Beaches

Beaches 

-- Iris Rainer Dart

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Long long time ago, in a faraway land, I was in the final year of my engineering course. Most of the batchmates were getting our passports made (in a bright eyed anticipation), for which we needed to travel to Chandigarh, where the nearest passport office was located. So, I and one of my best friends, did the same. In that pre-digital age, it sometimes could be a two-day job, and we needed to stay overnight there, which we did at the home of an aunt of hers. Later that night, we ended up watching a movie on the TV. It was about two girl friends, whose personalities, as well as family background, were as different as could be. A chance encounter on the beach as little girls marks the start of their life-long friendship, and they provide strength to each other through all the tribulations of life.

“I can fly higher than an eagle, for you are the wind beneath my wings”

It was a funny and heart-breaking story, and had a deep impact on me. More so, because I was at that stage of life, when friends are our lifelines, and we had the deep sadness of parting looming very close. Few years later, I could not remember the name of the movie, or the actors (the number of English movies I had seen till then were in single digit numbers, low single digit actually!) But, I could not forget the movie, or the song. Then, internet came by, and eventually the search engines and their databases improved a whole lot, and I managed to find not only the name of the movie and the lead actor (Beaches, Bette Midler), but also that it is based on a book!!

The dampener on my excitement was that I could not find a way of procuring that book – amazon and flipkart were a few years away, and popular bookstores were still as bad in terms of inventory. And when it did show up on the radar, it was extremely expensive, being imported and all. Then last year I found that I could also get used books online, with bookchor and amazon having a huge inventory to search from. So, I finally got a copy a few months ago for a very reasonable sum of 150 rs (and I think it is the original paperback edition).

I shared the discovery with the above mentioned friend (we are still very close friends), but though she remembered the visit, she didn’t remember much about the movie or the song. My heart just broke to pieces :,(

So, coming back to the book - I finally read the book over last two days, I just could not put it down. Even though I remembered most of the story, even though the main character was loud and sometimes vulgar, even though it had some predictable sequences, I just loved it. My eyes kept getting moist, shedding a tear or two here and there, whiles sometimes I silently chuckled. Such is the vivacity of Cee Cee Bloom, who brightens up anywhere she goes, who knows that she is amazing and doesn’t shy away from proclaiming it, who can be selfish and cowardly, but is also capable of giving endless, selfless love. And such is the sweetness of Bertie, who frustrates us with her goodness and incomprehensible helplessness, but makes us sympathize with her for the way she is conditioned to be so. And such is the story of a friendship that transcends all boundaries.

Although this can't be called an epistolary novel, the story is assisted by a number of letters exchanged by the two friends over the years (but not all of the letters they wrote). I loved the way their letters expressed their fears and excitement, and evolved as they grew older. 

If you have had a friend who has been with you through good times and bad, or if you have seen the movie and loved it, I highly recommend the book. I recommend it anyway :D (even though my feeling about the book may be biased by what I remember of the movie from all those years ago :)

Requiem for a Wren

Requiem for a Wren - a love story

What I mean is, the story of my love for the book :)

I first read 'Requiem for a Wren' in early 90's when I came upon it among my father's books in his paternal home, when looking for something I could read - in those days, in the places we lived or visited, books were rather hard to come by. I was in my later teens, and exploring Dad's books in search of reading material [that is how I came to love MacLean and Perry Mason - he had a big collection of those from his (relative) youth!]. It was perhaps bought in 1974, and apparently gifted to an aunt, a cousin of my dad, by a friend. How it came to Dad, neither of us knows now.

Well, to put it briefly, I was completely blown away by it. So much so, that when this was submerged in flood waters for a week (among several other treasures, most of which could not be salvaged), I rescued it, scraped off the mud, and dried it keeping newspaper sheets between each set of pages, and got the edges re-cut by a book-binder. This is why the cover is missing and the date is smudged. Since then, I have read it thrice, and cried every single time.

Later, when I graduated and started working, I desperately looked for a new copy. It was the pre-internet era, and foreign books were impossible to procure. Even after the internet became accessible, and subsequently online bookstores came into the picture, this book wasn't available in India for a long time. After years of searching, I got a friend from US to buy it (and she could only find a used copy), and get it to me on one of her visits here. However, the original one is still so precious to me, that I haven't had the heart to discard it.

The two paragraphs of a poem quoted in the beginning completely enticed me. They held such a pain, and a mystery, of a lost or elusive love, that I read them over and over, and these lines are embedded in my mind and heart forever. Several years later, I was able to find the complete poem - The Triumph of Time, which is something of a saga. It has several beautiful thoughts and lines, but these two paras remain my favorite.

This is what the cover of the original one looked like:

And this is how the cover of my (new) copy looks:

For The Love of Reading ...

A little while after I moved to Bangalore, I came to know of the "Just Books" library chain - for a book lover it promised a lot of excitement. Some months down the line, they opened a satellite store in my apartment complex - and my joy knew no bounds. But well ....  with the daily schedule being what it is, and constant interrupts from a 4-5 year old demanding attention, I have had neither the time nor peace, to read. Not to mention the fact that when I am reading a book that really interests me, well, I am absolutely absorbed - almost forgetting the world around me. Ultimately, the mind won over the heart, and with a sadness, I decided not to take the membership .....

Such is the irony of life - when I had enough time, I didn't have such a good facility available to me. For a while, I had borrowed books from a "library" run by someone in a rented garage, which mostly consisted of shabby, well worn copies, primarily of cheap thrillers and obscure titles, more likely bought from a 'raddiwala' than a used-book shop. After I while I got tired of the low "RoI" - walking to and from that garage, and not getting stuff I would have liked to read, and gave up on it. And now, with such a good facility available, that too so close by, I am not able to find the time. But, passion and practicality have been at a constant struggle in my mind ...

Finally, after contemplating for almost two years, I took a membership of "Just Books", in Feb. My own interest in reading was only a small part of the motivation. The primary reason was to encourage a love for reading in Sid.

As far as my memory will take me, I recall being able to read. Though, of course, in our time, we started with Hindi. I think that I (and bro, of course) could read kids' hindi magazines like Champak, Parag, Nandan, when we were around 5 yrs old. For us, comfort level with English came much later. These days, kids start with the English alphabet, and its only in senior KG that they start learning Hindi. But the language is immaterial. I would love Sid to know the joy of reading, and I believe that this has to be initiated at a young age. As kids (actually well into our teens, or perhaps even now, if we (bro and I) had nothing to do, you could give us a book, and we would be oblivious to the world (added advantage for parents - no nagging, no getting-into-way, no fighting, no mischief :-)). It kind of pained me to see that around 5.5 yrs not only had Sid not started to read properly, but that he did not not even show any interest in reading stories. After having his fill of playing and watching TV, he keeps nagging me about what to do. I tried to explain to him that if he can read books himself, he can enjoy the stories, and also avoid boredom. But I was not successful in convincing him.

That was when I thought that perhaps the excitement of getting a new (as in unread) book (and the restriction of having only one at a time) will get him interested. And perhaps, after the excitement factor, a genuine interest and joy will follow. Sometimes I make suggestions to him on which book to borrow, but his is the final choice. He is excited to go to the library almost every evening and choosing the next book. His reading speed and vocabulary are also improving, though I guess he is taking shortcuts at times - skipping through pages, or avoiding reading if he has heard the story before, or asking us to read after he has read a few pages. But well, one step at a time, and hope the pace continues ...

As for me, I have read more in last one month than I did in the last year (or two), including some books that I have wanted to read for a long long time. Some of them didn't turn out to be as good as expected, but you never know it until you have read it yourself, isn't it.

My Love Affair with The Three Investigators

My painstakingly compiled collection of "The Three investigators" - of which I am quite possessive and rather proud :D The child in me is still in love with them!!

Many of us have a childhood book that we remain very fond of, even as we grow older. For some, its Enid Blyton, for some its Tintin or Asterix, for me it has been, and shall always be the 'The Three Investigators' Series.

I was first introduced to this series in school, in class 7 or 8. Even then I liked suspense and mystery books, I had already read the complete Sherlock Holmes that dad bought for us, and all the Agatha Christie books I could find in dad's collection and the school library (back then we had no other source of story books - there were no stores in the small town we lived in, and none of our friends and relatives were as fond of reading). I read whatever I could find, and was perhaps the most prolific borrower from my school library. And that was when I chanced upon a Three Investigators title in the school library, and the rest, as they say, is history. I instantly fell in love with the series, and after being acquainted with Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys never appealed to me.

The library was very poorly organized, and I took great pains to find new titles of the series .... and oh! what a joy and excitement every new discovery brought! Both me and my brother loved it, and it was an exciting news at home when we had a new one to read (Let the fact be recorded that being rather lazy, he rarely took the trouble to find them, but was more than happy to read them, quite often misappropriating them to read them before me!) There were times when I was able to find 2-3 of them at once, and my joy knew no bounds then. Although the prescribed borrowing limit in the school library was 1 book per week, the librarian recognized my love for books. She was also considerate of the fact that I kept the books with utmost care, at times mending battered books before returning them, and allowed me to borrow as many as I wanted. I remember once getting 5 Three Investigators issued at one go, and I guess any treasure couldn't have made me happier.

I tried to interest some of my friends in them, trying to introduce them and get them to understand and appreciate what I loved, but failed at it. Though in honesty, I think I was secretly glad that these wonderful books had no (or very few) other takers, and I had them all to myself :-P

By class 10 or 11, I had read all the titles in the library several times, and longed for the ones that I had not read, but in vain - there was no other place to find them. In the meanwhile I had found one of the titles - the very first one of the series, in dad's old collection in his paternal home, and it remained a prized possession - the sole one we owned - for a long long time. And the unread ones remained an illusive dream.

After many years, when I moved to Noida, I found some old and used copies on roadside stalls in Noida and Delhi (never found them in bookshops - they have long been out of print), it was too hard to resist the temptation .... and an affair was rekindled. Whenever I used to go to one of these markets where one of these hawkers sat with used books, I looked through all of their stacks to find a title or two. I usually bought any title that I did not have, even if it was battered, and sometimes a second copy if the new one was in significantly better shape than one I already had. And thus, after an effort of nearly 10 years, I am now the proud owner of almost 35 titles of the 43 in the series.

Thanks to the internet, I managed to find soft copies of them too! Though I read the soft copies of the ones I have not already read, the digital version has never held for me the same charm as the feel of good old paper in my hand!

PS: 
My brother pointed out that the record, in all fairness, should also show that it was he who introduced me to the series - with "Haunted House"!!
I had incidentally (conveniently ?) forgotten the fact. Since my memory deserts me, I am prepared to concede the fact. However, looks like his memory isn't what it used to be, either - there is a "Haunted Mirror" and a "Shrinking House", yes, but no "Haunted House" :) I think "Green Ghost" might have been the first one I read.

Diwali

This time the Diwali holiday(s) could be clubbed together with the weekend, so I managed to find some of the things I like to do at this time of the year - paint some Diya's, make a Rangoli, and put Mehndi.

When I bought paints, Sid had gone with me, and asked me what they were for. So I told him - perhaps not a very wise decision :-) Every days since then till the weekend, in the night he would remember, and ask me, "Let's paint the diyas!!". And cried after being told off, since he had to sleep on time, to be able to get up for school next day. Finally, on Friday, we sat together to paint. I took more time, of course, since I was painting detailed designs, and carefully. So, in the time I painted 3, he was done with 6. And so he kept telling me, "mumma, you should do your work faster, like I have done!"

 Equipment and finished goods

My work

Sid's work

The day before Diwali, he went to market with N, when I decided to make the Rangoli. I had already selected a peacock design I found from net, and adapted it to the space available. I took a long time, and was still at it when he came back. So, of course, he wanted to "help" me with it too. It took a lot of convincing to get him to make one of his own. So I asked him what he wanted to make, and of course, he wanted the same thing as I had done. Finally, we settled on a fish drawing.

Rangoli

Filler patterns

Sid's rangoli (finished with help from N)

Down the Memory Lane - X

One good turn ...

My father worked for a manufacturing unit of an industrial house, and the company had a residential colony for its staff, which was something of a mini-city. The (single-storey) houses  were called as “quarters” (Back then I didn’t give much thought to it, now it seems rather funny to me).

At one time, our house was next to the one allotted to the colony doctor. He used to play bhajans every morning, and it amused me no end to listen him playing this one (by kavi Pradeep):
“Doosro.n ka dukhda door karne wale, tere dukh door kare.nge Ram!”
[You, who alleviate the pain of others, your pain will be alleviated by God]

The Inheritance of Likes

It is not just qualities/characteristics/traits that we inherit from our parents. I believe we also inherit (or perhaps, some would say, develop) likes and dislikes from our parents. When my brother and I were young, our parents inculcated and encouraged  a reading habit in us. Dad used to get some very nice books for us whenever he went on trips, and we invariably bought books from those “Wheeler & Co” stalls at railway stations when we traveled by train. Living in the small town that we did, we didn’t have any other source for reading material. So, as we grew older, we resorted to experimenting with books from Dad’s collection. And that is from where I acquired a liking for Alistair McLean, Desmond Bagley, and Gardner’s Perry Mason – he had a huge range of these.

McLean is a particular favorite of mine. I love his style (I think I’ve mentioned that earlier in this blog) for the fast paced action, and witty dialogue exchanges. I read many of his novels from Dad’s collection, and over the years, proceeded to complete reading and/or collecting all of his works. Between three of us (Dad, Bro and I) we should be having most (if not all) of McLean’s novels, likely  with some duplication.

I haven’t read much in last three years, and therefore didn’t buy anything, except perhaps some books for Sid. Another reason for not being able to buy is unending interruptions from Sid whenever I enter a bookstore. Finally, last month I had some uninterrupted time to spend in a bookshop, and bought some books after a long time. Any surprises that two of these are by McLean – The Way to Dusty Death (which I’ve read before) and The Lonely Sea (Short stories, which I haven’t read). I also got Love in the Time of Cholera – of which I have heard a lot, but never got around to reading.

Some more reading experiences

Another change in my daily routine is that instead of driving to work, I'm using the office cab. I last used the office conveyance more than 7 years ago, and then it used to be a bus - those were quite fun days. But I digress. So, there are 3-5 people in the cab, some days we chat, some days we don't. In the initial days, we usually didn't. So, even though it was only 25-30 minutes commute, I thought I might utilize it catch up on long-neglected reading. Didnt want to read anything heavy, so started with some relatively light re-reading.

First picked up "To Kill A Mocking Bird" (had read it twice earlier, 13 and 8 years ago, I think). Enjoyed it, as ever. Simple, endearing, enriching. Though, to be honest, read the last part of it in a quiet hour I managed to snatch at home. 

Next, I started on "The Bridges of Madison County". Had read it twice or thrice earlier, more than 6 years ago, and had seen the movie as well. I had mixed feelings about the movie, even though it was directed by and starred Clint Eastwood - I found it really well made, but very slow. The book though had a big impact on me - I had found it very intense, and extremely sad - so much so, that for years, I didnt want to read it again. But anyway, I thought it was good time to enjoy it again. Imagine my surprise - halfway through, I realized I wasn't enjoying it half as much as I did earlier. The intensity didnt come through, and there were parts that I found kitschy - particularly the part describing the love affair. I tried to see the reason for this extreme difference in experience. You change with time, and experience is undoubtedly a factor of the mental state. So was it because I have grown up and matured, that I didnt find the idealistic story quite realistic/creditable? Or was it because I read it on my short commutes, with so many breaks and interruptions, and therefore didnt get involved with the story? To try to get an answer, I looked for some reviews. Another surprise - the book, even though a huge best-seller, was panned as limp and overdone, while the movie was highly acclaimed. Perhaps time to revisit the movie.

There is an amusing incident for me, associated with this book. I still clearly remember the first time I read it - in IITD hostel, lying down in the common room, a borrowed copy. Few years after that, I remembered this book, and wanted a copy of my own. For a long time, I looked for it in all the bookshops, online stores, but it was out of print. Some of my close friends had assisted me in this search and so knew of my near-desperation. After looking for it for months, I finally found it in a bookstore, along with a sequel (A thousand country roads)!! I spared no time or second thoughts in purchasing them both. Barely a few days after this was my birthday, and I received a copy of TBoMC from a dear friend as a gift! And, another set of both books (from then my "good friend", and now my better half), who had located them in an online store and ordered them for me as a surprise!! Patience and perseverance rewarded in thrice? :-D

Down the memory lane - IX

The JC Encounters - II

I have posted earlier, an anecdote from my college days, about our professor JC. Apart from being very strict and principled, he had quite a sharp memory. He taught us for two years [he refused to take the final year classes, as according to him, final year students were not serious enough]. When he first started teaching our class in second year, he recognized everyone by their names in one week, and by roll numbers in two. One of my classmates happened to meet him last year, and he remembered her roll number after 8 years!

In the third year, one day there was a highly interesting cricket match going on. Many people would have liked to bunk the class, but JC took a severe exception to mass bunks, so most of the students decided to go to his class, and rely on his generosity. The people who were not interested in the match, would not mind an occasional off!

Once in class, they asked JC to free the class, but he refused to do so on account of a match. The students persisted, that there was no use of staying in class, since they couldn't concentrate on studies. They thought that since JC was passionate about making students really understand (rather that just teach), this should do the trick. But poor things, they didn't really understand their teacher in two years! JC said he could not free the class, but he'd not teach, so we would have a general discussion! We then kept imploring that it would be better to study, but now JC was adamant! And what a unique talk it was! After half an hour we really pleaded to him to teach us instead, but he didn't relent!!

Frustrated, some people started asking irrelevant things. One guy asked, "Sir have you been married?", while JC had turned to face the board. With some difficulty he managed to reply, "No, not yet", his back still towards the class. Thinking of taking advantage of anonymity, another guy shot out, "Why?" The class was really at his audacity, and fell silent. JC couldn't keep facing the board indefinitely, so he turned to face the class. And oh! He was blushing!! He called on the student who had asked the second question [yes! he managed to single him out by his voice, in a class of 60, even though he must have taught a number of batches over the years!], and asked him the same set of questions. Now it was this guy's turn to turn red! He managed to reply, with great difficulty, "Sir, I am not old enough". JC replied, "Same answer".

Chapter closed, and we moved back to few more minutes of horribly boring "conversation", before the hour finally got over, to the relief of all.

Down the Memory Lane - VIII

Try this for Fiction!


Yesterday, I was talking to a senior colleague R, who pulls my leg quite often. During the conversation, he kidded me about demanding a piece of office equipment ...

R: Go and tell GD that the only thing you need in life is a US-connect+caller-id extension phone, rest everything in this world is going great!

Me: I have no great wish for one [and added as a good measure] Only few days back N concluded that I do not crave for any materialistic thing in this world.

R: [laughs] N must be really happy.

Me: Well, I don't about happy, but yes, it is true, that I am not crazy about anything. Perhaps the only thing I am really fond of is books.

R: [dramatically brightened up] Is this really so? [looks around at the technical documentation lying around] I will give all you these conference proceedings, this techinical literature, these publications, when I leave. You can read them with pleasure!

Me: Hold on! Let me clarify! When I meant I like books, I meant FICTION.

R: So?? Who said all of this stuff is for real? They say, do it in this manner, this works great in this way - it is all actually Fiction!

Me: [straightfaced] It is not fiction. It is FANTASY.

An unlikely experience

I have been out of circulation from the blogosphere for so long that now it seems to be sheer inertia that is holding me back. Well, that is not exactly true, that (dis)credit goes to hectic work schedule that has sapped up most of my energy for last couple of months.
I have hardly been able to post anything on my three blogs for almost 2-3 months. However, till 3-4 weeks back, I still managed to check on my reader from time to time, and each time it showed 100+ unread items. But now, I am so overwhelmed by the reading I have to catch up on!
In the middle of all the chaos, I managed to get a much needed break, for a trip we had been planning for quite a while - a trek in 'The Valley of Flowers'. The trip was rendered partially unsuccessful by heavy rains and landslides - we could not even get to Joshimath, but we finally made it to Kedarnath. I will hopefully post pictures of the trip on 'Travel Memoirs' soon; in the meanwhile I'll share an unlikely experience here ....
We had planned to travel overnight from Delhi to Haridwar by train, and take a taxi from there for the rest of the journey. The train we had reservations in, goes till Dehradun, reaching Haridwar very early morning. Though heavy rains were reported in the region, the train departed from Delhi in time. But when we reached Roorkee around midnight, the situation in the higher areas had deteriorated, and the train stopped there for a considerable time. After an interminable wait, the train started from Roorkee, but stopped again after some time - in the middle of nowhere. After dawn, when there was some light, we could see it was a very small village station, with no platforms even. One of the attendants informed us that the train will stop there for an undetermined time - there was water on tracks on the way from Haridwar to Dehradun; so the trains scheduled to go to Dehradun had piled up at Haridwar station, leaving no space for more trains to be parked there. The attendant advised us to board another train that was going to Rishikesh (and would therefore be given a pass at Haridwar) which was about to cross. And so, we jumped down on to the tracks (no platforms, remember!) with bag and baggage, stood by the side of the other track (along with several other passengers), and waited for the other train. When it arrived, we waved it to stop, and climbed up!
Though I have had varied experiences in trains earlier, this was something I never expected to have to do!! I have done this number of times in buses - the roadways bus breaks down on the way, the conductor stops another bus going the same way and helps you board that bus. But never ever have I done it on a train!!

Returning to school

Last weekend when I went to my hometown, I also visited my school, the second time since passing out 13 years back, and almost 5 years after my last visit. This visit was motivated by a desire to meet my mathematics teacher, Mr RS - he was transferred away shortly after my last visit, and I recently learned that he has returned, this time as the Principal of the school. If the wish to meet my old school teacher, after all these years, seems surprising, let me just state that of all the teachers who taught me in school and two colleges, there are two for whom I have a high regard even today. One of them is JC, a CS prof from REC, and the other one is RS.

At the school, I had to leave the car at the main gate, and walk the rest of the distance to the school building. When I was in the school, initially the gate was not there, and later on even when it was placed, it remained open in the school hours. As soon as I entered the gate, I was asked by a guard about my purpose to enter the premises. This was an entirely new development - in fact it caught me by a surprise, for a few moments I didn't know how to explain my purpose. I composed myself, and told him that I wanted to meet RS sir. I was in for another shock - the guard told me that the Principal's visiting hours were over [in my time, there was no concept of visiting hours!], and I could meet him only after the school gets over, in another hour or half. I tried to convince him by stating that I was coming from another town, and it was not possible for me to return back later, or on another day. Finally, he found a "workaround" - in the entry register, I was to record the purpose as just "official" instead of any teacher's specific name. The apparent "anarchy" may be explained by the fact that this was a government run school, in a small town which was not prosperous, and where most of the students came from families which were not well educated. The small percentage of students from well educated background also existed for the sole reason that it was the only school in the town where the medium of instruction was english for science stream.

Walking to the school building, there were a lot of physical changes I observed - on one side residential quarters for teachers were constructed - earlier the area used to be just open land, covered with shrubbery. A "park" which had a little grass and some swings was now in much better shape. Another part of unpaved ground where we used to park our cycles was also organized better, with clearly marked area, fence, and a couple of small single-storey buildings. However, the other thing that struck me was that the distance from the gate to the building was not as much as I remembered, and the building itself was also not as large as I remembered it. This is something that has happened with me before - things that looked or felt huge when I was a child, do not look big now. I wonder, if we determine the largeness of an object relative to our own size...

Of the teachers who had taught me, there are very few who are still there with the school, and who I care to meet. I met my maths teacher of junior classes first, and she was happy to talk to me. To be honest, she did not recognize me, but when she I introduced myself, she had no difficulty in recalling me either :-) There was a repetition of the scene with another teacher, before I was seated in the principal's office. He was teaching the last class of the day at that time, and after that he watched over the students as they left the school. When he came to his office, he expressed his pleasure at my visit. He asked after my well-being, and I asked after his, and that of the school. He grumbled about the students' disobedience, and expressed his disapproval of young people taking extreme steps for small matters. He was interrupted quite often with people needing his attention on administrative matters of the school, and I felt quite guilty in reaching there without an appointment. Finally, after a little while, he asked if there was anything I needed from him. For a moment I was taken aback, but told him that this was not the case, and I was there just to meet him and other teachers, probably my last chance to do so before my parents moved out of town. I think he was a little reserved earlier, thinking that I had come there with some personal interest, because after this he seemed more relaxed. He seemed more pleased, and told me that I had come a little late that day, and next time I should come at some earlier hour, before the school got over, and talk to the students. Though I wonder what good I could do even if I did that - he had just told me that students are no longer willing to let someone talk any sense to them :-P

In the while I was talking to RS sir, one of the teachers came over to the room. She didn't recognize me either, but when she was told that it was me, she was quite happy to see me too - I used to be one of her favorite students. And then, she proceeded to something totally unexpected. In the space of 15-20 minutes, she filled me in with the details of not just her sons and daughters-in-law, but also her neighbors, her relatives, her neighbors' relatives, her relatives' neighbors, etc. Including asking me to look out for a suitable match for an acquaintance of hers! I was completely flabbergasted!! I have come across such people before, who keep on talking without realizing what they are saying, but I didn't expect to find one of them amongst the teachers. But more than being surprised, I was annoyed, because she didn't give me or RS to speak anything, let alone hear what we had to say!

Later on, I gave quite a bit of thought on RS asking me if I had come for something. In fact, I was even a little hurt, because I had gone there only due to the attachment I feel for my school and the teachers, and not because of any vested interest. But then I realized that this is how the things are today - people don't have time to socialize just for the joy of it. They call up their friends or relatives when they need some help. They complain that they don't meet them frequently enough, but never themselves make an effort to meet. In this age of selfish interests, who remembers their school teachers? So, it was not altogether unjustified on his part to assume that I needed his help in some regard, especially since he is in a position of importance.

N teased me later, saying that people in school showed no unbound joy to meet me, and RS even asked me if I came to meet him with some interest. I replied that I didn't expect anything more than that [I really don't know what could I have expected], and then retorted by asking," does anyone in your school even remember you after all these years" :-D. I was one of RS's favorite students, and as I am told by school students many years my junior, he used to cite my example to his classes. But, my academic achievements notwithstanding, I concur it as a good fortune that my teachers remember me after all these years.

Farewell Song

This is a short poem I wrote for the farewell of a colleague. For those who missed it earlier, here is the context.

We've been used to seeing him around, forever
Never thought we'll have to see him leave
Not just days, but years to remember
That it's a thing of past, is hard to believe

From noon to night, him you can catch
Doing the rounds with the dreaded list in hand
His passion for "rightness" is hard to match
In "healthy discussion" with him you can hours spend

A great sense of humor, a deadpan wit
He'll not let you get bored the slightest bit
He has driven a car with open driver's door
We heard no-one can beat him on dance floor
On these things and more, we shall dwell
Long after we've wished him a fond farewell

Down the memory lane - VII

How many neurons ?

The first year of my engineering, we studied generic courses, not specific to respective departments. In the first class in the second year, one enthusiastic teacher sought to introduce the naive students in front of him to the world of computers, and parallel processing. To give a perspective on processing, he asked the class, "How many neurons does a human brain have ?". The entire class of 60 remained silent [whether out of ignorance or intimidation, I do not know]. The teacher repeated the question. The class stayed mum. And then, the only 'surd' in our class, a certain D.S., raised his hands, stood up confidently, and said, "Sir, four". The whole class roared with laughter when the teacher cited the correct answer.
After the class, we exclaimed, "Sardar ne apne gin kar bata diye" [D.S. counted his own and gave the answer!!]
The story soon spread amongst the entire batch, and whosoever heard it laughed his head off. D.S. was a very soft-spoken, and likeable fellow; but for the rest of the three years we teased him no end about this incident.

P.S. I have not quoted the correct answer here on purpose. I challenge you to answer it! With no help from google!! [or from D.S., for that matter!!!] :-)

An evening with Ghulam Ali

One pleasant evening last week, we had the good fortune of attending a concert by Ghulam Ali. The concert was hosted by the Amity business school as a part of their annual festival. A cousin, who is a student of amity, had acquired the passes, and offered them to us - since I am into old hindi melodies, poetry and ghazals, and he decidedly is not.

But before I go further I have two confessions to make.
One, I am not a seasoned concert-goer. I barely have the experience of attending two or three live [classical/ghazal] concerts. So, apart from the anticipation of delay in starting of the concert, I did not have much idea of what to expect.
Two, although I love ghazal as a form of poetry, I am unable to highly appreciate ghazal as a form of music.
The second statement not withstanding, I just could not pass up the wonderful chance to listen to the maestro. And I must say, it turned out to be an incredible experience [apart from a few things.]

Let me first briefly describe the downside. The show started an hour late [which was almost expected]. We had anticipated the delay, and therefore turned up late ourselves [by half an hour], and found seats with some difficulty. To find good seats, we should probably have reached an hour earlier. But this was the least of the negatives. The most irritating was some of the peoples' fulfilling their social obligations, as represented by loud conversations, right there - over the phone, or in person. It was as if people who had absolutely no interest either in ghazal, or in Ghulam Ali, turned up just for the purpose of availing the benefit of free passes. People also insisted, extremely stubbornly, to take the photograph or video of the singer in action, despite his polite repeated requests to people to not to do so. Perhaps politeness has become an alien concept in our world, where people have no patience and humility. And I really wonder what did the people wanted to take these shots for - the singer was quite far away to get a good photograph, and the quality of sound captured by the video would have been pathetic. Did they just want to prove they were there ?!

And now, on to what made it an experience worth remembering for me. And do remember, I should be pardoned for over-enthusing, due to lack of prior experience :-)
He sang some very wonderful, very beautiful ghazals, starting with Ghalib's "Dil-e-naadaan tujhe huaa kya hai". One of things I really liked, and which is missing in recordings, is the singer's setting of the context - here he set a context for [almost] every ghazal - inroduced the poet, some trivia about the poet and/or the poem, and the 'raagaa' on which it's rhythm was based [although the latter makes little sense to my completely untrained ear, it is good to know :-)]. The second one was a sort of 'experiment' - he started singing a ghazal, sang few 'ashaar' from the ghazal, and then moved on to some 'ashaar' from another ghazal [these were probably connected through the poet, the context, or the 'raagaa' - I do not know which - I enjoyed it too much to care :-)], and then returned to the one he was singing. The third was the way of singing - to suit the lyrics of the ghazal. The point in case is that of "Dil mei.n ik lahar si uThi hai abhi" - he sang the line almost 20-25 times in succession, modulating the voice high and low, like a wave [lahar] rising and falling, and singing it differently each time, just as each wave is different from another. It was wonderful beyond words.
He sang the ghazals of famous poets, including Ghalib, Ahmed Faraaz, Ibn-e-Insha etal, and some of his most popular ones, like "Chupke chupke", "Aawaargi" and "Hungama". I had heard or read almost all the ghazals he sang in this concert, but the one I liked best that day was one that I hadn't come across before - a nazm [or was that something else?] by Ibn-e-Insha:
Yeh baatei.n jhoothi baatei.n hai.n, yeh logo.n ne failaayee hai.n
Tum Insha ji ka naam na lo, kya Insha ji saudaaii hai.n

Pearls of wisdom

One of my colleagues has a daughter who is quite naughty and quite smart. This colleague recently became the proud father of twin boys. Shortly after, his daughter came up to him and said, "Papa, mai.n aapko bahut tang karti hoon na. Socho, jab main aur mere dono.n bhai milkar aapko tang karenge to aapkaa kya haal hoga" [Papa, I do trouble you a lot. Just think, when I and my two brothers get together and trouble you, what will become of you].
I couldn't stop laughing at the child's words, but the father could just smile ruefully!!


And seen on the rear wind-screen of a car -
Speed on Brother
Hell ain't full yet!

Kaleidoscope

This is a collection of unrelated incidents that happened in last few days, that interested or impressed me enough to take note.

Love thy neighbor ?
A friend of mine has been researching abroad for a number of years now. In the course of these academic pursuits, he has come in direct and indirect contact with a few Pakistani nationals. The deep reservation with which these neighbors hold Indians, struck my friend. It is rather strange how the strained relations between the two countries have affected the people - despite having a common origin, despite being the next-door neighbors, the people of two countries have very little understanding about each-other's culture and environment. In another continent, though they can understand the language the other speaks, which the english-speaking people cannot, they hold each other at an uncomfortable distance.

Confluence of cultures
This friend had a Persian lab-mate at some point of time. Now Persian is also the origin of Urdu, which by now, is quite integrated in the hindi language we speak in our day-to-day conversations. So, when the Persian researcher spoke at his home in his native tongue, my friend could catch quite a few words. Of course, he kept mum :-) (not wanting to embarass the other guy).
On the other hand, Kashmiri is entirely different, though I always expected it to have traces of Urdu - when a Kashmiri friend speaks his language, I cannot understand a word.
The native village of this friend is in Haryana, close to Rajasthan border. Rajasthani is frequently spoken in his village, and he understands it well despite staying in different parts of the country for most of his years. But he was surprised to hear that Rajasthani has a script as well (which incidentally is similar, but not same, as hindi devanagari script). Haryanvi is also similar to Hindi, but quite different from Rajashthani, but it has no written script. If someone is surprised to hear about the difference in languages spoken in these two neighboring states, picture this - in Rajasthan itself, there are many dialects - the language that is spoken in Bharatpur is quite different from what is used in Jaisalmer. It is truly amazing the number of languages and dialects that are spoken in our country! There is an age-old saying in hindi about our culturall diversity - 'Kos kos par badle paani, chaar kos par baani' (After every mile, the taste of the ground water changes; every four miles, the spoken dialect changes).

Visual impressions
My brother is usually careless about wearing sufficient warm clothing in the winter weather. When he saw me wearing a woollen cap, in the coldest of the weather, he expressed his agreement that woollen caps give nice, comfortable feeling. I had another one at home, so I gave it to him and he took it cheerfully. For a few days he happily roamed around in the cap. But one day when he came over, the first thing he did was to throw down the cap on the table, saying - 'I dont want your stupid cap. Keep it with yourself'. I was stunned for a moment; then he clarified - 'Whenever I come wearing this cap, the security guard of your apartment makes me sign the visitors' register'. The guards had asked him to sign his name twice, when he was wearing that cap. He had never been asked on numerous previous occasions, when he entered with car keys in one hand and mobile in other, and laptop bag on his shoulder. We had a good laugh over this episode when we imagined how would he have appeared to the guard - a not-so-elegant cap, his face hardly visible underneath, a black bag - and agreed that he definitely would have looked a pretty shady character in the night :-D
So, it is by appearance that the guards determine the dubious characters. Interesting!

Mobile revolution
Yesterday night, over dinner, my brother shared yet another story. He is a big patron of a road-side tea stall near his office. One day, the vendor asked him to suggest a mobile model for him. My brother agreed, but the geek that he is, asked his requirements. The vendor said, 'it should definitely have a color screen, and also a camera'. [This is something - road-side tea-stall-wallah with a camera phone!]. My brother told him it would cost about 4-5 K, and asked what else he needed. The vendor thought for few minutes and said it should also have a FM radio. My brother said, it would be about 7-8K. The vendor said, 'That is OK. But this time when I go to my native place, I want to have a good mobile phone'.

What does it show - Economic growth, Technology revolution, Peer pressure, Daring to Dream ??

Just for fun
In the restaurant where we were having our dinner, there was a couple, apparently recently engaged. They were waiting for some friends, whom the guy wanted to introduce to his fiancee. A little while later two guys walked in, and by way of greeting, one of them asked, 'how does the pair of us look?' He had long hair; and the other one was bald!

Down the memory lane - VI

The Physics Lab Mishap

Many of you who have studied physics in school in higher classes might remember performing the frequency measurement experiments. One of these was the one where we used to measure the frequency of a tuning fork. The tuning fork was striken against a rubber pad, due to which its prongs started vibrating. The fork was then placed on the resonance box, which was essentially a hollow wooden box, to calculate the resonant frequency.

In one lab class, our class was required to carry out this experiment. The teacher left the class for a few minutes, and with him vanished all the sincerity of the students (who tried to have fun while those precious few minutes lasted). One guy, G, came up to me and put his tuning fork over my head, and teased me – “See, the fork is resonating – your head is empty”. I got furious with him, and ran after him with my equipment. The teacher chose this particular moment to return to the class, and was greeted with this scene (must have looked hilarious to him – me, all of 5 feet, tuning fork in hand, chasing G who stood almost 6 feet tall). He asked me (poor, poor me – completely unaware that he was back) in all seriousness – “Didn’t you get a rubber pad, that you are trying to strike your tuning fork against G ?”

I think the whole classed rolled in laughter; I do not remember their reaction – I was so embarrassed that I wished I could just vanish beneath the ground. But now, it is one of those memories that do not fail to bring a smile on my face.

Down the memory lane - V

It's not a bug

Let me start off by a small clarification for the people who are not so conversant with the software programming terminology - a 'Bug' refers to an error in software code.

There is a certain expert in our field, whose mails/articles are widely followed in our company. In the signature of his e-mails, he used to include this quote (indicating the philosophy usually adopted by software companies) - "It's not a bug, it's a feature".

When I had just joined the company, and was relatively very young in my team, I used to play pranks on my TL (team-lead). One of my favorite ones was to take any insect, dead or alive, found in our seating area, to the TL and tell him - "Sir, see, I found a Bug!!" One day the TL happened to see a mouse running around (no-one still believes it can happen in a high-tech software office!), and called out to me - "You are so adept at catching bugs; go, catch this one". I promptly corrected him, in all seriousness, and a self-righteous manner - "It's not a bug, it's a Creature !"

Down the memory lane - IV

What's in a name

This happened a long time ago, but I still find it amusing. I am not relating this here to make fun of the person concerned, just because .
After my school, I joined a college (stayed there for a very short period). I stayed in the hostel, and the warden was a very old lady, with all her hair white (not even a single black strand!) and always dressed in white (well, these details are irrelevant, but just to give a picture). Despite her age, she walked tall and straight, and was extremely extremely strict (and if I may say so, quite short tempered). Her name was Ms Mirchandani. Because of her temparament, which terrified one and all, her name was transformed into a nickname - Ms Mirchdani (a pot of chillies), and for short, 'Mirchi Aunty' (chilli) !!

I think students have a thing about nicknaming (often unflatteringingly) the teachers, especially the ones they do not get along with very well. And more often than not, the names are passed down from batch to batch, and over the time, even the teachers get to know the nicknames! In my student life, I have come across a large number and variety of nicknames. We (my batch), our seniors and our juniors have rather disrespectfully referred to some of our teachers as Choupat (futile), GainDa (hippo rhino), Sugriva(from legend of Mahabharata Ramayana) etc.
But this incident is perhaps the most amusing and imaginative one.

P.S. Would like to request all you to share your amusing stories about nicknames :-)