Tag: Delhi

Midnight Fairy Tales – Part 2 (Reader’s story)

Guest post by Bakhtawar

I checked the tank, it had sufficient to take me home but not more. I said I’m sorry. I asked her where she was headed, she replied home and was scared
being alone at this time of the night. The city didn’t have a good reputation for safety of women. I enquired that her home was around 35kms from the
dhaba, the cellphone battery had been long empty .It was impossible for her to go home from there. I didn’t want to leave her on the mercy of a taxi. I
offered my apartment as a bivouac for the night and asked her to leave early in the morning when the petrol pumps would open up. Initially she was
reluctant, but later succumbed to my mot juste insistence after a heated debate with the stall owner about the possibility of reprobates with amatory
desires coming to the dhaba at night. I put on the helmet while she sat on my ride. Bakhtawar was at its best that night, it knew this would go a long way.

GRRUM GRRUM, Bakhtawar now carrying both of us sailed through. Bakhtawar’s resplendent black body, the shining steel rims sparkling in the moonlight and
the grumps, It was a ride to remember forever.

I reached home, parked my ride and went inside the frowsy room first to put everything on the table and the bed hastily into the cupboard. I called her and
in she came. She looked around for sometime and then took a chair besides the study table.

“So, what would you have”, I asked

“Nothing, thank you.”

“What about a coffee?”

“No, I don’t feel like having anything…”

“Okay, I’ll make some coffee for both of us, drink it whenever you want. :) ”

“Okay… :) ”

By the time I came back, she was reading a book. She was reading Gogol. I said”He’s one writer who had real wits. You don’t get to see that kind of humor
these days”. She smiled and said she’d never read him before. That made me flaunt all my literary pursuits,

“Have you read Pushkin?”

“No.”

“Umm…Khaled Hosseini?”

“Yeah…that one…about the doctor right?”

“Yes yes, did you like it?”

“It was good, it made me cry as well”

“Hmm…”

I wanted to keep the conversation going, wanted to talk to her.

Praise the Lord for those 3 cups of coffee each, we talked all night. From books, music, films to school, college, love and sex. She had the cute female
perspective on everything while I had the crude, boyish one. By morning we had established a bond between us, like we had known each other for years before
this. Time went on, and it was time for her to leave. After refueling her car, I asked “when are you planning your next trip here with an empty tank?”

“Haha, you want me to get stuck and scared again??” replied Nazneen.

“Well, I don’t mind if it turns out exactly like last night.”

“I’ll be seeing you”, she kissed me on the cheeks (my guerdon), and then left. I kept looking at her car till she disappeared after the next crossing.

“Holy….Cow”, I forgot to take her number and give her mine. I felt so disappointed and restless at such a big loss. The only option I have now is to wait
for Nazneen to arrive at my doorstep one day and so I’m waiting. It’s been two days now and she’s made a writer out of me already. Phew!

Midnight Fairy Tales – Part 1 (Reader’s story)

Guest post by Bakhtawar

Two nights ago, after having a drink or two at a soiree at my friends place, I and Bakhtawar were returning home. It must have been around 1 in the night when I decided to explore the city in the silence of the night. The road I was moving on had been so irritating some hours back, now it was calling for lone riders to talk to it.

Grrrrrrr, the soft, polite and yet strong cadence of Bakhtawar sailing through the chilly winter night breeze made me feel like a king. It was as if each road was waiting to greet me, calling me to be on it. The roads on which millions travelled each day with their happiness, sorrows, ambitions, curse, pride and despair were indeed the garbage dumps of anger and frustration. Engrossed in these thoughts, I kept sailing past high rise apartments and buildings, restaurants, taverns, schools, offices, markets, each telling me a new story until I was stopped for verification at a police check post. “kahan se aa rahe ho?” was what I was asked.

I replied “ghar se, bike par yuhin dilli raat ko dekhne nikla hun”.

Tell me your storyPhoto by driver Photographer

“Chalo, license aur gaari ke kagaz nikalo”.

I lied where I had come from considering the fact that telling him that I had returned from my friends place would inevitably let them conclude that I had drinks.

After around 5 minutes of frisking and checking legal documents I was allowed to go by the short fat middle aged man. The funny thing about the man was the small rectangular belt buckle he wore. It faced the floor perfectly courtesy the mammoth load it had to bear around the man’s gigantic tummy. I said “shukriya” as I left

Going past a prominent college in the city I recalled preparing to get into it, it was a dream, not because of the moolah I would earn after passing out but because of the ‘chicks’ and parties that were synonymous with the college. I remembered my college days, those parties which lasted forever sans girls! Out in the distance I saw a small food stall (dhaba), realizing my strong urge for a hot cup of tea in the chilly night I parked my ride, lit a navy cut and ordered tea.

Echoes of old Hindi songs played in the background from the radio in the stall, the stall owner hymned along making my tea while I smoked, looking around the place full of trees and flowers. Tea was served and it was wonderful having something hot in the chill. As there was no one else in the dhaba, I started a conversation with the stall owner asking about the place and the reason he had kept his stall open till then. He replied that he had been a taxi driver for 5 years and realizing the necessity of tea stalls for tired taxi drivers to beat the chill at night, had started this stall 2 years back. The conversation went on for around 10 more minutes until a white car stopped at the dhaba. To my great surprise a woman came out of it.

The stall owner looked in awe, she was well dressed. She wore a beautiful grey long jacket, had put on light make up. She had long hair. I could make out she was scared. She came to the stall owner and said “bhaiya, meri gaadi ka petrol khatam ho gaya hai, aapke paas thoda petrol pada hai”, “saare petrol pump band ho gaye hain”. The stall owner replied “nahin madam, aap inse (pointing towards me) pooch lijiye”. She turned to me, I hushed “eee mmm I’m not sure, umm.. I’ll check”.

Boy was she beautiful.

(to be continued)