'The misplaced Ghalib'

"मोहब्बत, चीज़ बड़ी ज़ालिम है,

आज मेरी है, तो कल किसी और की

सपने तो सारे काले ही है,

न कोई रंग, न चमक उसकी

गोर करो भाईलोग, आज यह सच मैं कहता हूं

ये दुनियां ही सारी कमीनी है,

न सपने है, न मोहब्बत उसकी।।"

A huge applause with joyous shouts of "wah wah" followed these lines at the 'Sardar da dhaba', on the Chandigarh road, a little further away from Zirakpur towards Delhi. The audience comprised of tired truck drivers, sleepy cleaners, the over enthusiastic dhaba staff and simple nomadic travellers like Abi who were all waiting for their steaming hot parathas with extra makkan and their choice of the delicious punjabi gravy, 'thadka maarke'. 

This newly formed local 'Mirza Ghalib' was a man in his late thirties, who clearly had had one too many of his desi daaru which was clearly visible from the number of empty glass bottles abondoned at the edge of his charpai. He resembled a hippy, with his baggy green pants carelessly tucked into his bulky brown boots, his long hair negligently spread over his camouflaged T-shirt, a thick moustache and a beard covering most of the sun tanned skin of his face. A hiking bag was left unattended to at one of the corners of the charpai. It was evident from his casual and comfortable approach that he was a regular at such dhabas and knew his way around the mood of his audience. He was so tactical in his approach that everytime he wanted to be heard, he would vary the pitch of his voice, forcing the people around him to take notice of him and thereby his words. His creative phrases and poetic verses were so encaptivating that for a moment the attention of the whole dhaba diverted from the overworked television screen towards his philosophical quotes. One such instance occured as they watched an exclusive report of a road mishap. A teenager involved in the accident had unfortunately succumbed to the injuries in s hodpital nearby. He suddenly banged his glass with a thud on the wooden plank placed on his charpai with all his might and exclaimed,

"न माँ की दुआ,

न बाप का साया

अरे ज़िंदगी में न मैंने,

समझो पैसे बहुत है कमाया

आज पलट कर देखु तो,

है कमी हर रिश्ते की

न इश्क़ है न दोस्ती,

तो करुं क्या मैं इतने पैसों की

पहेचान भी उन्हीं की होती है,

जिनकी कोई इज्ज़त करें

और इज्ज़त तो उनकी करते है,

जिनकी मैय्यत पे दिल खोल के रोने का मन करें।।"

It was again received with high praise but this time there was a difference in the deliverance. It was evident that our Ghalib was losing his hold over his emotions. The pendulum was oscillating between the excess desi daru flowing through his veins, that was working its magic by interfearing with the functioning of his brain cells or some hidden regret that was waiting like molten lava. There was some deep wound behind his undiminishing smile that wouldn't heal despite his best efforts. The matt mask of an explorer was easy to see through but a tough one to crack. 

After a couple of hurried sips from his glass, he said with his moisten lips still dripping alcohol from its corners, "Some people are extremely unfortunate. They are surrounded by people but still live life alone. While some are alone, yet live life according to their whims and fancies. Then there are people like me who are neither there nor here. My life has no destination, only a tattered map with disconnected roads and ultimately a dead end." 

His approach to life aroused Abi's curiosity. Having often mingled with people who challenged the normal way of life to finally detach from it completely, choosing a unique path for themselves, this Ghalib somehow did not fit into his preconformed descriptions of any of the challengers. While those people were expected to be extremely passionate and mostly inclined towards adventure, hiking, mountaineering, hippy style, literature, poetry, philosophy, travelling and so on, Abi's candidate was neither a loner nor an overly social guy. While the challengers company was a treat in itself, for their understanding and interpretations of certain experiences broke through the preconceived and pre-existing notions like knife cutting through warm butter, Abi felt a different vibe from this 'to be' Ghalib. Though his clothes and words fulfilled the prerequisites, his approach to life did not. He sounded more like a depressed soul trying desperately to bury his past with his charm and irreplaceable aura.

Abi walked right across the several trucks parked at the side of the road towards Ghalib, greeted him with a smile and made himself comfortable on the charpai next to his. It was evident that Abi wanted to know his story. He believed that everyone had a story to tell and it was only a patient ear that was lacking, which was often proved right. There was something intriguing about this character. The television screen still flashed blood stained scenes from the accident. Abi watched Ghalib closely. His expression changed with every second the news flashed on the screen. His face had started to look pale and from whatever little Abi could notice under the faint lights of the dhaba, Ghalib's eyes were glistening. He fought hard to hold them back with a fake smile and some extra pegs.

"All okay bhai?" Abi asked, leaning towards Ghalib, patting his thigh.

"Oh yes... It's just the deaths..." he replied. "It's hard to stare at it on the face and beg for a couple of minutes to devise a plan to cheat it. We always miss and it surely hits." he said, wiping the excess alcohol with the back of his hand.

Abi was confused. He gave Ghalib a blank look and nodded with a faint smile. 

"I have been there, seen it with my own eyes and tried to feel it with my bare hands. It's all an illusion encoded in a matrix of time." 

Abi was second guessing his decision to move to this spot by now. He was pretty sure that it was the alcohol talking. Still, he couldn't just walk away. He had voluntarily walked right into the middle of the spider web with a hungry spider waiting at the fringes. 

Ghalib stared long and hard at the television screen and continued, "My dad had leukaemia...I stood by him, shoulder to shoulder from the time it was diagnosed. It was a painful process of chemo that was spent mostly in anxiety and desperation. I did everything I could, hoping and praying that by some miraculous effort he would recover. It was hard, I was too distraught to look beyond, but we did move on. We gradually took baby steps towards living with it. Then one day, on dad's insistence, I joined a group of bikers on a Himalayan ride. It was a week long ride along the chilly, snow clad mountain ranges, something I had wanted to do for a long time. Dad was well aware of my wish and he forced me into it. Considering that his medical reports had not showed any irregularities for quite some time, I hesitantly agreed. Little did I know that the day I left home would be the last time I would be seeing him alive. We were in the treacherous mountains, fighting harsh conditions with limited signal access, living in tents, helping one another cope up. It was only four days post the demise that I learned about it.

मैं वो बदनसीब हूं जो अपने बाप के मय्यात पे भी नहीं पहुँच सका.." he said as a tear drop trickled down the corner of his right eye. 

Abi sat there open mouthed, unable to fathom the sudden burst of emotion on Ghalib's ever smiling face. This was the real deal. He was indeed under a lot of stress, mental pressure and trauma to say the least. Abi's instincts had been proven right again. It was a face in disguise. He felt like the movie 'Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani' playing right in front of his eyes but this time with the protagonist who actually looked like he had undergone far too much in life than what he would have wanted to. He hid his original self behind his poems, words and a cheerful smile.

 "Aah... Fate I guess" said Ghalib immediately recovering from his rare and momentary expression of sadness.

He sat motionless staring at his glass for a couple of minutes. Then, all of a sudden, there was an unexplained hastiness in his actions. He wanted to run away from something. Was it the memory or the people he had just opened up with, Abi was quite unsure. He emptied his glass of alcohol in one go and immediately started seaching for something on his charpai. It was his bag. He unsteadily picked it up from the corner, closed a few zips and was all ready to leave.

"That was his and this is mine" he said pointing at his Enfield, parked in the midst of two towering 40 tonner Tata trucks.

Finally as he kick started his modified Royal Enfield to officially end his pitstop, the engine vociferated into the silence of the night, reiterating the echos of life into the dark night sky. The local Ghalib visibly exhaled a deep breath and smiled. The mask was back. The booming voice roared again as he spoke for the last time before riding into the darkness.

"एक आखरी बात सुनलो यारों...

'ज़िंदगी एक घिनौनी मज़ाक है

जिसे न खतम कर सकते है,

न खुलके जी सकते है।

यादें, हर पल चुभती वो नुकीली कील है

जिससे न चुटकरा पा सकते है

न पूरी तरह से मिटा सकते है।

ये सच्चाई है ज़िंदगी का

जिसे न त्याग सकते है

न दफना सकते है।।'"