Memories, chapter 1

Note: This actually is a mail that was sent to a friend, but since I'm talkitng about myself in it, I thought"why not post it as my blog?" And so here it is...

At last I get a chance to sit on a PC with nobody peering down my back or a meter running somewhere. This mail comes to you, courtesy of a neighbor Bhaiya, while Bhabhi is away. I hope I’ll be able to write something worthwhile, especially when so much is running in my head. But sitting here on the PC, I have certainly warmed up to fulfilling my promise.

On each of the three tries that I’ve made of fulfilling my promise to you from a café, I wanted to write about my earliest memories. Not because there is some memory of a great incident in it, but simply because I had to begin somewhere. Though these memories of mine are the foggiest, they are the dearest to me. Partly because they will never come back, but mostly due to the fact that they constitute my very core- the basic thing that I’m made of. I’m sure you’ll find yourself agreeing to me.

My earliest memory probably is of my home at Daltonganj which I was born into. It was one of a set of six similar houses, with tiled roof, a courtyard in the front and a little space for gardening at the back. These ‘homes’ were arranged in sets of three houses facing each other. They together made the colony of ‘Tapeshwari Ashram’ –the name still lingers- and is near my present home-though it stands in a modified form. My earliest memory of the place is probably from the hot summer afternoons when Ma won’t let me out due to ‘Loo’-the howling winds, in summers and I’d lie besides her on the cool floor, while she slept, looking at the dust particles making myriad shapes in thin shafts of light that would find its way-probably just to keep me amused- through tiny cracks and gaps between the tiles. I never liked sleeping in the afternoons and I still remember with amusement that every time I fell asleep on such sweltering afternoons, I’d wake up in the late afternoon to find the sky overcast with clouds. Although it stopped occurring as I began to understand the ‘virtues’ of sleeping, I’m sure that it occurred every time, without fail. On holidays, Papa would rest with us and he’d sing to make me sleep. The song that still lingers on is “Hey…. Neele gagan ke tale, Dahrti ka pyar pale” probably from the movie “Humraaz”.

Summer nights were another thing that I remember very prominently-chiefly because it set in me a deep desire to study the sky. In our parts of the country it is not very unusual for people to sleep in their courtyards or on rooftops on summer nights to escape from the heat, at least during the night. I usually got to sleep with Papa whom I have always been inseparable from, if he is around. Ma always jokes that he is my ‘real’ mummy. So, as we would sleep in the open and as it used to be merciless, cloudless summers, there used to be a sky full of stars. Those dazzling, winking beacons seemingly pinned on to a black curtain always made my jaws drop wide open. The ‘Aakash Ganga’ with its sky spanning extent of milk used to be so clearly visible in those days that I really feel sorry of living in a city-full of pollution due to dust and light. I remember I’d ask Papa a lot of questions about them and he’d patiently answer my questions from his knowledge-that seemed immeasurably deep at that time. He taught me to identify the ‘Saptarishi’ and the change in the pattern of stars as the night wore on and as the summer progressed. Consequently, before I knew it, I had fallen in love with it. It really feels worthwhile when we still sit under the night sky and I point out the prominent constellations and the stars-though I still can name really very few of them. I really want to do a serious study of it, throughout the year. I also have a hazy memory of seeing the Haley’s comet, somewhere on the western sky(I seem to remember seeing it from my courtyard, towards the right of the house). Maybe it is a cumulative effort of these and many more(I want to come across them in due time) sightings that I’m still in love with the subject.

Now let me tell you of the people around-my oldest acquaintances, and maybe a few incidents. But I’m afraid many incidents are too many and embedded deep in my heart and no time is enough to write it all on paper. Anyway, it was a closely knit community at that time-everyone knowing almost everything about the neighbors and rising up magnificently in their times of joys and sorrows. Papa works in a college and my town has three colleges, one of them (which I went to for my B.Sc.) not very far. Consequently a lot of professors had homes in the area. Out of the six homes in our campus-four, including us, were occupied with them. No wonder then that there were a lot of children around. And what a bunch we were! Playing, fighting, picnicking, quarrelling, boasting, laughing- in short having fun- in every conceivable way, together. I need not go into the games that we played, for you must have played them all. I especially remember that at that time we used to have a nice field full of ‘Palash’ trees (Maybe you’ll recognize them by the name Dhaak in the saying “Wahi Dhaak ke teen paat” or as Gesu- it is used for making colors in holi, it is also known as the ‘flame of the forest’ and was the state tree of Bihar) after the monsoons and the beginning of winter. What fun it used to be playing hide and seek in them. You could spend the whole day hiding in them while playing or if you had run away from home. The memories of the almost palatable ‘Puris’ we used to concoct out of them still lingers on in some corner of my head and comes winding out when the mind needs to think of something innocent and really pure. Believe me, it works like a tonic and refreshes you unfailingly- each time you take a draught of it.

It is not that the people were all of the same age. We were a mixed bunch-right from us tiny tots to big guys. And I was the loved one of all- pampered in every way, all the time. I’d be included in everything-big boys games as well as girls fancies. The former would let me play with the big bats and through full tosses at me(though just for one or two times) while the later would dress me up in different attires and make me stand in their songs. One of the families’, a forest ranger’s daughter used to be the leader of it all. I’ve almost lost touch with them but I know that they have a treasure with them. At that time cameras were rare equipment and they were the proud owners of one. I know that many of my photos of that golden era are in their home and I am trying to get hold of them- at least to get them scanned.

Let me tell you of an interesting incident. We used to have cultural programs during occasions like Dashehra-dance, drama, singing and all that- complete with a stage and lighting-all put together with combined efforts of members of each family. On one such occasions while the final show was going on, one of my seniors called me and told me that one of their partners had suddenly taken ill. They were a group of three, presenting nursery rhymes, and each had to say a line from the rhymes while gesticulating. Since we all went to the same school and I was in KG, it was not a big deal when they invited me to come along. I just went onstage with them. And the first rhyme they began with was “A B C, tumble down D. A cat in the cupboard, but cannot see me”. Now I do not remember the reason why but I had not read the rhyme-maybe the book had changed or maybe the rhyme had not been taught to me. I stared blankly at them when the turn to sing out the third line came. The peals of laughter that ensued still rings in my ear. I secretly swore never to set foot on stage-EVER again! There is no use mentioning that the item was a flop and I went back sulking and sat besides Papa. As the evening wore on and I was engrossed in watching a drama, the Ranger uncle’s servant tapped me on the back and said that one of the ‘bhaiyas’ was looking for me. He was playing a part in the drama and had just gone offstage so I innocently followed the servant. The next thing I remember was being pushed onto the stage-right in the middle of the drama! You may laugh, but imagine my predicament when I saw that the Bhaiya that has supposedly called me was acting ill, he lay dying on a cot with a doctor and, I don’t remember who else, crying besides him. I wanted to run away but was caught like a deer stands stunned in headlight of passing vehicles and before I knew it, I burst out crying. Now, I might not have been doing it on purpose, but it fit into the situation perfectly. I was supposedly playing the part of the son of the dying man and my tears just were the perfect material a director could demand in such a situation; tears with real heartfelt emotion sans any artificial aid. I do not recall how the scene ended but there was a loud applause and I was later told that it was due to my ‘original’ act. I had proved my stardom!

There are many other such incidents. Maybe you’ll not be excited to read them all but all of them hold equally precious positions in my heart. Another of them is my first day in school. Sacred Heart School was the most prestigious school of our town and until recently, I do not know about now, its students were liked all over the town. My brother was a student of it already- being four years my senior and I ‘had’ to get admission into the school. I do not remember much of the admission day except seeing a sprinkler fountain running for the first time, but Ma tells me that all that happened on that day was that the teacher who was supposed to interview me pinched me on the cheek, commented “Lovely Baby”- and my interview was over. So, I was bought a bag and a blue, plastic tiffin box. I remember it specifically as a plastic spoon was clipped on to its exterior and that fascinated me very much. I remember taking my favorite ‘Halwa’ as my first meal in school. There is nothing much to remember though. I remember descending from the school bus and noticing the beautiful hedging on the fringes of school playground. We were ‘herded’ into the class and soon it was time to go back. We were ‘herded’ again and taken to the hall, where I remember my brother coming to me as I sat eating my “first” tiffin at school and telling me to sit in the proper bus i.e. the Brown Bus. We had three buses painted in single colors of Blue, Green and Brown. You could just go around the town and anyone would tell you if a particular bus had passed that way of not.

One more memory relating to my early school stand out prominently. It was when I was beaten by my class teacher for the first time. We had a lot of eagles in our school. They would perch on the high roofs of the school building or flew in circles overhead and were notorious for swooning down upon hapless tiffin eaters only to fly away with their meals. Due to this reason, the kids of KG were made to have their food while sitting in the veranda. But adventurous kids always ventured out and I was certainly NOT amongst them as they were beaten when caught. So one fine day when I was busy savoring my lunch, I almost jumped out of my skin as I felt a sudden ping of pain on my back accompanied with the sound of scale meeting flesh. I turned around only to look into the eyes of my Anglo Indian class-teacher. Before I could react in anyway, I felt her rubbing the affected area and apologizing at the same time. Apparently, some daring guy had ventured out into the open and mistaking me for him I got my first of the two beatings at school- both of which were for silly things.

Alas! but I believe I’ll have to stop now as it is quite late in the evening and I have to go have my dinner. I am still to talk about many things-hopefully they will follow. Do feel free to ask me to expand on anything in particular. You are also welcome with your suggestions. Till the next mail…. Have a nice time!