Sayan Bhattacharya's Blog, page 21

"Untold Stories of Silent Grit - III" : The Humble Priest

The Humble Priest
  It has been years since that day, but I can still recount it vividly. It was a cold evening in early January and I was in my room preparing for my final year college project, when the doorbell rang.
‘It must be the priest from the local temple who used to visit us every morning and evening to perform the pujas for the deity placed in our home’, I thought. I glanced at the clock on the wall and resumed my focus on the book that I was reading. In the background I could gather from the sounds that came from the living room, that my mother had opened the door and let the priest in. I heard footsteps going up the small corridor towards the washroom. ‘The usual routine of the priest washing his feet before he stepped into the ‘puja’ room’, I thought and ignored. And then I heard the sound of water gushing from the tap and a sudden shriek from the washroom!
It was so loud that both my mother and I dashed out of our respective rooms into the corridor in front of the washroom. What we saw was totally unbelievable! From inside the dark washroom, where the sound of water flowing furiously still came, out walked a tall and lean middle-aged man, clad in a white dhoti and a cotton shirt with a sweater underneath, but fully drenched and water dripping from every part of his body! For a moment, we were so dumbfounded at the sight that we stood transfixed, watching him as he looked back sheepishly at us through the wet hairs that had fallen over his eyes. Soon we realized that he was shivering in the cold, being drenched completely from head to toe, and a puddle of water had got formed near the doormat on which he stood.
It took us a while to realize what had happened actually, but before that my mother offered him a towel to dry himself and a set of my father’s dhoti and shirt to change into. As he sat all huddled up on the sofa in our living room and sipped on a cup of hot tea, my mother asked him what had happened! I will never forget the expression on his face, as he started narrating his predicament animatedly:
“Didi, what can I say!” He said, keeping the tea cup down, “I could not find the switch for the light inside the washroom and then thought that I would be able to manage to just wash my feet even in the darkness of the washroom. I found the tap and as I turned it, suddenly some huge rain started falling all over me. I was startled so much with the rush of cold water falling, that my hand slipped from the tap and I couldn’t turn it off also. When I tried again to find it, my hand landed on another tap which I turned. And instead of the rain stopping, this tap started gushing out a stream of water on my feet! … That is how I got totally wet.” He paused, his face bearing a sorry expression, as if he had committed some major mistake unknowingly. I instantly burst out into laughter, but was stopped mid way by my mother’s glaring eyes which turned towards me.
That was our first meeting with Shakti, who we learnt was the new priest who had come from a village in remote Midnapore and joined the locality temple just a couple of days before.
Quite naturally, he wasn’t conversant with the ways of the city and certainly not with the modern amenities of the urban washrooms! He had been allotted by the Temple to conduct the daily pujas in our house henceforth. My mother grumbled a bit for the initial few days of Shakti’s appointment in our house, cribbing about how she had to educate him of the ways of conducting the pujas in our house and why did the Temple authorities have to keep changing their priests so frequently, but within a very short time Shakti seemed to have picked up the ways quite well. Also, there were no further water related accidents for him and he seemed to be happy doing his job! As the days passed and Shakti became the regular priest of our house, he became quite friendly with all of us. I soon sought an opportune moment one day and apologized to him for my rude laughter at his predicament on the day when he had first come to our house. Shakti brushed it off with a smile and such innocence that I realized that he had never taken my untoward behaviour to heart in the first place.
                                                                 ^^^^^^^^^^^^

  One Sunday morning, as Shakti completed the pujas and was about to leave, my father called him and asked him to join us for some tea and snacks. Generally, we had seen him politely refuse saying that he had to visit other households too to conduct the pujas there, but that day he smiled and sat down on one of the sofas with us. Soon the conversation led beyond the basic exchange of pleasantries and Shakti started sharing with us the story of his life.
Born in a remote village in the district of Midnapore, Shakti grew up seeing his father and uncles devoted to performing the daily pujas of Goddess Kali in the age old Temple of his village. They had some agricultural land as well where the family used to raise crops and harvest. Their living was as simple as it could be and the collective earnings of the family from the Temple and the rice fields made for a brisk and unornamented life for the family. He had been going to the makeshift school in a corner of the Temple premises where an old schoolmaster taught the basics of language and writing skills. After an uneventful childhood, where Shakti grew up unexposed to the dark realities of life, the first crisis that shook him was his father’s illness that forced him to take up the job of a priest in the village Temple itself, replacing his father. As he divided his time between performing the pujas at the Kali Temple and farming the piece of land, Shakti seemed content with life. Neither was he any ambitious nor did he think about the future too much. However, life certainly had other plans for him!
One evening, Shakti returned from the fields to his house to see his father and uncle amidst an animated quarrel. Not that such a thing was rare between the brothers and majorly the contention was the share of land and the family income, but that day it seemed that the argument had gone beyond reason. Very soon Shakti saw the joint family that he had lived in since childhood crumble and the house divided. Shakti and his parents retained couple of rooms in their part of the house and managed to cling on to their share of land as well. Days moved on thereafter and happy moments dotted Shakti’s life as he got married and soon started a family of his own.
When things seemed to be going smooth for years and life for Shakti had settled into a complacent groove, he lost his parents in quick succession. His father, who had forever been his strength and role model to look up to, had practically taught him all the virtues of life. And Shakti had not just heard but imbibed and practiced them innocently to the letter since childhood. So deep-rooted were his father’s teachings and influence in him, that it had constructed his good nature and sound character firmly. Shakti just passed on the same education to his son and daughter and hoped for a good life for them, better than the one he was leading.
And very soon a day came when Shakti was faced with a critical question: he had to take a decision! His son had completed the schooling that the village could offer despite the advancement that had taken place over the years, and now to pursue further schooling and then appear for the Secondary Board Examinations, Shakti’s son wanted to go to the Government School in the nearest town, couple of hours away. Whilst it gave joy to Shakti to see that his son wished to study more and not join the family trend of performing pujas and tilling the land, he knew that sending his children for better education would mean serious strain on his finances; it was something that his current income could not support. And this was a decision that he had to take.
As Shakti went about thinking what to do, one day suddenly he was approached by Madan, an acquaintance from the nearby village with an interesting offer. Shakti had known Madan for a while and also knew that he had moved to the city of Calcutta, miles away, and had been working for a Temple there as a priest. So, when Madan made him the offer of joining him in the Temple in the city, he wasn’t really surprised. As per Madan’s version his income could jump to nearly double of what he managed to make in this village. But at the same time, it would mean staying away from his family whom he loved dearly. Till late that night, Shakti sat at the foot of the puja platform, looking up at the face of Goddess Kali, trying to bring his heart and mind to focus on a single path: the big decision!
I looked on at Shakti’s face as he sat on the edge of the sofa and related his story. Time seemed to have stopped, so immersed us all were in his tale. What started off as a casual conversation with my father had now turned into an intense tale. More than his story, I found it interesting to see the expressions on Shakti’s face as he recounted his life all over again: as if oblivious of our presence, Shakti seemed to carry on as a masterful actor on stage, enthralling his audience with his soliloquy. And so had Shakti landed in this city, with his agenda in his mind and dreams in his eyes.
And I broke the trance in the room almost spontaneously: “How old is your son Shakti-da?”
I don’t know how it came, but it was the first time that I had addressed him as ‘Shakti-da’! I felt a sudden reverence for this simple, virtuous middle aged man and that changed my outlook towards him completely. I felt even more ashamed for having laughed at him on the evening that I had met him first.
“He is fifteen years old and my daughter is ten”, Shakti-da said, “My son would be appearing for the Board exams in two years time”. And then suddenly turning to my father he said, “You know Dada-babu, he wants to study Computers and then become an engineer. He is quite bright in his studies and I have told him that he must study hard and become what he wants to.” Shakti-da’s face brightened up with a smile.
                                                                 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  Over the months and years that Shakti-da continued to perform the daily pujas in our house, we got to know about him even more closely. On days when he wasn’t in much rush to complete the list of house-pujas handed to him by the Head Priest of the Temple of our locality, he would sit down for a cup of tea and share with us stories of his village, his childhood, his family and his dreams about the future. There was only one thing that he looked forward to, and that was his son studying Computer Science in a college which he believed was the first step towards becoming an Engineer which his son dreamt of becoming. Seldom have I seen a father who took up his son’s dream as his own, rather than trying to impose any of his own views.
Before every important exam that I appeared for and later before any important project meeting or interview in my office, my mother used to request Shakti-da to perform a small special puja in the Temple and he would do the same with every sincerity and devotion. It almost became a good omen for me (though not bordering on any religious superstitions in my mind), but I was touched by the gesture and sincerity of this man. While I would remain fast asleep, this man would rise at five-thirty in the morning and after his bath, perform a puja for me in the temple wishing that my important day went well!
 Shakti-da used to visit his family in the village twice a year. He used to be granted leave of fifteen days in two stretches each and naturally used to look forward to those vacations. It was also during these times that he used to tend to matters of his agricultural land the custody and care of which he had left with a very close friend back in the village. Though Shakti-da himself at the age of his son at that time had almost learnt everything of tilling the land and harvesting, from his father, he strictly kept his son away from it so that he could solely focus on his studies. And he himself slogged it out every day in this city, doing the rounds of houses from dawn to dusk performing pujas, to earn that extra penny which he saved dearly for his children’s higher education. I used to see that during the Durga Pujas, the festival time when most Bengali families would reunite and celebrate together, Shakti-da and a few others would remain engaged with the Durga Pujas held in the Temple and our locality, far away from his family.

Very soon, one day Shakti-da appeared on our doorstep early evening with a box of sweets and a gleeful smile on his face. As we had guessed correctly, his son had successfully cleared the Secondary Board Exams and had qualified to be admitted in the Science Stream for the Higher Secondary studies. It was a matter of great importance, pride and happiness for Shakti-da and he had come directly to our house from the village that day to share this happy news. We all wished him well and congratulated him, being quite certain that his son is progressing on the right path and the father’s efforts are paying off well.
By that time, I had also joined my job and was busy with my work and studies alongside. There were too many things that I was into in those days and my schedule hardly left me with anytime at home. Rushing out early in the morning and coming back late, I hardly got to meet Shakti-da. However, from my mother’s daily updates at the dinner table, I occasionally got the news about him. It was more of regular and routine stuff and gradually with time such things had also become of lesser interest and matter-of-fact to me. However, for Shakti-da, the ritual had remained the same for years. If he came to know that I had an important project meeting the next day, he would still do the early morning pujas for me at the temple, whether my mother reminded him or not. And I would listen to it from my mother at the dinner table and just nod absent-mindedly.

But one night at the dinner table, the news about Shakti-da was disturbing; and as I ate my food, I listened intently to the conversation between my parents. It was like this: Apparently for few months the ‘home puja business’ of the Temple was on a decline and there were not sufficient ‘puja rounds’ every day to maintain the number of priests they had. Therefore the Temple had decided to send back most of them, to be called back again during the festival times, and unfortunately Shakti-da’s name was also in that list. It wasn’t that Shakti-da hadn’t seen this coming, but having served the Temple for so long he probably believed that they would not axe him of all people. Further, he did not want to leave the Temple and go back to his village at this time, because his son’s Higher Secondary Board exams, the all important examination was just a few months away. He felt that this was the time, when he would need to save more money, which would aid to fund the college admission fees of his son. And most importantly, he thought that if his son saw him return to the village having lost the job in the city, he would be disheartened before his exams and as a father Shakti-da certainly did not want that.
My mother kept on saying to my father to speak to the Temple management and request them not to send back Shakti-da, and though my father nodded half-heartedly he was sure that no request of such sorts would be entertained. Shakti-da’s dismissal from the Temple seemed inevitable. That night, suddenly I felt for this much ignored man, and how helpless he seemed to be in the face of circumstances. At the same time, I could not help respecting the depths of his thoughts that he harboured about his son, even in the face of such adversity. I wished we could do something for Shakti-da...
                                                                    ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  It was about six months since that evening that we had heard anything further about Shakti-da. Madan had told my father one day soon after, that Shakti-da had gone back to his village, the Temple authorities having asked him to leave. It was a bit surprising though that Shakti-da hadn’t come to meet us before he left. But thinking of his state of mind we understood. Our lives moved on in its own rhythm and we got entangled in our daily work and hustle bustle. For my mother, her grumbles were back, as the Temple authorities now changed priests doing the ‘house puja’ rounds, almost weekly and she had to teach every new priest coming, the ways of our house-puja. We occasionally spoke of Shakti-da and soon it became an episode of the past. The Temple administration was rapidly changing colours and even my father wasn’t happy about their dealings with us and the ways the daily pujas were being performed now. I often heard my mother grudge and my father say that we should find an alternative, but the discussions never progressed anywhere nor did the situation get any better.
“You know, today the Higher Secondary Board exam results got declared’, my mother announced one night as we all sat down at the table for dinner. “I hope Shakti’s son has fared well, and he gets enough marks to qualify for Computer Studies in college”. My father and I both looked up from our plates at my mother; our morsels still remained in our hands, as suddenly Shakti-da and his single-focussed dream about his son all came back to us in a flash! That night none of us spoke much at the dinner table. And I wondered did anyone get up at five-thirty in the morning to even pray for Shakti-da’s son when he wrote that Higher Secondary examination: the all important event for his father!
A month or so had passed after that dinner-table discussion, when one Sunday morning our doorbell rang. My father exclaimed on opening the door. It was Shakti-da, as if out of nowhere! We all were so happy to see him after what seemed as ages. And clearly he too was happy, and as usual he came with the box of sweets as he used to always do when he came back from his trips home. The occasion this time was obvious, or so we thought! We welcomed Shakti-da and had a flurry of questions for him: why had he left without meeting us, how did his son’s results go, what is he doing these days, as if we wanted all answers together! But as Shakti-da sat down and started to narrate his tale, it was fascinating as ever!
Having seen no option open before him after having lost the job at the Temple in our locality, Shakti-da had decided finally to return to his village. He knew that with the money that he had saved till then, his son would be able to pay the Examination fees and buy the necessary academic stuff that was needed for final preparations, but the corpus may not be sufficient for the College Admission fees needed thereafter. After having purchased the ticket at the Howrah railway station, as he stood waiting, Shakti-da overheard a conversation between two people standing just beside him. From their talk, it seemed that they were looking for someone who could perform pujas for a household for some days. Shakti-da decided to take a chance and butted into their conversation, introducing himself. What turned out after that was a complete stroke of luck. The two gentlemen took him to a locality in Howrah and introduced him to a household where they required a daily priest. An arrangement was made and Shakti-da agreed to do the pujas there every morning and evening. After a search with the help of the same gentlemen, he could fix a small accommodation too for himself. As he was free for most part of the day, Shakti-da started exploring the locality and on a brainwave started to enquire if any other households there would require priests for daily pujas. As luck favoured, within a week he was able to line up three more households! Albeit, the money collectively was less than what he used to earn at our locality Temple, but he now had a job again! Even if that was one of a ‘freelance’ kind, it would keep him and his dream going...
 “God has helped me immensely Dada-babu”, Shakti-da said, looking at my father. “By his grace and the wishes of all of you, my son has not only cleared the Higher Secondary exams with good scores, but has also secured admission in a college in our District Town. And yes, he will be studying Computer Science!” Shakti-da’s face was beaming. We now got to know the actual reason behind the bigger box of sweets this time!
“I have saved some money for his College Admission fees, but that’s about half the amount required, I will have to get the balance too in the next two weeks before the Admission closes.” Shakti-da seemed to be telling himself.
As the conversation soon veered off into other directions, I made a silent signal to my father to come inside. I wanted to talk to him about something that was brimming in my heart.
“Father, I have a suggestion,” I told him as he entered the bedroom after me. “Can we not contribute the balance amount for Shakti-da’s son’s college admission fees?” I earnestly looked at my father.
He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Yes, I was also thinking that”.
As I smiled back, he turned; but I was not finished yet. “Father...” I called out after him. He looked back.
“Father... I want to give that amount”. I said looking into his eyes directly. My father looked at me a bit questioningly and he started saying something...
“Allow him...”
Before my father could say anything, a voice from behind us cut him off. It was my mother. She was standing at the door and had listened to the conversation between me and my father.
“Shakti has done a lot for him...this is nothing against that”, my mother spoke. “Allow him!”
My father turned around towards me and with a smile patted my shoulder and nodded his head.
 A couple of days later, Shakti-da went back to his village a happy and content man, now ready to get his son admitted to the Computer Science course in the College in the District Town. He was initially quite hesitant and reluctant to take the money from my father, but when my mother broke the story behind it to him; he looked at me with tearful eyes and accepted. I held his hand and wished him well. “My son will also go to office like you one day!” Shakti-da wiped his eyes and smiled at me.
                                                                 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^
  And if you are thinking that the story ends here with Shakti-da having finally secured his dream for his son, battling successfully through all adversities and never giving up, then you are wrong! There is a small epilogue to this tale too...
We were surprised and happy to see Shakti-da soon once again:  one fine day at seven-thirty in the morning, the time when our doorbell usually rang to announce the arrival of the priest from the Temple for the morning pujas! We were even surprised to see Shakti-da in his attire of cotton half-shirt, veil and dhoti, as he announced that he was back! Yes, the Temple authorities had searched for him and called him back apologising for having treated him unfairly earlier. If you are wondering what could have been the possible reason, it was simply ‘customer demand’ for the Temple, for many unhappy households had complained and even started dropping off from taking the Temple priests’ services. They only had suggested that the Temple should not have let go of Shakti in the first place. And I wouldn’t be surprised if someday I hear that my father was probably at the forefront of that initiative!
 
                                                     -----------------------------------------

"Untold Stories of Silent Grit - II" : The Sewing Teacher

The Sewing Teacher
 My grandmother, in the days when she was more hale and hearty, used to attend an Association of social welfare in our locality, which was then popularly called “Mahila Samiti”. This Association was run primarily by a group of elderly ladies of the locality and used to organise a lot of activities ranging from religious discourses to social and family gatherings. Their meetings used to be held every week in the houses of their members, by rotation, and I remember in my childhood, having eavesdropped a few times from behind the doorway curtains when the meetings were held in our house. But I had found the discussions to be utterly boring and had soon scooted off, never having expressed any interest in their affairs thereafter.
One day back from school, over evening tea, I heard my grandmother discussing with my mother about a new sewing and embroidery school that their Association wished to set up in the locality. From their conversation what I could construct was that their Association had been approached by an elderly lady with a request for setting up a sewing school for ladies in that area. This lady had come with a strong reference from someone closely known within my grandmother’s Association and that she was proficient enough to teach sewing and embroidery work to the ladies who wished to learn, either to keep their vacant afternoons engaged or out of need.
Well, this discussion went on in the background for some days and I being no way interested in it, hardly paid any heed to the developments regarding it. But very soon, my mother announced that the sewing school was starting off in a couple of weeks and that she was also going to join it as a student! I was indeed quite amused and surprised to hear that, as I thought my mother was already an expert at needle-work and ever since she had been taking care of all the teeny-weeny bits of sewing required in our household! But I rather kept quiet, as it was none of my business!
As the sewing school started and my mother also started taking her lessons there twice a week, I got to know more about her teacher and the whole initiative. Mukti was her name, being elderly, everyone addressed her as ‘Mukti-di’, and she travelled quite a far distance from a different part of the city to our locality twice every week to take the afternoon classes. She was a widow and apparently her son had deserted her, so she was left all alone to look after herself. She had been a sewing teacher in a small-time local school in her village for a long time, and that was the only trade that she knew.

My grandmother’s Association had been kind to accept her proposal of a sewing school, but had also placed a few conditions before her. Whilst the sewing school could be run in the premises of a charity-library that the Association already ran, Mukti-di would have to arrange for a certain number of pupils who would be ready to pay some nominal monthly fees, within the first four months of starting her school. Most importantly she would be paid an honorarium and all the other requirements of sewing would be taken care of by the Association. Clearly, the Association was testing the waters before they invested any further into this new initiative. But what choice did Mukti-di have, rather in her circumstances this was more than she could have bargained for!
My mother saw this opportunity to learn something new, as an advancement of her needle-work skills, and also very soon was discreetly canvassing to others in her own circle to increase the student strength of the school. And though I didn’t know, but could well guess that some other students like my mother were also doing the same. They wanted the school and Mukti-di to stay!
Days rolled by and my mother often used to update us about how the school was faring. Within the initial months, it had not only met the number of pupils prescribed by the Association to establish its continuity, but also had exceeded those numbers. The students were mostly housewives from the families in our neighbourhood and also a few other ladies from the nearby localities. There were also ladies who came to learn with the aim of taking up sewing as a means of earning an extra hand of income, while there were also few who came from really poor families, for whom the fees were paid by collating a quick fund amongst some of the other students. But the central force of the school seemed to be Mukti-di! As my mother said, she had a good knowledge and skill of various types of needle-work, embroidery and crochets-work and was also an expert in wool knitting as she was in thread-work. Her dedication and lucid manner of teaching the pupils soon made the school popular in not only retaining its existing students, but also in attracting new students!

Months became years and the sewing school in our locality was quite a name and a lauded initiative by the Association. Within a year, the student strength grew to such numbers that Mukti-di started coming over for four days in the week: two sets of classes for the school! But amongst all this humdrum, it was the unassuming personality of Mukti-di that stood out as a noteworthy mention. She apparently never changed in her behaviour and was happy to teach all her students with the same level of dedication that she had originally started off with, leaving the other frontal activities in the hands of some of her trusted students. I can recollect many evenings, when I had seen Mukti-di from our balcony, trudging along the road towards the bus-stand, carrying her fat sling bag, ready to commence her long and arduous journey back home. Come rain, storm or the blazing afternoon sun, Mukti-di never failed to show up for her classes: she would never fail her students!
At the end of the second year, some of the students who had been with the school since its inception, my mother for one, decided to hold an ‘exhibition’ in the school-cum-library premises, for the public to come and see the prowess and handiwork of the students! I recall having visited that ‘exhibition’ with my parents and grandmother and exclaiming on seeing my mother’s needle-work and crochet creations displayed on the walls! The exhibition was a huge success in many respects: apart from pronouncing the success of the school, the sales from it also ensured that the school now had ‘funds of its own’! As everyone congratulated Mukti-di that evening, she sat quietly in a corner, happy to pass on every ounce of credit to her students.
The next commendable landmark of the sewing school initiative was the ‘Lady Brabourne Sewing Certification’. The news was brought in by some enthusiastic students that they could enrol into this certification examination as individuals and obtain a proper ‘Certificate’ after having cleared the examinations. Since the school was not officially registered, it could not send its students; hence they were free to apply individually. My mother, as usual, joined in the foray of excitement!
This process of examination and certification was a bit too complicated for Mukti-di to fathom and take on, though she was adept at teaching the students whatever was there in the Certification curriculum. So, with the help of some experienced students and members of the Association, the preparations started in full swing. I recall my mother studying up for the written tests and preparing for months for their ‘projects’ wherein they needed to submit samples of their work in various forms. My mother’s entire project box, carrying about thirty-two items, big and small, looked aesthetically beautiful and lovely works of creation! Totally awed by the grandeur of things, I realised that day how the mentorship and guidance of Mukti-di had enhanced my mother’s needle-work skills! I started to admire that quaint old lady in a new respect from that day! 
Certifications achieved, exhibitions done, the nameless sewing school continued in the same glory for a couple of years more, until one day the debacle hit! Mukti-di was suddenly absent for more than two weeks: something that had never happened in the last few years! Her students, the Association members and all, were concerned. We came to know that she had suddenly fallen ill and had been afflicted with some heart disease. But with the prayers of all, she recovered soon; however there were restrictions imposed and she could travel all that distance to come to the school only twice a week after that. Some of her experienced students took up her mantle of teaching the other students and kept the flow going.
Amidst all this, my mother suddenly landed a temporary job as Sewing Teacher in one of the city’s well known Girls’ Convent Schools! How that happened is another story, which I shall keep aside for now, to be told another day. I was in Std 11 then and was very excited about my mother’s new job! But she was way too nervous as she had never done anything of these sorts earlier and that too with a class-full of school girls. Well, she joined the job and soon got going with it, the comfort gradually increasing by the day! One day within the first week of her joining this school, my mother decided to meet Mukti-di with sweets and share the piece of news with her. But good news could not fetch further good news that day.
What I learnt from my mother once she returned after meeting Mukti-di, was truly shocking and disheartening. In these years, my grandmother’s Association had also waned considerably. My grandmother herself had left the group a year back on reasons of ill health and infirmity and same had been the case with most of her peers. Whatever was left of the Association was run by some people with whom we practically had no connect. The charity-library had also been shut down and the place had become a free area for some male-elders of the locality to sit, play cards, gossip and discuss meaningless politics.
My mother shared with a grave heart that the current members of the Association had decided to wind up the sewing school and had asked Mukti-di not to take the trouble of coming all this distance anymore, and as such the train of students was steadily dwindling for the past few months. They were ready to pay Mukti-di some compensation too and reluctantly Mukti-di had accepted their decision. I wondered, what choice would that poor quiet unassuming old woman have had then.

My mother continued her new-found job at the prestigious Girls’ School for the full stint that she was hired for and even happily served an extension of her contract by a few months! The once vibrant elderly ladies Association got totally wound up within a few months from then. The books gathering dust in the shelves of the charity-library finally got donated to the new library started by the Residents’ Association of our locality in the Temple premises. And the once successful and spirited Sewing School which had enlivened the hearts of many ladies of the neighbourhood for years together, under the dedicated leadership of an old widow who came from no-where, gradually slipped into oblivion!
Nameless as it was, the sewing school still lives on, in the hearts of its erstwhile students and those who knew of its glory, as “Mukti-di’s Sewing School”! And so does its accomplished sewing teacher.
                                                          -----------------------------------------
 
 

"Untold Stories of Silent Grit -I" : The Technical Pianist

  The Technical Pianist
The ‘cottage-piano’ had been in our house for so long, and actively musical at that, it had almost become like a family member. Well, the piano had forever been a passion and a prized possession of my father, who had pursued his musical talent and skills on it since his early youth. So the arrival of the piano in our house dates back to close to half a century now!
My father bought the piano to fuel his passion for music and excelled at it with constant practice under guidance from an eminent musician of his times. My childhood was therefore dotted with memories of many musical evenings, when my father after returning from work used to sit at his piano in the drawing room and keep playing various tunes. Much later, even after he got his Roland keyboard synthesizer, the lure of the piano never died down though he started using it more to give lessons to the students who came to him to learn playing the piano. That kept our house and the piano abuzz on week day evenings and weekends as well.
Now, as is true for most musical instruments, the piano needed frequent ‘tuning’ and ‘touch-ups’, due to its regular usage and wear and tear! This once-a-month activity was done by a person called Ratan-babu, who used to come home on a pre-fixed appointment and ‘service’ the piano. It was a whole day affair and as a child I would keep looking on with wonder eyes as the large furniture-like ‘cottage piano’ would be dismantled into smaller parts and the cleaning and tuning process would continue. At times it looked as if the skeleton of the piano with all its bones, ribs, joints and teeth was out from its dark cavern, and soon again the scientific and technical binding of the innumerable pieces of wood held together behind the large black facade of the piano playing in seamless precision and delivering the desired chords and notes at the strike of its black and white keys, used to mesmerise me.
And to watch ‘Ratan-babu’ at his work was a treat in itself! He was a short and lean person, very reserved and rarely spoke to anyone else in the family except for my father, and that too confining the conversation within limits related to matters of the piano. He used to acknowledge the cup of tea and couple of biscuits that my mother offered him every time he visited, with just a perfunctory smile; and used to disappear for an exact one hour lunch break at mid-day. For the total eight odd hours that he would spend in our house at the piano on each of those days, Ratan-babu used to be totally immersed in his work with close concentration, like a true professional!
He seemed to know everything about the piano, which strike of key would move which piece of wood and then trigger the sequence to finally deliver the sound in the correct pitch and tenor; Ratan-babu was a true commander of the technicalities of the piano! The first half-an-hour and the last one hour of his work was truly fascinating. He used to simply sit and play along, using the entire expanse of the keyboard and all the possible octaves on the instrument.
Standing at the side of the doorway and often looking from behind the curtain, I often found him in those moments, eyes closed, back straight and head slightly tilted; the expression on his face seemed to tell me that he was straining his ears to catch every note and sound emitted by the piano, as his deft fingers danced along the long keyboard panel! What a sight it was: not really one visibly appreciable as Ratan-babu was far from handsome! But it was a picture of a musician in trance, recognising every note that came out: it often seemed that in those moments the piano was playing to its master!
I had often wondered that for someone to catch the correctness of the notes, their pitch and tenor, the chords on all octaves, one certainly needed to have a fantastic sense of music and a very sharp ear apart from the technical knowledge of the piano. When I had stepped into my teens and the piano had started intriguing me further, I had one day asked my father about it, as Ratan-babu kept working in our drawing room. In reply, what I heard from my father was a surprising and inspiring tale indeed!
“Ratan-babu is a gifted man.” my father began, “He holds a great passion of music and his technical knowledge of musical instruments, especially the piano, is deep and sound. I don’t really know where he came from or about his back-ground. I only know that he came from a very poor family and came into this city totally alone in search of a job to make his future. He used to work for a printing press for a long time, and also used to frequent a theatre house which was situated right next to his workplace. There he used to sit and watch the actors practising and slowly started making rapport with them. But what drew him into it were the musical elements of their plays.
Now, this theatre house had some musical instruments housed with them and gradually Ratan-babu got attracted to them. Fascinated as he was especially with the piano there, he sought and was allowed permission to sit and watch the pianist play, during the shows and even during the practice times. I think it was over the years that this pianist from the theatre house taught Ratan-babu how to play the piano and also the technicalities of the instrument. You can say, it was musical knowledge handed down, just as it used to be in earlier times.
Ratan-babu, despite his restricted means never lost his fascination for music and his silent dream of becoming a musician someday! But, in those times, it was considered luxury and certainly not within Ratan-babu’s means. Undeterred, his love for music and hidden talent helped him to learn and grasp more and more. That is how his life moved on for years together, until one day the printing press where he worked for so long, shut shop forever. You may wonder what a calamity that would have meant for someone like Ratan-babu, whose livelihood totally depended on the monthly earnings from the press. Yes, he was quite broken and faced a lot of hardships, but began his search for a new means of livelihood once again, and as he had once told me, ‘music was still foremost in my mind’!
His pianist ‘guru’ from the theatre house came to his help one day. Though he could not offer Ratan-babu any place within his group, he offered him day-jobs to visit the houses of people who had pianos and get to ‘tune and service’ them. I am sure, this pianist would have had some contacts like these to help for some extra earnings and that is what he offered Ratan-babu, to start with. And you have already seen how much a piano needs ‘tuning and servicing’ to be maintained well. Ratan-babu’s life started anew and gradually his ship began to steady!” My father smiled at me, as we paused to listen to the soft tinkling notes of the piano which wafted in from our drawing room: Ratan-babu at work! I sat thinking in wonder over the story of this quiet lean and thin man whom I had been watching for years, striking away at the piano keys!
“Ever since, Ratan-babu has been busy going from one end of the city to the other, visiting many houses by appointment and ‘tuning’ innumerable pianos to play to the correct tune!” My father continued, but as if to now wind up this marvellous story.
“How and where did you find him?” I asked.
“I first saw him at my own piano teacher’s house. Ratan-babu used to come there to tune the piano and later when I got my own, I had no second thoughts in engaging him. And that is the way that his clientele grew...remember, it’s only word of mouth and references! And once you have seen the quality of his work, you wouldn’t hesitate to engage him again!” It clearly showed that my father was truly happy with Ratan-babu’s services.
“So, why doesn’t he play songs and ‘western classical pieces’ as you do?” I asked my father once again.
He smiled at me and answered, “We all have had formal music training for years and at playing the piano too, but Ratan-babu has learnt it out of his instincts and never had had the exposure to the sophisticated means that we had been privileged with. Moreover, if you listen to his music when he plays to ‘check’ the piano, you will see he does play wonderful ‘pieces’!”
My father looked into my inquisitive eyes and as if read the question behind them. He continued to unravel: “Do you know what ‘pieces’ they are? They are the various short musicals and background scores that were composed in those theatrical performances, which I am sure he had learnt from the ‘pianist’ of the theatre house! And surprisingly, he still plays them out of memory and practice, perfectly without any notations to rely upon! So you see, he is a ‘musician’ after all, and without him so many pianos in our city would fall silent!”

I nodded silently and came away from my father’s room. When I entered the drawing room, Ratan-babu was almost done with his day’s work on our piano. I stood rooted beside the curtain, my eyes fixed on this dark and lean man seated on the stool at the piano: his eyes closed, back straight and head tilted slightly; his face bore an expression of trance as his deft fingers danced along softly striking the black and white keys on the long keyboard panel!

The story of his life, his struggle and his determination to fight back, and his passion and love for music, which I just heard from my father was all fresh in my mind and I found it greatly inspiring! My ears caught the lovely melody that he played: the lyrical wafting of some old theatrical background score perhaps, which today seemed to celebrate Ratan-babu’s dream of being a musician!!
                               
                                                   -----------------------------------------
 
 

"Tumhi ho bandhu...sakha tumhi !!"

Some tunes just associate themselves with some of your fond memories and then their hue just refuses to fade! It has happened quite a few times with me and every time it makes me wonder at the awesome connection that the song or tune, suddenly heard even after years, can establish an instant connect with the memory! “Tumhi ho bandhu…sakha tumhi!” seems to have gone a few steps ahead and surprised me more!
Clearly one of my favourite current numbers from the innumerable, that are constantly churned out of our film based music industry, this song has niche flair among the Bollywood bandwagon! Alongside the others in the same album, or in the contemporary chartbusters’ lists, it stands surely apart by virtue of its foot-tapping rhythm combined with lilting melody and heart-touching lyrics! The song speaks of celebrating the bonds of friendship, revering the trust inspired by ‘being there’, and above all how that strong and sure bond grows step by stepas you spend your days with each other!
So when it came to selecting a song for our ‘students’ in the Batches in Neemrana, which would be able to showcase their feelings and encapsulate the short period they spent among ‘friends’, there was certainly no better choice! As, during the presentation of the spirited ‘Batch Closing Ceremonies’ of each Batch, the students stood holding hands and looked back on the thirty days that they had spent together, and as testimonials of their exploits and enjoyments with their ‘new found friends’ came up on the photo slideshows on the big-screen in front of their eyes; every heart went aflutter as “Tumhi ho bandhu…sakha tumhi!” boomed in the auditorium amidst accompanying rhythmical applause! Those were electrifying moments indeed, and you needed to be there to experience it!
“Dil ki takhti par hun likhti…ishqan, ishqan / Jag kya jaane dil ko mere…ishqan kiska!” This is probably what we could read in the eyes of the students when they joined their Batch and tried to get familiarized in the completely new settings! For many of them having left their homes and folks back and ventured out alone for the first time, they silently searched for support and comfort in a friend whom they made just a day before! For some, being in a large group was exciting and they were raring to go and explore the new world around them! But for everyone that came across, there was a dream written in their hearts with which they had stepped into the campus, a dream very own and very unique! As we slowly mingled with these young brave-hearts, they allowed us glimpses into their very own world and a peek into their hopes and dreams…as if to say, “Tu paas mere jag pass mere…Main hun hi nahi iss duniya ki..!”
Treks to the nearby hillock, long walks and cycle rides in the campus, planting trees on the sharp slopes and dunes of nearby nature, everything seemed ‘happy to happen’ only in the company of these ‘new-found’ friends who by then had moved to become ‘close-buddies’! And it was this warmth of these ‘comfort groups’ that saw them huddled together in hostel rooms, often flouting the 11-o-clock night rules! As at times excitement can lead to inadvertent ‘crossing the line’, we did catch a few incidents going beyond the lines! The fun to watch then was the vehement support and solidarity among these newly bonded friends in defending (often) ‘outside the line’ activities and the punishment thereon! And why would that not be, when the adrenaline just pumps high in thoughts such as …”Jab yaar kare parwah meri…mujhe kya parwah iss duniya ki / Jag mujh pe lagaye pabandi…main hoon hi nahi iss duniya ki!”
We were also fortunate to witness a lot of ‘positive leadership’ spring to life among the students in their Batches and Sections. While there were some ‘captains’ and ‘teams’ selected by us (faculties), we were happy to see a lot of ‘natural leadership’ also grow and spread its influence in the lot!  A situation like this, where you get to spend twenty four hours a day for one full month at a stretch, cannot go away without leaving a stamp of influence on each other! We saw among students, motivation, support, care, and faith for each other! Role models surfaced and led from the front, be it inside the classroom, or out in the ‘nature activities’, every student here shared and played his/her part…contributed to and also learnt! Isn’t this but telling each other, “tu hai jaisa mujh ko waisa dikhna..dikhna!”
As I write this blog today and relive the ‘batches’, one after the other, that we spent time with together, hordes of instances, plenty of names and faces are cascading down my mind! And I am sure my then-colleagues who have also been through this wonderful experience will be able to relate with me, as will those hundreds of students who came and went in those six months at Neemrana, having had a first-hand experience of campus life!
Today, when I see the exchanges flowing between our students, on facebook, other social media and via text messages, even months after they have got scattered geographically, I cannot but recall those lovely times of Neemrana and wonder about the stupendous impact those ‘thirty days’ have had on the lives of these young people! It does not matter whether they work for the same company anymore, it does not matter who achieves his sales targets and who does not, it does not matter who can be called successful and who not (yet),…what matters is the connect that is still on and will be forever! The countless “miss u”, “wish we could go back to those thirty days”, “memories forever” and “will always be in touch” type comments and messages floating around on facebook amongst our Neemrana students groups, can only point towards one thing that they feel for each other :
“Tumhi din chadhe…tumhi din dhale
Tumhi ho bandhu…sakha tumhi!
Every time, every minute of the day
Tumhi ho bandhu…sakha tumhi!”
 
And this fantastic song, which had almost become an unofficial anthemthere, will always take me down memory lane to my days spent in Neemrana, to every ‘Closing Ceremony’ and to every Batch with whom I have had the privilege to spend my time! 

                                                         ------------------------------------

Chennai Five!

Two weeks have now passed for me in Chennai and I thought it’s time to blog about some of my exploits here! Well, to tell you at the start, this time my experience of settling in into a new city and environment has been somewhat different.
The days of ‘Roti-kapda-makaan’(food-clothing-housing) as being the only basic requirement are long over and today we have added to it conveniences like, connectivity, commutation and entertainment. And the best part of it is that we want everything on ‘value for money’ deals and hence are keen and cautious to strike the ‘happiest balance’!
For me too, the ‘basic’ and the ‘added’, both held equal importance. While the ‘Roti’ options were available aplenty, the concern was more on its health and hygiene bit. ‘Kapda’ for me was the question of how and where to ‘wash-dry-iron’ on a regular basis, while the ‘Makaan’solution required a bit more complex decisioning!
First things first …
My first agenda upon reaching here was to get a new SIM and number for myself. As always, search and research commenced and it was not before long that I had checked and compared the available plans and offers from the various service providers, and finally zeroed-in on Aircel as my ‘chosen’ one! Available feedback also gave me to feel that my choice was in the right direction.
I was cautious as I remembered a comment from one of my friends on his mobile phone service provider! Often I used to find him walking around and all over the place and shouting “hello… hello!” into his phone. When I had asked him about the problem, he exasperatedly had told me that the SIM he was using wasn’t ‘catching the tower’ and signal strength was mostly low! He had remarked, “When I had taken this SIM, the sales person had told me that I would get easy network connections in any corner of the country. And now I see that my SIM catches signal strength only in ‘corners’!”
A few of my new colleagues warned me that it may be difficult to get a new SIM here since I did not possess a mandated ‘address proof’ in Chennai, but I decided to check it out for myself. So within my first few days of reaching Chennai, I was at the Aircel store with my request. To my pleasant surprise, the service agent comfortably worked out a quick solution to my (anticipated) ‘address proof’ problem and promptly handed me a SIM card with a promise that it will be activated in a day’s time!
I came out of the store feeling smart and thinking that the ‘jugaad’ (arrangement) attitude learnt from and often used in Delhi had worked here too! But my joy was short-lived, as days passed one after another and my new SIM refused to ‘catch towers’anywhere, ‘corners’ included!
I began to recollect the apt example on mobile SIM activation that we used to explain ‘good and desirable customer service’ to students batch after batch, back in NU, Neemrana. For all the usage of that ‘example’, I was surely at the receiving end now!
A second visit to the store – this time to complain – and a couple of reminder calls to the agent, finally saw my SIM spring to life! Thankfully thereafter the service experience with Aircel has been spotless!
  Second on the list …
My next tryst in Chennai was with its public transport, as I decided that I wasn’t going to give the ‘infamous auto-wallahs’ a chance to take me for a ride! That apart, I always felt that if you wanted to get the actual feel and pulse of a new place, you needed to walk the streets and get on to its public buses and trains, navigate and at times also get lost in its maze of roads and lanes. Today, thanks to technology and engines like ‘Google Maps’ and ‘Map my India’, navigation on the roads is far less challenging than it used to be.
Despite majority of the MTC buses displaying their routes and destinations in Tamil, it was fun to try out the bus routes by myself! And very soon I was enjoying the game of hopping on to a bus and trying to converse with the conductor (in his broken-English!) if the bus would take me where I wanted to go. In case the conductor shouted back an ‘ille’ (no!), scramble to get down at the next stop and wait for the correct bus! But it was rather quickly that I figured out most of the routes of the common places that I needed to visit regularly!
  An important choice …
The next arduous task for me in Chennai was to fix a suitable accommodation for myself and the cocktail of options really got my head spinning!
Within the first ten days itself, I had tried out the whole gamut! References given by a few personal friends, brokers who listed themselves on the ‘free-ads’ and even those who had their pamphlets pasted on the walls and lamp-posts of localities, house –owners and even brokers (who posted in the guise of a house-owner!) from the online sites ranging from ‘magic-bricks’to ‘sulekha.com’ to ‘quikr’!
Options presented themselves in various combinations of monthly rental plus advance, vis-à-vis the conveniences of location, the condition of the flat and the amenities provided! What started off as a ‘problem of plenty’ suddenly seemed like ‘sea-water for the thirsty’, until I decided to pause my search to reflect and re-evaluate my requirements in itself!
With my office shifting its location in a couple of weeks, the entire ‘solution requirement and scope dimensions’ (as the BPO champs would say, in their lingo…which I am happily learning fast!) of my ‘house-hunt’ has now got changed! This leaves me to start the ‘search’ all over again with new specifics. So I am back to ‘square one’ to try and achieve the ‘happiest balance’ in my ‘Makaan’equation!  Mind and motto at work …
“Venturing into the unknown at times gives its tremors, but it’s exciting more often than not!” an old colleague had said, trying to assure me when I had shared my little apprehensions about moving into a new industry all together! And how right he was…
My new assignment professionally was a leap of faith! I was leaving something rather cushy-and-comfortable, things known-and-proficient, towards a ‘voyage of a new discovery’! But with the lure of the new and the challenge of the unchartered, I was excited to be at the ‘start line’ of yet another race and certainly in a more competitive arena this time! I knew this would call upon every ounce of intellectual strength, every bit of physical energy and every thought of self-motivation that I possessed, and I was ready for it!
Learning soft-wares, devising business processes, understanding systems logic, and then blending it all with the industry knowledge that I carried, to finally train people and deliver on an international platform – the assignment caught my excitement from Day One! Hours at my workstation started flying tempting the workaholic in me, while the company did its best in making my on-boarding a ‘wow’ experience altogether!
Surprisingly, I also started finding the time especially in the vacant evenings to return to my hobby of ‘blogging’ with renewed vigour and more material content, crystallizing the ‘impressions’ that flew by!
“Touch-wood”, I must say!
Chennai Five …
While so much was happening around me, I suddenly found that the initial period of hotel stay allotted to me by the company was over in just about no time! And I was faced with a situation to shift to a temporary abode to stay till the time I could find a happy answer to my ‘Makaan’equation!
One of my good friends here, Aravind, seemed to have a solution ready, as I discussed the matter over with him one evening while enjoying the spicy ‘Dindigul Thalappakatti Biriyani’ (a variant of biriyani hitherto unknown to me!). Aravind mentioned about some available Guest Houses around the Triplicane – Chepauk area, where I could set up my temporary abode. In fact he was staying in one of them already!
My first glimpse of Triplicane was by pillion riding on Aravind’s bike, and it was a mixed feeling! On one hand the area sported narrow and crowded lanes with congested buildings, while on the other; the abundance of local market fare was really attractive. It gave me a feel of the Chandni Chowk of Delhi with its similar local characteristics and mix of population!
I selected a spacious guest house, recommended by Aravind, which was located just a ‘sixer-distance’ away from the famous Chepauk Cricket Stadium (M A Chidambaram Stadium)! As Aravind and I stood on the terrace of the building and looked at the large round Chepauk Stadium looming on to us, I spontaneously said, “With the IPL coming up next month, some of the ‘Super Sixes’ are sure to fly out and fall on our roof here!”
Comfortably settled in my new found but temporary den, I explored the area day by day. And the more I did that, the more I found similarities with the settings of ‘old-Delhi’! If you call that ‘Delhi 6’, then this certainly will be “Chennai 5”!
 
So there’s my ‘Chennai Five’ for you, readers:  It’s not just the ‘Pin-code’ of Chepauk, but also my five milestones in Chennai thus far!
                                                               
                                                      ----------------------------------
 
 
 
 

Delhi vs Chennai : Vistas of life!

Amongst a madding crowd, yet ‘far from the madding crowd’! This was the kind of feeling that hit me in my first few days in Chennai! It is not that I am wholly new to this city, albeit I am here after a good span of four years, and it is in this span that my horizons have got stretched considerably, both geographically and mentally. And I suppose the mixed bag of emotions, giving rise to these ‘varied vistas’, is a result of that!
I have no qualms in admitting that I did not feel Delhi to be a ‘warm’ place to live in, when I had moved in there about three years ago, but now sitting miles away I am pleasantly surprised to feel a painful and nostalgic tug-at-my-heart for this city that I left behind. On the first impression Delhi had appeared to me as aggressive, selfish and a tad unfriendly too, but as I gradually settled in and started reaching out, the city too opened itself up in its warmth and friendliness. But I can confidently say, what made this warmth spread for me were the few good friends that I had made there quickly, which are today everlasting relationships in my life! My stay in C R Park, the ‘bong connection’ of Delhi, will forever remain as the ‘jewel in the crown’ as it was the one strong sense of ‘home-connect’ that I had always felt there!
As my 6E flight rose above the Delhi skyline that evening and I could see the entire city lit up in its golden glow, I suddenly felt ‘a miss’ for the home, the hangouts, the streets, the malls, and most of all the people that I was going away from.  I knew, Chennai has got its malls, its hangouts and streets with all their own flavour, and probably it is just a matter of time when I will start liking and relating to them, but what mattered to me at that moment was the strong ‘miss-you’ feeling that I felt for Delhi!
From the city of ‘chole-bhatureys’ to the city of ‘idli sambar’ , my gastronomic transition was yet another surprising experience! Having stayed in the South earlier for considerable time, I was well accustomed to the South Indian cuisine and also had a strong liking for the same. So, when my friends expressed their concern over food choices I had just waved them off. However, I was surprised to find myself longing for ‘spicy north-indian chaat’ or ‘choley bhaturey’ within the first couple of days after landing in Chennai! However, thanks to the cosmopolitan waves across metros, I easily found a ‘punjabi dhaba’ nearby my hotel and very soon submerged myself into the delights of ‘biriyani and tandoor’! My daily breakfasts and lunches not offering much choice, apart from the popular south-indian fares of ‘idli, dosas, curd rice and kurmas’; I was more than looking forward to making my dinners ‘delightful’!
My evenings and weekends here did leave me with some bit of spare time, and when surfing the television my choice of shows remained stuck with my ‘hindi’ favourites : ‘Taarak Mehta…’ and ‘Nach Baliye’! I found myself pestering the hotel staff to get those particular channels tuned to my room television! Out on the streets, I was anyways cautious of the ‘infamous’ Chennai ‘auto-walas’(auto-rickshaw drivers), who demand just any amount of money for any distance travelled! The co-relation of the fare is not with the distance you travel, but with how much the auto-driver can churn out of you, literally ‘taking you for a ride’! Well, this is one area where the Delhi auto-rickshaw drivers are fast catching up with their Chennai counterparts! The ‘dislike’ of the common Chennai world about speaking in Hindi (and also for Hindi-speakers to a certain degree) is quite well known and those of you who would have read Chetan Bhagat’s “Two States”would most certainly know and be able to relate! I had always found this hilarious during my earlier visits to Chennai, but this time around it was more of ‘irritation’ that I felt rather than the fun!
But as I am forced to introspect now, given the surprising anomalies that are surfacing from within me, I am faced with a host of eye-brow raising queries on myself: What is happening to my ‘liking for South India’, by which I used to always flaunt and say that ‘South is the place where I would love to stay’?! How am I missing Delhi so much and in so many aspects, given that I had once branded that city as ‘unfriendly’?! Is there a un-acceptance brewing within me somewhere?!...a perspective that is throwing up its signals! Or is it just a common trend that hits you during changeovers, just like that occasional harmless viral fever which passes with time! Whilst I search deep down to find out ‘what’s wrong’ or rather ‘what’s right’, there’s one thing I am convinced of: Delhi’s done its magic on me, silently but surely! And it’ll take Chennai to do something super to win me over!                                                      

                                                                              
 

Adios! Neemrana...

Six months, seven Batch Closings and few hundred professionals tutored, it is now time for me to bid adieu to Neemrana! What started off as a probably couple of months stint, rolled on to become a half-year project, which for reasons more than one, will forever occupy an unforgettable place in my memory!
I got to see few change of seasons in this lush green campus amidst the otherwise barren Aravalis, made a good bunch of colleagues-turned-friends, and came in contact with a few hundred of young and energetic professionals whom we fuelled up and readied for a head-start in a career in Banking! A fantastic combination of campus and corporation, my stint in Neemrana will certainly go down in my own career space as one of the best ‘training projects’ I have ever handled. The faith that the organisation had showed in me to, first work in and then subsequently lead the project, the trust that the colleagues placed on me during our teamwork here, and above all, the respect and affection from the students we tutored, made these six months a truly enjoyable time for me. I am therefore humbled and grateful to all concerned, for this great experience that I will treasure forever.
Among a host of things that I would miss of Neemrana, I guess the night-walks in the moonlight around the campus are going to be the most missed leisure activities. The rush for our breakfasts and lunches and the leisurely dinners at the ‘mess’ every day, I will miss dearly! The week-end trips out of the campus in the rickety and crowded ‘Rajasthan Roadways buses’, I will certainly long for. The ‘gupshup’, 'chayas' (tea time at the tuck-shop!) and camaraderie with my dear colleagues in this breezy campus will forever remain in nostalgia, as will the lovely bonding that I developed with the students of every passing batch! Thankfully, we have facebook, email and texts to enable us to stay in touch even though we may drift apart geographically.
As I move on to my next assignment, personally and literally it will be a transition from ‘campus to corporation’ for me yet again and I am excitedly looking forward to the change. But, as I leave the campus at Neemrana in a day, for the last time, like some of the trees that we planted here, I am certainly going to leave back a lot of footprint here and also carry with me memories of lots of happy times to treasure!
So with that, it’s “Adios! Neemrana...”
 

Being Santa !

Christmasactually brings to life the thoughts of the age-less, kind-hearted lovable old man, draped in all red and white with his silver beard flowing, rushing all over the world to deliver surprise gifts to kids at every home! Often my son asks me “Dad tell me, is Santa Claus really there?” And I smilingly wave away his question choosing not to answer it, keeping his innocent marvel going on as long as it goes! But truly, no Christmas for me has ever been complete without Santa Claus!
It was my father who first told me all about Santa and how I could look forward to his gifts on the Christmas-eve, a make-believe tale that charmed me through my childhood years! Santa’s gifts, secretly placed by my father beside my pillow or by the small Christmas tree in my room, were simple but special due to the aura behind the midnight surprise. Today, as I see the joys of children upon receiving Santa’s surprise gifts, I smile and think of my father for making my innumerable Christmas’s memorable! “Thank you Dad for being my Santa”!
On one particular winter just before Christmas, during my stay in Kerala, I chanced upon a conversation with a colleague Joji, and learnt that he was closely associated with a local orphanage. It was run by a child-less couple, Robert and Mary (a doctor and a nurse by profession), with assorted help from kind souls around. Joji told me that they truly celebrate a ‘special Christmas’ wherein a ‘decked up’ Santa comes in on Christmas-eve to hand over gifts to the children. Many of the contributors to the orphanage also bring in gifts which are also distributed to the children by the Santa. That year we chose to spend our Christmas-eve with these children and took a few gifts along as well. I shall never forget the happy smiles and glee that spread across the faces of those children when the real ‘Santa’ decked in all his fancy red and white attire came dancing into the lobby, to the tune of ‘Jingle Bells’ ! As the gifts got distributed and Santa hugged every kid there, I could catch the eyes of Robert and Mary going moist. I could only thank them for being ‘Santa’ to so many ‘family-less’ children all the year round!
On another winter, this time in Cochin, just a few days before Christmas I was visiting a mall with my son and we soon spotted a ‘decked up’ live Santa outside the premises, shaking hands with everyone and obliging for photographs. As my son excitedly ran up to Santa and shook hands, I requested him for a photo which he promptly obliged. Soon as we were walking away, I noticed a lady nearby the Santa sitting quietly on a stool with her hands folded on her lap and a little girl clutching on to her dress almost hiding behind her. The Santa was waving at the little girl every now and then in an attempt to make her smile. Curious to find out more, I walked over and asked. Santa, a bit free that he was at that moment, went on to explain that the lady and the little girl were his family. They came from a very poor background and being unable to make ends meet, he had chosen to come to the city in hope of earning some money during the festive times. The mall authorities had engaged him to be the ‘Santa Claus’ on show and stand just outside the entrance so that he could attract and entertain the visitors coming in. His daughter was observing him as ‘Santa Claus’from behind her mother, and he was trying to make her smile as he didn’t have anything else to offer her for Christmas.
I was spell bound and wanted to offer some money to the Santa, which he politely refused saying that the mall authorities were already paying him for this job! On our return from the mall, we made sure that the ‘live Santa’had a toy to offer to his little daughter and make her smile. As I drove back home that evening, I couldn’t help thinking that this toy was nothing compared to the countless smiles that this ‘Santa’ was spreading on the faces of the kids who ran up to him for hugs and photos in front of mall, in that Christmas week!
 As the legend of Santa Claus lives on and his image probably gets bigger with the age of technology and graphics and his bag springs up fancier gifts for children, it is the true Santa’s who steal the heart!
On every Christmas, every parent who indulges their children in the tell-tale of Santa and his Christmas gifts helps to carry on the legend and spread smiles! I shall never forget the message that my father once told me, “All that Santa wants from you is  ‘be good’ ”! And when I think of my son’s question: “Is Santa Claus really there?” I think of so many such kind-hearted Santa’s that I have come across, and I tell him “Yes, Santa Claus is truly there! Don’t you remember that smiling Santa waving at us in front of that mall, or the Santa who hugged you amongst the kids in the orphanage?”

The City of Prayers !

“Chaliye sir, Khwaja Saheb ka bulawa aa raha hai!”, Vaibhav told me after a quick thought once we had told him of our plan to visit Ajmer! It had been over a month that Alok and I had been toying with the idea of visiting the famous Dargah Shariff in Ajmer, since we were in Rajasthan for so long and also somewhat closely located. For me, the Dargah at Ajmer held its fascination from my history books in school and I was always keen on visiting it, so here opportunity had presented itself!
During one of our nightly moonlit-walks at Neemrana, came up this discussion of visiting Ajmer on the forthcoming holiday, and Vaibhav being the spirited local guy that he is, just took up the cue and offered his company along for the trip! So, very quickly, travel plans were chalked out and made simple enough for a long day trip and sooner than we realised, in our group of four (Alok, Sushma, Vaibhav and I), we were actually on the way to Ajmer on a cold wintry morning!
Early morning travels, especially in winter, have their own challenges and though we braved them as we did the cold gusts of wind, on the highway we were presented with a new challenge altogether! Standing in pitch darkness, by the makeshift bus-stand on the Delhi-Jaipur National Highway No.8, we soon found it was practically impossible to identify the few Roadways buses that came along, from the never-ending line of truckers and trawlers! However, after missing one completely and being fooled by a few trucks which seemed as buses, we managed to halt a Roadways bus and board the same, only to find sleeping and sprawling passengers occupying all the seats with none left for us! But very soon, we managed seats for ourselves and as the bus sped into the twilight of day-break, we started to enjoy the journey!
The changeover at Jaipur was made memorable by the fantastic breakfast we had at ‘Rawat’s‘, with the all famous ‘onion-kachoris’of Jaipur accompanied by tasty ‘kesar lassi’! Apparently this shop ‘Rawat’s’ , near the Jaipur bus-stand at Sindhi camp, is a long standing acclaimed name in dishing out this famous delicacy of Jaipur and we once again savoured a sumptuous morning snack there!
Reaching Ajmer by about mid-day, we decided to proceed straight to the ‘Dargah Shariff’ and guided ourselves through the crowded and winding lanes, carefully avoiding the stream of people and motorbikes in between! The lanes leading up to the Dargah gate seemed quite narrow given the array of shops jostling to find space on both sides, and the continuous rush of people. The fares in the shops were quite common, garments, utensils and fancy jewellery items being the larger share. Of course, being a popular and much frequented place of worship, there was a handsome interspersing of shops selling the ‘holy chadars and flowers’, the usual offerings that devotees would carry to the shrine. It was after a kilometre of walking through such lanes and crossing the mammoth ‘Delhi Gate’ (a large stony gateway structure), that we reached the main gate of the Dargah.
Leaving our footwear and bags in one of those shops, from where we also purchased the ‘holy offerings’, we entered the Dargah shrine through its massive gate which was ordained bright green and decorated with fresh flowers, garlands and colourful ‘nishaans’ (flags)! But before that, on my way through the lanes, I had purchased a white laced ‘kufi namaz cap’ as a memento from Ajmer! As a ritual, devotees need to cover their heads while praying at the Dargah and I used my ‘kufi cap’ there. The precincts of the Dargah shrine were well laid out and quite busy in business too! There were shops all round, selling ‘holy offerings’ of all sorts, ‘khadims’escorting devotees into the main sanctum of the mausoleum, and so much of hustle bustle that it seemed like a quaint little city inside a city! Despite the crowd, it was nice to see the devotees neatly lining up along the entrance to the shrine in a very orderly form and soon we also joined in to enter the main tomb space.
The first glimpse of the Tomb of the saint, Hazrat Khwaja Muinuddin Chisti, was a colourful delight to the eyes! Bright green shawls and silk sheets with golden and silver zari decorations ordained the tomb space all around, with lovely purple, blue, maroon and white flower decorations strewn all over the place. The brown marble walls enshrining the tomb lent a soothing solace to the room, overall giving a holy and pure ambience. We went along in the line of devotees right up to the main tomb to offer the ‘chadar and flowers’ and received blessings under the ‘holy green chadar’ as we murmured our prayers to the spirit of the ‘Khwaja Saheb’, one who is universally held in high respect and devotion by not only Muslims but also people from other faiths! Having paid our homage and prayers, we came out from the Dargah to collect our belongings from the flower shop. For me, it was a long cherished wish come true to have visited the Ajmer Shariff dargah, of which I had heard and read so much for so long.
Our Ajmer trip also saw the emergence of ‘Rafiq bhai’ from the ‘mehallas’ of the Prayer City! ‘Rafiq bhai’ was none other than our very own Alok, who, very aptly dressed for the visit in a white ‘pathansuit’, looked to come right out of the congested lanes and by-lanes of Ajmer! Appropriately accompanying him was ‘Khan’ , none other than yours truly, complete in the ‘kufi namaz cap’ et al! Thanks to our local guide Vaibhav for the slight coinage and adaptation of these names which appeared so aptly fit, we mingled freely with the crowd in the lanes around the Dargah taking in the sights and scents of the place! Vaibhav also kept us entertained with snippets of side information about the accent and attitude of people from these ‘mehallas’ (localities, as they call it there!), in the true Ajmeri style!
Once done with our Dargah visit, we turned our steps to the well known joint ‘Mango Masala’for lunch. A quick drive away from the hustle bustle of the Dargah area, the restaurant offered a simple ambience with a dash of modernity! Famished that we were, we straight away went in for a couple of traditional ‘Rajasthani thalis’, which offered us quite a varied range of local delicacies to sample! Right from ‘missi rotis’, to ‘gatte ki subzi’, and flavoured rice to variety of ‘dals’, the Rajasthani thali was tasty, filling and satisfying! ‘Jal jeeras’ which came in tall glasses were the perfect appetizers cum coolers accompanying the traditional lunch.
Soon it was time to turn back and again on the return we came through Jaipur, where we halted for a quick dinner. This time we decided to try out the famous Rajasthani dish of ‘Dal-bati-churma’ and we dipped into these delectable ‘thalis’at a joint near the Sindhi camp bus stand at Jaipur. Having tasted all the three delicacies of Rajasthani cuisine in the day, across breakfast, lunch and dinner, we finally boarded the bus towards our abode in Neemrana.
We drifted in and out of sleep, as the bus sped away into the night, thinking of the eventful day that we had spent, albeit long and hectic. As we almost reached Neemrana, as if in a ‘will it – wont it’ game, our bus driver suddenly decided to take a dinner break just half a kilometre away from our destination, leaving us high and dry for a pining half an hour at a roadside ‘dhaba’! Nevertheless, typical of his true spirits, Alok suggested that we make use of the unplanned halt by treating ourselves to a steaming cup of midnight tea! It was indeed a brilliant idea for the tea did give us nice sips of warmth (even if we forgive its tastelessness!) in the cold and gusty night on the highway!
So, after an arduous twenty hour trip we came back feeling quite satisfied and happy, having fulfilled a long standing wish of visiting one of India’s most famous and revered holy shrines, the Dargah Shariff at Ajmer!