“Roads taken by Gen Z needn’t always pass through Jantar Mantar.”
There is something quaintly amusing about my visits to the Khajuraho temples. My first trip, more than forty years ago, was a 75-minute whirlwind tour, including the journey from the airport to the site and back. The circumstances in which I saw the sculptures were far more memorable than the monuments. I have written about that trip in an earlier post: “The Unforgettable Throttle Dutt and his Flying Machine.”
My second trip to the heritage site last weekend likewise became memorable for a reason quite apart from the grandeur and beauty of the place. A chance meeting and interaction with a rare specimen of Gen Z gave my excursion an entirely unexpected significance and meaning.
It happened when the train stopped at Gwalior Railway Station and I got up from my seat to stretch my legs.
“Sir, please hurry up if you are getting down here. The train will start any minute,” Sonu Diwaker said to me with deep concern. He was seated alone at a window seat—the seat next to him was vacant.
His stubbled chin, uncombed hair, listening pods stuffed into his ears, floral shirt, cargo trousers, sports shoes, the glow in his eyes and, above all, his body language made me take him for one of those Gen Z youngsters who had made news a month ago.
How wrong I was! He wasn’t it. He wasn’t one of them. Rather, in the ensuing interaction, I discovered a focussed gem of Gen Z in him.
I looked him in the eyes and said without the words leaving my lips, “Yes son! Talking to me?”
When he saw that his words didn’t inject any urgency in me, he removed his ear-pods and spoke again, a bit subdued this time, “The train is about to leave, Sirr…” He stopped midway, sensing that I had no intention of disembarking.
“How do you know, I have to get off the train? Do you read minds?” I grinned.
Now it was his turn to chuckle. He said excitedly, “Of course, Sir, I am a mentalist. I read minds, predict choices and influence decisions.”
“O my God! Can you read my mind?” I asked him and sat down next to him.
An audience is as important to performing arts as a believer is to a miracle. In the following hour, I was Sonu’s cherished believer. For me, he was a coveted book I wanted to read.
He took out a pack of cards and in minutes stole 60 years from me and turned me into an ecstatic child of seven who wondered, “Is he the reincarnation of Mandrake the Magician.”
I have been enthralling grandchildren in my clan-like large family with similar tricks and have maintained that I cannot be tricked. But here was this twenty-something foxing me beyond my imagination with his words and sleight of hand.
As we went along, he satisfied my natural curiosities.
He enlightened me about what exactly mentalism was. Until I met him, everything was frivolous street-magic to me. He had left studies to pursue his dream of becoming a mentalist. At a time when young people his age are thronging Jantar Mantar over paper leaks and reservation in educational institutions; I found the decision of this son of a man who provides ironing service to people daring. Very daring!
He completed homework and wrote assignments for other children to manage the fees for his guru, Mr Shankar Bakshi to whom he gives 50% credit for his being a successful mentalist. To cut cost, Sonu taught himself and developed tricks on his own too. Today, he mesmerises people from Connaught Place and Select City Walk to Dubai. He is also pursuing a law degree at the same time.
“All roads taken by Gen Z don’t have to pass through Jantar Mantar.”
We could have gone on and on, but it was time to part when the train reached Jhansi. I had set out for Khajuraho expecting to be fascinated by the 1100-year-old sculptures. Instead, the chance encounter on the train introduced me to an equally fascinating specimen of Gen Z. My biggest takeaway from our meeting was his willing acceptance of me as his pupil—and his invitation to be part of his team someday.
Road Much Travelled 