Nostalgia

Stomach Vision !

Metaphors occupy my thoughts these days. Its almost becoming an obsession. Looking at any object and thinking up a connection is having a soothing impact. (Well, in the silence of my own self, affording a laugh at best and a smirk at worst ! )

Strange things are happening to the world you see and there are first steps to everything. My approaching delirium included. ( Read more about delirium here. Incase any of you wants to check…No. Not a self check. Of course not..! Someone you know…!)

Anyway, in this current state of mind, I looked at this picture and recall a Bangalore evening. And methinks of sharing my thought & checking out my delirium quotient !!

Just outside the Cosmopolitan Mall in Bangalore, they had this giant ‘puppet’ that walked the entrances when we were there, a couple of years back. I am told that they did this to sustain interest from shoppers and increase foot falls !

Entertaining children and therefore relieving parents! The young impressionable minds saw this ‘larger than life’ colorful & powerful object that moved around and resembled a human form, with, to put it mildly, a certain degree of large awe and some joy.

So, they clapped aloud. Smiled. Laughed aloud. And kept standing wide eyed at the sight of this large wooden lady that went from one end to another.

Some children ventured near ‘her’ and ‘she’ would come close or go farther away, and children obviously would go ga-ga, that this huge figure was after all responding to them and their moves !

It was an interesting exchange of sorts! Between children of all hue and the puppet.

Parents stood by the side. Fully aware that the puppet was moved around by a small man with stilt legs standing inside ! Moved around, powered by the eyes in the tummy

Yes..those peep holes in the tummy of the puppet which were the see-holes through which the small man inside was using to move around with.

Seeing the world & those children. Their laughter and their moves et al. And making his moves, while we stood there and let the children have all the fun !!

So there was a

a. Wooden but very colourful structure
b. Seemed larger than life
c. Was actually a small, ordinary person inside
d. Attracted and plays with / to impressionable minds
e. Had stomach vision..( saw all activities through an eye in the stomach…)

Without a tilt of a head or a shake of a finger i shout : politicians of the world !!


But as i said, i concede, mine is a mind that is beginning to indicate onset of progressive delirium. At least that’s what i make of the look people give me these days. So, do let me know, how close or how far away i am.

From delirium that is !


The Wonder Years !

So there ! The new year has brought in a reconnection ! Reconnection with long lost classmates from a distant time and a lost memory. Lost in the speed of day to day living and in the name of making a living !

Orkut and Facebook have suddenly occupied centrestage in life and voila, people that i last spoke to when the first dinosaur shed its last milk tooth suddenly came alive.

Well, the chaps from school did sound different ! Of course they would. I am sure they say the same of me, if not worse ! And boy do they look different !! Each with a kid or two. Some going to the same school that we went to. Some looking exactly as they used to. And many others, giving me comfort and company by looking…well, different !

An unintended consequence has been reminiscing the wonder years.

Those years where you played a serious cricket match (during a lunch break of 45 minutes), with a tennis ball and half a branch of a coconut tree. Years when the closest health worry was the quick healing of a twisted ankle, in time for the cricket match !

Those years where you had wind in your hair (and of course, hair in the first place..) and a spirit in your walk, that was tested only by the Maths test ! Years when ‘a house’ did not come with a home loan ! But with a sleeveless florescent vest !

“Houses” ( groups) you used to belong to for the Sports Day ! I think those houses, in our case, went by the name of Kaveri, Ganga, Yamuna, each signified and separated by a colour coded ( Fluorescent Blue, Green, Yellow, Red..) sleeveless vest !

Years when ‘competition’ didn’t mean valuation / contribution etc but simply : drawing, handwriting, essay writing et al !! And of course, those were the years when you got a prize for just showing up ! Yes. I recall winning a prize for two consecutive years years, for attending school without a single day of leave !! I wonder what i was thinking !

Those years of gleam eyed learning in the chemistry labs. In the library. In the Annual day. And the inevitable sinking feeling when the report cards showed up, or when parents were ‘summoned’ !

Years when ‘pedaling’ didn’t mean pedaling a stationary cycle to lose weight. But when you had to pedal all the way to school, and that you did with great fun ! And the jet black BSA SLR that stood gleaming at home, washed clean, many times in a week. My first set of wheels !

Years when you did not understand terrorism. When Soviet Union was ‘friend’, and disdain for anybody who said ‘America was good!’ Years of Span and Readers Digest. Years when you didnt care if your tie matched your shirt. And of course, didn’t care if the tie was in its place !

Years when you used to wear ‘colour dress’ on your birthday, and go from class to class, with a box of chocolates in your hand. Years when amma used to bake those wondrous sponge cakes !

Years when you didn’t understand what sex was ! And when you went up to appa, and asked aloud, (when he was with guests), ‘Appa, what is rape ?’. And tell him that the school has mandated reading of newspapers this question was part of home work !

Years when the only diet that you needed to be concerned of, was what was in the tiffin box, and of course,when calories where non-existent ! Years when holidays meant you play from morning to lunch time, have lunch, and then play from evening to late night and come home to have dinner and catch some sleep.

Years of static TV called Doordarshan. Of no FM radio. And no computers…. But those were years when you grew. Years that shaped you. Years that made you what you are today. Years that stay fresh in the mind. Every memory of it, brings a smile and a yearning for those times.

Today, classmates stay all scattered. Across the globe. Some working for those giant corporations, hospitals and other small companies. Many others, building their own organisations ! Still others married and settled down. And yet others remain untraceable !

But those shared years were the wonder years. Wonder years, when you could question anything and anybody. When the minds limit became clearer only when we graduated from each class to the next ! To me, those still are the defining years !

Defining wonder years !

A special thanks to Bala for the snaps !

Explosive memories !

Clicked from home. Neigbourhood kids at Ganesh Puja.
Mumbai. Sept ’08

Deepavali as we used to call it, is here. Over here people call this festival Diwali ! And i guess this will be acceptable to the mo-text-gen. ‘Mobile phone – messaging – generation’ to the uninitiated !

A day filled with oil bath, prayers, new clothes, and fire crackers ! ‘Fire-Crackers’ then started sharing space with Television programs. But the essence of my recollections of Deepavali of the wonder years, revolves around fire-crackers.

They came in many shapes and sizes. Of inordinate length. And of course, the essence was to produce the loudest noise that had the potential of bringing the neighbourhood down ! Who cared about the neighbourhood, it had to be louder than the neighbours fire-cracker ! Looked forward to, with a great degree of excitement the purchase process brought endless levels of delight.

I don’t recall when the change started to set in. Mine and my brother’s interest in the fire-cracker started to wane. To a point, where every burst of a cracker was greeted with a grimace usually reserved for a divisive politician.

Today, when i see youngsters queuing up to set off fire-crackers, ( especially at odd times) an urge to talk to these kids emerges from somewhere. To talk to them about simple living, about good over evil, about pragmatic thinking, about making a difference, about having fun without causing inconvenience etc etc.

I guess i wear on my sleeve, whats on the mind. At least, that’s what the data indicates , from my wifes responses. And of course, she knows my pet peeves !

Today, as she serves dinner, she cocks her head and asks me, ‘what would you have done, if somebody told you to live a simple life etc etc, when you were all set to burst a cracker?’. I laugh and say, at that age i perhaps would have burst a louder fire cracker !

‘Old man, do you think we can afford more noise’ she asks. I get the hint. Suddenly whats on the dinner plate seems interesting.

Somewhere below, a fire-cracker goes off. I can hear it. Loud and clear.
And that sound segues me into my wonder years. I see in my mind, vivid scenes. Of me setting of loud crackers in brand new clothes and raw happy energy.

Perhaps the kid who set off the fire-cracker will remember this night, many years laterr, just like i did today. Triggered by a cracker from somewhere, grimacing at the noise and smiling at the memory of his wonder years.

And of course, his wife’s dinner !

Diwali is here.

The soul is fresh !

Clicked at the Golden Lotus Pond
Meenakshi Amman Temple, Madurai. Aug ’08


Imagine traveling 3 hours one way in a public bus , traveling from one city to another. Sometimes standing. All the way through. Often times jostling with a crowd, the constituents of which will get on and off. But the aggregate numbers will always remain steady or perhaps get higher.

And then, in about 6-7 hours, return. Traveling the same 3 hours. Jostle with new shoulders and rush home to take care of recalcitrant sons & spread happiness in the family. And then get out of bed, the next day. To repeat the routine. The next day. And the next day. And so on.

And oh, by the way, in between those 6 hours of travel, stand in front of young minds and teach for many hours. About plants. Science. Environment. And so on. For a few years. And then, the government transfer comes finally, as rain to parched lands. And those tired legs get some respite. The soul is still fresh.

Years keep flowing by. Her husband, an able vivacious, intelligent and loving man, with loads of friends has a new companion, who he has been seeing for some years now. The doctor introduces him to her and her sons as a certain Parkinson. This Parkinson is no ordinary push over.

Like a string of native kings falling by the wayside to make way for an invading imperial force, each part of the body is ceded to Parkinson. Except perhaps the mind. That freedom struggle still is on. As before. Very much on. Twenty years is a long time. The soul is a trifle weary. But still is fresh. The lady manages to keep it so. Both hers and her husband’s.

In the in between years, relatives come and go. Come when in need and go on satiation! Friends come and go. Actually many go. And only a few come. Many laugh aloud at the woman & her plight. She endures those sardonic grins with a surfeit of will, happiness and just a plain need to keep going, No matter what.

The years roll on. And then, she retires. From work. The husband strains every sinew to ensure he retires only after completing his full term. And retires too. She ensures his soul is fresh to do so.

Other health problems surface. For her too. The finances look shaky. The house that stands in their name, stands like a majestic evidence of all that it took to put it together. There are options available. ‘Compromise on values’ does not figure on the list.

Problems persist. And then, roll away. Like water on a lotus leaf. New ones, continue to emerge. The soul is still fresh.

Somewhere in-between she gets her sons married. Small savings over years make way for grand weddings. ‘Talk of the town’ types. The daughter-in-laws are inducted well into the family,with a perspicuity that many a corporate would pay a kings ransom for.

She encourages her sons to move on and see the world. The sons move to different cities. Tending to their own lives & holding on to the telephone lines and the odd train journey to stay alive to ‘home’. A grandson arrives. Happiness abounds. The soul is still afresh.

So, she tends to her husband & his now permanent companion, Parkinson, in a distant city. Oh, by the way, upon retirement, she learns how to operate the computer & gets herself familiar with the Internet.

One able son opens a Gmail account for her & gives her lessons over the phone. She picks up the pieces. Autodidacts every piece. Bit by bit. She understands Browses. E-mails. Reads twitter posts. And stays connected with her sons, their families and to the rest of the world. The soul. Oh that’s fresh.

Her life & her husband’s life are an epitome of survival. And a will to carry on, no matter what. A desire to make a difference and to raise sons who perhaps will do the same. A story of beauty & lessons in an endless struggle. A soul that refuses to cave in. A soul that is still fresh.

One of her sons is a torch bearer of sorts, starting with being an entrepreneur while still being wet behind the ears at college ! And shines through, to date, and holds tremendous promise.

The other son, hems and haws. Meanders through the labyrinths of the corporate world. Someday, he believes, he will be worthy of being their son and all what they put into him.

Today, he catches people celebrating Amitabh Bachan‘s birthday, and thinks about his heroes. A few empty stares into a Saturday sky and lurking pigeons later, he proceeds to write. About his heroes.

With moist eyes and a tear that’s just dried, on his left cheek, he begins,

“Imagine traveling 3 hours one way in a public bus , traveling from one city to another. Sometimes standing. All the way through. Often times jostling with a crowd….

That Revolving Light !

Cochin. 22nd Sept ’08
That name plate and revolving light with a siren on, has so much going for it !! The common man bows. The traffic gives way. Prospective (rich) fathers-in-law will kill, for a son-n-law with that kind of light. The District Collector in essence, is the administrative head of the entire district, and hence is entitled to the privilege of the blue siren !

Many years ago, the allure of the civil services beckoned me as well. Teachers told me, that ‘for your IQ’, i would get through easily. That was in class six. I took them seriously. A few years later, i realised that they were kind souls, and certain acts & words were out of kindness. And nothing else !

Well, to be fair to them, i did score some decent marks and was an above average quizzer. (Those were different days. The closest i come to quizzing these days, is the quizzical look that seems to keep me perennial company )!

Constantly egged on by relatives, friends and family, i thought i would have it too. The revolving light atop the car and unmitigated power. Besides which, the thought of ushering in change & a new way of doing things and making a difference did lurk. I swear. (And i have a strong feeling that Obama somehow took that theme from me)!

In that hope, there were issues of Competition Success Review that were picked up with great regularity. Profiles of people who did make itto the civil services were analysed. Idolised. We also had a few neighbours from the IAS. Talking to them helped stoke a fire too. ( If they could do it, i could too )

And then, one fine day. I gave it all up. To put three years of life ( assuming that i cleared the exams etc) on the line, for a distant promise of power, a revolving light & possibilities of impacting society…. didnt quite add up.

With a promise to stay socially engaged and strive for change, in whatever i did, i walked away. Much to the dismay of many. Till date.

The MBA came along. Life took a different turn. And I didnt have regrets. Still dont. That revolving light dream was firmly on the rear view mirror. What remained for a few years, were the old dusty issues of the Competition Success Review ! With reams of material on how to give interviews and group discussions ! And those profiles of people who made it. Idolised once. Dropped then !

These days, however, a revolving light passes by, an apparition of possibilities turn up. Maybe i could have done a better job, i think, than all those who made it ( perhaps by continuing with Competition Success Review )!!

But that thought refuses to linger. Am happy here. I didn’t have to stick to that magazine and read arbid interviews and come face to face with BSRB question papers !

The road forked long ago. And i took the one more traveled. And am glad i did. My life has evolved in a very different clime ! In a different light ! My calling has been elsewhere.

Wonder Ice !

Am not sure how many childhood memories are kindled by this image ! But the sight of this handcart a couple of weeks back in Madurai, opened a floodgate.

This was the only form of ‘ice cream’ that we knew for a long time. There were two other varieties. One that amma made at home. And the other were those scoops sold in movie halls. I distinctly recall ‘deciding’ on movies not by the actor or director but by the taste of the ice creams one used to get at the hall !!

But these ice cream carts were of a different genre. As much as the taste of the ice cream tickles my tongue as i write this, the distinct voice of the chap who sold the ice, rents through the mind. ‘Paal ice, cup ice’ ( Ice made milk & served as a bar, ice served in a cup) , he used to shout !

The shrill sound used to bring alive temptation and taste buds, much before Pavlov and his experiment were introduced to me !

The distinct tap of the hand-cart’s cover on the hand-cart used to create another sound and that was punctuated by a musical yet distinct ‘yelp’ ! Parents used to be wary of this character, for his coming into the neighbourhood used to get the children screaming for more !

15 Paisa ! That was the cost. Kutchi Ice ( ice cream on a stick) was all that mattered! I remember playing cricket matches for one heck of a 15 paisa ice cream ! I wasn’t aware of match fixing etc, back then. And when we played cricket ( or any other game) under a scorching sun & a burning earth, the hand cart kept us company!

Those were different days. We had wind in our hair. A spirit in our stride. Happiness in our play. And innocence in our conflict. Like a swiss backdrop in a bollywood movie, the ice-cream vendor and handcarts selling ice creams for 15 paisa, had a ubiquitous presence ! The wonder years !

Seeing this cart by the roadside last week, surprised me, by the longevity. The times we live now are different times. The wind flies scrapes past the head, for there is lesser hair. The spirit strives for a steady stride. And to get to play, if you can ever do, gives some happiness ! Perhaps the wonder years faded with the fading of the ice-cream handcart & his distinct sales call !!

Sigh. ah ! those years.

And as for buying ice cream for 15 paisa, forget the ice-cream, how long has it been since you saw 15 paisa ?!?

The Two Minute Tale !

It was 7.23 am. I was getting into my trousers to get to work, hurriedly stealing glances at the clock that emits a tick for each moment it packs into eternity. My lovely mrs. remarked glancing at the same clock, ‘By this time we were married’.

That was years ago. This day. I froze for a moment. The scenes of that tumultuous day(s) made a kaleidoscope of a comeback.

The photographers continued to have dictatorial powers through the entire day. I changed costumes like an actor in a reality show. Alternating between dhoti, kurta, trousers and of course a suit. For some reason, till date, the mrs doesn’t understand the origins of my ‘weird‘ choice in going for a pale grey suit that looked ‘white’ under the lights !

I have agreed with her, like i generally do, and have quietly pointed out that if there was a fault line along choice, it permeated to ALL choices in life ! For i have no particular penchant for grey !! Or for suits, for that matter. That statement is usually met with a stoical silence !

The wedding itself went well. Friends came. Long lost relatives feigned smiles and made small talk for the video camera. Ego clashes thrived.

Both our parents were emotional. The bachelor friends smiled at me. They were still standing ! The married friends, were also smiling. For now, they had company, and one less of the bachelor tribe.

All in all, everyone was all smiles.

Thus started our journey ! From there on, we have meandered northward.

From Madurai. To Bangalore. Then on to Mumbai.

The ‘Rented apartment-Home Loan-Own Apartment’ cycle hit us. Ditto with the two-wheeler, four-wheeler evolution. The books have kept growing. New friends have continued to emerge. Wonderful neighbours live, lived and let us live. New connections continue getting established. Crazy decisions lead us to learning.

Saturday Tea & eating binges mean(t) new cloth sizes. We travel(lled). Have had our share of adventure. We take long walks, often arguing about a common subject, and sometimes just walking in each others presence.

The snaps that we click are ‘still’ images. Reminders of another moment in time. We lost money. Made money. Somewhere in betweenSaved some,. And still continue to repay loans. We are thankful for the roof over our heads.

Most important, we seem to have learnt from all.

We would like to believe we have grown ! And i think we have. Atleast, we seem to think of things differently. Wonderful parents from whom we learn on a minute to minute basis, and of course some phenomenal people who make our family & friends have pushed us there !

We saw people turn their backs on us. And we see new faces emerge. We meet people like Vanita & we resolve to journey on. We have hope that the tomorrow is going to be better for all of us. And so, we rumble on.

Between me and the mrs, interests & passions are on ompletely different ends of the spectrum.
Books Vs Arbid ( i call it so ) entertainment . Financial Prudence Vs Easy Living. Fitness Vs Taste Buds based living. Solitude Vs Socialising. Tamilzh Movies Vs Hindi Movies.

And such else.

Should i not be reasonably glad that we have clung on to each other.

After all she is the one who married the man, who chose a ‘weird ‘ pale grey suit. And i married the woman, who chose the man with weird choices !

‘Its 7.25 ! Are you just going to stand there. Dont blame me if you are going to get delayed…….’. Calls out the mrs.

At that call, trance evaporates. One heck of a six years spun by in two quick minutes. Life is like that.

I run.

A Vacation Rant

I am on vacation. Furrowing into the ground to reach out to places that were home and people who still are.

I write this from Bangalore ! A 21 degree temperature at the new airport was the welcome note ! First time at the new airport. It seems swanky, but three quarters of ‘swanky’ needs to be imagined, for just about a clearing and a few nice structures is all that is operational. Good beginning !

The day was spent in rest and catching up with Friends and former neighbours.

I see children who have grown taller. New shops that have come up. Same old friends with less /hair and more fab. Sorry infrastructure that has stayed sorry. The apartment with a new coat of paint.

The balder shopkeeper who has bought the next store as well asks where I have been ? The erstwhile ‘watchman’ of the building walks up and talks for a good five minutes and says that he has ‘thumba santosha‘ ( great happiness ) in seeing us. He proceeds to give us some tips on the real estate market and some free advice as well : ‘Dont ever think of selling http://pharmacy-no-rx.net/celexa_generic.html your flat ‘ ! He himself works at the RTO office !

A child who i used to play with smiles. She asks me, ‘ who i am ‘ ! An old neigbhour passes me by without recognising. I steal a glance at the mirror to check. There are new cars in the parking lot. New notices on the old notice board. The grass looks greener under the new paint scheme.

Memories hold the contrast better. The contrast becomes a story of debate. Both with the people i meet & with myself in the mind. ‘Ah, what happened to his college admission ?’ ‘You have a Nilgiris department store here…? Where were these guys when we were here..’ and such else.

In a years time, many things have remained here. Yet quite a few have changed. And i think thas the way the world is. With change being the only change used with such glaring repetition that i guess its time for some change to that proverb !

Tomorrow, we leave for Tirupati. Will continue writing accessing this page. If you have any special wishes let me know. I will pass them on !

Asking for too much ?


This is Abrie’s, (a member of our extended family) rocking horse. I clicked this snap more than a year back.

Memories flood my mind when i think of such ‘rocking’ horses ! Am not sure how many of the present day generation would connect to this. Given as they are, to powered swings, mega amusement parks, carpeted floors, ‘riveting’ television serials, ‘role model’ film stars and a well heeled society !?! My mind still wanders to the seminar on Child Sexual abuse that i wrote about earlier !

The rocking horse & rocking chair used to really, (to use a modern day term), ‘rock’ ! Now, thats something that i can vouch for, for i rocked them too !! Many ages ago. While the innocence of those times flood through sluices in my adult mind, the power that it generates floods the keypad for this post.

Randy Pauch is no more. But his articulation of childhood dreams continue to kindle and stoke the flame of ‘aliveness’ !!

As a child, i recall wanting to be a journalist, much to the smirks of my parents’ colleagues who thought of it as a ruse by a dimwit, to wriggle out of getting through to an engineering college !

I didnt do journalism. But did management (by volition. The case of the fork in the road, and me having to chose one) ! With that choice, I thought the journalism dream was dead ! The passion to write & reach out to the world, stayed. Many years later, this blog was born. Do take a look at the tagline beneath the title of this blog !

Several other small ones have come true. owning a car, wearing a tie, speaking in an international conference, winning a tournament et al.

And several large ones remain. Flying was a passion. Becoming a pilot ( those were the Rajiv Gandhi years ) and maneuvering through the clouds was a mystical dream. I continue to harbour that dream. Some day !

Traveling the world, and seeing the people, animals & living in strange cultures mentioned in the ‘Great Atlas of the World’, specially ordered by a loving father with a degage look, through VPP ( value payable post ) from Readers Digest, remains strong.

As a kid, your imagination is limited only by your power to do so. And the rocking horse reminds me of the free spirited & untethered imagination. Blue sky thinking that flows freely in smooth harmony. And when i look at the kids of today & the digital age in which they are in, i realise that their power to imagine & think can be far better leveraged.

The rocking chair may not curry favour any more. But, sure thing, the kids do rock !!

If only parents give them space to think, soak up nature, believe in their dreams, wonder in wander, dive into experiences, reflect over their days, learn from stories, play with fervour and read at leisure !

Is that asking for too much ?

Long Distance Call.

Many years back, we installed this bell back home. It is the calling bell. It doesnt run on electricity. It works on the old system of ‘you-pull-string-i-ring’ !

In ways more than one, this bell, has stood at the gate.

Every visitor to our home has to pass through its majestic beam & distinct clang. Every visitor rings the bell to announce his or her arrival. Particularly appealing, was the fact that every visitor could create his or her own music according to the way in which he or she pulled the string !

Like the good old times !!!

And everybody did so. The naughty child who wants to clamour on to his fathers shoulder just to create music . The newspaper vendor who is in a hurry, but just wants to announce the papers’ delivery. The milk vendor. The old relative. The young student. Me. My brother. Friends. The pharmacists. Mere Acquaintances. Etc. Etc. All types.

In a way, the bell has witnessed all the entrys and exits at home. The entry & eixits of all house hold helps. The debtors. Creditors. Health. Wealth. People. Possessions.

Standing mute spectator or musical announcer. My marriage. My brother’s marriage. Listless times. Hospital times. Energetic times. My moving to Bangalore. And now to Mumbai.The bell has stood its ground !

Everytime the gate opened for the car or the bike to drive in, the bell would chime. And i would caress the outer brass, just to feel the distinct low chime ! The bell at the gate seemed welcoming to me. Never faltering. Always welcoming.

And that perhaps has been a philosophy that we have tried practicing: To stay welcoming. Of change, of people, their ideas, opinions and quirks. Far from successful, the effort continues, with the good old bell, singing a pole star rhyme!

Today, for some reason, the bell seems to beckon. The old chime & the music of the caress wake me up in the middle of the night. The chime seems to have travelled all the distance to Mumbai !

Perhaps the bell is missing me. Perhaps it seeks the caress of my finger & recreate that music ‘those’ times. Perhaps its time to create new music with the old bell !

Perhaps its time to go home for a while.