Random Respite : Sum of Parts

As I look back, I smile at my mother's intelligent ways to tease my father, me and my sister in the same sentence, or rather tease her in-laws, with me or my sister as a weapon. The comments were of varied degree, from "aalsi to apne papa jaisa hai", to "gussa to bilkul dadi ka aaya hai isme". Some times, insults were more ambiguous and artsy, as my mother would say seeing my hindi handwriting, "chalo, papa ki ek to achchi aadat aayi", or when I will hit my sister, my mother and father will show occasional unity to scold me, and my mother, while slapping me, will even sentimentalize the matter by saying, "kal chali jaayegi, tak yaad karega" and I will murmur, while being slapped, "usse to koi kuch nahin bolta". I am used more often for this inheritance comparative study than my sister because she once wept inconsolably when her greed for sweets was compared to a distant relative, and that too in front of my Dadi, who hated that relative and attributed every wrong in the world to her.

Whatever be the case, my Dadi always took my mother's side, her only regret was that my mother is "saawali" (a bigger regret was that none of her fair son got a fair wife and like a family joke, none of her fair/dark grandsons got either. She had no hope from the few unmarried grandsons, as she says "saaro ko saawali hi pasand aave"). Her way of throwing sweet insult was saying "Saawali hai, par photo achchi aati hai", that statement used to take an extra dimension when she will comment so while seeing my parent's marriage album, and will hold the statement till we reach the page where the pictures of my mother and father, which were exchanged before marriage, were pasted. But the best part was to ask my Dadi about the reaction of whole village when she came there after marriage. She knew that we had asked that a thousand times, but her every reply had the same exactness of detail and pride. Ours was supposedly a village that has never seen someone so fair. According to her, she never worked in sunlight, till my dadaji was alive, lest she might get dark. She is always in praise for her mother-in-law who cared for her more than her own mother, who married her in a far off village (none of her relatives were even in the same district, she always regretted that she didn’t go to her mother’s place at her first Holi). She used to say "agar tere dada hote to yeh karte, woh karte", my mother would quip "aap hi bhatera laad karti ho, phir to pata nahin kitne bigadte", hearing this, my fair Dadi will look up to her saawali bahu with an old-worldly praise and pride while stroking my hair and asking my fair sister not to play in sunlight.

I revolted much later to these ancestral comments but by then I had the realization that its more for fun and sarcasm than for any hurt to anyone, and by then I would team up with my father and sister to invent sly comments on my father's in-laws, which my mother resisted by saying "bacchche bigaad ke bahut khush ho rahe ho, bilkul apni maa pe gaye ho". But the hell broke when I commented on my mother's treasured possession, the sewing machine, which she brought with her as marriage dowry. It must have been one of those occasions when my mother was again telling the story how my Nanaji did research to get her the best sewing machine in the whole town and when my father came that night, I proudly announced "aaj phir machine-chaalisa thi ghar mein" and my sister giggled sinking her head in my father's lap, but to our utter surprise, my mother started weeping in the most silent way (and that meant she meant it, in this particular kind of weeping she will keep on working her chores while weeping and we all knew this is the danger zone), and although we were little and immature, we knew for sure that no talking will undo what we did, so my sister and I, half thinking and half instinctively, started sobbing and slowly changed side moving near to my mother. Getting the signal, my father, to fill in a lighter mood to an all-weeping scene, softly said, "ab bachche majaak bhi na kare kya?", and getting the signal back, half-thinking and half instinctively, we both started weeping more freely, as if little relieved that the father spoke for us. My mother got up without saying a word, leaving the exhausted weeping kids behind, went to the kitchen to make dinner. When she came back, we had slept, but not fast enough not hear my father say "Dekh bhukhe hi so gaye", but fast enough not to hear my mother's reply.

Packet from Past

Disclaimer: This post is mushy, personal and self indulgent. Posting it to keep the blog alive or as an obituary for a dead blog.

Last night, I cleaned my room after 6 months or so and found a packet which my mother gave me when I last visited home. It has some things which made last night so light and happy. First was my birth certificate, Baby Anand was born on 21st July, 9 lbs, very healthy. and it too has the dates of the vaccinations I got. It has my first snap (I think so) pasted too. It has my handwritings samples too. I used to sign every year on my birth certificate (Hey, I am still alive!). My first signature was the exact copy of my father's signature and later I copied some of my teachers and then classmates. There were few copies of Hindi Calligraphy from 5th and 6th std. It contained essays on "Swaadheenta Divas" and "Ek Mele ka Varnan", both of which had similar details. It has some news paper cuttings. Our local newspaper printed my name on few occasions, the regular annual result news. My mother used to say "iska naam to newspaper mein aata rehta hai". My father used to laugh "Kal to nahin tha, aaj aaya hai kya ?". My mother will carefully cut the newspapers and my father will laminate them to be kept in my blue file. It has some of my report cards. I failed in English in first unit test in Standard 2, I got 4 marks out of 25. I used to think that my class teacher can never fail me, it was arguably the first betrayal of my life. She got married next year to confirm my apprehensions. Later I realized the concept of young girls, budding wives and dormant housewives being perfect material for primary school teachers, in fact I told this to one of my professors while discussing the dismal state of primary education in India. My professor kept a detached look during the whole stupid statement of mine. Months later I found out that his beautiful wife is a school teacher and also realized how unfair it is for kids to deny that pleasure, the perfume on silks and the fancy dresses. There were some pics. The birthday pic where I wore a yellow shirt with black blazer, I looked like a smiling taxi, a Faustian bargain to look different on your birthday. The last thing was a black glass, which my friend gave me to view the eclipses. I and my friend, saw the sun in school, diamond ring and all. Later he gave me that, as he claimed that he had many such dark glasses at home. I saw all my childhood eclipses with that glass. As I grew I feared that a simple black glass may ruin my eyes, so packed it away, by that time eclipses were telecasted live on TV, no need for black glasses and no fear of hurting the eyes. Later I got specs from watching too much TV. I glanced the packet and its contents for the last time and closed it neatly. The kid in me strangely felt as if he has got his birthday present. He went to sleep, light and happy, only to grow up and grunt the next morning.

This Day, That Year.

Today my blog completed a year. A year back I started it with a moderate amount of enthusiasm, probably just above the critical mark required for it and started burbling. What I gained, if anything ?, I think nothing substantial which cannot be done without a blog. On the flip side, I do neglected my regular work and worked on weekends to write long babbling on movies. Do I feel bad about it. No, on the contrary, all those posts in all their naivety and stupidly look immensely dear to me, like a slice of time, a slit to past, little but intense light coming through them. I was almost sure that this blog cannot go for long ( I bet to myself for three months and I happily lost). The question is what kept me-the-lazy-pig posting at least once a week and sometimes more so. When I look it in some perspective, lot of stupid observations come up. For the best or worst for my blog, I started with negative reactions from almost all who knew me and read my blog. The main reason for it was my blog is very different from what I am. The people who knew me, found it too distant and pretentious. They all found it a farce, to some extent it was too. But as I moved on and I made it a point to write what ever I feel like and don't model it to any particular reader's taste except me, I whole-heartedly decided to be self-indulgent, again I don't know it was for good or bad. My love for movies, and hate of plethora of other things gave me some ideas to jot down the thoughts every now and then. It looks on some more contemplation that I forced myself to some extend to keep blogging against the tide, and mainly because to change the idea that I am not only pretentious , but I am consistently so and probably there is some truth in it and this is more near to my actual self.

I would not like to think what would become of this blog a year hence. I never thought it will be my-movie-mouthpiece when I started it, actually I didn't post anything on movies for about three months or so. What I feel good is that there is so much to see, experience and write on the things I love, and there is so much hidden in the past posts to rethink.

Last days...

I have seen not less than 3 last days in my life. The first one was like a whisker which I wasn't even able to experience fully, the second one was a jolt and the third one was a conciliation to the fact that there will be more such days to come in my life. These last days are more related to professional life than to personal. On pure personal fronts I had my share of last days too, but that's a story for any other day.

My last day at school was not of much fuss, as deep inside I am quiet clear that none of friends is going to run far away, and they will be here for at least one more year. I don't even remember the last class as there were more important things to do like to prepare for exams and competitions. The urge to leave my hometown was more than the desire to have fun at school with my friends. As far as fun is considered that ended with class 10th or so. I cannot recall me having real fun after that, because of our so called careers-building in progress. I didn't even go to our farewell, just to revolt against the principal decision to wear uniforms during farewell. We had a get together at a restaurant much latter, when we all have some free time left after boards.

My last day in University of Roorkee was a sudden change in life. Although packing baggage and getting no dues did offer a cover to pretend to be busy, but actually we had no assignments to copy and no class to bunk. Its a sudden break in the pace of life from slow to very slow. I remember writing hundreds of slam book and writing about me, my friends and some abstract questions like 'What is love'. But I am sure that I was totally unaware about what I or my friends were really. I cannot give the right answers even today but I have come to a state where I can prove those false. I had a fuzzy perception that I am going to a 'world of all' from a 'closed community of friends' and no one will ever give a proxy for me. This me-alone-in-the-world idea scared me, amused me at that point.

My last day at Wipro was dull like any other corporate event. I had my circle of friends at Wipro but I was aware that I can meet them, call them, mail them, whenever I want to. The bonds were not weak but were less emotional. After about 3 years of work exp in s/w, I am sure that there will be more such last days to come and I should not mind them.

It is true that any event whose frequency increases with time no longer leave an impact on you. Also, if you fail (or may be ignore) to fathom the intensity of events, they are not going to effect you that deeper.

About Teachers

Again back to school time. I am thinking to start with some funny anecdotes of the school time and some other things . I have forgotten many of them and my sense of humor has corrupted to an incorrigible state since then, so the incidents/interpretation may be not exact. One more thing that although I am making fun of my teachers here.... but thats it, its not being disrespectful to them (ok some of them)...

I am starting with our Maths teacher. Mr. Ashok Singhal was a funny figure with a ‘bold’ sense of humor. He had some irritating habits like dividing the black board into three parts as soon as he enters the class and using students from three rows as volunteers to rub the blackboard.
It was irritating/interesting bit because of following few reasons:
1) It was supposed to be a competition between the rows.
2) Ashok sir has kept nicknames and picked up students randomly from the rows by calling nicknames and nicknames keep on changing (Nick name for ‘Ram Gupta’ can be ‘Ramlal’ or ‘Ramu’)
3) Since all were supposed to rub the BB cleanly (competition?), it results in high jump by over-enthusiatic girls and sure shot fun, smaller boys also tried to jump but Ashok sir stopped them, he definitely had a soft corner for Guys and their fun :)).
4) Who so ever, rubbed date (lefttop thing on BB), has to write it back and since all this cause delays, that row was penalized and there is long list of penalties, his class was all about chalking, rubbing and dusting.
There are some funny conversations in class with Ashok sir. Here is one (try to get the humor).
Sir (teaching moment, torque and couple): Do anyone know what do we mean by Couple.
Sir (seeing no one is answering): Chalo, tell me what do you mean by couple generally.
Sir (pointing to the naughty boy): Yes, You tell me.Naughty boy stands and Smiles shyly again.
Sir (with silly expression): OK OK, sit down.., I understand your feelings.

Next in line are our English teachers. Lets start with Black mother. She is motherly in attitude and Black in color, and hence the name. There are other theories also. One says that students started with kaali maa, but see our school is a so-called english medium school and Black Mother was our English teacher, with due respect to these facts,her name was duely changed to black mother. Other theory was that she was imported from Africa and was mother of Nelson Mandela , so Black mother. There were other uninteresting theories about it too. There were other names also like 'Moorni' (Peahen), because of her 'chaal', out-of-parlor look and iridescent sari colors. Her names are all we can talk about her.

And one of other English teachers was Popli madam, I donot remember her real name. But even if you see her for the first time, you will shout POPLI, the name is just apt - to say the least. Popli means someone who has no teeth. But Popli madam had teeth, but she had never shown them to anyone, even not to 'Bruno'. Students had figured out the teeth thing by the grunting sound she used to make on seeing other English teachers especially Black mother. Popli madam used to claim that she has taught in very good schools and to very intelligent students in past and because of husband's transfers she used to keep giving up lucrative jobs and her career has ruined to an extent where she has to teach us. She handled this odd situation very intelligently by not teaching us at all and keeping her stds. All her classes were monologues on how her family life is, how brilliant her sons are, how she once met Hema Malini, how funny her pet 'Bruno' behaves, how she wanted to be a doctor, how her brother had written a wonderful book, how her husband is devoted to his duty, how he neglects other duties, how many different saris she has, how she hates to show off, how she didn't like teachers with no sense of dress and etiquette's, etc... But it was all interesting stuff, at least till she starts teaching.

Next teachers to write on are our Hindi teachers. Lets start with Talwar ma'am (her surname), her obvious nickname was chhuri (knife), and she personified her name. She was famous for backbiting against students in front of their Parents on 'Parents Day' (Although, technically it was not backbiting as the student was there sitting, actually is was worse that that). She used to tell all the horror stories to the parents like a bollywood masala movie with comments like 'Main aur kya batao, aap issi se pooch lijiye' pointing to the ward.

Next in the row is Anu Madam. She is the one who initiated my interest in Hindi. She taught me for three consecutive years, ie 8th to 10th. She used to put lot of emphasis on handwriting, thats where I developed some love for calligraphy. One more thing she is famous for- was scaring for the boards’ exam (more or less every teacher do, but she had mastered that art). Usually she used to take classes from 9th std, but for us, all the boards-is-spooky thing started from 8th class. We are scared to a level that we believed what Anu Madam was saying. She was just saying to put all our efforts in Hindi, because it is our national language, if you wont, who will... She could have joined BJP or Shiv sena and taught them a trick or two. Except for this, she was an excellent teacher, always came prepared to teach and expected that preparedness from us too. Yes, forgot to mention, her nickname was Hitler.

RP Singh Sir, PTI and Pitai Teacher: As a true Jaat PTI, he knew only following english sentences:
1) Boys, Make a straight line
2) On the mark, get set go...
3) Move fast
4) Come here
5) Go out
6) Hands up
7) What is your name
8) Left right left...
9) I slap tightly, ask him

MK Gupta Sir, Physics teacher: He was self-proclaimed Military man, used to dress like Govinda.
Quotable quotes: 1) If I sneeze in the class today, the whole city will know tomorrow, the world is a small place (Its like making love to the 'city' and saying 'You mean world to me').
2) I can give you in writing that this question will come in the Annual exam, and if doesn't come I will stop teaching (Its a win-win situation)

He is that kind of irritating teacher who used to ask questions, when asked a qusetion.
An example ...
MKG (reading from his notes): The nearest star to Sun is Alpha Centuri.
Student: Sir, what is the approx. distance from sun/earth?
MKG (Finding the info is not in notes): kya tumhe yahan se dilli ka distance pata hai, Alpla centuri ki baat karte ho.
MKG will well be writing poetry than teaching physics, a potential sher from MKG:
Khud to duriyoon ke maane bhi jaante nahin, bas badi badi baat karte hain
Mujhse poochte hain woh duriyoon ke sabab, dil jalane ki baat karte hain

This list is incomplete without mentioning Shobha Ma'am. She taught us history for two years (9th and 10th). My idea of a good teacher has her as template. Her characteristics are must have for a teacher. What she develops in teaching is interest, a sense of inquisitiveness. Her effort to teach is one of the most honest efforts, I have come across. She took us from Stone Age to World war to Modern World history. She used to use maps to teach history, like at a point of time where all in the world something was happening and how it affected each other. She used to act in the class like how Neanderthal man used to walk or how Hitler used to talk, thus bringing much required life to dead history. She used to draw parallels between different times and different persons in history. Its very difficult to think how she used to teach the same things, with same interest year after year, without loosing interest herself.

This list of teachers is long, but its enough for now, I’ll be BACK :)

School time friends

Was thinking to write something about my school days...here it is....