Deer in headlights

Courtesy: Google Search. A terminology that has been used to resonate anything from substance abuse to mental anxiety, financial strategies to lewd fantasies (not kidding, just check the urban dictionary!!), YouTube videos & Google images capturing actual incidents of a “deer in headlights”. Is it plain curiosity? Or, are we just hunting for another interesting story to discuss by the copy machine? It has become almost involuntary & rudimentary to giggle and gossip, or simply ponder our industrious mind, upon the millions of gigabytes of the floating Internet medium (the genesis, if I may presume, to all the nitty-gritty’s of modern technology). There are, however, a few skeptics, like me, who cannot but help linger upon the unraveling scheme of things when it wasn’t this simple or sophisticated to navigate every human interaction to its assigned milieu. I mean, for starters,when was the last time we let a Relationship run its course unhindered by the social networking moguls? Today,  we meet someone, and the next minute we have a whole spread of delectable entrees, in copious amounts, to nibble or chew, as we please, and, just as easily, purge out of our system; So, it got me thinking- how different were my relationships unaided by the wire-less whirlwind?

It was still an era of the “mix-tapes”- a period when “cyber-cafes” were yet to become the business novelties of the retired few and the vast majorities of un-inspired college graduates struggling to find stability and security; a time when women’s clutches weren’t wide enough to accommodate a cell-phone, and frankly an embarrassment that men had to carry like dead weight in their pockets! Internet and e-mails were terms only used on hoardings to promote institutions promising a flourishing career in Technology; and, last but not the least, resumes actually had printed on them, “Yes, I am a computer literate.”!!

This was my so-called bustling adult life in a small town in eastern India, where I spent three years of my under-graduate years commuting to college every day on a 3-wheeler, called a "cycle-rickshaw*" (almost a novelty on the beaches in coastal California); my tuition –fee for the month was less than what I paid every-day to the man in his rusty gear that comprised of a long shirt and a “lungi*” pulled up to his knees, and a pair of over-worked flip-flops. Together we would trod through the few dusty miles buzzing with street hawkers, almost deafened by the roaring honks of the buses, empathize with the throbbing tunes of the cycle bells-a tedious journey we wished would end no sooner than it had begun. But such are the trivialities of every day life and amidst those we have to find interludes of entertainment.

For the most part, it consisted of my monthly visit to my Dad who still lived in Calcutta (a.k.a Kolkata) for a few days in a month. It was a happy escape from the small town I lived in, and I was allowed to make the seven hour train ride to the city alone. For the first time, turning 18 actually made a difference. I had earned my father’s trust, although my Mom claimed she spent sleepless nights worrying about my solo train journeys! Well, she had her reasons- for I was, at that time, indulging my idle time with a boy I had briefly met during one such train-ride after a visit to my Dad. He lived in a different city a few hours away, hence the interjection. I never understood why he fancied me in the first place. We were just co-passengers, and I was mostly sad the whole time reminiscing about the happy times spent with my family under one roof. I pretended to be aloof while he vainly tried to get my attention; was even willing to share his 'precious Walkman'. I soon learnt he was returning from a kind of Pilgrimage to the temples in Jammu. Apparently, he did it every year. Was I supposed to be impressed?

After a brief interlude, his station had arrived; we said good-bye, and I took a sigh of relief. Imagine my surprise, when I saw him back on his seat next to me just before the train started pulling off. He made-up some sob story about missing his connection and I was, in lack of a better word, naïve. When we finally arrived at my destination, he asked if I could help him with directions to the Bus Stop. I gladly agreed. It was only a matter of time before we were exchanging phone numbers and promising to stay in touch. I reached home, feeling mildly flattered. Romantic?- may be, at No. 10, according to a recent poll on some random online survey; but certainly a notch above the ‘cat-calls’ and ‘I love you’ blurs of the 'idle lot', who, at the time, having deprived from following their true passion- anonymous “comment’’-ing maestros, were left to their own means of amusements.

I, on the other hand, was mitigating the "romance" phenomenon over the long-distance phone call service. I would often stop-by on my home from college in the afternoons, my valiant chaperon on wait, and quickly dial the numbers for a brisk tête-à-tête, cooped up inside the “private booth” of a musty shack consisting of four brick walls, cheap white-wash and a red thatched roof; in other words, the business venture of the 90’s- a public telephone booth or, as was popularly called, a PCO. Looking back, emails would certainly have been more cost-effective, don’t u think? Well, I was getting broke from spending all my pocket money over phone calls, and not to forget my very expensive chauffeur ride to the college every day was leaving me penniless. And, like everything mildly annoying, this episode was soon put to a stupor!

A few short years, and we had transcended into the New Millennium; and although Y2K did not hit the world computers, something powerful and an equally potent virus was spreading like wild fire all across the Nation: Mobile phones. Although by early 2002, carrying a humongous handset around was still not deemed an eye sore, mobile phones were yet to infiltrate the student community simply because they were expensive business!! And there I was stranded at the railway station at 4 in the morning, counting the minutes to finally putting to rest the phantoms of hours and hours of longing and brooding; the face I had so longed to see peeping out of the window, the hugs and the cuddles that follow; for a moment, I even made my peace with the cabbie who robbed me of  my hard-earned pennies (by that i mean, my Dad's). Instead, the wheels have rolled in, and  I am  frantically searching through every compartment; my sleepy room-mate drudging behind me cursing under her breath; finally, giving up, I now have the daunting task to locate a telephone booth open at this hour; when I do get lucky and all my misgivings are subtly put to rest, what do I hear, “I couldn’t reach you over the phone last night to tell you I had to cancel my trip”! The odds of that relationship ever making it to the altar? Slim.

Well, sadly, such sob stories still continue to exist; except now we just happen to look up the latest Status Update. Growing up, in a country like India, it was inexplicable to not experience a somewhat clichéd romantic interlude over train journeys. In fact, it could spring from anywhere: an innocent stare while waiting at the station platform to catch a train; a short chase after the train has just started hissing off into the numbness of the dark; or someone handing you a ticket stub with their name and phone no. on it at the end of a grim and quiet 8 hrs. From saying good-bye to your loved ones, to waiting haplessly for them to arrive, every journey was besotted with myriads of memories; and while some fade away with time and distance, other’s have echoed through all the fleeting moments of Life spent looking out the window of a moving train faintly brazing the metal tracks and cruising into the listless specter of the horizon. That feeling only lasts for a minute; one beep and we are glued back to our respective wireless devices; and although there may be scattered images of vast expanses of  arid lands, the mellow hues of the spring dusk, the sweet fragrance of the honeycombs, the drizzle from the morning dew...or just a “deer in headlights”, I click 'un-tag' and recourse to my RAM (randomly accessible musings of my mind).






*Cycle rickshaw- "The cycle rickshaw is a small scale local means of transport...are human powered, a type of tri-cycle designed to carry passengers in addition to the driver."
For further reading: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cycle_rickshaw

* Lungi- "The lungi, also know as a sarong, is a traditional garment worn around the waist in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Burma, Brunei, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, the Horn of Africa and the southern Arabian Peninsula. It is particularly popular in regions where the heat and humidity create an unpleasant climate for trousers.
For further reading: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lungi