actually enthusiastic.
And then, I saw the hoarding of hoardings. Welcoming the Great Indian Cricket team. The winners. Alexander the Great would not have enjoyed this adulation. Everyone loves a hero. It’s uncanny how people blatantly celebrate and bask in reflected glory. A temporary lapse of reality. Who cares about a job lost or feelings of being non-existent in this human infested city? It's the present that counts. At present the glimpse of the winners will save us from our penury. So what if it's a lie? A borrowed moment of triumph. We are connected. Why would we feel so happy otherwise? We must be one like the saints claim. At least a part of me is a winner. Yes, indeed. My cynicism escapes in a yawn. Eyelids close the door to this farce. Let's catch up with some rest before reaching the office.
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