The curious case of a stick

The curious case of a stick I was a 5 am person once upon a time. I do not recall when insomnia crept in and robbed me of the joy of early rising. I would be out for my morning walk by 5.30 am notwithstanding my own moods or mood of Mumbai’s monsoon. Dawn in Mumbai is not exactly sunny. Darkness does not scare me but dogs do so I began carrying a stick, the kind police officers carry.

A friend of mine got my first stick for me from the Deputy Superintendent of Police of Rajkot. This stick is called officers stick and comes wrapped in plastic, packed in a long cardboard tube. It's polished brown to perfection, with shiny white metal caps fitted on both sides. In one's hand, it instantly provides a feeling of authority and power.

Dogs never really bothered me in the suburb I live but carrying a stick became a habit. At the junction of Carter road and Jogger's park, there is a police post that I pass every day. The stick in my hand combined with my serious demeanor and erect gait gets me a crisp salute from the policemen and women posted there. A tap with my stick on a window of wrongly parked cars instantaneously moves the vehicle away.

Watchmen at Jogger's park think I am in the army and calls me Colonel saheb. Children in Jogger's park call me 'stick uncle'. I carry the stick with me all over the world. Bearers in Cafes in California used to get kick holding my stick while I settled down for a coffee on the pavement cafe.

The stick has become an obsession so I have now begun to collect the damn things. Amazon India offers some though not as good as police officers stick I have. I left one of my sticks in an auto-rickshaw. He came back soon only to ask me if he could retain this, as he loves sticks as much. I allowed him to keep it.

I broke off the tip of my first stick and am using an Amazon variety but am not happy with it. The thrill and feel of power are not the same. My friend has already approached the Deputy Superintendent of Police of Rajkot for a replacement and I am hoping it will come soon.

Until then, I will stick with the stick I have.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Diary of an insomniac

Diary of an insomniac     It is 1 am in the night. Most FM radio stations are off the air. My eyes are tired of reading. Watching TV is not recommended for insomnia. I am debating in my mind the options of midnight snacks. As of yet, there are no signs of sleep.   I open the window of my bedroom. Sea breeze floods my lungs with the salty air. I watch a long raw of ships anchored on the horizon i n the moonlit white night,  They are lighted like the Christmas trees. Our building is shrouded in silence that pervades the world around us after 1 a.m. A faint laughter waffles in from the railway colony across the street, a family enjoying the late-night movie perhaps.   I step out of my bedroom and stare silently at the turret of the St. Anne’s church in our backyard. The relentlessly punctual chime of the church wakes me up every day at 5.30 am. It’s only a few hours from now.   On impulse, I step out of the flat and take the elevator down. One of the two, nigh...
Read more

Wanderlust 2021

Wanderlust 2021  I am blessed with wanderlust from my boyhood. An elderly aunt of mine took me on my first train journey to Mumbai was when I was 11. We arrived on a gloomy, rainy day in 1962. A war was simmering with China. Shammi Kapoor’s all-time hit film ‘Professor’ was running to a packed house at Novelty in Grant road where we stayed.  As we disembarked from Saurashtra Mail, I had no way of knowing that this travel will turn into a lifelong wanderlust for me, that an old aunt with whom I came I would soon lose to cancer.  Life restricted my boyhood wanderlust to places around my small hometown, a cycle trip to a dam nearby, a family picnic by camel cart to a distant park or temple. The farthest travel from home in my memory was to Rajkot, mere 50 miles in 1965 when Pakistan tried bombing our hometown and failed miserably.  These outings had sown seeds to see more, dream more, travel more, choose a path of unending journey. At 18, I traveled to Mumbai with two ...
Read more

Weekend woes

  Weekend woes Friday   Mumbai weekends bear the character of its own, like everything else. Friday morning is when it begins. Everyone at work drifts in a bit slower than normal. Their gait announces whiff of freedom from the tyranny of the week. The coffee machine whirs slowly and bears witness of the gossip that gets louder.   Friday dressing transforms lobby and corridors into riots of colors as opposed to mournful whites and blacks. Menus of new eateries fly thick and fast over the intranet. By 12 pm, hoards of office goers exit for a liquid lunch that ends at 3 pm.   Bars in and around offices fill up by 6 pm and are three layers thick. Drinks are consumed in rapid-fire rounds as if to drown all trials and tribulations of the week. Married members of the gang have their eyes on the clock to catch 7.30 pm Borivali fast. Home beacons to them. Those adventurous enough to stay back begin to order paneer or chicken tikka masala and cheese naan.  Saturday Saturd...
Read more