Never say it again

I hate repetitions. The other day when I was at the lobby waiting for those guys to finish fiddling around with their system and allot me a room, Prof.Madhavan bumped into me. After the initial default sentences his talk drifted towards his daughter for no valid reason. She was doing some graduation, somewhere. 'You won't believe me Sanjay! Last weekend she just demanded four thousand rupees...for a night trek. She has a set of equally adamant friends. It is a routine. These girls gear up for the weekend and I am the victim. Yes! She wanted four thousand rupees!' Here! He started to repeat. I hate repetitions. He did not care for the fact my room key was already in my hand. '..Her mother does not encourage her, but she somehow supports her. These ladies… they gang up. Every rupee I earn is .. I mean I struggle so hard at the institute, at the classes, ... during such travels...and you know my problems. But she just does not care. She just wants four thousand rupees. Full stop.' Come on man! That is the third time you are quoting the figure. It is only four thousand rupees - it is not seventy six thousand three hundred and ninety one rupees and thirty seven paise or 3.14159265358. Give me a break! Why do people repeat? I hate repetitions. I do not like it when people repeat themselves. Is it .. 'Sanjay...are you listening?' Madhavan cut my thoughts. He went on to hold me up near the lobby aquarium for the next few minutes. Thankfully his nice daughter gave him a call and I was saved. I quickly said bye and left. Frustrating fellow.

But the world has many Madhavans. Even the last month, the taxi guy. 'There is no real love sir. I have been driving taxis for seven years ..from 2004 December…and not even for a single day I have missed going to the small church near the railway station. Even on rainy days or even on the days when I have a drop at the other corner of the city.. whatever it is, I make it a point to visit the church.' Though I did not start the conversation with the taxi driver, I do not mind such banal interventions as they make you forget your loneliness and the crowded roads alike. 'One day it was raining very heavily sir...my lover called me on my mobile. I was very happy. I was on the way to the church. But suddenly she said she did not like me. I did not know what to say. Everything is a drama. One big drama. There is no real love sir.' Oh my God! He started to repeat. He did not care to see if I was listening. I hate repetitions. 'What is the point sir? Anyway, I pray to the Lord daily. I do not miss to seek his shower of blessings. The same thing happened with my friend also sir. Where is humanity? Where are emotions? There is no real love sir.' The man was not drunk. But when people repeat themselves I feel as if someone is whipping me. And yes, there is no real love. It is simple. He was right. But he was not trying to explain the mechanics behind a flight taking off or the fundamentals of sound market segmentation to a high school girl. I do not like it when people repeat themselves. I can understand if you were to explain to a school boy why mitochondria have a different set of genes. You need to repeat some stuff… perhaps. But just to say there is no real love – do you need to repeat? Every time something is repeated I can feel someone lashing me with a salted stick. Someone whipping me. Why does someone have to repeat? I do not like it when people repeat themselves. I hate repetitions.

'Our Agra trip was just great!' Taj Mahal is.. grand! We have been planning for a vacation since a long time.' Prakash was my neighbour. We have been living in the adjoining flats for the past few years. Our children went to the same school. He helped me a lot when I was struggling to find a place under the sun. Those days... Such angles like Prakash cross our lives once in a lifetime, may be and may be not. After the self-proclaimed intellectuals of the Mumbai campus threw me out, I was like a fish out of water, though as a human being I hate beaches and pools, when I landed at the CHEP. It was about seven-eight years back. Prakash was a common friend then. 'All of us know about the Taj Mahal since our school days. . but man! You just have to see it to believe it! Taj Mahal is.. grand!' Come on Prakash! I can understand when you say that the godamm thing is grand. It is a very simple sentence conveying a very, very simple thought. And I have the basic level of intelligence to assimilate what you say. Do you doubt it? It is just a simple subject-verb-object sentence. What is the need to repeat it? I do not like it when people repeat themselves. And of all people why do you have to repeat? Taj Mahal is one of the best symbols of India. The best symbol of love. All the foreign VIPs waste time in clicking pictures sitting on that tasteless slab in front of that.. grand structure. Their wives too play to the gallery with their plastic smiles. I know. That grand piece of architecture was constructed over a period of more than two decades, by the Mughal emperor Shah Jehan for his late wife...late, third wife, Mumtaz Mahal. And you know how she died? She died while giving birth to their daughter. And you know what.. it was their fourteenth baby. Taj Mahal is in fact a grave. It is not a symbol of love. But the 'Hey Sanjay...are you with me?' Prakash cut my thoughts only to say, 'You should visit it. It is grand!' Another whiplash. This time the cut was very deep. It was unbearable. I felt every cell in my body getting torn into pieces. I felt some kind of an insect, a wasp, drilling into my ears and mercilessly cutting those lobes inside my skull. My hand muscles were getting stiffened as if I had died hours back. I don't know what happened next. I just said, 'I hate repetitions' and I pushed Prakash. We were chatting in the balcony of his home in the ninth floor. I was aware of that. Prakash did not survive. Though his family expected him to live forever.

I am Sanjay's brother. That incident happened three years ago. Sanjay seems to be better now. He is still in one of those rehab wards of NIMHANS. I tried repeating a few things during our conversation. He just smiled.