Last exam ( hopefully I clear all my papers ) of my MBA and as I submit the paper to the invigilator, the adrenaline rush is overwhelming. As per plan, 2 BHK was supposed to get some London Pilsners a.k.a LP's to the room right after exam and more importantly, the culmination of the 2 year paid vacation. We will get back to 2 BHK a little later.
I meet my girlfriend near the cafeteria just like we did after every exam since Sem 1. I tell her my plans. As usual, she's cool and tells me to have a good time. So I run back to my room. The family is already waiting and good to go. Adi takes out his car while Chacha takes my bike. 6 of us packed like sardines in the Maruti Swift and tripping on the Hate Song, we reach the calm cool confines of Sheetal. Having picked up our LP, we head to Palone and start the chugs. The heat was on.
2 BHK were two rooms in the hostel known for their green ideologies which helped yours truly secure a job in a leading Carbon Consulting firm. Countless gifts of Maggi given by the Old Monks talking mildly under the red bulb sun, these two rooms were testimony to fun, frolic, insanity, havoc with Fit attacks, discuss throw competition with empty beer bottles, double entendre dialogues in Marathi with the Dictator ..err Director (Dada Khondke would be mighty proud with us), guitar jams, erotic art and most importantly... lots of grey cell stimulating conversation. However, what happened that day during some beer sipping left me with ambivalent feelings.
So yeah... One bottle down and we weren't satisfied. Chacha (He's the man... hell he deserves another blog post) answers his call of duty and heads back to get some more. As we chat, a kid not more than four.... maybe five walks to me and tugs my pant. She wanted the bottle. Stupified.. I looked in horror. Pretty soon, I realized she wanted the empty bottle. It was a no-brainer. Her ragged cloths and cracked heels screamed MONEY. Money she could get with those empty beer bottles traded with the Raddhiwalla.
Chacha is back in no time with the second crate of LP. We start chugging as a goods train chugs along the railway track closeby. By now, the little girl watching us has company. In no time, her pals-in-rags eye our bottles. They sense hostility from our end. However, we had none and empty our bottles. The good old habit of throwing the beer bottle is curbed. The bottles are passed to the children. Adi starts chattering in Marathi with the kids. Seems their folks had gone out for daily wage work and the kids were on their own.
Chacha heads back on the bike for a third time. However, no beer bottles this time when he returned. Armed with a dozen guavas, some snacks and chips, he distributes it equally amongst the kids who clearly show signs of Kwashiorkor and Rickets.
Soon, we head back to our 2 BHK for a much needed siesta. With Colin Edwin's basswork in the background, I wonder what provoked Chacha. Having known him for two years, I had never seen this side of him. Our conversation revolved around our lives, women, music, films and where we were headed after MBA. What he did that day, left me speechless and confused.
It was a strange feeling that I can't explain. Perhaps, I can never put it in words. With the sickening poverty rates in our country, we don't know how much difference this post makes. That day, the small act from Chacha made a difference to those kids on that day nonetheless.
I meet my girlfriend near the cafeteria just like we did after every exam since Sem 1. I tell her my plans. As usual, she's cool and tells me to have a good time. So I run back to my room. The family is already waiting and good to go. Adi takes out his car while Chacha takes my bike. 6 of us packed like sardines in the Maruti Swift and tripping on the Hate Song, we reach the calm cool confines of Sheetal. Having picked up our LP, we head to Palone and start the chugs. The heat was on.
2 BHK were two rooms in the hostel known for their green ideologies which helped yours truly secure a job in a leading Carbon Consulting firm. Countless gifts of Maggi given by the Old Monks talking mildly under the red bulb sun, these two rooms were testimony to fun, frolic, insanity, havoc with Fit attacks, discuss throw competition with empty beer bottles, double entendre dialogues in Marathi with the Dictator ..err Director (Dada Khondke would be mighty proud with us), guitar jams, erotic art and most importantly... lots of grey cell stimulating conversation. However, what happened that day during some beer sipping left me with ambivalent feelings.
So yeah... One bottle down and we weren't satisfied. Chacha (He's the man... hell he deserves another blog post) answers his call of duty and heads back to get some more. As we chat, a kid not more than four.... maybe five walks to me and tugs my pant. She wanted the bottle. Stupified.. I looked in horror. Pretty soon, I realized she wanted the empty bottle. It was a no-brainer. Her ragged cloths and cracked heels screamed MONEY. Money she could get with those empty beer bottles traded with the Raddhiwalla.
Chacha is back in no time with the second crate of LP. We start chugging as a goods train chugs along the railway track closeby. By now, the little girl watching us has company. In no time, her pals-in-rags eye our bottles. They sense hostility from our end. However, we had none and empty our bottles. The good old habit of throwing the beer bottle is curbed. The bottles are passed to the children. Adi starts chattering in Marathi with the kids. Seems their folks had gone out for daily wage work and the kids were on their own.
Chacha heads back on the bike for a third time. However, no beer bottles this time when he returned. Armed with a dozen guavas, some snacks and chips, he distributes it equally amongst the kids who clearly show signs of Kwashiorkor and Rickets.
Soon, we head back to our 2 BHK for a much needed siesta. With Colin Edwin's basswork in the background, I wonder what provoked Chacha. Having known him for two years, I had never seen this side of him. Our conversation revolved around our lives, women, music, films and where we were headed after MBA. What he did that day, left me speechless and confused.
It was a strange feeling that I can't explain. Perhaps, I can never put it in words. With the sickening poverty rates in our country, we don't know how much difference this post makes. That day, the small act from Chacha made a difference to those kids on that day nonetheless.
