This is an obituary I wrote for a part of my “ego” that believed that inspite of teaching in college for a year and half, I was still just a student and not faculty. That part of my ego sadly passed away a few weeks back.
Yes it is genuine but also supposed to be funny.
Yes this may seem narcissistic and most probably is.
No it is not modest but I have tried to keep it in check. :P
INDRAJIT SATBHAI – The Student (1992 - 2010)
In class on one side of the table you are faculty that sits with authority and critiques the work presented before it with apparent disdain. On the other side of the same table, you are just one of the students. For most of his students Indrajit was the most uncommon faculty. With his T-shirts and slippers he looked more like a student than a member of “the teaching class” in school. He started teaching the year he passed out of school and so only the batch he taught were his students. Everyone else in college were just his friends. A belief he stuck to till the very end. As expected for some one his age and based on how he completed his 5 years in architecture, his careless approach towards authority and zeal towards design, especially NASA was infections at times. By sitting on the faculty table [ the proverbial fence ] instead of behind it in class he tried to somewhat blur that line that separates student from teacher.
This brave effort however came to an sudden halt the Monday before last. When a student in Architectural Design class walked up to him with a blank tracing sheet after wasting time doing nothing in class all day, Indrajit completely lost it. Reacting in what is still considered his most unexpected behaviour and before he even knew it, the words had left his mouth. A tirade on how inconsiderate, irresponsible and disrespectful it was on the part of the student to not only have not worked on design in class all day, but also to not have the decency to at least write your own name on a tracing sheet when you bring it to the faculty.
As he realized what had just happened he stopped abruptly and fell silent, the look of shock and disappointment in himself on his face clearly visible. One could only hear the faint echo of his voice but it came not from the dead silent class but the sudden sad emptiness of Indrajit’s own heart.
He has since been replaced by, Indrajit Satbhai another young faculty member who continues to teach in his place with the same enthusiasm and juvenile carelessness. Although to equal his predecessor will take some time, the new Indrajit has adapted to his place in class and looks well on his way to become “The faculty that refuses to grow up.”
If you are confused by the last paragraph and cant figure out who I’m talking about, so am I. That’s the point. :P
Friday, November 12, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Stories of Heroes
I dont know what to call it, but today I came home and the first thing I saw was that my friend Rohan had put up a video of his trip to Kargil. As I watched it and heard the names of our heroes I was overcome with a sense of pride. As I read their stories I wept. I share them with you now.
[Full credit to those who wrote them.]
CAPTAIN VIKRAM BATRA, 24
13 J&K Rifles, PARAM VIR CHAKRA
On 01 June 1999, Capt. Batra's unit proceeded to the Kargil Sector on the eruption of a war-like situation in Kargil, Drass and Batalik sub-sectors from where he was sent along with his company on the first strategic and daring operation to recapture the first peak of utmost importance – Point 5140, which was at an altitude of 17,000 feet. Upon reaching Point 5140, leading a company of troops, he encountered the commander of the Pakistani-backed terrorists on radio. The enemy commander challenged him by saying, “Why have you come Shershah (his nick name), you will not go back.”
Captain Batra, being the last person to back away from a fight, replied, “We shall see within one hour, who remains on the top.” In a short while Captain Batra and his company of troops killed eight enemy soldiers and more importantly captured a heavy anti-aircraft machine gun, neutralising the advantageous peak. Re-capture of Point 5140 paved the way to the return of the rest of peaks and cleared the Srinagar-Leh highway which sat in motion of successes like capturing Point 5100, 4700 Junction, Three Pimples and the ultimate prize – Tiger Hill. After the capture of Point 5140, standing left to right: Captain Jamwal, Lt. Col. Y.K. Joshi, Captain Vikram Batra and Major Vikas Vohra. Sitting Left to Right: Major Gurpreet Singh and Captain Rajesh Adhau, the RMO. Soon after capturing Point 5140, he radioed his commanding officer and said jubilantly,”Yeh Dil Mange More!”
On the successful capture of the vital peak he was congratulated and graced by the Chief of Army Staff, General Ved Prakash Malik on telephone. After taking rest for 4 – 5 days he proceeded towards Point 4750, where he was challenged again by the enemy who said, “Shershah, nobody shall be left to lift your dead bodies,” to which Captain Batra curtly replied, “Don’t worry about us, Pray for your safety.” He captured Point 4750 and hoisted the national flag. He also played a commendable role in the capture of Tiger Hill. He had dedicated himself and was determined for total victory.On ‘Ledge’ overlooking the 17 Jat objective of ‘Whale Back’ and their approach. An enemy snow-hut is in the background. Captain Vikram Batra was killed here, winning the Param Vir Chakra (PVC).He volunteered himself for a third crucial operation of Point 4875 at an altitude of 17,000 feet, with a gradient of 80ยบ. He attacked the peak along with his company and another led by Captain Anuj Nayyar, MVC. They gave the enemy a tough time, killed a number of enemy troops and re-captured the peak on 05 July 1999. The enemy counter-attacked the peak on 07 July 1999, but Captain Batra retaliated the counter-attack with vigour.In the heat of the battle, one of his junior officers (Lieutenant Naveen) was seriously injured and Captain Batra immediately went to his rescue. Destiny however had something else in store for Captain Batra and during the rescue, he was hit by a bullet in the chest. With the words Jai Mata Di on his lips, the brave Captain fell down and was hit again in the waist by an artillery splinter. Before succumbing to his grievous injuries, this brave son of the motherland and a true lion of Bharat Mata killed another five enemy soldiers. A grateful nation applauds the Batra family. He fought with exceptional bravery and magnitude, which is rarely seen.
Parents now pledge to name their newborns Vikram. Some local students have renamed their cricket team "Captain Batra XI". Youngsters now aspire to join the IMA rather than sit for an MBA. He has set an example before the youth of our nation, which shall inspire generations to come.
http://himachal.us/?p=20
GRENADIER YOGENDRA SINGH YADAV, 19
18 Grenadiers, PARAM VIR CHAKRA
Heroism, it is said, is endurance for one moment more. Grenadiers Yogendra Singh Yadav's moment came after enduring waves of fear when he saw all six comrades of his team being killed on Tiger Hill.
On the 4th of July 1999, Grenadier Yogender Singh Yadav, a Ghatak Commando was tasked to scale a Tiger hill and win a war. Now, Ghatak translates to “lethal” in Hindi. So, obviously, some serious merit is involved to get on this unit. Their role is to act as shock troops and conduct assaults against enemy positions, usually without support from the rest of the battalion. These soldiers carry the INSAS assault rifles and stainless steel nuts.
Grenadier Yadav, offered to lead the assault up the 17,000 odd feet to the first bunker. His job was to not only take over the bunkers filled with Pakistani soldiers armed to the teeth, but also to set up the ropes to ensure the rest of his platoon could follow him up. It was -30 degrees Celsius and there was a whipping wind. Lastly this was at 11pm.
He was working his way up with his platoon commander and a squad of other commandos following him as he’d fix the ropes on the cliff face. They were most of the way up and hear the unmistakable sounds of an RPG. The Pakistani soldiers were shelling them with a few rocket-propelled grenades and followed that up with heavy machine guns. The Pakistanis were bang on. Most of his squad including his commander lost their lives. Grenadier Yadav was shot several times in his shoulder and his groin. Ordinary men would have given up at that point, but not our vsevolod here. He just gets really really upset and scales the rest of the clif in his injured condition. He gets to the top of the cliff, flips his rifle on full auto and charges the bunker, screaming bloody murder, rifle blazing while lobbing grenades. The Pakistanis to their credit tried really hard to stop him with more RPG and other heavy artillery fire. Grenadier Yadav, silences all of them, then rather than rest on his laurels, he pulls out his ice axe and charges bunker #2 of 3. He takes over bunker #2 with serious hand to hand combat.
The rest of his platoon joined him, after scaling the ropes he had set up and suggested that he be taken to safety considering the gushing blood from his groin. He looks at them like they were joking and charges at full tilt towards bunker #3. His platoon follows him and in minutes Tiger Hill was back in the control of the Indian Army. This was a divisive victory and turned the war in India’s favor.
LT. KEISHING CLIFFORD NONGRUM, 25
12 J&K Light Infantry, MAHA VIR CHAKRA
Exploit: Leading from the front as always, Nongrum charged a bunker alone, destroyed it, fought hand-to-hand with enemy soldiers and attacked another bunker before he was finally killed
There are times when a man becomes so much bigger than he apparently is that he doesn't fit in his grave. When Lieutenant Clifford Nongrum was brought to Meghalaya draped in the tricolour on June 8 the fire brigade ground in Shillong had never seen a larger crowd. But at this grave at the close by village of Madanriting, they had a problem lowering the coffin: the grave had been dug six inches short. The Clifford they remembered when he was commissioned in the army in 1997 had grown. They dug furiously that day. And there were no dearth of volunteers because everybody wanted to say, as a local put it, "I lay Clifford down."
Clifford Nongrum is part Naga, part Khasi (his father is a Tangkhul tribal from Ukhrul, Manipur), but he takes his name, Nongrum, from his Khasi mother in accordance with the traditions of Khasi matrilineal society. As in any other part of the North-east, the idea of being "Indian" is a recent one. Twenty-five Khasi satraps signed the instrument of accession with the Indian Union in 1947-48, but there are wall writings on the way to Shillong that still say: "Khasi by blood, Indian by accident". It isn't easy being an Indian Army officer in this environment, which is why there are so few officers from the region in the army, but Clifford and NeikezhakuoKenguruse will surely make a few more.
On the night of July 1, after weeks of fighting. Clifford's company found itself just 50 m short of post 4812. "It was in his nature to lead. When he was younger, he formed Maitshaphrang (march forward), a football team, in our locality. When he went to the army, they said they'd lost their captain," says Clifford's father Keishing Peter. Clifford's men would also lose their captain that night, but not the battle for Point 4812. And not before he ran towards an enemy bunker, alone, under heavy fire, lobbed a grenade inside it; fought off enemy soldiers hand to hand and charged on to destroy the next bunker.
As enemy bullets hit Clifford Nongrum on the chest that night, he knew he was never going to see his family or have a chance to lead his beloved football team again. Freezing as he was in his perforated uniform, a citation from his juniors at the National Defence Academy may have come to his mind. They gave it to him after he floored a boxer much bigger than him at an academy competition. It said: "To the killers. Winners by instinct. Kill'em, Kut'em (sic) Kneel not." Nongrum fell that night. But he didn't kneel. Don't blame the grave diggers; it is difficult to lay such a man down.
-Avirook Sen in Madanriting, Meghalaya
[Full credit to those who wrote them.]
CAPTAIN VIKRAM BATRA, 24
13 J&K Rifles, PARAM VIR CHAKRA
On 01 June 1999, Capt. Batra's unit proceeded to the Kargil Sector on the eruption of a war-like situation in Kargil, Drass and Batalik sub-sectors from where he was sent along with his company on the first strategic and daring operation to recapture the first peak of utmost importance – Point 5140, which was at an altitude of 17,000 feet. Upon reaching Point 5140, leading a company of troops, he encountered the commander of the Pakistani-backed terrorists on radio. The enemy commander challenged him by saying, “Why have you come Shershah (his nick name), you will not go back.”
Captain Batra, being the last person to back away from a fight, replied, “We shall see within one hour, who remains on the top.” In a short while Captain Batra and his company of troops killed eight enemy soldiers and more importantly captured a heavy anti-aircraft machine gun, neutralising the advantageous peak. Re-capture of Point 5140 paved the way to the return of the rest of peaks and cleared the Srinagar-Leh highway which sat in motion of successes like capturing Point 5100, 4700 Junction, Three Pimples and the ultimate prize – Tiger Hill. After the capture of Point 5140, standing left to right: Captain Jamwal, Lt. Col. Y.K. Joshi, Captain Vikram Batra and Major Vikas Vohra. Sitting Left to Right: Major Gurpreet Singh and Captain Rajesh Adhau, the RMO. Soon after capturing Point 5140, he radioed his commanding officer and said jubilantly,”Yeh Dil Mange More!”
On the successful capture of the vital peak he was congratulated and graced by the Chief of Army Staff, General Ved Prakash Malik on telephone. After taking rest for 4 – 5 days he proceeded towards Point 4750, where he was challenged again by the enemy who said, “Shershah, nobody shall be left to lift your dead bodies,” to which Captain Batra curtly replied, “Don’t worry about us, Pray for your safety.” He captured Point 4750 and hoisted the national flag. He also played a commendable role in the capture of Tiger Hill. He had dedicated himself and was determined for total victory.On ‘Ledge’ overlooking the 17 Jat objective of ‘Whale Back’ and their approach. An enemy snow-hut is in the background. Captain Vikram Batra was killed here, winning the Param Vir Chakra (PVC).He volunteered himself for a third crucial operation of Point 4875 at an altitude of 17,000 feet, with a gradient of 80ยบ. He attacked the peak along with his company and another led by Captain Anuj Nayyar, MVC. They gave the enemy a tough time, killed a number of enemy troops and re-captured the peak on 05 July 1999. The enemy counter-attacked the peak on 07 July 1999, but Captain Batra retaliated the counter-attack with vigour.In the heat of the battle, one of his junior officers (Lieutenant Naveen) was seriously injured and Captain Batra immediately went to his rescue. Destiny however had something else in store for Captain Batra and during the rescue, he was hit by a bullet in the chest. With the words Jai Mata Di on his lips, the brave Captain fell down and was hit again in the waist by an artillery splinter. Before succumbing to his grievous injuries, this brave son of the motherland and a true lion of Bharat Mata killed another five enemy soldiers. A grateful nation applauds the Batra family. He fought with exceptional bravery and magnitude, which is rarely seen.
Parents now pledge to name their newborns Vikram. Some local students have renamed their cricket team "Captain Batra XI". Youngsters now aspire to join the IMA rather than sit for an MBA. He has set an example before the youth of our nation, which shall inspire generations to come.
http://himachal.us/?p=20
GRENADIER YOGENDRA SINGH YADAV, 19
18 Grenadiers, PARAM VIR CHAKRA
Heroism, it is said, is endurance for one moment more. Grenadiers Yogendra Singh Yadav's moment came after enduring waves of fear when he saw all six comrades of his team being killed on Tiger Hill.
On the 4th of July 1999, Grenadier Yogender Singh Yadav, a Ghatak Commando was tasked to scale a Tiger hill and win a war. Now, Ghatak translates to “lethal” in Hindi. So, obviously, some serious merit is involved to get on this unit. Their role is to act as shock troops and conduct assaults against enemy positions, usually without support from the rest of the battalion. These soldiers carry the INSAS assault rifles and stainless steel nuts.
Grenadier Yadav, offered to lead the assault up the 17,000 odd feet to the first bunker. His job was to not only take over the bunkers filled with Pakistani soldiers armed to the teeth, but also to set up the ropes to ensure the rest of his platoon could follow him up. It was -30 degrees Celsius and there was a whipping wind. Lastly this was at 11pm.
He was working his way up with his platoon commander and a squad of other commandos following him as he’d fix the ropes on the cliff face. They were most of the way up and hear the unmistakable sounds of an RPG. The Pakistani soldiers were shelling them with a few rocket-propelled grenades and followed that up with heavy machine guns. The Pakistanis were bang on. Most of his squad including his commander lost their lives. Grenadier Yadav was shot several times in his shoulder and his groin. Ordinary men would have given up at that point, but not our vsevolod here. He just gets really really upset and scales the rest of the clif in his injured condition. He gets to the top of the cliff, flips his rifle on full auto and charges the bunker, screaming bloody murder, rifle blazing while lobbing grenades. The Pakistanis to their credit tried really hard to stop him with more RPG and other heavy artillery fire. Grenadier Yadav, silences all of them, then rather than rest on his laurels, he pulls out his ice axe and charges bunker #2 of 3. He takes over bunker #2 with serious hand to hand combat.
The rest of his platoon joined him, after scaling the ropes he had set up and suggested that he be taken to safety considering the gushing blood from his groin. He looks at them like they were joking and charges at full tilt towards bunker #3. His platoon follows him and in minutes Tiger Hill was back in the control of the Indian Army. This was a divisive victory and turned the war in India’s favor.
LT. KEISHING CLIFFORD NONGRUM, 25
12 J&K Light Infantry, MAHA VIR CHAKRA
Exploit: Leading from the front as always, Nongrum charged a bunker alone, destroyed it, fought hand-to-hand with enemy soldiers and attacked another bunker before he was finally killed
There are times when a man becomes so much bigger than he apparently is that he doesn't fit in his grave. When Lieutenant Clifford Nongrum was brought to Meghalaya draped in the tricolour on June 8 the fire brigade ground in Shillong had never seen a larger crowd. But at this grave at the close by village of Madanriting, they had a problem lowering the coffin: the grave had been dug six inches short. The Clifford they remembered when he was commissioned in the army in 1997 had grown. They dug furiously that day. And there were no dearth of volunteers because everybody wanted to say, as a local put it, "I lay Clifford down."
Clifford Nongrum is part Naga, part Khasi (his father is a Tangkhul tribal from Ukhrul, Manipur), but he takes his name, Nongrum, from his Khasi mother in accordance with the traditions of Khasi matrilineal society. As in any other part of the North-east, the idea of being "Indian" is a recent one. Twenty-five Khasi satraps signed the instrument of accession with the Indian Union in 1947-48, but there are wall writings on the way to Shillong that still say: "Khasi by blood, Indian by accident". It isn't easy being an Indian Army officer in this environment, which is why there are so few officers from the region in the army, but Clifford and NeikezhakuoKenguruse will surely make a few more.
On the night of July 1, after weeks of fighting. Clifford's company found itself just 50 m short of post 4812. "It was in his nature to lead. When he was younger, he formed Maitshaphrang (march forward), a football team, in our locality. When he went to the army, they said they'd lost their captain," says Clifford's father Keishing Peter. Clifford's men would also lose their captain that night, but not the battle for Point 4812. And not before he ran towards an enemy bunker, alone, under heavy fire, lobbed a grenade inside it; fought off enemy soldiers hand to hand and charged on to destroy the next bunker.
As enemy bullets hit Clifford Nongrum on the chest that night, he knew he was never going to see his family or have a chance to lead his beloved football team again. Freezing as he was in his perforated uniform, a citation from his juniors at the National Defence Academy may have come to his mind. They gave it to him after he floored a boxer much bigger than him at an academy competition. It said: "To the killers. Winners by instinct. Kill'em, Kut'em (sic) Kneel not." Nongrum fell that night. But he didn't kneel. Don't blame the grave diggers; it is difficult to lay such a man down.
-Avirook Sen in Madanriting, Meghalaya
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Hidden Somewhere Deep
When a fiercely independent female friend of yours suddenly decides it’s her fault that her boyfriend flunked a year even though they are on different continents, all you can do is shake your head and smile.
Now I can’t believe this is the same person who ridiculed her boyfriend of so many years because he had thought of how he wanted the engagement rings to be. This is also the same person who completely freaked out not only at the slightest mention of marriage with the said boyfriend but also at the subject of a mere engagement. I always assumed this was that feminist frame of thought that seems to crop up once to often in women today, especially those that are well educated and career driven. Good for them I used to think and my friend was a perfect example of this “I'll pay for my own wedding” kind of girl.
What I realized the day I spoke with her is that no matter how modern and independent you think you are, at the end of the day a simple Indian girl is exactly just that. She is the caretaker of the home at heart and her husbands well being is her most important concern. Like all Indian women, rather women in long term relationships (I would assume) my friend instinctively decided that it was her fault that she was in another country because of which her boyfriend could not concentrate and he flunked. While this may hold true for his first exam just three months after she left when the separation was new and utterly unbearable, how does it explain his failure to even appear for the second attempt (The one that my friend blames herself for) at the same exam?? I’m sure to anyone aware of the situation it would make no sense. And yet she beat herself up over it for quite some time.
While to a third person this may seem absurd, I find it vaguely heartwarming because it shows me that all hope is still not lost. Irrespective of the constant demand from them to be independent and strong and what not, I know now that a genuine loving person can still exist in some deep dark corner of all these “forward thinking” women. It brings me joy that in spite of this constant bombardment of feminist thought there is still a possibility that women can return to their basic female instinct. Mind you, in no way do I Think of them as inferior or incapable. It’s just that I believe that their natural instincts toward taking care of people around them are much more valuable than their ability to work a 9 to 5 job.
So thank you my friend (You know who you are) for restoring my faith.
Now I can’t believe this is the same person who ridiculed her boyfriend of so many years because he had thought of how he wanted the engagement rings to be. This is also the same person who completely freaked out not only at the slightest mention of marriage with the said boyfriend but also at the subject of a mere engagement. I always assumed this was that feminist frame of thought that seems to crop up once to often in women today, especially those that are well educated and career driven. Good for them I used to think and my friend was a perfect example of this “I'll pay for my own wedding” kind of girl.
What I realized the day I spoke with her is that no matter how modern and independent you think you are, at the end of the day a simple Indian girl is exactly just that. She is the caretaker of the home at heart and her husbands well being is her most important concern. Like all Indian women, rather women in long term relationships (I would assume) my friend instinctively decided that it was her fault that she was in another country because of which her boyfriend could not concentrate and he flunked. While this may hold true for his first exam just three months after she left when the separation was new and utterly unbearable, how does it explain his failure to even appear for the second attempt (The one that my friend blames herself for) at the same exam?? I’m sure to anyone aware of the situation it would make no sense. And yet she beat herself up over it for quite some time.
While to a third person this may seem absurd, I find it vaguely heartwarming because it shows me that all hope is still not lost. Irrespective of the constant demand from them to be independent and strong and what not, I know now that a genuine loving person can still exist in some deep dark corner of all these “forward thinking” women. It brings me joy that in spite of this constant bombardment of feminist thought there is still a possibility that women can return to their basic female instinct. Mind you, in no way do I Think of them as inferior or incapable. It’s just that I believe that their natural instincts toward taking care of people around them are much more valuable than their ability to work a 9 to 5 job.
So thank you my friend (You know who you are) for restoring my faith.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Tumultuous Turmoil
It’s always an uncomfortable conversation when an ex tells you why things did not work out between you. Especially when she keeps saying how incapable you were of handling her moods and that with you she did not feel stable. This inspite of being labeled "soulmate" by that same person along with "the one person that I cannot live without" and the almighty "the one person who understands me in a way no one ever will." (These labels stand true to this day and their veracity has never been in doubt which makes this all the more confusing.) Now, weather to call her an "ex" in the conventional sense of the word is a completely different matter altogether.
What do you call a person who you have connected with on such a level that they have become part of who you are and vice versa?? And how do you listen to them talk about what was left wanting in your relationship with them when you catered to their every whim and fancy?? Maybe that’s the point after all. If you give a person everything they want and more they don’t give a shit. You become the proverbial dishrag which wipes everyone’s dirt clean leaving a fresh plate for the next meal. Or the bin into which everyone dumps their shit. Harsh metaphors it may seem, but that’s kinda how I feel about it right now.
In retrospect, does the fact that I knew this would happen and still decided to reinitiate contact make me deserve what I get?? Does my weak resolve to stay away from that person (or my hearts overwhelming need to be close to them, see it as you may ) make it that much more difficult and hard to deal with?? Why do we relish misery, why do we enjoy pain?? Why do I want to be treated the way i am?? I know I have a choice but why do I never make the right one??
So many questions, most of them rhetorical and yet in my head I simply refuse all of them. It’s a tricky thing this attachment I share. Shoots you up to the moon in a second and plunges you in the fiery pits of hell the next. And yet you willingly suffer through it all chasing that mirage of what you thought was (but it wasn’t) and what you think will be (but it wont). It’s a vicious cycle it is. Drops into your life and suddenly takes over, then crashes out just as abruptly. Leaves you trying to pick up the shattered pieces of what it broke - your soul.
What do you call a person who you have connected with on such a level that they have become part of who you are and vice versa?? And how do you listen to them talk about what was left wanting in your relationship with them when you catered to their every whim and fancy?? Maybe that’s the point after all. If you give a person everything they want and more they don’t give a shit. You become the proverbial dishrag which wipes everyone’s dirt clean leaving a fresh plate for the next meal. Or the bin into which everyone dumps their shit. Harsh metaphors it may seem, but that’s kinda how I feel about it right now.
In retrospect, does the fact that I knew this would happen and still decided to reinitiate contact make me deserve what I get?? Does my weak resolve to stay away from that person (or my hearts overwhelming need to be close to them, see it as you may ) make it that much more difficult and hard to deal with?? Why do we relish misery, why do we enjoy pain?? Why do I want to be treated the way i am?? I know I have a choice but why do I never make the right one??
So many questions, most of them rhetorical and yet in my head I simply refuse all of them. It’s a tricky thing this attachment I share. Shoots you up to the moon in a second and plunges you in the fiery pits of hell the next. And yet you willingly suffer through it all chasing that mirage of what you thought was (but it wasn’t) and what you think will be (but it wont). It’s a vicious cycle it is. Drops into your life and suddenly takes over, then crashes out just as abruptly. Leaves you trying to pick up the shattered pieces of what it broke - your soul.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
KNP
I used to go to Kamla Nehru Park when I was a kid to play on that one particular slide. It looked like a house. I would climb up and spend hours up there before I slid down, just to climb back up. My mother or father, whoever was on duty that day would smile and wait patiently on the “par” till I was done. Generally about 2 hours later it was time to go to the lawns and what followed there ranged from playing catch or tag or the frisbee to a 7 year old [Me] running across the field howling his lungs out for no reason. Also there was the grounded air plane that just had to be climbed onto at every visit. It had to be discontinued after I got bigger. Shame, I’d still love to climb on it today.
I still go there every day; whether its to buy supplies or to eat at the food stalls but for some reason a few days back, it dawned upon me that I hadn’t not gone inside the park for almost 6 years! I was amazed and confused at the same time when this realization hit me. How is it possible that I pass by this place at least 2 times a day and haven’t been inside in so long? The only reason I could come up with was, I’m an idiot.
So, I decided to do something about it! I went inside.
Being that it is a public park, you can always look into it from all the streets around it. But, the moment I physically stepped into the garden everything changed. The smells were different, the sounds were different and I suddenly felt a kinship with all the people in the park. All of my childhood memories came flooding back. The twin ficus trees at the entrance, with their peculiar pink flowers. My favourite was/is the one on the right. I don’t quite know why. The play area beyond it with the same slide in the farthest corner, the slide shaped like a rocket and the wooden seat swings. The jungle gym in the opposite corner still painted dark green and blue like before, the site of numerous games of catch where we were not allowed to let our feet touch the ground. Also, the place where we lost a few teeth. As I walked around the play area on the newly paved “Jogging Track” (Used to be a dirt track where we would play in the mud when it rained) I realized that ever since I walked in I had a big grin on my face.
I think that’s how I express that innate happiness you feel when you truly connect with a place that you grew up in and are very attached to.
I followed the track lost in thought when I realized I was in an unfamiliar area of the park. Quite confusing since when I used to come there as a kid I had explored each and every inch of the park, including the area behind the large banyan tree where we were warned not to go because there were no lights there. So a looping path into a secluded corner lawn with no lights and couples cozying up was new! It then struck me that Kamla Nehru Park had expanded! It was bigger than before and a lot cleaner too.
As I walked out of the “shady” corner the grand lawns were right in front of me and in the corner was my beloved airplane. There are now artificial mounds on the lawn. I assume they have been made during the extensive landscaping work that has been going on for the past two years now. Also for some reason the hedges that used to separate the lawns from the pathways have been replace with stone benches. Dislike!
On my way out of the park I realized that my sense of wonder and excitement of going to the park is still as it is. Growing older hasn’t reduced it, (Thank God!!) I can just keep it check or ignore it for a bit longer now I guess. All in all it was a heart warming experience, one I hope to have again soon if not on a regular basis.
I still go there every day; whether its to buy supplies or to eat at the food stalls but for some reason a few days back, it dawned upon me that I hadn’t not gone inside the park for almost 6 years! I was amazed and confused at the same time when this realization hit me. How is it possible that I pass by this place at least 2 times a day and haven’t been inside in so long? The only reason I could come up with was, I’m an idiot.
So, I decided to do something about it! I went inside.
Being that it is a public park, you can always look into it from all the streets around it. But, the moment I physically stepped into the garden everything changed. The smells were different, the sounds were different and I suddenly felt a kinship with all the people in the park. All of my childhood memories came flooding back. The twin ficus trees at the entrance, with their peculiar pink flowers. My favourite was/is the one on the right. I don’t quite know why. The play area beyond it with the same slide in the farthest corner, the slide shaped like a rocket and the wooden seat swings. The jungle gym in the opposite corner still painted dark green and blue like before, the site of numerous games of catch where we were not allowed to let our feet touch the ground. Also, the place where we lost a few teeth. As I walked around the play area on the newly paved “Jogging Track” (Used to be a dirt track where we would play in the mud when it rained) I realized that ever since I walked in I had a big grin on my face.
I think that’s how I express that innate happiness you feel when you truly connect with a place that you grew up in and are very attached to.
I followed the track lost in thought when I realized I was in an unfamiliar area of the park. Quite confusing since when I used to come there as a kid I had explored each and every inch of the park, including the area behind the large banyan tree where we were warned not to go because there were no lights there. So a looping path into a secluded corner lawn with no lights and couples cozying up was new! It then struck me that Kamla Nehru Park had expanded! It was bigger than before and a lot cleaner too.
As I walked out of the “shady” corner the grand lawns were right in front of me and in the corner was my beloved airplane. There are now artificial mounds on the lawn. I assume they have been made during the extensive landscaping work that has been going on for the past two years now. Also for some reason the hedges that used to separate the lawns from the pathways have been replace with stone benches. Dislike!
On my way out of the park I realized that my sense of wonder and excitement of going to the park is still as it is. Growing older hasn’t reduced it, (Thank God!!) I can just keep it check or ignore it for a bit longer now I guess. All in all it was a heart warming experience, one I hope to have again soon if not on a regular basis.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Late Monsoon Madness
I’ve been thinking about starting to blog for quite some time but I guess my inherent laziness kind off kept me from doing it for so long.
Anyways, I just had one of the most amazing nights I have ever had in quite some time and I just had to write about it. So low and behold, today the blog begins.
It started at 6:30
Now when I say rain, what I actually mean is the forty days and forty nights of rain that Noah had to face crashing down in a continuous 15 minute cycle. On the way to Hard Rock we actually discovered that Pune has more rivers than the Mula Mutha, We have Karve River F.C. River J.M. River
When we finally reached our destination, we were in high spirits. We assumed that the torrential downpour meant less people would show up and we would get in easily. The line outside Hard Rock of people waiting to get in was hence not a pleasant surprise. The four of us going were Harsha, Siddharth, Chandan and me. Now the person of prime importance, as we realized later on was Chandan. But more on that later. So as me and Chandan walked to recee the situation, Harsha and Siddharth waited in the car.
The moment I got out of the car with my umbrella and the full force of the rain hit me, I realized that trying to stay dry was going to be a pointless effort. When the powers that be decide to wash the city of Pune
Before we go to what happened next let me explain to you the inner workings of my mind a little. The rains always bring me immense joy. I’m the weirdo that will run out onto the terrace at 4 in the morning and get completely drenched because it started raining suddenly and the smell of wet earth woke me up. I’m the guy that will sit indoors all day but the moment it starts raining put on a flimsy jacket and go out on a bike ride just to get wet. When I stand in the rain or stare at it through a window I suddenly get this feeling of calmness, my thoughts get clearer and I feel at peace. At the same time an insatiable energy builds up inside me that makes we want to go out and play in the rain and mud with the enthusiasm of a five year old who has just seen a big pile of birthday presents. Whether I sit still or go crazy is completely unpredictable but more often then not, I go mad.
Now back to the story. As it usually happens when you are going to a party I was in a particularly “sprightly” mood. So after being pressed up against a few random girls who eventually pushed me out from under the umbrella I realized the futility of my trying to stay dry. At that very moment the five year old on a sugar high inside me took over. Then I did what I know best when that happens. I pushed my way out into the rain.
It’s an awesome feeling when you truly submit yourself to heavy rainfall. The water crashes down on you, seemingly ferocious but ever so soft when it hits your body. For me those first drops are always a truly spiritual experience. Then as I realize that I am completely drenched I feel a little spark some where inside me that builds up into a smile that is plastered on my face for the entire time I’m in the rain and for a few hours after also. In fact, even as I type this I am still smiling.
So with that stupid smile on my face and a mad glint in my eye, (I have been told of this “mad glint” but have never seen it on my own.) I started playing in the rain, waving my hands incessantly, laughing manically to my self and jumping into puddles watching the water splash everywhere.
By this time Harsha and Siddharth had already joined Chandan in looking at me with complete bewilderment. They then proceeded to smile and shake their heads since by now they have gotten used to my “peculiar behaviour” or so I like to think. As my enthusiasm grew I began splashing water closer to the people huddled under whatever shade there was inviting quite a few angry glares. But more then that what I remember the most is the smiles and looks of amusement that so many people were giving to my “playing” in the rain. I don’t think they get to see people my age act like children often. Such a shame…
Some time after that when my tomfoolery was still going on we decided to bail on the concert and go to our usual hangout. It was on the way back that I realized that Chandan was the common denominator in our failed plans from the past week including the fiasco at E-Square. That led to everyone taking his case for the remainder of the evening. It also led to the declaration that he would be sent to the opposite direction of town the next time we made plans. All in all after a few drinks and filling meals we returned home not disappointed that we missed the concert, but happy that we had such a unique experience. I for one will chose playing in the rain over any concert on any day. Such is the nature of my insanity or sanity, depending on how you look at it.
P.S. – Did my parents know of my affinity for rain when they named me Indrajit ??
Makes me wonder…..
For those that don’t know, in Indian mythology Indra is the ruler of the Heavens and the God of War, Storms, and Rainfall.
Meghanad, the son of the demon King Ravan of Lanka defeated Indra during a battle between the gods and demons earning himself the title “Indrajit”
Meghanad was also named so because his birth cry sounded like thunder.
Indrajit – He who has defeated Indra in combat.
I guess the name might just be cosmically connected…
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