WALK OR GYM? I LIKE IT IN THE OPEN

I have been walking for the last several years. I like walking. At one time, when I was younger, I used to jog, especially long distances. But then, the doctor told me that jogging on metalled roads harms the knee-joints. So, I walk without any fear of undue wear and tear of knees.

Running or walking on the tread-mill in a gym never fascinated me. I am an outdoor person and I hate being cooped up in an office the whole day. Whatever little time I have to keep me fit cannot be spent inside a gym looking at cold machines and weights and other gadgets or to look at myself in large mirrors. I am not talking about the physical benefits of being in a gym. All I am saying is that mentally and temperamentally I don’t relish being in a cage.

I walk very fast; almost close to running. However, I still have time to breathe in air and perceive its changes in seasons, times of day and night, and in the proximity.  There are these crepuscular birds flying silently in jagged arrowheads. Sometimes I see them against the sun, changing shades of red until they mingle with blackness of the approaching night.

I walk very fast and yet have time to look at crepuscular birds
I walk very fast and yet have time to look at crepuscular birds

Walking in the rains is an art by itself. One has to wait until the rain stops to a slow drizzle and then you go out like Gene Kelly Dancing in  the Rain. There are times when the fog engulfs you and you are surprised to see people coming out of thick fog as if by magic. Then you observe them dexterously moving around with their umbrellas.

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In Kharghar, Navi Mumbai, where I have a house in the Jal Vayu Defence Enclave, just across from the Kharghar Golf Course, you see the twin Pandavakada Falls with a beeline of people going towards the falls to see them from close distance and get sprayed by its raging waters.

Pandavakada Falls in Kharghar as seen during my walks
Pandavakada Falls in Kharghar as seen during my walks

Walks enable you to observe people’s behaviour closely. For example, I notice that I have hardly come across a two wheeler driver looking straight ahead. He or she is either busy talking to the person on the pilion seat by tilting head backwards or observing the scenery. I also notice that vehicles in Mumbai, especially two wheelers, go straight to the point of destination from where they are and don’t worry too much about being on the wrong side of median.

I also observe people taking their pet dogs for walk. I see that there are very few who take the pets; in majority of the cases, it is the pets that take them for walk. Sometimes, I feel envious of the pets.

Sometimes when you go for walks early mornings, you find that the moon hasn’t set yet and sun hasn’t risen and you get the illusion of having moon looking like sun.

By the way, that brings me to the point that you never walk alone; the sun, the moon, the stars, they all walk with you.

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(Sun or moon? Well, who cares?)

Then, once in a while, during the rains, you come across a rainbow and you marvel at the fact that not only God made colours but He presented them in the most alluring manner to all of us. Your heart wants to swing on the rainbow.

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Then, early mornings, you also see devotees walking by singing hymns. The Sikhs have a Gurudwara on the other end of the Central Park and they go, together with women and children, one week in a year, on what is called Prabhat Pheri (Early Morning Walk-around). We also have an ISKCON temple (under construction) close-by. It is such a tranquil sight to see a small group going past singing hymns of Lord Krishna.

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And, it is not just the people and the birds that I come across. I come across dogs either playfully sprinting in a pack or pups feeding on their mother. In all cases, like children, there is so much of excitement about them.

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And then, there is walking in the evenings. The sun sets over the hill. An occasional flight goes past since on the other side of the hill is the Santa Cruz airport. There is a lot of noise but slowly colours and noise fades, the lights come on slowly and everything starts becoming serene like the waters of this small lake in the Central Park.

IMG03471-20120108-1810Gradually, yellow becomes crimson and crimson becomes black and night engulfs you and takes you in your arms with promise of another day, another part of your journey on earth.

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Come the morning, you again want to be out, walking, walking, walking. You look at the sun and you see it reflected in the lake and you learn about life itself. There is no such teaching in a gym: you sweat, you add muscles and off you go.

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And then the hustle and bustle of the new day starts again. The milk-man going on his bicycle with two milk drums perched on either side of his bicycle rear carrier, and some skaters skating on the roads for want of a skating rink anywhere close by.

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I walk very fast; a little less than seven minutes a kilometre. However, I always have time to see, observe and click pictures; including this of mine at the end of the walk, breathless but full of joy and satisfaction:

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Yellow flowers are my favourite. These were clicked by me during a walk on the road side:

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As you were reading this article and looking at the pictures, it must have occurred to you that I am blessed and living in exquisite surroundings; the hills, the falls, the lake etc. I would like you to consider that such beauty would be anywhere. This is not in the hills; this is in Mumbai itself. Such beauty lies close to where you too live. All that you have to remember is to see as you walk past. And also remember what Rabindranath Tagore had said:

“Eyes can see only dust and earth,
But feel it with your heart, it is pure joy.
The flowers of delight blossom on all sides, in every form,
But where is your heart’s thread to weave them in a garland?”

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I can never walk in a gym. I have to be in the open where the water-falls, the grass, the sky, the birds, the people, the sun and the moon beckon me.

I walk with them.
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I hope, with this, I have encouraged you enough to walk in the open rather than in a gymnasium. In the latter you seek physical fitness only. Walking in the open is for your total well-being.

WORLDS APART

There was a time
Not much time ago
When our two worlds met
Like day meets night, or
Sky meets the sea
Or the river seeks the banks.
Our two worlds formed
Not one but another two worlds:
One in which we existed, and
Another in which we lived.
The latter had life, laughter
Song and music and
The beating of our heartbeats as one.
I believe that we liked
Loved and adored
Our second world more.

And now that the physical distances
Are closer than
The miles between our hearts,
Can we just look back and see
How our worlds moved apart?

Shouldn’t we have sensed
The fading smiles
The elongated silences
The songs that went sad
The shadows that lengthened
The sunsets that lasted
Many times more than the sunrises
The wetting of the eyes
The drying of the hearts?

We are the predators
Who killed our world
Where we lived beyond the world.
Egoes and anxieties
Suspicions and rigidities
Competed to win
And we both lost.

Worlds apart
I can barely see you
Can you see me?
Worlds apart
Death didn’t do it to us
Life did.
We could have known
We should have known.

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(Pic courtesy: www.doubledeclic.com)

GOD’S CHILD

He hated waiting for the bus at the stop below his office. At this time of the evening, several lakh salaried employees like him left the office. All were always in a hurry to get back home after a hard day’s work.

One’s position in life could be anything he had mused; but, in the evenings, what mattered was your position in the queue for the bus. In case one managed to stand with the first few in the queue for the bus, one could not only be assured of catching the bus but may also get a seat.

At one time, from Mantralaya to Bandra, he used to catch the local train but he had to walk great distances on either end from the local stations. Also, trains at this time of the evenings would be crowded. The only people who’d get seats at Churchgate would be the ones who’d travel backwards from Grant Road and Charni Road to Churchgate and then wait for the train to restart for Borivali.

It had taken him years to become a Head Clerk in his office in the Education Department; and now, instead of being a mere Godbole, he had become Godbole saab. He liked the ring of the title saab. It gave him an authoritative stature in the office. Minister madam trusted him so much that she had given instructions that all outgoing mail put up to her for signatures should be whetted by Godbole saab and should bear his initials just below the signature block.

He had met Anjali twenty years back and they were married for thirteen years now. She had given him everything that he could have asked for except for one thing that she had not been able to bear his child.

He had taken her for checks by gynaecologist several times. The gynaec had not been able to find anything wrong except to tell them that their anxiety was probably the cause. It may or may not have been; but, as time went by, it actually became the cause. The more time passed, the more was their anxiety at not having to have a child.

In their holidays, they had been to several holy places to pray for Anjali to become a mother and for him, Vikas Godbole to become a proud father. They had also been to Sri Sai Baba at Shirdi. But, they hadn’t been fortunate.

Just at the time they had almost given up, they found that their loneliness and anxiety had actually reunited them in more matured love. They longed to be with each other. She was at home during the daytime. She tailored clothes for the children and actually earned more with this hobby of hers than he did as a head-clerk. However, from the time he returned from office late in the evenings until next day after breakfast, they were virtually inseparable. They played Scrabble, went for walks on the sea-shore after dinner, and they watched television together. Once in a week they went to see either Marathi or Hindi movies.

Finally, God decided to be kind to them and she was expecting. Indeed, it was due anytime now. And that accounted for his rush home in the evenings as if his life depended upon it. Nowadays, thanks to Anjali’s condition, he was always the first or at least amongst the first few in the queue.

Standing in the queue everyday, he used to see an urchin approaching the queue for alms. He was a boy of about eight, unkempt, his nose dripping mucous, dressed in his tattered shorts and invariably in the same yellow shirt that obviously had seen better days. His feet were bare. He went from one person to the other, touching them on their trousers or sarees and suits, lifting his hand from their clothes, bringing it repeatedly to his forehead and saying, “Saab/memsaab gareeb ko kuchh de do. Subah se kuchh nahin khaya. Aap ka bhala hoga“. (Sir/Madam, please five something to this poor boy. Haven’t eaten anything since the morning. God will bless you.)

Most people turned their faces away from the boy and ignored him or just shooed him away. Some even began animated conversations about how beggary was the curse of India and how one had to be careful about such ruffians: “Before you can say Jai Ganesh, such guys would flick your bags and run away. You can’t trust these thugs.”

Vikas too had busied himself looking here and there in the first few days. However, once when the boy had tugged at his trousers hard, he looked down and looked straight into those pleading eyes; these were intense and bore into him. He could never look away after that. He was hooked. He would take out some coins and give the boy and now they had become friends; a degree of intimacy had set in as if they knew each other from ages.

He liked looking into those deep eyes searching his face for recognition. The looks changed from pity to joy when the boy sighted him. A smile would form on the corners of those young supple lips as if thanking him for what he was going to receive: a coin, a currency note, a toffee, a biscuit; invariably, Vikas Godbole got into the habit of carrying something for the boy.

Those eyes, those deep and eager eyes haunted Vikas. He was trying his best to read them, to figure out what story they carried for him. But, every time, he thought he came close to it, the bus arrived and he rushed home to be with the love of his life Anjali.

One day, immediately after his pay-day, he bought the boy a new shirt and a pocket comb. And today, the boy had changed his looks somewhat: hair were combed and he almost looked clean. As he approached Vikas in the queue, his heartbeat quickened. If it hadn’t been for the others in the queue who continued to sneer not just at the boy but also at the reckless habit of Vikas Godbole to show affection towards a street urchin, he would have wanted to hug him and pick him up in his arms. Vikas knew instinctively that he would be buying the young boy many more clothes and things in the future.

He reached out in his pocket, took out a few coins, and handed over to the boy. One of them slipped from his hand and rolled over to the road. Impulsively, the boy ran after it. He couldn’t have let go of a coin on a day when he needed it most to buy an ice-stick to add to the joy of wearing his new shirt for the first time in his life.

A speeding car had just overtaken a scooter and busy as it was in overtaking, it failed to react to the young urchin running after the coin. There was a screeching noise of the brakes, a fearful howl, the sound of metal meeting flesh, a scream, several shouts, blood and a body lying under the car, that of the urchin, honks, more shouts…….and then the sound of a siren.

Vikas broke from the queue and ran towards the car. Everything happened in a flash even after that. The car reversed a little, a cop appeared on the scene, an ambulance appeared, took the boy away and a police van took the car driver away. The police man parked the car involved in the accident on the side to make way for the traffic.

Vikas tried to get into the ambulance with the boy but he was pushed out. Later, when he had missed his bus and just sat on the kerb, he was trying to come to grips with what had happened. It was certainly his charity that had killed the child. He would never forgive himself for it. Should he have gone with the ambulance or with the police van? But, that would have required telling them what the child meant to him. In what way was he related to the child? Did he really mean that much? Was it simply because of those deep and keen eyes?

Vikas had no idea of how long he sat at the kerb and how much he cried. One hour, two hours, or even more; he had lost count of time.

Finally, it was dark and he resignedly caught a bus home. All throughout the journey he kept thinking of what could he have done before and after the accident. Could it have worked out any other way?

He reached home and found the door locked. It was unlike Anjali to have left home in this condition and that too without informing him. He reached into his pocket for his phone and then saw that there were as many as seven missed calls from her in a span of three hours. He got panicky and knocked at the door of his neighbour to enquire from them where Anjali was since she often informed them before leaving home. They informed him that she had gone into labour and had to be rushed to the maternity hospital.

He went running there. He was in a trance. He prayed to all the gods known to him whilst running.

The nurse told him that it was a difficult delivery but the good news was that his wife had given birth to a healthy male child. Could he see them? He was told that it was late and Anjali had been totally exhausted. He could go home he could come in the morning to see them.

He didn’t go home at all. He sat on the bench in the corridor and reminisced about his life with Anjali. He couldn’t believe it; he was a father after all those years of hopelessness. He prayed for her, prayed for his new-born son. But, every now and then his thoughts returned to the urchin in his new shirt, combed hair, his reaching into the pocket, taking out the coins, one of the coins rolling on to the road and the boy rushing after it for the last time in his life.

He hardly slept except for a few times when he dozed off due to sheer fatigue.

In the morning, he was taken to her bed. Both she and the child were awake. He hugged her and cried and then with tearful eyes he looked at his son.

Those deep and keen eyes looked back at him…..as if…..as if…..they hadn’t ever stopped looking at him.

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