Analogikal

I was being crushed. It was both painful and insulting. His power and stench was too much for me to fight against. I decided to retaliate ‘bhai saab thoda apne seat pe rahenge?’ He shuffled like jabba the hut having an itch in his nads and moved his ass towards his seat. I put down the hand rest and there was peace and order in the world. The human muffin was still spilling over to my seat but there was a sense of empowerment for me for having spoken out.

I looked at him, in his over grown glory. All 120 kgs and a samosa and kachori in the process of being acquired. Beyond that mountain range i saw this lady , who by the looks of it had been shackled and imprisoned by jabba the hutt through wedlock. The ominous signs were all there of the freshly imprisoned. The unnecessary PDA, the over zealous food ordering and the over ambitious protectivity syndrome. The obsevation had been halted by the shrapnel from a samosa explosion hitting my eyes. I snapped out of thought and sarted scampering like a wild buffalo on a hot day to get samosa, chutney and embarrassment out of my eyes. The muffin top had staked claim to the land. I sank into the seat as a quiet little bitch that i actually am.

I sank into deep thought and started an imaginary conversation where i confront the muffin top and emerge victorious with reason and logic. In a parallel universe maybe. My thought was broken by the cacophony of an argument that had broken out in the comparment. This big sardar had started an argument with a lady from the north east. As if i wasnt racist enough, that god had to give me this opportunity to confirm my stereotyping. The summary i could understand from the scenario was that the old sardar was sitting in what apparently appeared to be seats reserved by the lady. The sardar’s argument , which seemed logical, was that why are you here without a ticket and why are you conspiring with the chinese to take over mera bharat mahan. (Not actual verbatim). He was loud obnoxious and confirming of all stereotyping characters i had in my head about punjabis. And i expected the lady to just be coy and move out while surrendering her possessions. But what happened was surprising. The other passengers who checked the ticket took the lady’s side and offered seats to her as well as the rest of her family as they realised the sardar is just going to be adament about his view. (All other passengers were also punjabis). By this time the holy hermit of train journeys (the ticket inspector) had appeared confirming that the sardar was wrong and the seat actually belonged to the lady. The sardar protested and the others subdued him. All this happened even before i could finish my racist thoughts. It dawned on me… There are no places, cultures or communities that are bad. Only bad people. Our biggest flaw lies in our fear of things unknown. We harbor this fear letting it snowball into hatred, spite and a canvas of other negative emotions. Not realizing the very thing we fear, is terrified of us as well. I looked at the muffin top and the old sardar, realising that the muffin top needs to diet and the sardar needs to have a better travel agent. And i need to stop being such a little bitch.