not want to go home. My mind was not at peace. I was asked by my
superior to take charge of my region. He gave me a tongue lashing
for being an escapist for whom the native place meant a relic. Nevertheless,
I did not want to ever visit that place. Why! It meant taking care
of all those old household problems. You can never say no because
you are an educated cum urbane person and who natives look at as
demigod. It also meant that others in your peer group do not accept
your identity as urbane, suave, and successful person. Suddenly,
my thoughts were interpreted by a shrill voice of the teashop owner.
I heard the
teashop owner yelling at the new dishwasher. "Hey, you
are laid back. Move fast and who is going to wash those utensils?
These people have polluted Delhi. See they do not have any
thing to do. They run away from the hills and come and spoil
our life", the shop owner was trying his best to impress
When the waiter
came near me, I saw a familiar religious talisman dangling
around his neck. Oh, that meant he belonged to my district.
Nevertheless, my urbane upbringing was not letting me accept
the difference. I came out of the teashop and started walking
towards the taxi stand. "Sir, sahib your purse",
I heard the same waiter waving at me.
In my escapism, I
had left my purse at the shop. Thanks but are you a pahari? I asked
meekly. He nodded happily. "Why do not you do something good.
It pains to see some one from our region doing this kind of work,
I sermonized "What work", he smiled. "I was a priest
in a temple but surviving on meager income was tough. I did my Masters
in Sanskrit but did not get a job. I have a family to support and
am willing to do any thing to help them survive. His words made
me hang my head in shame. I understood that it was people like me
who are the greatest escapists.
Contributing Story Teller
Dimri, is a young journalist, a post graduate in mass communication
who tries to write for the unsung and unspoken.