Preshit 2

There lives a little America within every big city of this country. This little America imitates everything that the real larger America does despite of the fact that it has only Indian citizens having strictly Indian origins. It eats burgers, sips coke, guzzles red bull, amuses itself on playstations, follows NBA, wears extremely misfitting clothes, listens to hip hop & harbours the dream of a greencard. It is accused some times correctly and some times incorrectly of being indifferent to the problems of the India that lives around it in all those cities. In reality while this little America concentrates on aping Uncle Sam's land, the real India allows itself to be fragmented & fails to see the bigger picture. It is the truth of the land that each community looks after only itself ignoring the needs of others.

Noticing the watchman give him a glance full of contempt Preshit walked out of the college building. He knew the watchman hated, idolised & envied him & the likes of him in the same way Preshit did Sachin Tendulkar. Adulation comes with the follower's understanding of never being able to reach the same pinnacles as the hero and therefore people idolise someone they can be jealous of. In extreme cases jealosy may also turn into respectful hatred. India within India feels the same for the America within India.

Preshit longed for a drag. He looked around and saw a forty something man covering his wooden box like stall with tarpauline against the rains. Inside the box were many different brands of cigarettes but no chewing tobacco or pan. He approached the man & found him too engrossed in his work to pay attention. He put his right palm on the man's sholder. There was warmth in the touch, quite inexplicably so. The man turned around, "Bolo." Preshit mumbled, "Fi Fi." London based State Express' cigarette brand 555 is called Fi Fi in India. It happens all too often from the common mispronunciation of five combined with the tendency of people all over the world to enforce redundency even when not called for. Preshit gave him a five rupee coin & took a coin back. The man handed him a cigarette& also manufactured a lighter from somewhere in the same motion. "Mereko Mama kehte hain. Naya admission kya?" He gave just a nod in response. Preshit noted the skills of a shrewd Bombay businessman. Illegal vendors working on the streets of the city have a special knack of befriending potential long term customers.

The sky was cloudy & Preshit was not carrying an umbrella. He'ld buy a waist length raincoat soon. He puffed on the cigarette, sucking the acrid smoke in his mouth & letting smoke from the previous drag out through his nose. He repeated it a few times till he got a hit. he just stood there watching people walk past him. A girl with a streak of purple in the bob of her hair bought a cigarette from Mama & stood close to Preshit. "Hi jack, JC?" JC meant Junior College. Preshit had little facial hair to boast of. He looked two or three years younger than his age - which was 18. "FY Physics major." "Hmm Someone just got older. You trying to redefine sweat profusely?" She was obviously refering to his drenched shirt & perspiring forehead. The added humidity just before monsoon makes Bombay sweat out millions of gallons every day. A weekly magazine had proved this through some crappy survey. "Gimme a hug & you'll know." She just laughed. "Natalia Fonseca - SYBA." "Oh, Preshit Samarth." The girl had green eyes, presumably lenses. She had an outward curling lower lip below a somewhat smaller upper. And the peircing on the left ear, half way up from the top of the lobe gave her a faintly exotic appearance. She wore no other ornaments, not even a cross. Surprising for a catholic. He had no doubts she was catholic. Fonseca, a typical Portugese name. He decided to make a quick exit in case it started raining before he was in a train. "Bye, See you around." "Sure Jack, oh sorry Preshit." He came stubbed the cigarette & started walking towards Marine Lines station.