Retrospection

Communication in the good old days:

2006-05-30T23:13:00.000-07:00

1960’s.

Though our city was the capital of the state, there was only one “Trunk Call” office in this big city!

We had to go down from our residence to the heart of our city - nearly six kms – to make an outstation phone-call!

You go there, book your call and join the waiting people! The man at the counter would go on trying different waiting numbers, turn by turn. He would announce your name when the connection is through. Till that time you wait and wait .... May be half an hour; may be two hours!

How a youngster of today would digest such hassles of the past!

The Missing Road Sign

2006-04-30T06:04:00.000-07:00

I very distinctly remember the main roads of the city in the early sixty of the last century.

The nation was a neonate freedom-winner.

There were signs at the junction of the roads: "KEEP LEFT." I recall that they were painted in yellow and black. At some places, they would light up at night.

By the turn of the decade, all of these signs disappered.

A Book for Children

2006-03-30T23:32:00.000-08:00

Fortunately, I own a prized collection of a few old books.
Invaluable treasure, indeed.

I just happened to glance through one of those old books.
A book for children.
"Nelson's Indian Readers", printed in Great Britain (1927).

As the 'Prefatory Note' reads: "This little book is intended for use in the East in the first class above the Primary Department."

What impressed me was the pictorial form of the book.

A book meant for young children.
Full of pictures. A number of black-and-white pictures.
A number of coloured plates, too.

How happy the child would be to study a 'foreign language' from such a nice book!

In silence

2006-02-28T05:50:00.000-08:00

Retrospection in silence is invigorating.

Who knows when may the vocality stem out of wordlessness?

2006-01-30T19:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, atop a point in life .......

You try to view the slope that you negotiated upto the point.

You gaze.

Doing nothing. Thinking nothing.

Enjoying the moments full of void.

A PRECIOUS GIFT

2005-12-17T16:23:00.000-08:00

God showered His choicest blessings onto us.

And you bloomed in our life!

What a precious gift of God!

Vividly recall the first glimpse of yours.

Existence as fresh as a dew-drop.

A little innocent face.

A captivating smile. The smile brightened our world.

How pleasant it was to grasp the softy hands!

Grasping those tiny hands, a bond was established.

A bond born of love unutterable.

Years have rolled by.

Kiddy face has grown mature. So have you.

But, by God's Grace, the bond is the same.

Moments of togetherness still spell the same warmth, the same love, the same happiness.

So, when we say "Happy Birthday", the words echo the feelings inexpressible.

One knows not what's in store.

Tomorrow the world could be different. The worldly objects could be different.

The appearances, the shadows ..... everything may change.

The relationships may redefine their meanings.

Even utterances and silence may cease to bear meanings.

What will not lose meaning is the bond, the stratum underneath, wherefrom springs the love ineffable.

My Loving Father

2005-12-03T20:56:00.000-08:00

Parenthood cannot be adequately defined in the absence of a loving father.

My father was a self-made man. He hailed from a respectable family of moderate means.

At a young age, he shifted from a small place to the City to make a fortune.

He was kind and articulate; genuine and graceful. He could establish contacts with leading families in the city which helped him in shaping his life. Achieved a fair degree of success.

He was a man of action. A real karma-yogi. A very hard-working man who knew little rest.

More than all that, he was an extraordinarily loving father. He would keep the family closely knit with a blend of firmness and love. His firmness was devoid of harshness, certainly mingled with sweetness.

He loved us a lot, and with all his heart.

He was greatly influenced by the ideals of Montessori. He had absorbed those ideals into his heart. He would put them to practice in life. He would treat a child in such a way that even a mother would turn pale before him!

He would speak to us in a soft tone. Never would he use harsh words. Never would he hurt our self-respect.

We would eagerly await his return in the evening.

Everyday, his bag would have something for us. No, it was not branded chocolates or fried chips or wafers. It could be some fresh, seasonal fruits or peanuts, or may be sweetmeat.

Whatever he would bring, we would share among us - among the little brothers and other family members.

He would happily watch us enjoying ourselves. There would be a sparkle in his eyes. A smile would adore his "fatherly" face.

A short spell of happy moments of togetherness.

Long enough to energize us for a wait till the next evening.

Those moments have mingled into past. He also left us for his eternal journey.

But the memories have not faded.

I bow to you, father!

Past of the Metro Cities

2005-11-28T21:39:00.000-08:00

Have you seen your metro city by night?

The over-crowded suburbs. Luminous, wide roads. Flashes of lights of speeding vehicles. Neon-glowing complexes. Giant super-malls. Glossified multiplexes.

Awestruck by exuberance of the urbanization, you may tend to forget that Rome was not built in a day!

At least I would not forget.

The period of late '50s.

It was nearly a decade that India had been enjoying the fruits of independence.

Freedom brought about a transformation.

Radical changes in the form and the content of life.

Our family, too, rode a wave of transformation.

We shifted our residence.

From a busy, congested city area to a developing locality. On the outskirts of the city. What was termed as a "would-be suburb". (True, today it has grown into a posh suburb!)

I stretch my memory back to childhood days.

The picture begins to emerge: Hardly three or four colonies in the radius of a kilometre. Fairly far apart. A small grocer's shop. Not far away, a little-used railway track. All that would make up a sparsely populated locality.

Our colony was a cluster of bungalows. Surrounded by vast land. Almost barren fields. A few small hillocks. Thorny bushes. Dusty walkways. Negotiate them patiently and you reach another colony.

No asphalt roads. Not a single road light! At night, the dusty roads would plunge into darkness. The cries of fox would add to horror of haunted roads!

Relatives used to laugh that we had settled amidst forests!

The initial spell of our stay was, indeed, nightmarish.

Civic amenities were almost alien to the locality. Erratic power supply. No water supply(a couple of months' wait for tap water supply). No street lights. It would be foolish to talk about public transport!

Dust, dust and dust everywhere.

With the passage of time, the locality underwent facelift. And that continued on and on.

The same dust, the same soil produced a most coveted, posh locality of this metro city.

A metro city does not take "Avatar" as a metro city.

Scan the glittering magnificence of these cities.

You will find heaving soil, trampled footprints and untold stories buried beneath the gloss.

The Slate and the Pen

2005-10-29T03:38:00.000-07:00

A common sight.

A 6 or 7 year old child going to school.

Heavily burdened with a bag full of books and note books.

Lot of stationery material laden on that tiny body. A pitiable scene!

I cannot help remembering the good, old stuff of stationery material: a slate and a clay-pen.

How can I explain that to the present generation? Luckily, Oxford Dictionary gives several meanings of slate and one them comes to my help. According to Oxford, a slate is "a piece of ... flat smooth ... plate used for writing on, usu. framed in wood".

Yes, we used to write on that greyish black slate with a clay-pen.

It was so convenient to write!

If you have written on the both the sides, you could easily wipe it clean with a small damp duster! And lo! It is ready for use again. We would use it for doing Maths sums and also for writing answers of science. No need for separate note books.

We used it till fourth stanadard without difficulty.

We did not have 'note-bookful' of information. We had knowledge stored in our minds.

The Indo-China War

2005-10-05T22:10:00.000-07:00

1962.

A day at School used to begin with the morning assembly. A prayer followed by the principal's speech.

The topics varied from school activities and education to the current topics in the media.

Media? Before you ask, let me make it clear that the media comprised of the news-papers and the radio.

October 1962. There were indications of the worsening Indo-China relations. And the inevitable happened.

One morning, the principal grimly announced the Chinese invasion. We had learnt from the newspapers also, but our minds were too immature to grasp the gravity. What a master orator our principal was! He painted a pen-picture that left us shocked.

A couple of weeks later .....

Our school started the programmes of civil defence. The senior students were given the "Rifle-training" after school-hours. We would awefully watch them using the 'guns'! There were drills of "mock war" and "mock bombardment". Training of what to do in case of bombardment. Basic ideas of first aid. How to save the life and the property. How to help the wounded.

All that created a tempo: You must rise to the occasion as a true patriot and must defend your motherland at any cost. A thrill used to run through the nerves. Today, years later, I experience the same degree of thrill when I remember those days.

Responsibility and discipline began to frame our thoughts and actions.

I have read about the military training of Sparta. I doubt if it has any relevance today. Basically, I am a peace-loving, cultured and matured person. But I also acknowledge: The sense of responsibility and discipline developed during war-time - in childhood- has never faded!

The citizens are what they were made at young age.

Welcome 'Comments'!

2005-09-30T21:51:00.000-07:00

Your comments are now welcome!

I had disabled comments so far (and you know why if you are a blogger!) My friends and well-wishers have urged me "to enable comments". So let it be today onwards!

Friends! Please share your genuine and sincere views in the wider interest of my viewers-young and old- so that we all are benefitted.

Thanks!

One Giant Leap for Mankind

2005-09-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

It was a July night of 1969. Expectancy and anxiety in the air.

Your guess is correct. I am talking about the American lunar mission: Apollo 11.

All of us were awake, awaiting the success of the Apollo mission.

You will ask: What an Indian family had to do with an American event? Even my young mind had sort of questions.

Elder brothers and our parents discussed and explained to us it was not just an American event. It was going to be a great achievement for mankind. If successful, this mission would not only glorify the history of man, but would also open up the new doors for the progress of human race.

See! This is where the family plays a role in the development of thinking and philosophy.

I am not only an Indian. You are not only an American. We all belong to the same race - the human race. Let us share our sorrows and joys. Let us share our moments of glory and pride. We were charged high with these thoughts. We sat praying for the success of the mission.

TV was uncommon in those days. Forget about trans-continental live telecasts! Radio was the only popular medium.

The radio helped us "visualizing" the historic moment of man's landing on the moon. Even for radios, there was no 24x7 broadcast yet! The local All India Radio would go off the air at 11 pm!

We had to tune in to the VOA-the Voice of America. The commentary on the VOA. How exciting it was! And the Lunar Module "Columbia" landed on the moon. Great!

Next few hours, we frequently tuned in to the radio. Finally, Armstrong set foot on the moon. "That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."

The radio was jubiliant. We were exhilarated. We had shared one of the most glorious moments of the history of human race!

No international call facilities. No SMS. No Internet. No e-mails. In our minds, we congratulated the mentors of the mission. And prayed for the brighter future of mankind.

There are a few great people behind the great achievements. But besides them, there are millions of faceless souls, too.

The First Glimpse of Mother Nature

2005-09-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

The school days.

Walking down to school.

All along the road was indistinct, dusty footpath with some grassy patches. A few weeds, here and there.

A handful of tiny flowers smiling on small green plants. Colorful and friendly. Eager to hug you as you walk past them.

The scenario would go on changing month after month. The changes would bring sparkle to our eyes. Not even a change of tint would escape our notice! And we would enjoy those changes!

A variety of shady trees along the road.

The wind would gently brush past us, go high up through the branches of the trees, producing rustling sounds of the leaves. It was quite melodious to the ears.

We would look up. The top brances of the trees. High above them. The clouds. The vast, endless sky. The expanse of its blue colour.

We learnt to grow extremely sensitive to the surroundings. To the nature. To its diversified manifestations.

All that would fill our heart with rapture ineffable!

We would bow down to Mother Nature!

We had, thus, the first glimpse of Mother Nature, its beauty, its exuberance.

The First Impression

2005-09-07T02:23:00.000-07:00

The memories of school days.

The period: Late '60s.

Along with friends I used to go to school on foot. Nearly 15 minutes' walk.

What a pleasant time it used to be!

The neonate asphalt road of a recently-born suburb.

Walker-friendly non-crowded road. Few slow-moving bicycles. A couple of two-wheelers. An occasional four-wheeler. That was all that constituted the traffic.

A pleasant world. No rush, no race to reach early.

No signals, no zebra-crossing. Not a single policeman in sight. But still the traffic would flow smoothly.

Every vehicle, every person would proceed without announcing priority or spelling superiority. They would not ignore our tiny existence!

Not long ago we had stepped out of the mother's lap, the most secured paradise of a child.

And we observed that the world outside was not less secured.

It was the first impression of the unfamiliar faces. The first impression of the outer world.

And that was how faith and trust began to course through our veins.

Rainy Season

2005-09-02T20:33:00.000-07:00

Rainy season.

They say the rainy season has already set in.

Where is the rain in my city?

Over the last few days, we witnessed heavy down-pour.

Water-logged streets. The city flooded with water.

But where is the rainy season of yesteryears?

Where is the cool wind that used to annunciate the arrival of the rains?

Where is the fascinating fragrance of the first rains?

Where is the refreshing freshness of the season?

Where is the lush, green bed of grass and weeds that would crop up along the roads?

Oh! Rainy Season! Rediscover your identity!

My Mother

2005-08-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

My mother.

Kind, caring and loving.

She left for heavenly abode years ago. Her memories suffuse my eyes even today.

She was an embodiment of the most refined form of love.

Flash-back. . . . .

Childhood days.

Memories of first showers of motherly love.

Tenderly she helped my life bloom.

She made me conversant with the elementary 'chords' of life.

Her touch .... I experienced what the softness of affection is.

Her smile .... I learnt what the delicacy of genuine love is.

Her speech ... I understood the first words that a mature human mind should speak.

Her comforting lap .... I could know what warmth is.

Her proximity ..... I realized how reassuring a relationship could be.

How much I owe to you, mother!

I bow to you with utmost devotion and affection!

The Life is colourful

2005-08-19T20:52:00.000-07:00

The life is colourful with all its variations and variables.

Different colours. Diverse shades, diverse tints.

Sorrows and joys.

It's your destiny, it's your luck. It's your lot.

You like it; may be you dislike it; the life flows.

It flows incessantly.

You watch it or may be you do not watch it; it flows.

Spring or autumn or winter, it flows.

Changes do happen. They make you aware of time.

The present and the past.

You ponder over that. You try to link or relate the happenings.

Sometimes you try to equate, or analyze or rationalize.

Retrospection is the privilege of the human mind.