Chandigarh Pride 2013 Snippet 1

Before beginning, I hope you have read the Foreword to this series.

~ It Better Be Worth It ~

 Mom, God, Love, Travel, Luxury, Activism, Favors, Self-Dependence……

………A sudden halt jolted my reverie. Woke up to find that we are now stuck in the queue to clear the toll. Nothing is mentioned clearly, so I don’t know whether I am in Ambala or Karnal. The jerks had all the time and money to write “National Highway Welcomes You” but it would drastically plummet the national resources or something to just mention the name of the place that we are about to enter! Yes, of course! I have an urge to get out for a quick smoke, but then, it took me a while to arrange my long heavy legs in these tight seats, and the inertia of rest is over powering me in this moment.


An odd looking woman is seated on the other side, in a row right ahead of me. I have taken a cheap local bus to Chandigarh – in my attempt to save all the money I can and still have all the experiences life possibly has to offer. The woman goes on talking to this male companion of hers. Her voice is as irritating as her pale, expressionless, dumb round face. “Why can’t people just whisper to each other in a bus? Why do they have to make us all party to their unintelligent, uninteresting and unimportant conversations?”  I think aloud in my head. “But then if they really paid attention to whatever you had in your head, the sign boards would be more informative, people less irritating, and there would not be any need for pride walks, or fighting for your rights. The world will only have a lot of air conditioned smoking zones, exotic coffee shops with an impressive range of book collection!” My inner self snaps back, hissing in my ear.

See woman, even my inner self is whispering into my ear right now!


I check my phone again. Nothing but messages from these two chaps from the Saksham NGO, one of who might pick me up from the bus stop in Chandigarh. They are giving me instructions to keep them posted, and informing me about my staying arrangements. “No…still nothing from him.” My inner self whispers consolingly; he is disappointed and disheartened right now, and so am I. I close the copy of the Chicken Soup for Your Soul, which is now abandoned listlessly in my lap – can’t read in this much dim lighting.


The bus finally moves, and I sigh up at the heavens, shooting for the last time the same warning that I had been before, since the past 2 days. ~ Babaji, it better be worth it! ~


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