top of page
  • Writer's picturePray Jani


WhatsApp Image 2018-05-12 at 5.54.52 PM

“I’m sorry I don’t have my ID card.” An apology often seen in my college, but ridiculous if said on the road. There I was, puffing my last fag before getting back to work; sipping my last cup of authentic filter coffee while the caffeine settles itself to kick in, when I observed the punctual Bangaloreans decorating the streets with their smoke fumed mobiles carrying them to their money-fetching desired location at eight in the morning. Observed their collars identifying their occupation, the crest supposedly identifying their worth. A dog park, in play, theoretically, where each ambitious being satisfying their uncertainty in a  hurried, humorous way.

With each ID signifying an access to the corporate levels, we very conveniently allot the privileges, not to the individual but to the card itself. I am not trying to point out to the manner in which the employee is granted access, but more on the authenticity of the card to access the facility. However, my focus is on the ID card itself and its power of granting wishes and the extent of granting wishes in the corporate setting. However, when we come on the road, this exact ID is deemed worthless, and yet we see many, tie them around their collars like the loyal employees they are. When a 20th century time-traveler visited today’s urban settings, he would identify the collars as mere added accessory to the everyday clothing. What it grants is solely in that particular building.

So there I was, sipping a cup of magnificent filter coffee, wondering about the institutionalized world, so distant from the pleasures of life, when I heard a voice say, “pamint?” in a rude, authoritative and mispronounced manner. I realized then that I had forgotten my wallet.

5 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Although I Wished Her To Heal

Sickened me, those shattered glasses. The floor wept with them, but held them upright. Sickened me, while I tried to collect, correct a mistake not even mine. And as I pampered the earth that held her

Under the Crescent Moon

Past the stroke of midnight, when the gamblers play their luck, and dreamers recite their dreams, and when broken hearts sing a melancholy, a crescent moon faintly walked across the night sky, spectat


Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page