Reflections.

Champai dhoop ke saaye  Baahon mein simat aaye hain Deheni lage hain shariyano mein Bada rangeen lagta hai Phir bhi ghamgheen lagta hain
- Gulzar Sahab.

I just finished reading the English translation of Shankar's 'Chowringhee'. It is an account of Calcutta (the old names still hold a charm, don't they?) through the eyes of a naive hotel clerk. From behind the reception counter at the majestic Shahjahan hotel, the protagonist watches the life and lies of those who sashay across.  

You instantly relate to the characters of Shahjahan. Each one adds their own hue. The poor man from the Howrah underbelly finds himself in a trance when life suddenly transfers him to the world of glitz and glamor. He sees people transform like chameleons under the neon lights. He learns simply by observing their behaviors.  

While the pages fleeted, I was lost in thoughts. Thoughts about the people that surround us. The people that influence us, in good ways and bad. People that support us, that hurt us, that make us fight back with a vengeance,  that love us truly, people who have just one face. 

When I finished the book, the story continued to run in my head. What are we but our stories?Chowringhee was not just a story about individuals, but an incredible chronicle of life in a past faced world. You welcome the charm and intelligence of Sata Bose, the receptionist. You shed a tear at the tragic hostess Karabi Guha whose only fault was that she did not know how to love with clauses. Your heart goes out to the owner of the opulent hotel who is a merely a poor rich man at heart.You meet a cabaret dancer who sheds her inhibitions in front of the unruly crowd, the bar man with a golden heart who prays for forgiveness every day, the musician who plays his tribute to Beethoven each morning with the rising rays of the sun, the launderer who a la Lady Macbeth bathes at the Holy Ganges after cleaning the sins of the dark night. There is that sly steward, the secretary who is more than what she portrays herself to be, the porter who is desperately trying to win over his love..

Then there is a world outside the hotel. The world of the rich and famous, the world that bribes the poor to keep their secrets guarded. You watch them walk in and out with shades covering their eyes,  drowning their insecurities in the comfort of alcohol. The shrewd industrialists, the unfaithful wives, the social worker who turns a vamp by night, the starlet seeking shelter from her jealous husband, the innocent youth who turns crafty, the kind air hostess who surprises many by making intelligent conversations. You meet them all.

You laugh at their small joys, you bask with them in their moments under the sun. You cry while they whimper at their miseries. You wish you could talk to some of them, you are glad you never met a few. Chowringhee brought all these different people alive and then made me reflect on those around me.

It made me stop a while and think of those incidents that made me laugh till i cried. Of the times when I cried till it couldn't hurt no more. How often am I grateful to those who make me who I am? Do I express it at all? Do I say things right the way they are meant to be, do I brush aside moments that need to be acknowledged? 

Yes I do. Now as I write this post there are so many things I wish to say to those who make a difference to me. In the daily turmoil where I am running towards a future not quite clear, I miss out on the simple pleasures. As I observe the life of those around me, I am reminded of how lucky I am. 

You sometimes need to take a step back to move forward. Just like that, one day, you sit down and think. Think of the people you come across every day, situations you wriggle out of, trials you put yourself through, choices you make. For in the end, we all have a choice. These are the choices that build our story. For what are we but our stories?! 

Chhaaon chhod ke dhoop mein chalna  Dhoop sada reheti bhi nahin Yunhi kabhi toh hota hoga gunaah haseen Phir bhi ghamgheen lagta hain.