The time six pm has always held special meaning in my life. Growing up, this was the time when the prayer lamp was lit and school books had to be opened, regardless of whether there was any homework or whether there was anything to study. Even if I convinced my mother that nothing was taught in school that day, I still had to open the book and read something. Watching TV, reading story books or even listening to music till at least seven was a big sin. So watching any sitcom on Star TV during this time was strictly out of question.
Six pm was the time when girls got back home so that they could aid their mother in the evening prayers and also good girls were not supposed to be outside their homes in the late evenings.
Even when I left home for college, I ended up in a place with a six o clock curfew. Even though this curfew grew to be nothing but a slight inconvenience as third year approached, the fact remained that six o clock was deemed the acceptable maximum time for girls to stay out.
Maybe because of this, that now even when I am living in a world without curfew, I start getting paranoid if I am outside after six, especially if I am alone. This feeling though has been on the vane, since I almost always leave office only after six. Also a lot of dinners have been happening, so I guess I should be ridding myself of this paranoia in some time.
After one such dinner, I caught a bus back to Adyar from Chetpet at around seven (early dinner). I usually don't catch a bus that late, but did not feel like spending 100/150 bucks on auto. I missed the AC bus, but thankfully managed to catch another ordinary bus soon enough.
So I am sitting in the bus and since it was a little crowded, did not feel like slipping on the headphones. With people constantly asking you to pass the ticket money, there was really no point listening to music. So I inadvertently started observing the people around me.
There was an old man giving insurance and retirement advice to a younger chap. A newly married couple, wherein it was the wife's first time in Chennai and who slowly raises her eyes in question to her husband who was sitting on the other side of the bus as to whether she could occupy the window seat that had been vacated, and he in answer quite adoringly nods his head and she filled with a little girls glee goes on to occupy the window seat. Successive occupants of another window seat all trying unsuccessfully to open the window, that the conductor had to tell them it wont happen. A woman unmindful of all, peacefully sleeping.
And then I felt it. The silence. Horns were blaring, phones were ringing and people were talking. All of them but, had the tiredness of the days work and the eagerness to get back home, etched in their faces. There was this silent chord connecting all of us on that bus that day. This must be a common thread on all buses at this time of the day.
The long ride back home. Be it the driver of an air conditioned car listening to the music from the radio or a person on a bus listening to the words of fellow riders, the satisfaction of a days work well done and the anticipation of food, being with your loved ones and sleeping off the days weariness binds all the employed. Whether blue or white collared. In the end we all work.
Six pm was the time when girls got back home so that they could aid their mother in the evening prayers and also good girls were not supposed to be outside their homes in the late evenings.
Even when I left home for college, I ended up in a place with a six o clock curfew. Even though this curfew grew to be nothing but a slight inconvenience as third year approached, the fact remained that six o clock was deemed the acceptable maximum time for girls to stay out.
Maybe because of this, that now even when I am living in a world without curfew, I start getting paranoid if I am outside after six, especially if I am alone. This feeling though has been on the vane, since I almost always leave office only after six. Also a lot of dinners have been happening, so I guess I should be ridding myself of this paranoia in some time.
After one such dinner, I caught a bus back to Adyar from Chetpet at around seven (early dinner). I usually don't catch a bus that late, but did not feel like spending 100/150 bucks on auto. I missed the AC bus, but thankfully managed to catch another ordinary bus soon enough.
So I am sitting in the bus and since it was a little crowded, did not feel like slipping on the headphones. With people constantly asking you to pass the ticket money, there was really no point listening to music. So I inadvertently started observing the people around me.
There was an old man giving insurance and retirement advice to a younger chap. A newly married couple, wherein it was the wife's first time in Chennai and who slowly raises her eyes in question to her husband who was sitting on the other side of the bus as to whether she could occupy the window seat that had been vacated, and he in answer quite adoringly nods his head and she filled with a little girls glee goes on to occupy the window seat. Successive occupants of another window seat all trying unsuccessfully to open the window, that the conductor had to tell them it wont happen. A woman unmindful of all, peacefully sleeping.
And then I felt it. The silence. Horns were blaring, phones were ringing and people were talking. All of them but, had the tiredness of the days work and the eagerness to get back home, etched in their faces. There was this silent chord connecting all of us on that bus that day. This must be a common thread on all buses at this time of the day.
The long ride back home. Be it the driver of an air conditioned car listening to the music from the radio or a person on a bus listening to the words of fellow riders, the satisfaction of a days work well done and the anticipation of food, being with your loved ones and sleeping off the days weariness binds all the employed. Whether blue or white collared. In the end we all work.
1 comments:
Up every morning just to keep a job
I gotta fight my way through the hustling mob
Sounds of the city pounding in my brain
While another day goes down the drain
But it’s a six o’ clock world when the whistle blows
No one owns a piece of my time
And there’s a six o’ clock me inside my clothes
Thinking that the world looks fine, yeah
Trading my time for the pay I get
Living on money that I ain’t made yet
I’ve been going trying to make my way
While I live for the end of the day
- Modified for your post from The Vogues, "Five o' Clock World"
Post a Comment