Seriously, Misled!

Next came my rucksack’s turn to act difficult. Last week, I dragged it down from the loft in an attempt to clean it – needed it for a short trip that weekend – but imagine the rude shock I was in for when it refused to cooperate.

“No, I’m not interested please. I’d much rather die than be seen with you,” it protested, and pulled itself away from me.

“Oh poor baby, something’s wrong in the loft-world up there, is it?”

“No. The problem is with what we are doing with our lives. We’ve thought about it, and we’re more or less united in our stand.”
“Which is?” I’m not sure whether I actually uttered the words or my arched eyebrows did it.
“Which is that we believe we’ll be demeaning ourselves by acquiescing to be seen with you.”
“Hallo?” I certainly did take affront to that, but went gentle on them nonetheless. “Listen, do you need a break? Stay put for a while. If you so wish, I could happily move you to a better, maybe sunny corner of the house, eh? I’ll take the other backpack. Just that you’ve been my favourite for a long long time. So will miss you this time buddy. But hey, I’ll manage! Happy now?”

“Stop this emotional blackmail right now. Do it on the weaklings. I’m a bag of steel, and I want to be with iron men who will help me break out of this life of anonymity. Period. And yes, you try your luck with the other backpack. If I know him well, you’ll have pretty much the same conversation you’ve just had with me.”

This looked serious. And without any context.

“Now come on. What’s wrong, will you tell me?”

After much deliberation, these carefully chosen words came out, “We’ve resolved not to get domesticated any more. We are made for more dramatic things in life, and refuse to be allowed ourselves getting stuffed with maps, LPs, clothes and shoes.”

“So what is it you wish to lug that’ll make you feel sufficiently macho?”

The moment of truth finally came, “All that those heroes were carrying. Grenades, AK47s, magazines, etc. I mean, look at them. They immortalized their rucksacks along with themselves. With you, all we get is toil without recognition. My buddy and I have been very envious of that Kasab fellow’s blue backpack hogging all the limelight all these days. And we can’t take it any more. We know we are smarter, and deserve to be pasted all over the media. And so, we demand that we be set free. We want to be off. And let’s do away with any mushy farewells please. We’ve found our calling in life and tears and sobs don’t quite fit there.”


“You mean you two wish to walk off here and now? Maybe you could wait until this weekened and see me through on my trip? And for heaven’s sake, we abhor those terrorists, how can you even think of associating with them?”

But they were adamant. “No. They are our super heroes. We heard it on TV that there are other heroes at large in Bombay. We want to get to them before the cops do. So, NOW. Release us NOW.”

“Well, well, not that I’ve kept you two as hostages. Looks like you’ve had an overdose of current affairs. There,” I said, stepping aside. “You are free to go. But just remember that it wont be an easy life. No cosy warm home corners, no affectionate pats after a trip well done, no affectionate gestures from my kids trying to cover you with cute stickers, no regular clean-up shampooing, no sight seeing. Life will be tough dudes. Ruthless masters, brutal rugged terrains, back-breaking weight, dirt, grime, unpredictable work hours, at times for days on end, even more unpredictable outcomes. You ready for it?”

“Yes we are,” came the unflinching resolve.

“And what when you get nabbed by the police, or worse, your masters killed?”

“Don’t you get it?” Said my favourite one with the look of triumph on his face, “Any which way, we’ll be on TV. That’s what we want. Didn’t you see, Kasab, his rucksack and its contents got far more footage than the brave cops who nabbed him? We’ve decided. That’s the only way to get immortalized. And enough. Please do not waste our time any more.”

I sensed the urgency in their tone, and the futility of any logic. They walked up to the main door without so much of a goodbye, hesitated for a while at the door, and turned around sharply. I could see the military posturing already sneaking in.

“Give us some money. How are we supposed to travel to Bombay?”

“Well, up to you to figure your own course of action. You two have let me down. Goodbye, and goodluck. A rough indication of when I ought to switch on the TV for your sensational debut?”

“We shall let you know.” They had even got that emotional switching-off perfected.

“No please don’t. I don’t want any of your calls traced back to me. Now please be off, and let me rest.”

And thus, they were gone, ungrateful, cocky and arrogant in their defection.

The next day, I went to the market to pick up a new rucksack for my trip, but somehow, couldn’t find any. So carried a small bag instead, and merrily went away that weekend.

Imagine my surprise when this morning I answered the doorbell to see those two bags, all battered and bruised, panting, half dead, waiting to be let in.

“Well? Beat-en retreat?”

While one of them said nothing, went straight up to the loft area avoiding my gaze, my favourite one mumbled faintly, with his head hung low. “We stood no chance. It seemed all the knapsacks in India had thought alike, and there was a major queue outside the possible hide-out of the terrorists. When we tried to jump the queue saying we’re the smartest, the other applicants beat us black and blue, colours similar to Kasab’s bag. So we protested that now we looked even more suited for the coveted post, but they came down with a fresh barrage of blows.”

I didn’t buy that, so told them that it sounded rather fishy that the cops couldn’t reach where the bags didn’t fear to tread.

“Your wish. Don’t believe us,” he said, rather hurt. “Wasn’t just us bags there. We also saw a queue of credit card salesmen, another one of the dry fruit wholesalers, and firearm agents. Now please move away from the door. We’re tired and drained and crestfallen post my shattered dreams. We want to rest.”
I’m letting them rest. The only minor change I’ve done in my house is that I’ve moved the television to another room, out of their hearing range.