The Adventures of BongMan and Me - Part II

There's so much to crib about and so little time! Gah! So without much ado, lets get down to some serious BongMan trashing.

More excerpts from previously mentioned travel journal:

- Some of the most annoying Bongs I had the misfortune of travelling with are the ones who come with kids. Usually two. And each more intolerable than the other. The kicking, screaming, crying, scratching, running-up-and-down-the-length-of-the-compartment kinds. Makes me want to yell and tear my hair out, to say the least. But maybe its gotten less to do with them being Bong. Maybe its just KIDS. Look I love kids. I think they have the most adorable 'behinds' among other qualities. But they're not my ideal companions, so to speak, on journeys or inside movie theaters. They unleash the Devil in me, and that's an understatement. If I hadn't been introduced to the concept of self control I would have been behind bars for assault ages ago. Trust me. The problem in most of these cases is bad/terrible parenting. According to me, kids should not be allowed to travel/enter movie theaters till they're at least ten. And if they are, their parents should be prepared to see their kids with popcorn buckets dumped on their heads. Anyway, lets not digress from the issue at hand - Bong parents with kids on trains. FOCUS.

BongDad (Bad), BongMom (Bom) and BongBaby (Butt) enter air-conditioned compartment of the Calcutta Rajdhani (I refuse to call it 'Kolkata'. So give it a rest!). Me, hiding behind my book, sigh, almost audibly, attracting unnecessary attention. Damn. They've seen me now. Pointless conversation becomes inevitable.

Bad (turning to me): It's so hot isn't it? (wiping sweat off his face with an already drenched handkerchief.)
Me (still unable to forgive myself for inviting conversation): It is.
Bom: Its quite cold in the compartment though. (It's air-conditioned! Duh! Also notice the insistence on stating the obvious.)
Bad (turning to wife): Give Bontu some food. He must be hungry. (presuming Bontu is the name of the hapless child.)
Butt (whining): Noooooooooooo. I'm not hungry.
Bom: Bontu Shona. Please eat something.
Butt: No! (Yelling unnecessarily. Kids!)
Bom (Giving up. I would have killed myself or her if this exchange continued any longer): Fine! Do what you want. Next time you pester me for food, you ain't getting any.
Butt: Mummy! Where will I sleep?
Bom (Obviously offended by afore mentioned refusal of food. I presume she made it with all the love in her heart.): You'll sleep in the lower berth.
Butt (wailing): Noooooooooooooo. I want to sleep up there (pointing to the top bunk and simultaneously scrutinizing ways of getting there.)
Bom (Making weird facial contortions, supposedly trying to scare the child into obedience): I said NO! No more arguing. You'll be sleeping in the lower bunk. That's final. Now stop your nonsense. Look, uncle is getting angry. (pointing at me. Me infuriated at being called 'uncle'. Seriously?!! May you be pelted with stones Woman!)

Butt casts a quick look at me to make sure whether 'Uncle' was really mad at him or his beloved mother was lying through her teeth. It doesn't take long for him to figure out that the latter was true. Goes back to his usual shenanigans.

Butt (impatiently): Mummy! I'm going upstairs (meaning top bunk).
Bom (Looking out of the window, least bothered about safety of her child): Do what you want. (Me thinking why I never heard these words from my mother. But probably this is why I turned out so awesome. Did I hear whispering? Don't worry. I'll find you whoever you are.)

Butt, unable to control his excitement at being offered unlimited access to the delectable top bunk, starts swinging from whatever he could find, across the seats, showing unbelievable skill and letting out occasional ape-like noises (or maybe Tarzan. But what's the difference? Po'tay'to-Po'taa'to.)

Bom (suddenly realizing the damages associated with above mentioned wild behaviour, starts yelling): Get down from there! (turning to snoring husband) Get up! Look what Bontu's doing. He'll fall and hurt himself. Please put him up on the top bunk (Turning to Bontu, hanging upside down at this point) Bontu! Its very cold up there. You'll catch the flu. Wear your monkey-cap! (Now I know why they're called 'Monkey' caps!)

Bom forces a woolen, black and pink polka dotted monkey cap over dangling Bontu's head.  (The colour scheme/design is very important to completely visualize this bizarre spectacle. Stop scoffing you!) Bontu wriggles but he couldn't do much given the position he was stuck in. I'm sure he wished he was Spider-Man. I wanted to let him know that he was not far behind.

After what seemed like hours of yelling, kicking and dangling, Bontu finally made it to the top bunk. I thought now is the time for peace. But did I tell you he was a kid?!! Within minutes of reaching the summit, he wanted to come down again. But unfortunately, after considerable deliberation, the only option he could think of was free-fall. And although he wished he could fly, he realized he was not a bird or born of particularly superhuman parents. So he decides to cry. (At this point, I gave up all hopes of reading my book and tucked it away in one of the bunk-pouches. Yes. I gave up. I lost. Happy?) Not content with just wailing at the top of his lungs, Bontu decides to sneeze. He first irritates the hell out of perfectly innocent fellow travellers like me, and then goes on to kill them with mucus-laden bacteria. Yes. Kill me Bontu. I'd rather die.

Alarmed by the sneeze, Bom gets worried and severely pokes her sleeping husband (How can anybody sleep through all of this? Beats me. But in hindsight, I guess this goes on at home everyday. Poor old Mr. Bad.)

Bad (startled): What? Where?!!!
Bom: Bontu's caught a cold! I told you to not let him go up there. Keep sleeping. All your life!

Bad, being reprimanded by darling wife thus, promptly rescues Bontu from the dark, cold upper berth. (Not so delectable now eh Bontu?! *snigger*) Bom gives Bontu a bone-crushing hug, as if he just came back from the battlefield. Bontu, all sweaty from the excessive physical exercise, sneezes again.

Bom (alarmed) : Why're you sweating so much? (Why?!! Really?) (Takes off the hideous monkey cap, and finds Bontu's hair to be soaking wet) I told you not to run around in the train. But do you ever listen to me Bontu?! (nailing the I-am-hurt tone. Sorry to burst your bubble lady, but that won't work on the Devil you happen to call your son. Not in a million years.) The upper bunk is really cold. And the AC has been turned up so much. Its freezing in here!

No it's not. Get that darned Monkey cap off his head and all will be fine in Bontu-Land.

P.S. As much as I hate you BongMan, my journeys wouldn't have been half as eventful, if it wasn't for your annoying self . Not to mention your darling offsprings. There. I said it. You're not mad at me anymore are you? *nudge*

The Adventures of BongMan and Me - Part I

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and she said, "The two things that Bengalis can ever think of spending money on, are Food and Travel." As much as I hate putting large sections of people into tiny boxes labelled this and that, this I could not deny. For someone who hasn't interacted with a lot of eating and travelling Bengalis (Bongs), these labels would seem perfectly harmless. I mean, who doesn't appreciate good food and the joys of backpacking? But when you talk about Bongs and food/travel, most words fall short of expressing their true attachment to either. And this is by far the most delicate way of putting it without enraging an otherwise-peaceful-mostly-sleeping-Tagore-quoting lot.

Excerpts from my travel journal :

-  I am a really quiet traveller by nature (only when travelling alone ofcourse). I stare outside the window, read a book like nobody's business and mostly keep to myself. I'm not antisocial. Far from it. Some might even call me garrulous. But I'm not your typical chatting-up strangers-on-the-train kind of guy. In the name of social courtesy, all I can ever manage to say is a half-baked Hello, which almost always comes with an awkward pursed-lip smile. I've tried replicating that in front of the mirror a couple of times, and it looks hideous to say the least, the best I-have-no-intention-of-talking-to-you smile that anyone can come up with ( Ya. Its an achievement. Let's see you do it! Ha! ). But somehow, most Bong travel companions I have had in my life don't seem to be able to read it well. Maybe they're just too social for my liking or plain daft (The latter sounds more believable.) Here's a typical exchange with my fellow Bong Indian Railways travel mate :

BongMan (tugging furiously at my duffel bag trying to fit one of his five suitcases, under the seat, which by every estimate won't fit into that tiny space; yelling): Who's bag is this?!!
Me: It's mine. (Duh!)
BongMan (an immediate lowering of voice, embarrased): Oh. It's yours? Sorry. I was actually trying to fit my suitcase under there, and was wondering who's bag this is. (Stating the obvious.)
Me: It's okay. (Hideous fake smile in place. Gawd! How do I do it? *Applause*)
BongMan (still struggling to find place for his humongous suitcases): Excuse me. If you don't mind, could you shift your bag a little to the right? I can squeeze my bag in easily then.
Me (visibly irritated with the mild accusatory tone): There's no space to the right. I'm sorry. I can't shift it further.

BongMan seemed almost offended at my lack of extending any sort of help. Well, in my defense, I was travelling alone. With one duffel bag. Inconveniencing no one. Reading an extremely interesting book. And was in no mood to wrestle with unnecessary large pieces of luggage belonging to someone else. His luggage. His problem. And trying to fit things that were obviously larger than the spaces meant to store them was not my ideal pass time. However, BongMan's incessant grunts and frantic efforts melted me a little and I offered to keep my bag in the top bunk, much to my own inconvenience. Blame my mother for giving me a weak heart!
BongMan's face lit up at my suggestion and he thanked me profusely. Note how he did not bother to ask if it would be inconvenient for me. Even for courtesy's sake. Selfish prick!

Anyway, I thought this brief annoying exchange would be the end of it. I guess I spoke too soon. The moment the train made its first chugging sound, BongMan plunged into business with gusto. The business of getting acquainted with his unfortunate fellow traveller. With shoes off, smelly feet on the seat, grabbing his pillow, and with curiosity brimming in his eyes, he started with his volley of questions:

BongMan: So where're you going?
Me (vowing to be largely monosyllabic): Calcutta.
BongMan (finding this very funny): Me too. Haha. What a coincidence!

Being from the same city made us brothers of some sort I believe. Hence the excitement.

BongMan: So where do you live?
Me (being my antisocial best): Calcutta.
BongMan (finding this funny too): Where in Calcutta?
Me: New Alipore.
BongMan (obviously unaware of the lack-of-counter-questions-meaning-no-interest-in-making-conversation theory): Oh. Bhery close. I live in Behala. (unperturbed by my lack of enthusiasm continues) What do you do in Delhi? Do you work there?
Me: No. I study.
BongMan (not giving up just yet): What do you study? Computer engineering? Medical?
Me: No. Chemistry.
BongMan (convinced that I'm an underachiever): Oh! (pity in place) Din't get through the engineering or medical exams, did you?
Me (wishing I could be invisible): No. I made it through to a few engineering schools. But I didn't want to go in that direction.
BongMan (sighing at my stupidity): Why didn't you take up engineering? What did your parents say? Chemistry pore ki hobe? ( meaning "whats the point in studying Chemistry?" )
Me (refusing to look up from my book, and not interested in justifying my career choices): Nothing will happen. I won't get a job.
BongMan (finding this strangely funny too. I stopped trying to figure out his sense of humour at this point): Haha. I didnt mean that. I was just curious.
Me (feigning some interest): What do you do?
BongMan: Me?! I work in a bank.

I knew it. Yes. He had to work in a bank.

He went on to talk for a few more minutes about how an engineering degree would have led to a 'sure-shot' job in the IT sector (which incidentally does not require an engineering degree in the first place ) and how he's worried about what his kids would do in the future. At this point, I sank in my seat and buried myself in my book, trying my best to drown his voice out somehow. If I wouldnt have been initiated into the school of Ahimsa by my beloved peace loving parents, I would have slapped him in the least or hurled my shoe at him. But I resisted my violent urges, so much so, that it made it difficult to breathe at one point. I think all that personal struggle with ambivalence was showing, cos he seemed to finally read my vibes and decided to back off, not willing to compromise his personal safety over 'seemingly' harmless travel-chit-chat. But BongMan was not one to give up on adda. He quickly started a parallel conversation with another fellow traveller  (who was eagerly listening in with wide-eyed amazement all this while) on the lines of how youngsters these days are not respectful to their elders, the entire generation going to the dogs, and how it will adversely affect the growth of the Nation, and so on.

I had never been happier.

                                                                                            (to be continued....)