CMYK toned memories.

Past perfect. Future tense.

There’s a certain kind of Mumbaikar YOU meet every now and then…someone who freezes in a particular time frame.

Think of that man YOU saw in the Sulabh Sauchalya. The ONE with the side-parting a la SRK; shiny shirt with the mobile forming a neat rectangle against chest; and flapping trousers--busy collecting Re.1 coins--All day, Everyday.

Or, think of that woman YOU bumped into in the 9.46 ST local. The ONE selling ‘sulekha kaajal’ and ‘just chill lip balms’- indistinct face and unimpressive frame-distinguished only by her ‘strategic marketing skills’, competing head-to-head with the MBA grad folk.

But wait a minute.
Have YOU even passed a glance at THEM? Or even thought of it?
Noticed, that there is a voice behind THEIR café-au-lait complexion and under-the-ordinary sense of style?
Have THEY existed ever, even in the fringes of YOUR consciousness?

It’s one of those things. Like the rotary telephone dial, Campa Cola and cyclostyle machine, it’s very, very difficult to imagine that THESE people ever existed and in reality, exist even…in some nook and corner of the city.
Instead, WE have blatantly chosen to talk into them rather than to them.
But even as creationists continue to argue that evolution is claptrap and a white-bearded god made the world some 6,500 years ago-the truth is that even today, WE are busy evening out the odds in this hyperactive-nuclear powered world of OURS, adopting adaptation.

History, alas, is in the unmaking!

In a dream-vending city like ours, even a dog without teeth manages to attack a bone. This practice of multi-marketing has hammered the first official nail in the coffin of so many jobs, so many dreams.

As neo-converts, WE are fast relearning what WE want and how to get it- not just at home but also in schools and the IITs and IIMs; at the paanwallah who also sells recharge cards; at the chai stall that also houses condoms; at malls and multiplexes where the government has permitted licensed vendors to sell booze…anything more would be the last straw on the camel’s back.

But amidst these social hiccups, Mumbaikarism-like tossed salad in a bowl-has allowed some particularly leafy characters to sprout.

THEY don’t necessarily choose to be different.
But, they just end up making a different choice.

THEY aren’t necessarily outstanding people.
But, place them in a crowd- STAND OUT, they surely will- amidst the other cookie-cutter moulds.

THEY don’t necessarily exist in our minds and in our ‘people-to-meet’ schedules.
But, co-exist they do.

THEY aren’t necessarily the people you look up to and aspire to become as a juvenile adult.
But, then again, THEY wouldn’t be THEM if YOU too, decide to join THEIR ilk.

The barbed wire that holds THEM back is THEIR desire to survive…the desire to be treated as EQUALS and not mere PREQUELS. This is in spite of knowing that THEIR existence is going to be short-circuited sooner than later.

Because at the end of the day, THE kaan saaf karnewala, THE raddiwalla, and THE baatliwalla- are like the tadka in our garma-garam dal, the adrak in our chai, and the lasoon chutney in our vada pav.
WE could all do without them…but life wouldn’t be so chatpata!