The Flyover

Every day I woke up with just one purpose. To see it. To relish every bit of it. To enjoy the mystery that surrounded it. To imagine the truth behind it.
I enjoyed my mornings. They were bliss in my opinion, lunacy in others’. I spent every second of my morning staring at it, as the winds gushed past me.
You see, I just had mornings for this sacred job.
Afternoons, I spent doing something I hated doing, but had to.
Evenings, playing; which was a job in itself now, took my time. I had to do it, else I’d be proclaimed a loser. And I just couldn’t stand it. Especially, in front of it.
And nights, I just couldn’t afford to look at such a beauty in darkness. Never. Never ever.

I was a street urchin, in the common man’s language. I lived, well, in the common man’s language, on the roads. When the day came to its close, I returned back to what many wouldn’t like to call a home. Because there wasn't any. It was a mere roof.
A roof like no other. A roof so plane and rugged. A roof no ‘house’ can have. A roof no person would ever want. A roof, like the flyover.

Afternoons were dreaded. More for the humiliation they got along with them. Who would like people shouting at them, refusing to buy something as cheap as flowers? But I had to succumb, as there was no other way. I had to fill my belly, in addition to my mother and father’s as well. I had to live, I had to survive. I couldn’t stand the thought of living without looking at it – the flyover.

The flyover was perhaps the only memory I had of what is called childhood, in the common man’s language. Well, if you omit out memories of a bickering mother, and a seemingly non-existent father. And I loved it more than anything else in the world. It was vast, expansive, and majestic in all its views. What, in the world could be more beautiful than this? With cars driving, zooming around. With a never ending blue sky above it. This is what I could call salvation. I wished I was a flyover, at times.
My mother said it led to some huge city. When I had asked what a city meant, she had shouted at me for asking too many questions. I knew why she was angry. Not because I asked too many questions, but because I asked too many questions about the flyover.
You see, no one liked the flyover. Infact, they detested it, and cursed it.
I had often heard my mother whispering to my father about how this wretched thing should be broken down, as they weren’t able to see stars. Whispering, as they couldn’t say it aloud, when I was around.
I was very defensive about it. I didn't have any particular reason for it, though. I did, actually, but not in the common man’s language.

I spent my mornings staring at the huge structure. It gave me peace, it made me feel serene. It was so much better than kicking around a tattered football. So much better than selling flowers. So much better than hearing nonsense from nonsensical people. So much better than, well, life.
I often wondered what life was, beyond the flyover, in what they call the ‘city’, in the common man’s language. What was a city? A place better than this? A place that gave joy? Joy, greater than staring at this wonder? Or just another word for problems, tensions, and trouble? I wished someone from those speeding cars would stop by, look at my innocent eight-year old face, in the common man’s language, and take me to the city.
I wanted to go there. You see, the flyover taught me to be positive. Maybe, the city was all about joys and happiness.
Life under the flyover, however was mine. Well, at least mornings were. So what if I couldn’t see the sky at night? At least there was place to lie down. So what if it was just a few inches, and it smelled gross? At least I had a bed sheet to cover my nose with. So what if it was a tattered, torn one, that was hardly of any use? At least it gave me hope that there was something better in the world.
You see, the flyover taught me to be positive.
At least I had food to eat. So what if it was partly stale, leftover food that I hated to gobble down? At least someone, anyone made a point to offer it to me.
You see, the flyover taught me to believe there was someone, up there. God, in the common man’s language.
In the common man’s language.
In the common man’s language.
I wasn't a commoner. No.
No commoner thinks of a flyover as his life.
No commoner thinks of a filthy, dirty and wretched life, as a good one.
No commoner has a flyover to teach them stuff, when they need to learn.

No commoner has such an unusual, mute, and lifeless sibling as a flyover.


But then, who wants to be common?

Tags...and all the fun in them!!!

1. Last movie seen in a theatre:
Hmmm...i saw Jodhha Akbar, ansd what's more, twice. Man...I'm vella!

2. What book are you reading?
Does it mean you're insane if you don't read too many books??

3. Favourite board game:
I love scrabble, but no one plays with me :(
I like chess too...no one plays it with me :(
I love carrom, my uncle used to be my best opponent, then he got married :(
*Sigh*
I really need some good, considerate friends!!

4. Favourite magazine:
I like reading Filmfare...Bollywood entices me!! And of course, there's Shah Rukh...

5. Favourite smells:
In public interest, my close friends nicknamed me 'disabled' as they have a feeling that i dont see, smell or hear anything...

6. Favourite sound:
I'm least interested in finding out which sound I like!!

7. Worst feeling in the world :
Living life when you really don't want to...
I go through this terrible feeling every damn day... :(

8. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?
Is it morning 'enough'? Is it necessary to get up and open my books?
Is my mother at home, and would be watching me study?
Trust me, science is catching up on me...

9. Favourite fast food place:
Ah...Pizza hut is THE best!

10. Future child’s name:
Two years ago, I was telling my sis, "If I don't end up with this guy, I'll name my kid Armaan."
Sheesh!!!
Now, Armaan's over and done with...and no more am I doing family planning...

11. Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…” :
Buy death.

12. Do you drive fast?
All I do is roll my eyes when my mother drives at 20km/h, and I have to sit beside her, bored...

13. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? :-0
Does holding on to a pillow or bedsheet or whatever/whoever count?

14. Do you eat the stems on broccoli?
I really don't know. I never really bothered to inspect the vegetable so closely.
I'll ask my mum if she cooks broccoli 'with stems' right away.

15. Storms - Cool or Scary?
Cool. Atleast something adventurous must happen in life dammit...
A big earthquake, a tsunami, a hijack....something!!!

16. If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice?
I'd exchange for a 'hair quality exchange' machine!!!! My hair is evevn worse than a....than hay, I guess!
Sorry, I had no better example in mind :

17. Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in:
Delhi.
Man, my life is BORING in every way!

18. Favourite sports to watch:
You know what? I've been trying to understand cricket and soccer, and havent yet succeded. But with cricket, you know it's a happy thing when the ball crosses the boundary....
Soccer is hopeless...wait, I'm hopeless at soccer...

19. One nice thing about the person who sent this to you:
Kika - Hmmm, I haven't really had the chance totalk to her too much...But i knew her some time ago, she's a sweet girl...with her reservations.

20. What’s under your bed?
The worst FIITJEE papers I never want to solve, my pair of slippers, my bottle, then my shoes..And what's the nailcutter doing here? I've been looking for it all over...

21. Would you like to be born as yourself again?
Hell no!!!! I'd rather not be born then...

22. Morning person or night owl?
Night owl, when it comes to watching movies, awards shows, going online etc etc.
And I prefer to hibernate if it's studies...

23. Over easy or sunny side up?
Over easy, I guess...

24. Favourite place to relax:
Saumya, my friend's house is the best. Her mother loves attending to me, and my 'views' on every damn thing...

25. Favourite ice cream flavour:
I don't like ice-cream too much. I spill it every where, you see...and then it's a real mess. But if it's a must, I like Cornetto - lesser chances of spilling it...

26. You pass this tag to –
Radhika, Vasudha, Bharat, Disha, Akanksha, Shailja

27. Among people you tag, who do you think is going to respond the fastest?
Vasudha has stopped doing tags. So, cross out.
Bharat did one just recently, so he might not want to do another one right away. Cross out.
Disha will do it LATE. Plus, she's in USA. Cross out.
Shailja,lesser chances of it. Cross out.

My only hopes are with Radhika and Akanksha...
I just hope they have no other post in mind :P

***************************************************

Over? Sigh, I love answering random questions!!

Anything for you, sir...

When he walked into the class that day, his face seemed dull and he lacked his usual bright aura. I was perhaps the only one to notice it because the other students didn't bother to.
They had it straight in their head. He was a teacher. Them, students.
As I shrugged my shoulders at the thought, I looked at him intensely. Something was wrong.

I knew my sir more than anyone in the class did. And his lectures were more than just knowledge for me. They felt divine. If at all anything felt good about books and studies, it was his presence.
He was my favorite teacher, no doubt. Anyway, there were better things to think about…as he was more than that to me.
As he bragged on about resonance in benzene, I noticed he was sweating profusely. He hurriedly wiped it all off his face, and looked at me apprehensively.
Something was disturbing him terribly. And this was troubling me terribly.


I thought of the extra class I had arranged with him last week. It was just me and him. He taught, I listened. I talked, he listened. That day, I had poured out all my life’s conflicts in front of him. He seemed interested. He was perhaps the confidante for whom I had longed all this while.
He was more than a teacher. This much was clear.

But I didn't want to know any better.

Ignorance is bliss, they say.

When he looked at me again that day, his moist eyes gave away. He wanted to tell me something. I tried hard to read through, but sadly couldn’t.
This disturbed me, and so I decided to divert my attention to atoms and molecules.
Chemistry…was what he taught. And today, nothing seemed as interesting as it did.

I pretended to be deeply engrossed in my notebook as he gave the class a sum and walked round the class.

He was old, I reckoned. He was married, I knew. And he wasn’t exactly good looking either, I admitted. Yet, something drew me to him. What -- was a big question better left unanswered.

He stopped at my table, where I sat, lost in these thoughts.

No, I won't look up, I decided.

I don’t know why I did this. But I didn't want to look into those eyes, whose language I couldn’t decipher.

Anyway, I mechanically repeated to myself that he was a teacher, and I- just his student.
It didn't help. Damn.

An hour passed away, ad he still continued to talk about benzene and phenol and naphthalene. Some time later, he glanced at his watch. A Rolex, I recalled, as I had noticed during that memorable extra class.
He then glanced at me.
In an attempt to ignore him, I too glanced at my watch, and realized that the class was almost over.
He put back the chalk on the table, looked at the class and said:
“This will be my last class with you. I am getting transferred immediately to the other branch. Good luck, may god be with you in all you do.”

My heart skipped a beat as he looked at me for a nanosecond and then walked away.

Those eyes…I wish I had deciphered.



Drat. This couldn’t be love.