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June 28, 2004 I have a strange hobby - I like to study people. I feel they are more interesting than the most beautiful scenary. I practice my hobby mostly while traveling as there is ample time at my disposal. I go to great lengths to gather minute details and infer from them about their nature, occupation etc. Of course, most of the times I don't get to verify what I had concluded from my observations, as it would seem very eccentric to enquire like a cop. Once, I had a wonderful opportunity of studying a gentleman with a kid. They were my fellow passengers in the train from Bombay to Delhi. The compartment was air conditioned, comfortable and cozy. I had ample opportunity to practice my favourite pastime. So I snuggled in my seat, took up a book behind which I peeked from time to time and deduced. But I had to do it without giving him the idea that he was being watched and with such intensity too. He was about 35 years, quite handsome, darkish but clear complexion, a thick mustache, all pointing towards the fact that he must hail from the south. The overall appearance gave an indication that he must be a professor. As he was alone with the little boy, who apparently was his son, either he must be divorced or widowed. The man and boy, whenever they talked, it was not in a relaxed way but in a very hush-hush manner. There were no playful sentences, no teasing and not even any scolding. Both were either angry with each other or with some circumstances out of their control. As a father and son, even if they had no love lost between them, must feel something, as blood is always thicker than water, since science hasn't yet proven it otherwise. So the conclusion was that they must be sad about an incident. That must be either the mother's death or the parents' divorce. Since, in most of cases, a minor child stays with the mother, it leads to only one conclusion : the mother is dead and that the loss is very recent. I was pondering over my proceedings, quite proud of my feats, when I felt the man was looking at me frequently and whispering something to his son, who first listened attentively and then said something. I was flustered. Before things got out of hand, I had to abandon my further prying. I felt as if I was trespassing on another's ground. So I went to the upper berth and pretended to read. This time the child was facing me and the temptation to put him under the microscope was very strong. I started studying him. Old habits never die. He was about five. Fair, cute with chubby cheeks. Eyes resembled his father's even though the complexion didn't. Must take his mother's features.... After this point, I was distracted. The boy went to his father and whispered something to him. The murmuring became quite heated. I was piqued. I was doing my own guessing work as to what the child must have told his father when the man addressed to me "Excuse me, madam, are you aged 27, hold a banking job, about to get married next month and are from Punjab?" He looked on as if he waited for an angry reprimand. "We, er... were just, you know... trying to guess about you. Please don't mind." He gushed. "You see this is a pastime his father has taught Rajiv while traveling. He begged me to verify." He was acutely uncomfortable and looked at the boy as if he would like to strangle him. I was speechless. "I don't mind at all. But what Rajiv has just deduced is entirely wrong. I am sorry." Then I asked sheepishly, "Sir, if I may ask, are you aged 35, hold a professorship, are recently widowed and are from Tamil Nadu" Initially, they were stunned and then all the three of us burst out laughing. "So you were playing the same game." I shrugged. "But I am sorry too to say all the above are incorrect." The reality was : The man was in business and hailed from west Bengal that is in eastern side of India. The age was wrong too, but he didn't divulge his real age. The child belonged to his happily married brother. I had overestimated my ability. The uncle-nephew pair was discussing me hence the hush-hush sounds. The three of us couldn't help but laugh at our miserably failed attempts to guess each other's lifestyles. After that the three of us together found our next victim. An old man in the next berth....... Neither of us had an iota of remorse. Not one of us pledged that we wouldn't do it again. It is fun while it lasts. You should try it too. ------------ About the author: Sujata Morab resides in Bombay, India where she runs her independent Desktop Publishing business. Writing is her passion. She believes that she can de-stress by transferring the tension to her characters. She has written short stories, essays and poetry for private circulation. She feels that India is such a dynamic country, the life stories of its citizens are more bizarre than any fantasy. Email: sujatamorab@rediffmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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