Baniyan Wala RockStar

God-Dammed

Sunday – late in the night.



The chant of ‘Jai Mata Di’ reverberated through the powerful speakers. However, instead of stirring my soul it had got on to my nerves.



It was well past midnight. I wanted a good night’s sleep after a fun-filled, yet tiring day of hullabaloo with friends. Mr. Chaddha, the secretary of our society, however had different plans for me and the entire neighbourhood. The megalomaniac that he was, Mr. Chaddha wanted all of us to take a religious trip right into the living room of Mata Shera-wali through an ‘all-night-Jagrata’. He sponsored it.



When I had tossed and swirled from one side of the bed to another for few hours in an attempt to force slumber to rescue me from the cacophony of the chants and songs that blasted out of the high decibel speakers, I decided not to take things lying down. I crept out of the discomfort of my bed and headed out into the night to confront the nuisance of the society. The event was happening a few paces away from my house.



Night. A great author has drawn a rosy parallel of it to a beautiful lady. The moon light is her silken attire and the stars are her bedazzling ornaments. For the moment, the loud music boxes, the dim-lit pandal sheltering some dim-wit people gaping at a dreary looking septuagenarian priest who was chewing into a microphone, were all collectively overwhelming the dignity of the beautiful lady.



There were a few chairs with fewer people occupying them. I started scanning through the faces in attempt to find Mr. Chaddha. Somebody in the crowd took note of me – a stray vagabond in pajamas and bathroom slippers gaping at the proceedings. He briskly approached me with semi-open eyes as if he has just been shaken out of a trance. He was a dimensionally challenged middle-aged man. He appeared to have been raised on ‘desi’ ghee and ‘bilaiti sharaab’. Though he was clean-shaven, his chubby cheeks were sprinkled with tiny black pit-holes(perhaps during his teens he used to prick and pop his pimples and would thoroughly enjoy the squirting of the gooey content). He walked up to me, looked at me into the eyes for a few seconds and then presented a cocky smile. He seemed to be inspired by Sanjay Dutt in Vastav for he wore a white kurta-pajama and a long red tika on his forehead. It gave the impression of a wrong man at the wrong place at the wrong time. He ought to be out there breaking into houses and murdering people.



On a closer look I realized that he was Bunty, the eldest son of Mr. Chaddha.



“Any problem”? He asked crossing his thick arms.



“I have a lot of faith and heartily appreciate your efforts”. I opened with a lie. “However, since I have office tomorrow, can you just turn down the volume?”



“If I turn down the volume, won’t these people sitting here doze off? Besides, is there a bigger office than that”? He said pointing at the huge deity of the Goddess Shera-wali at the far end of the pandal.



Then he took a dramatical pause, punched his open left palm with his right fist twice, looked up at the dark sky and said loudly to himself – “how selfish man has become. Oh Mata-Rani, please do not punish us all for the acts of few.”



“I fully agree that she is the greatest shakti; but I am sure she would listen to your prayers even if they are narrated silently but with devotion.” I tried to put forward logic from a corner.



“Today is Maha-Poornima. A full-night religious session would ward away all negative energies that are floating around from all four sides”. He said emphasizing on the expression ‘full-night’. The world has become too busy thinking only about material pleasure. We have stopped thinking about God. You should come and join the crowd and surrender yourself to The Almighty. Forsake the luxuries of worldly glories for this one night and make the Goddess happy. She will then keep you happy for the remaining days of the year.” Bunty counter-attacked.



For the next few seconds, I stood there like a stone staring at him flummoxed if not by the depth but certainly by the heights of his Theological insights. My eyes opened up a bit wider with a couple of realizations. First, Bunty was too blinded by his religious perceptions to visualize my spiritual arguments. Second, and most importantly, the Chaddha family had planned this religious orchestra for the entire night. By the conviction in Bunty’s voice I could make out that they were mighty serious in executing their plan. They were on a mission to demystify the supreme power.



“Can I talk to Chaddha uncle for a few minutes please if you do not mind”? I asked meekly.



By now two more guys had joined Bunty and were staring at me with crude hostility.



“He is occupied in better things. He is praying for all of us. He is praying for global peace and universal brotherhood.” One of the guys said without batting an eyelid. “He desires to meet no one before the puja is over”.



I did not fully understand the agenda of the prayer but the hype that Mr. Chaddha had created for himself forced me to draw an uncanny resemblance between him and The Almighty with a slight difference though – The Almighty does not think himself to be Mr. Chaddha!



The negative energy that Bunty was referring to, for me, came only from one side. I retreated before Bunty and his pals assumed the role of Shiva – the Destroyer. Still trying to recover from the volley of attacks, I decided to take help. I started to move in the direction of the nearby police station when somebody shouted from behind.



“Oye, hello”! It was Bunty again. “Are you thinking of calling the police? Let  me tell you what the police will tell you – by arranging for this Jagrata, Chaddha Saab has automatically arranged for the safety and security of the locality at least for today. By the way you can meet the head-constable here inside the pandal. Now go, try your luck”. They did not bother to stand and look at my reaction.



Stalemate! Game over.



I stood there alone under the tent-lights. I never felt like a bigger idiot. The hymns had made way for a famous Bollywood number – Sheila ki Jawani – with the lyrics replaced to give it a devotional drift.



I could feel gusts of hot wind blowing out of my ears. Something had shot up through the veins into my brain. Thousands of imaginary tiny pins pricked me all over and with every tiny puncture, rage oozed out in fiery bubbles. Then I had another plan.



I moved out and stepped into the dark. I bent and then crawled in the dark to find a pointed stone from under a nearby shrub. Then stealthily, I moved behind the big boxes. I found the wires. I took a deep breath. That was it; in one hard coup I would snap off the wires and that would be my vengeance against the oppression of the self proclaimed messengers of God. I hoisted my arms above my shoulder and was about to wallop the stone on the wires when someone shouted from over my shoulder – “Thief!Thief! Catch him!!”



Sanity overruled. I pulled away. I saw a young boy, someone who had just crossed over from adolescence to teens, charging towards me with something like a bamboo in his hand. In that split second I had to choose between fight and flight.



Without the slightest hesitation I opted for the second. I ran. The kid, a fearless Chaddha prodigy maybe, chased me in full steam. I knew the streets well; albeit the darkness, I ran like a determined sprinter. The bathroom slippers soon flew out of my feet. I did not stop to collect them. I reached the society gate when I realized that I was running alone. The kid had given up the chase. But the point from where the kid pulled back, somebody else picked up. The dogs.



First I was running to save my dignity. Now I was running to save my life.



At first there were 2 of them. Soon a third one joined. I ran like a man possessed in an open street. I could feel the barks closing in very rapidly from behind. Within seconds I could sense one of them inches away from my heels. I felt like a dead meat. Within seconds they would rip me apart. I did not want to die such a disgraceful death.



The next second I did something out of impulse which was at that time of survival the least obnoxious thing to do. In one ..two …. three springs I climbed the roof of a Xylo that was parked beside the street. No sooner did I mount the SUV, the burglar’s alarm went off and so did the parking lights. The sleeping vehicle sprang back to life.



I sat there cross-legged and took an imaginary picture of mine. So there was I panting and gasping for breath at the darkest hour of the night, sitting like a chimp on a roof-top of an SUV on alarm with 3 canines barking their lungs out at me from below. That was my Kodak moment which I would frame and pin-up against a conspicuous wall of my memory.



Help came in the form of the owner of the car. He soon shooed away the dogs. At that moment of mid-night crisis I was in no mood to decode the expression on the face of the owner and nor was I in a situation to render an explanation to him. I simply thanked him, shook his hands and trudged away. He did not stop me. Probably he too was a victim of Chaddha’s histrionics and empathized with me, just as one helpless soul does with another.



I sneaked back into my bed with my mind bobbing in a potpourri of emotions. I was tired after the close shave from dogs and dogmas. The din of the Jag-ratra music had not stopped, the music, even more deafening now, flooded into my ears. I lay there sulking. Each incident played and danced in my head.



Minutes passed. So consumed was I in my thoughts that it took a few moments for me to realize and then a few more to believe the improbable. The music had stopped. Finally they decided to have some mercy and to allow peace prevail. So celestial was the sound of pure silence! Slowly I was slipping into the warm and cozy realms of slumber. There is no greater pleasure than being alive to the gradual transportation of the mind slipping away from a state of the conscious to the sub-conscious.



There is no greater exasperation than to be woken up with a start by a sudden blast of a blaring loudspeaker. This time it came from the other side. It was the early morning muezzin’s call for namaaz. Almost instantly a priest started a fresh round of chants from Chaddha’s workshop. It was a perfect Hindu-Muslim ‘religious jugalbandi’ combined to disastrous effects. I gave up the last hope of getting my share of forty winks. I switched on the television and waited impatiently for the sun to put itself in full display.



Monday morning.



To the muted surprise of all my colleagues, I reached office on time. Heads turned. Jaws dropped. Eyes popped. My boss came out of his chamber and I could feel his gaze following me till I reached my desk. One of my colleagues even had the audacity to ask if I was in my complete physical and mental health to have reached so early. I brushed him aside and let him smirk at his own sarcasm.



Having reached my workstation I turned on my system. Opening my notes, I asked for a cup of coffee. I sat straight with a straighter face for the first few minutes till the buzz on the floor settled and people got back to their office chores. Then it was time for me to let my senses take control over me. Like sweet poison I felt myself slipping into a world of ecstasy. The shoulders drooped. The body slid. Eyes closed. Head dropped. The mind was finally at peace.



Office is such a lovely place to relax after a hard-night’s work.