The man not in books

Roaming around at the World book fair, it seemed as if the whole world, with all the possible pros and cons of the past, present and future has accumulated at this place.  Perhaps this is the only place in the world where Gandhi and Bhagat are seen next to each other. Or the only site where you can find both left and right occupying the center.

You might be known for your good or bad deeds but if you are a part of history, you are here in some or the other page of these millions of books.

After wandering around the endless collection of the books spread across many halls of Pragati Maidan, I was tired enough to stroll any further. A loud but soothing classical tune was constantly going on in the background., May be someone was performing a folk/ classical dance .I walked towards the open theatre of the ground, from where the music was coming, not to enjoy the classical dance but to give rest to my aching feet.

The enthusiasm of the audience there was unlike the previous similar shows I had seen.  But when I stepped up the six giant stairs and looked at the center stage, I felt that the show was actually not similar to anything I had seen before.

There was a man with earthen pots (matkas) placed on his head, not one but 6 of them. Carrying the entire load, he danced with such ease that not many can dance even with a hat on their heads.

He did all the moves graciously, then he danced on two swords and then on broken pieces of glass. And while doing all this he sported a smile as if nothing underneath his feet was hurting .

The entire crowd stood up in his respect, all one could hear was applause and whistles.

The man didn't need to speak anything. His dance had said it all. But he spoke. He spoke to make us realize that for the last 27 years, he is the only one in the city carrying the burden of this art on his shoulders.

One could easily feel the pain in his voice as he mentioned the term “dying art”. The man will celebrate his golden jublie next year. But there were hardly any traces of joy in his voice or on his

face as he mentioned this. It seemed he didn't want to grow old because he knew that with him will die his 'dying art'.

I entered the show late, so I didn't know his name, I asked some other people sitting around, they also had forgotten the name announced in the beginning, even the anchor did not repeat his name. It seemed as if his dance had overshadowed his all personal identities.

I could have taken the trouble of searching for a catalogue to find his name, or could have tracked the events website. But I didn't do any thing of that sort because I knew that although his was a historic art, this man would never be remembered in history.

The present that gets written in the books, becomes history and amongst the millions showcased at the venue, this man was not in those books.

The Smiley without a smile

Walking through the streets of the Delhi University campus is always a great experience. Away from the workload, the chaos of the office, you can sense the energy that you seem to have lost the moment you came into the professional world. While I was enjoying some street food on the roads of Kamla Nagar,I felt as if  someone was pulling my woolen jacket from below. I am precisely mentioning the term woolen here to emphasize on the fact that it was a cold day, a chilling cold day!

I annoyingly looked down to see who was not letting me enjoy my delight. There was a small girl, must be 9-10 years of age, shivering in cold without adequate clothes to cover her entire body. Someone would have donated a coat to her which she not only used to cover her body but also pulled it up to save her head from the cold wind.

I thought she was hungry. I offered her some food. But she was least interested in that. All she wanted was to sell the products she was carrying. The girl did not have any smile on her face, but she was selling smilies. Some in form of stickers, some in form of batches and others attached with pencils. 10 rupees was the cost of each.

The north campus of Delhi University is an area where some of the brightest students of India reside. Every year lakhs of students face the battle of scoring the highest in their board exams and those who win get rewarded with a chance to study in some of the best colleges of the country, situated in this part of Delhi. The university campus is not only the place for the brightest minds of the country but also has a pool of the most promising politicians of the future. And amidst the crowd of those intellectual and bright minds and promising politicians was this small, innocent poor girl. I wonder if not a single one of those privileged ever thought about doing any good to this not so privileged child.

Thinking about all these, I walked ahead. The street was cluttered with posters of student wings of different political parties. Some promised a better syllabus structure for the students, some promised a safer place for women, some other wished a Happy Republic Day.

There was a stark contradiction between the writings on the wall and the reality on the street. Like the small girl, there were many other children selling different stuffs on the street but I spotted a special boy amongst them. I call him special because he had a tray in his hand carrying tea. Yes, he was a chaiwala. Chiawla is undoubtedly one of the most discussed terms of the political scenario of this country. I took out my mobile phone to take his snap, but he realized it and ran away. I could only capture a hazy picture of his. Just hours ago, I had heard the US president talking about Chai pe charcha, the meeting he had with the self proclaimed and most reputed chaiwala of this country, our honourable Prime Minister.

I wondered, “Can that PM chiawala turn the world around for this chotu chaiwaal?”

Suddenly an update from a popular news paper application popped up on my mobile phone. It stated: “The suit that PM Modi wore during his meeting with president Obama had his name inscribed on it in minute letters. The cost of the suit is estimated to be around 8 lakhs”

Was this the answer to my question?