I loved ghazals and melodies, and she loved the smell of petrol and kerosene. I would carry anti-nausea drugs while riding state transport buses; she would love the noisy creaky sound and the cyclonic whirls of noxious smoke in the rear. I battled the Coffee Day dates strategically chosen in the middle of gas station, and the gasolene-odored perfume she gifted.
They say ‘couples are made in heaven’. How do they commute in heaven? Never heard of a petrol-god (or goddess!)- Teldev or something. Although my love with petrol-lady couldn’t survive, I learnt to adapt in smoky bustling cities. Probably, she was the petrol-goddess incarnate who enlightened this mundane creature to happily breath the warm polluted air. Bengaluru or Delhi-just lay it on me! I can handle it unmasked, unnerved. They say if they squeeze my lung after death, it would give a jar of tar. Ofcourse, am not a honeybee, that you expect to get honey after squeezing, and lick on my dead lungs.
Recently, I visited Norway who seem to produce oil for the world, yet the air was so boringly clean. Carbon was conspicuously missing, I doubt if people breathed in and out only oxygen (In fact, I doubt if they breath at all). If we squeeze their lungs, what would it give? A farting sound?
Being a true devoted Hindu, I make it a point to drink Gangaajal (the Holy ganges water). Haridwar ones are bland, tasteless while Varanasi ones have multi-flavored Gangaajal depending on Ghat. The kid-urine, womanised sweaty, oily aarti ones, to corpse ash flavored ones. The drops may be bitter like ‘draksharishta’ syrup, but just sip it and feel the bliss! The loose motions for next ten days would make us pure and glowing pale.
A paan-chewing fellow, spitting on the wall, and then cleaning it with urine stream in tandem; A woman hiding her sanitary pads in the middle of vegetables peels in waste-bag; And the girl who loved petrol!
Love is surely in the air.
Happy New Year.
(Author appeals for active efforts in climate change and tackling population on individual basis)