# 9: Lucky Thirteen

A day considered unlucky by many, I wondered why it was so,
The sweetest person I knew, was born on this day many years ago.

When you say your prayers, to keep ill-luck at bay,
I think I'm so lucky to have had her, and I think so till this day.

She went away, but her memories stayed,
We said a 'Happy Birthday'; that's all the respect we paid.

But she never forgot us, she keeps her blessings pouring,
A gush of good news and well-being, we have been receiving since morning.

That is when we notice her again, thinking of us from up above,
We smile and we pray, feeling lucky to have the love of a soul fairer than a dove.

A living fragment of a beautiful soul...

***

Thank you, grandma! And a very happy birthday! I'll be going home, praying, and baking you a cake. Thank you for always blessing us! We all love you. 

#7: Things I like...

Many sweet things make my heart flutter,
With happiness, fulfilment, love, and glee,
I feel I couldn't have asked for anything better,
You'll know it too when you see.

Mother's hands; they work all the time,
They hold me with care and love infinite.
Father's voice; it's the resort of the broken heart and mind,
Always cheerful and uplifting, even after a hard daily grind.

Grandmother's soft touch and patience; 
It makes the world go slow,
Brother's ways of care and assurance;
They create a haven to go.

There are more:
The love of a family, the love of true friends,
The ability to work, the comfort of a home, 
The accepted apologies, the chances to make amends, 
The soulful music, the feel of a heavy tome.

The sound of vehicles, gates, footsteps, 
To mark someone's return to home through a mist.
The moments in old photographs and diaries you once kept,
The loved one's gifts, like the bracelet on your wrist.

The childhood drawings, the childhood toys,
The feigning sleep so Father would carry us inside,
The sound of loved ones' laughter, the heartfelt grin of boys,
The reading of prayers and texts as our guide.

All these, and more, make me smile and glow,
For in their essence, and later their memory,
They remind us of what makes humans so,
Hoping these would bring happiness permanently. 

The moments in old photographs...

Things I miss in the Republic Day Parade!

Edit: This post has been picked up by Blogadda for their Spicy Saturday Picks! Read away!

Every 26th January of my life begins with a warm breakfast at the dining table and the television voluntarily switched on. Everyone's in their pyjamas. We search for DD National or DD India (which get viewer-ship from us once a year) and watch the prelims for the annual Republic Day Parade. It's been a tradition in our household for as long as I remember, especially promoted by dad when we were kids and now promoted by me (or both of us) because I'm so used to it that not doing it seems like an anomaly. 

Over the years, I've observed some changes in the Parade that has nearly the same format and sequence. Some changes are good, while some are those I wish had not disappeared, because I have fond memories of having experienced the joy of those elements. Watching the Parade today, I realized that if I do not record them somewhere, perhaps I'll forget them forever. By writing them down, even if I have trouble recalling, they won't entirely be forgotten, and I can revisit this and relive them once again. 

A glimpse of the Parade from some past year

The stuff I miss includes:

1. Watching the air show on TV, then immediately running outside to the park right in front of our old home because the helicopters and aircraft were sure to pass by, very much visible to us. It was such a thrill to hear the heavy rumble and then watch those helicopters flying over our heads. Even though we could see them for mere seconds, it was somehow the best part of the Parade. One Republic Day Parade years ago, while we were still children, we neither heard nor saw them passing by. Dad told us that they'd changed the route, but we were hopeful. We ran outside the next two years as well, only to return disappointed. After that, over the years, we stopped expecting it.

2. Watching numerous dances performed by children from various schools all over the country. It lasted long, showed us colours of so many states, and felt wonderful. This time the number of performances was just 4-5 schools, most of them from Delhi itself. Duh.

3. Watching tableaus from nearly all states! It was like a revision of all Geography lessons at school. I miss watching the Delhi tableau and all others that were missing. Especially the CPWD tableau which was made entirely of flowers. (Though I hope it stopped because they decided not to pluck so many flowers. If not, then why? :/)

This essentially comes down to the fact that the entire duration of the Parade has been reduced. Everything seemed to run. Short. In pauses and quick glances. We saw the tablaeus (tukdis) but didn't really absorb what they were wanting to represent, because except for a few seconds' glance, we couldn't see much. And then there were all the missing things, invariably making it different from how we used to love them. Where was Punjab this time? Why were so many tableaus about government initiatives which we already see all the time, instead of a display of all that is Indian culture and uniqueness? I understand that we have to 'keep up with the times' and all that (like I really do like seeing more women in armed forces uniforms), but think about it, there's also been just one day in the year when everything all at once is being displayed. Why not stick to it?

There was always the strong feeling of patriotism just as the Parade began, only strengthening as it went on. The commentary used to be more detailed, so that we knew much more than just the names of things. Over the years, I feel we see more, hear less, and thus absorb less. The "feeling" of patriotism that the past years' Parade successfully brought out has become a little weak as we're rushing it up. Earlier, if we got up a little later, we would miss some of the Parade, but this time, we managed to get stuff done around the house before the Parade started. It's just not done. Nevertheless, many thanks to the organizers for making it happen, at least. It's just such a wonderful thing!

I asked my father what he misses from the past years' Parade. "I miss the commentary by Jasdev Singh (in Hindi) and Komal G.B. Singh (in English). It was delivered by such enthusiasm and style," he said.

What do you think?

Happy Republic Day, 2016!

A tiny post on a teen pop star of my time.

This is going to be a very open post, so I'd suggest you be really open-minded before reading it. 

Ready?

I spent this evening listening to songs by Hannah Montana. Wait, before you get all 'such a kid' or 'immature choice' or whatever else, hear me out. I was supposed to find some fun songs for kids, but while that didn't happen, I ended up listening to, and watching, stage performances by Hannah Montana, the teen pop star of our age (by our age, I mean the 2000s when I was a teen). Why am I choosing to write such a detail?

Because going back to something that was important to me once upon a time (yes, it was), I was reminded of my old self. The one who had so many dreams in her eyes, the one who believed anything in the world is possible if she wished it, the one who felt greatly inspired by this teenage girl who seemed to be living her dreams, singing songs that actually made sense. By looking at an old version of a star-gone-wrong, I was reminded of how some things are eternal, like songs. Even when the person isn't the same anymore, or even when I'm not the same, it is possible to feel inspired, and feel good all the same. Even after all this time. Even after you seemed to have forgotten how it used to be.

It might not make a lot of sense to a lot of people. There are after all, many great artists in the world, and being in my twenties, I should rather be a fan of One Republic, Ed Sheeran, Imagine Dragons or someone else considered 'cool'; if I were to seem a little childlike, perhaps Taylor Swift or One Direction. However, I have never been too much into songs, even though I've heard, and love, songs by all the above-mentioned artists. The main point is that it actually means something to you. If you liked dancing to Vengaboys and Aqua as a kid, you'd like those songs even when you're older, because they remind you of something that's inherently a part of you. Hannah Montana reminds me of those evenings when a new episode would air on TV, of that first time I discovered downloading pictures from the internet and saving them as desktop backgrounds, because the artist I chose to put on display was Hannah Montana. She reminds me of my own insecurities, hopes and fears as a teen, to which she bore either the answers or dreams or dressing-up ideas. She reminds me how I decided that I'd publicly sing her songs, This is the Life and Just Like You when I realize my own dreams. 

She might not be as talented or popular as others, but she managed to inspire many others after her. She was a good entertainer, and with those fun-yet-sensible lyrics in songs, she ensured that I still am able to sing-along to most of her songs as Hannah Montana. That was also the time when she gradually turned over to becoming just Miley Cyrus, of whom I wasn't as much of a fan. Perhaps I preferred the idea of having a fun facade over your real self, where you can do whatever you wish to under a separate name, a different identity, and not have to live with the real-world consequences to your real life (not that living as HM was easy, but still). I could have started hating her when she turned weird some time ago, but all I did was ignore the new version, and stuck to the old. Being a fan, I should have perhaps followed her to wherever she went, but like I said, I'm not too much into songs and similar entertainment (singers, movies, TV shows, etc), so it didn't matter as much. What matters is how someone makes you feel. So if, even after years, some version of her still manages to inspire me, why should I be embarrassed to admit that I like that artist? After all, she perhaps predicted it in her song, and ever since I heard it, I knew it to be true:

Nobody's perfect

I gotta work it

Again and again

'Til I get it right

Nobody's perfect

You live and you learn it

And if I mess it up sometimes

Nobody's perfect

Of verandah cricket and scooter rides...

I had been warned about a lot of things that happen in the 'real' world, things to protect yourself from, just like other normal kids who fear being carried away by a wolf if they venture outside the designated area. Or those who know the possibility of being squashed by a running vehicle if they toddle on the roads. I know, they don't really fear all this with conviction, being the little superheroes they believe themselves to be, but you have to admit that they'd possess a little bit of commonsense in between all that bratiness. (Chill. We're allowed to make up words. Shakespeare made over 1700 of them). Lately, though, I've been having misgivings about this assumption, especially when I take Scoot out. Roads seem to be a lot more safer than the narrow galis, because the children of today are completely convinced that no kind of moving vehicle can ever hurt them. If you doubt it, try riding a two or a four wheeler in a residential lane. Honking won't make them budge and giving them cold stares would make you feel ignored. 

As I stood exasperated, still perched on Scoot, observing with near-amusement the group of small boys and girls on bicycles, giggling and calling each other names, choosing to ignore Scoot inches away from them and its unnecessary honks, I couldn't help thinking of my own childhood and what comprised the world for me. Probably it was a lot more simpler, what with the lack of smartphones and what-not, along with managing school on our own instead of feeling miserable in a tuition class. In any respect, I'm sure we all adore our childhood, however we might have enjoyed it. When I think back to those years in the 90s, vivid memories of various forms of enjoyment seem to be those I cherish the most. It feels somewhat remarkable, and sad, to know that we probably never would do the same things again. What's a better way than to write it down, so that even after years or decades, we can go back to them without having forgotten sweet memories? 

Pic credit: Self

My brother and I were among the minuscule number of kids in our colony, so we were each other's closest playmates. That was probably what ignited our protective instincts for the other, along with developing a habit of hardly ever talking to each other without sarcasm. Till the time G was tiny and didn't know he was supposed to rebel the fountain-like or tiny ponytail hairstyles we made him have, he agreed to be the student when I proudly used a chalk on the small, rough blackboard. That was also when we collectively played with our toys, tiny dolls sitting on top of Anand Cola trucks and vehicles, falling off the tops repeatedly as the trucks swished on the floor. G was not to be restrained to make-believe games for long. He soon found a keen interest in cricket and games involving more physical activity. Having amazing powers of conviction mixed with cuteness, he managed to involve me in any and every sport or game he wanted to play. 

Cricket was something I never said no to. It had soon become a family sport. The narrow lane in front of our home with the park having overgrown grass surrounding one side of it was not an ideal spot, since the ball (that dad later started calling the do dinn wali ball, apparently because it lasted two days before it got lost) was quickly lost, finding its way in an overgrowth or a gutter. Our dad was our favourite playmate, apart from each other. He moved our game indoors and the thin strip of our verandah became our pitch. He acted as the referee and mostly as the batsman who would hit the ball at just the perfect angles for a whoop-inducing catch. I loved catching the ball the most, just a little less than batting. Since the verandah was really narrow, it did not afford space to score by running, so we made our own rules, the most flexible of which I found the one-tip-one-hand rule. If there were more than three balls I hadn't got to catch, I just needed to gesture to dad and he would make the next one an easy catch thrown my way. 

I miss that tiny verandah space the most. It was where G and I had stood because mom wouldn't let us in. Of course, if both of us were ghar nikaloed together, it would hardly matter, for we would start playing any game G would invent. The harder bits were when it was either of us who had been the naughtier one and hence, accorded that punishment. The only solace in that moment when we cried bitterly, lay in the fact that soon, our sibling would find a way to let us in. Sometimes it was G using his convincing skills, or grandmom feeling sorry for us, or the best of all, the alternate door to the house. We soon found a way to overcome our problems by simply, stealthily opening the lock to the alternate door and let the other in. The only hard part would be those minutes, or even hours we'd have to spend hiding under the dining table, cutting the hours till the time we knew mom would be opening the door to let us in. 

It was also the safe space for skating, something I'd learned to love. Although my first independent 'walk' on wheels had been in our drawing-cum-dining room, the verandah had witnessed thousands of tiny rounds when the uneven road outside was deemed unsafe. It then became our basketball court when we got a small basketball, complete with a red netted basket. Cricket though, won over the other sport, being something we enjoyed the most. The verandah saw our first, horrific falls. It was surrounded by a low wall with a broad base where it met the gate. That piece of wall was the perfect spot to perch on, looking over to the narrow lane, the park and the main road beyond that. It was also easily accessible thanks to a cemented base doubling as a resting-stool-stuck-to-the-wall. When I had first fallen off that wall, G had not yet been born and I had made the drop towards the outside lane, fitting my small self into the thankfully dry naali. G's fall, a few years later, was on the inside. Nevertheless, it was our favourite spot. We would sit there in the evenings without electricity, playing games. 

  

There was the letter-box opening in the cemented wall, through which G and I would shoot our water guns at passersby two days preceding Holi. The only scary moment was when one lady didn't seem to have liked it and had suddenly turned towards our house, angry. It was terrifying as we had quickly ducked and like little soldiers, made our way to the metal door leading into the house as fast as we could, the lady's accusatory shouts ringing in our ears as our hearts thumped madly. A few years later, the verandah was witness to and a participator in making me have my first stitch-requiring-injury. We were playing aankh me choli. It did not occur to my super-smart brain that it'd be better to move slowly and I ended up banging my head on a wall. I thought it was okay once I had paused and pressed my hand to the painful spot and the pain had seemed to recede. G was standing stock-still just where he had been and when I had removed my hand and smiled up at him to suggest that I was okay, he had called, 'hawww! khoon!', looking horrified. The next moment I felt a trickle of liquid down my face, the drops landing in red on the floor in quick succession and I had started shrieking at the sight and unnaturalness of it. 

There was a tap right next to that letter-box opening and our perch, which was used to fill up water balloons and store in the bucket on the mornings of Holi. We would excitedly hand over balloons to dad as he sat on his haunches, filling up those water balloons and depositing them in the bucket till G would declare them enough. We spent most of our childhood Holis spraying coloured water on each other in the lane outside the gate, after mom and grandma would go back inside and dad would supervise the game, or click pictures. Balloons were mostly for ourselves, until we were joined by a couple more neighbourhood kids and we realized that there's more to those water bombs than we had imagined. 

Then there was school, of course. I never liked school. It was full of bullies and stupid children who cheated on tests and never left an opportunity to make fun of others. Either this, or the compulsory lessons on classical dance: something or the other was always a flop in my idea of school. I remained in my own world nevertheless, having to come out and act smart only when G started accompanying me to school. We used to make a single-file line even on our bus stop (I still can't believe how they managed to instill that kind of discipline!) and G would sulk, or worse, cry, if he wasn't the first in line. It became a ritual of keeping an eye out on the road as we hurriedly dressed for school at 6.15 in the morning, rushing out to be the first to start the line. I was usually the first one to get ready, so it was an added responsibility to reach the stop earlier to avoid anyone else getting there first, because the not-so-appealing alternative would be to manage an annoying G all the way to school. 

During this time, afternoons were usually monotonous, especially when we returned home. The perks were when we could see our grandmom at the gate to our house, waiting for us. An even added perk was finding our dad along with her. Our little hearts were filled with such enthusiasm at the sight of them that we'd quickly hold hands and cross the road, before G's hand would leave mine and he'd jump over the low wall of the park, cross it and reach dad before I could. Ever since we know, he's always had work in shifts, so we hardly ever knew when he would be there to receive us. If we would be feeling really excited, we'd chant 'scooter pe round' and dropping our bags in the verandah, we'd plant ourselves on the scooter and enjoy the round he'd give. I loved sitting facing backwards during these rounds that probably lasted five minutes, but made us happy for the entire day. Even though I was a preteen already, I don't think I even for a moment considered it as something ridiculous. It's fun, really. It was rather a let down when I badgered dad into letting me sit facing backwards a few days ago and he actually did not move more than a short distance because it was embarrassing. -_- See? That's why I say we need to cherish such things because they're mostly possible only during childhood. :')

There are a lot more stories surrounding childhood, most of which relates to things that were so important to us. Play time was not time pass. It was absolutely essential. It was an important part of our life growing up and made us learn a lot more than watching TV or playing video games ever could. We did succumb to computer games later in the years, but there was always, and still is, that special place reserved for sports or actively engaging games. It's not just something to cherish, but also something to be passed on. It's somewhat disturbing to find kids the same age as we were back then, recklessly driving gear-less scooters in the lanes, or being callous enough to not even consider a motor vehicle coming towards them.  

Do you remember such games or special hangout spots of childhood? Aren't those just too precious? :')

       

The Last Message...

**A short story**

July 14, 2013

I spent last night tossing and turning, making Shobha get up twice and bring me some water to deal with my dry throat. And when finally I felt the sun rays sifting through the small square window over my tired face, I got up, dressed for work, hurriedly gulped down breakfast Shobha prepared and left home before any of my sons had woken up. 

The outside looked just like it always did: the familiar smell of old brick and cement coming from age old houses on both sides of the narrow lane. Ours was right in the center of the gali so that it did not matter where you entered from. The distance would be the same. It had rained last night, just like it had been raining the past few nights. The ground had a musty smell about it, and as I carefully stepped over the puddles and muck, dawn gave in to a brighter day. I always believed people gave a lot of importance to everything at face value. It's wrong. If any of the regular folks would see me right now, they would see a 65 year old Badri in his regular white kurta pajama and brown Bata sandals, walking towards the closed down church (now kabootarkhana), to feed the birds and then going towards his shop in Kashmere Gate, working well past retirement. I wonder if they know. I wish they did, but on second thoughts, how does it matter to them? This day is different from the rest and probably for the first time in my life, I feel nervous about going to work. 

I pick up some flowers and agarbatti and reach my shop. I'm in a mixed state of mind when I see I'm not the first one there. I pass a smile at Madia. "I should be surprised to know you feel sentimental about today, but I'm not" I sigh as I add, "It's been a long time". The clerk's eyes displayed the kind of sadness that makes you wish like you never saw it. The kind that sucks out all hope. I did not want to see it. I looked around. Madia had already made the place look clean. A lot cleaner than before, in fact. "Sit down Badri sahib, I'll get tea for you," he said.

I saw the middle aged man disappear from the workroom. Turning to the small mandir, I lighted up the agarbatti and prayed. A little longer today. Lord Krishna's face stared back at me as I reminisced about the past, remembering all these years I sat here, in this office, knowing about lives and families of the people who came to me. I didn't know what my life would be when the day ended, I just knew it would be very different from how it has been in the last 50 years. I had been putting up a brave face all this time, but I always felt too exposed to God when I prayed, like He knew and it did not matter if tears rolled down while praying, because He understood. 

I shuffled across the room and sat down at my old desk. I opened the drawers, unlocked the machine, put my hands together on the worn out table, interlocking my fingers together, looking out the open door towards the morning street activity. I glanced at the round wall clock above my head. 9 a.m. Gautamaditya would be on his way, just like every second Sunday of the month. I breathed out and sat down to wait. 

***

Sept. 27, 1963

"Babaaaa!! Where are you going Baba? It is a Sunday! Won't you be home? Are you going out to eat? Will you please take me along?" Aadi fired these questions in his high pitched eight year old voice, running out barefoot in the verandah of their home. Jagmohan Lal smiled at the dancing boy and said, "Get your chappals and come along." A few minutes later they were walking down the tiny streets shaded with three storey houses in Daryaganj. Walking 4 kilometers with Aadi made him revisit history, for he felt happily obligated to answer the curious kid's curious questions about everything that came their way. It was 9.30 in the morning by the time they reached Somlal's office. They went in through the open door, straight up to the man behind a wooden desk and a machine on top.

"Ah, Jagmohan! Kya sandesa laaye ho?" Somlal started gathering up long thin strips of paper. He looked at Aadi through his wire rimmed glasses as Jagmohan pulled out his folder to take out a piece of paper. Aadi held on to a piece of his Baba's kurta, for he found this place very different, and he could barely contain his questions. Somehow he knew this was Baba's work and so he simply looked at the table and the machine on it. It was rectangular, almost a square, but not quite. Aadi did his maths well. He saw his Baba handing over a paper to the bespectacled man, who started pasting small strips of paper with funny dots and dashes on those long strips. Once done, he carefully inserted those into the machine, which beeped once, twice, thrice as they went in and out. "Do you like it, my first customer of the day?" 

Aadi was brought out of his reverie when he realized the man was looking at him, expecting an answer. "Yes! What happened? What is this?" He was now right next to Somlal, hand hovering over the machine, not sure whether to touch it or not. Somlal gently placed the boy's hand on top of the machine, a little warm from the effort. "This is a telegraph machine. Your Baba just sent a message to your eldest brother in Ranchi, asking him to come home for Diwali." Inspired by Aadi's awestruck expression and glancing towards the door in case he missed any customer, Somlal explained how telegrams were sent. 

***

Sept. 24, 1974

Aadi walked past the Red Fort in a hurry. His heart was thumping loudly, hammering across his chest as he skipped a few paces in the early dawn light. It is too early in the morning, he thought. He stood outside Somlal & Sons. Telegraph Office, the closed shutter making him want to tear up. He paced forward and back on the street, and then sat hunched in front of the office, waiting for someone to show up. 

It was 8.30 a.m. when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Badri, Somlal ji's son in his late twenties was standing there, looking at him worriedly. He got up. "Please Badri, I have to call bhaiya home. Ma is not well and I... she.. she's not well." Aadi handed him a paper with his short and to-the-point message. Badri hurriedly opened the office, made Aadi sit with a cup of tea ordered from the neighbouring dhaba and set to work. He loved the job, but the only thing that kept him from being happy while working was the fact that he would be the first to know bad news. Worse, the one to send the news to people who'd probably tear up just knowing they had a telegram. 

'Come home soon STOP Ma unwell END'

***

Jan 9, 1986

A 31 year old Aadi in an unwashed kurta looked way too enthusiastic than his appearance allowed. But he did not care. Entering the telegraph office, he opened his box of meethai and took out a barfi. "Muh meetha karo Badri! Aaj khushi ka dinn hai" he sang as a delighted Badri filled his mouth with barfi. "What's the good news?" 

"My wife brought a little Laxmi in our home! I have a daughter too now! She gave birth to the baby this morning! I have to send a telegram to bhaiya!"

'God blessed us with a baby girl STOP Come see her STOP We miss you END'

***

Mar 18, 1998

Aadi stood in a queue in Badri's office, the overhead fan not doing much to dry out his sweat. He regretted not going his Baba's way and sending telegrams in the morning. It became crowded at this time. Too many people with too many messages. I wonder how many of these people are sending threats to government officials, how many sending orders. Is there someone like me, waiting to send in a telegram saying I won't be here for a few years? That I'm being transferred and I'll live without my family all these years? I hope not, he thought.

He transcribed his message, sending it across to bhaiya and said a temporary, heart-felt goodbye to Badri. "I'll see you soon, friend. Take care." Badri smiled as he watched Aadi's familiar gait disappear around the corner.

'Transferred to Lucknow for three years STOP Keep checking on family END'

***

June 24, 2004

Walking through the quiet morning streets, Badri felt that familiar feeling of liberation, of being the only survivor in this brutal age when funny (but really not so funny) new developments in the field of technology were keeping people more inside their homes than ever. He did feel sad about a lot of things, his gradually declining number of customers for one. He was pleasantly surprised to see a well dressed Aadi standing outside his unopened office, a big box of sweets in his hand. 

"Good morning Aadi. It's so good to see you! What's the happy occasion?" Badri asked.

Aadi was beaming. "My daughter is a grown up girl now. Uske byah ka sandes bhejna hai. Here, this is an invitation for you" Aadi handed over the box and a card. "Mubarak ho Aadi ji! Half-century ke sath sath beti ka byah!"

'Sudha getting married next month STOP Sent invitation by post STOP Everyone happy END'

***

August 19, 2008

When Badri, in the middle of the process of encoding a message addressed to a government official, looked up and saw Aadi hobbling towards the office in the late monsoon evening, he sensed something was out of place. Aadi was usually the one for morning messages and only came in the afternoons or evenings when it was to send an urgent message. This time however, it didn't seem like he was in any hurry. By the time Badri finished writing and sending the message, Aadi had entered and taken a chair to wait for his turn. He looked absolutely and positively depressed and didn't seem to be in any hurry at all. Badri speedily worked on encoding, decoding messages, the poor machine sputtering as fast as it could. It was getting dark. He walked over to Aadi when the last customer exited, only to shake him and looking at a wrecked man. His face was caked with paths made of dried tears that kept on mixing with fresh ones. 

"It's Sudha," he whispered. "She suffered her third miscarriage. What is she going to do now?" Aadi flopped down on the chair dejectedly. Badri stood with his friend for a long time, just lending him his company. When Aadi got up to leave, he did not stop him. He hated this part of his job. Being the bad-news-breaker. People were scared of Badri's name, for it meant bad news.

'Sad news STOP Sudha miscarried again STOP Your brother Gautamaditya END'

***

July 14, 2013

Madia had brought in tea and for some reason, pakoras for both of us. Like it was supposed to be a party? I bit into the hot stuffed bread-pakora, feeling the heat on my gums, following it with a sip of chai. It was still early morning. Even if it wasn't, it wouldn't have made a difference for I got around 10 customers a day. Gone were the days when Somlal & Sons Telegraph Office was flooded with people of all shapes and sizes, in a hurry to send messages. I had forgotten what it was to be busy, but what would I even do after today? I wouldn't know even this level of busy. It wouldn't be an understatement if I said I was feeling thoroughly angry and equally sad. This wasn't fair, but if I had learned something looking at the thousands of lives I got to know through my messages, it was that life wasn't necessarily fair. And there was little one could do to change it and those who managed to live with that were tagged 'wise men'. 

It was late afternoon when Gautamaditya came in. I tried my usual smile, but all I could manage was a weak imitation. He seemed to understand. There was no paper on him and I wondered if he wished to send a message at all. It was unlike him to come empty handed. "Namaste Badri ji. I just came in to see you. I wondered when I would see you again." He fumbled for words but gave up soon. There was no sense in going circles around the main point. He knew it too, just like I do. Writing telegraphic messages for the past 50 years of my life, I certainly knew what it was to get to the fact of the matter. We were brothers in that same way. Aadi got up and stood over my machine, running his hands over its surface, picking up strips of paper and going through codes. Before I knew it, he started pasting codes on paper, quick and proper. I was shushed down but I was intrigued. Did Aadi know coding? 

After a short while the machine gave a beep. A new kind of a beep, one I rarely heard. An incoming message. Aadi sat down across the desk from me, pulled out enough money for a very long telegraphic message and handed it to me. He then held on to my left hand, just like I did when I delivered news of Sudha's miscarriage. Bewildered, I took out the incoming message. It read:

'I feel sad about telegram vanishing STOP It has been very special and important to me STOP Have shared happiness grief and sadness excitement and news with you and this office STOP You will be missed and I will feel terrible about having to send a message and not coming to you STOP I wanted this message to be the last one STOP Thank you dear friend END'

***

Yes, today marks the last day the telegram survives. 163 years of service and now all thanks to new means of 'faster' and 'effective' communication, it is no more required. I have personally never even seen a telegram. Apologies if there's anything wrong with what I wrote, as far as the technicalities are concerned. I just felt bad about it, not just because I love old stuff, but also because of it's emotional quotient. These things are truly valuable and no technology can make up for it. I guess that's the malady of change.

PS- The telegraph office is actually government owned (BSNL, to be precise), unlike a private office like I made it in the story.

Notebook-ing Memories!

There’s this thing about me: I like notebooks. All kinds of notebooks, especially those which look cute and colorful! As a kid I always loved pretty stationery, I was that one kid in class with, if not fancy, a cute pencil case, different kinds of pencils instead of the standard Nataraj, erasers shaped as fruits, animals or just printed with cartoons, collecting pretty junk for crafts, covering the school diary (which wasn’t standard. We were free to decorate!) with a pink sheet, pasting cut outs of graphic drawings and practicing cursive writing on the cover pages, getting pinkish and cuteish stuff as gifts whenever dad made any trip. Ever since I remember, I’ve always had a personal notebook. The one stacked in between other books and retrieved time and again to jot down anything interesting I came across, or thought of. The name of an interesting movie, quotes from Children’s Digest I liked, books I’ve read and want to read (yeah :P ), anything and everything. I’ve lost most of them, for there was always a new one.

I don’t think I ever finished any one of them. If there was a new one which was cuter than the previous one, I’d shift. Of course, I’d first make promises and classify the notebook for a certain something. ‘This is going to be my quotes book’ or ‘this one will be only about books’, but I’d end up jotting down just whatever I wished. Two days ago a friend told me of a 75% discount on books in those Mediamart kiosks at metro stations. While returning from college, I picked up a book on palmistry for mom (who reads such stuff for time pass) and just then I was drawn to a different shelf with different kinds of notebooks. The plain school kind, the spiral, college kind and then those with Superman, Batman, Barbie on them! I had a two minute mental debate over Superman/Batman for my brother, who isn’t very fond of notebooks as such, but he always appreciates whatever I get for him. And I figured it’d be a nice reminder of the childhood days. As for me, I had been deliberating over the idea of having an ‘idea notebook’ handy, since while travelling when I’m in the ‘relaxed’ mode, I do get a lot of funny, weird but workable ideas for writing. And I tend to forget those very soon. So I picked up a small purple notebook for the purpose and yeah, it’s still unused but looks very cute. ;)

The idea notebook! :D

My property, y'know?

This morning I picked it up to jot down story ideas and as I opened up to the first page, feeling that surge of excitement that comes with something new, already imagining all the spectacular ideas the book would contain, feeling the cardboard and paper beneath my fingers, all smooth and perfect for writing, it simply made me remember all the wonderful similar feelings I’ve always had previously. Thankfully, I still had a few of those notebooks, which I took out and went through again. Ah, the memories! ^_^

Starting with the earliest (among those I’ve got still), this one was gifted to me by an aunt in Ludhiana when we visited their place, once upon a time in 2002 when I was 10 going on 11, and the first entry is a recollection of our trip to Amritsar and how I came upon that diary.

Cute! :D

In case you're wondering, I've deliberately messed up the details!

It’s funny to see my kiddish handwriting, trying to describe everything as it was, crossing out a wrong spelling and following it with the correct one. Here’s a small sample: “When we reached Amritsar and when we were near the hotel, we stopped to see the Jalianwala Bagh. I had never been to Amritsar. This was the first time I went. My father took me (^ inserted: and my family) there. There, we saw many things like the place from where the britishers (small b overlapped with a capital B) fired their guns at innocent people, the place where the britishers (forgetting to overlap this one with a capital B) fired on the walls ie, the spots of guns  bullets on walls and one wall has’nt changed.”

One more: “We went to Golden Temple. There were many people rushing. First, we had to walk a long distance to enter it. It was at in the middle of the Sarovar. It was made of gold. We enjoyed very much. We saw Ber trees also. My father told me a story of that tree and in the last he told me that it was a magical tree. My mother and I washed our hands and faces in the Sarovar under the Ber tree.”

Not to be narcissistic or anything, but I think I was a pretty cute 10 year old. A few pages on, dated August 2005, I’ve written how my brother made a ruckus one evening and how I hate him for it. That was the time when dad had to go on an official trip and he asked me to write down whatever trouble I had and he’d see it when he returned (the awesome days when cell phones weren’t stuck to our ears). It’s heart-warming to just see the change in one notebook. A few years on, in a more controlled and better cursive, I’ve made a list of ‘Books I long to read’, following it with some quotes I made up and the stories behind them. I wonder if kids these days even make any memories this way. I don’t think digital devices can make up for it in any way.

Pink love ^_^

Then there was this pink one featuring Barbie, which did not seem enough and so I pasted more Barbie stickers on the cover. This was when I wondered if I could write a diary entry every day. Turns out I could not, because I skipped a lot of days and then just stopped. But it’s funny and nostalgic to read about high school and homework issues, how my class was suspended for three days for scribbling on our school shirts and I was scared as hell.

While in college, I got this one with a Hannah Montana pop-up on the cover. And yeah, a heart-shaped mirror too. I used to be a huge HM fan while in school, never missing those episodes. HM was the reason I was glued to Disney channel. This one contains self-motivating stuff. Lists of things I can do, those I’m proud of, those I wish to do. The first cover is full of HM stickers too and the first line reads, “If life is a journey, then your vision is a picture of your destination”, dunno where I sourced it from.

Hannah Montana :D

Inside first page!

Apart from these, there have always been notebooks for other stuff, like I mentioned earlier. I was gifted this pink one by my dad when he went abroad and got it for me! I admit, I am a miser when it comes to using it, considering how it’s so cute and all and I don’t want to finish it soon. This one is mostly bookish and the first thing I did with this was to do a mind-map for ideas for my book blog (back when I just had to start Journal ofa Bookworm). The red one is my present, favourite notebook. I’ve covered the first page text leaving only my name, because it’s got all sorts of dreams and secrets. ;)

As I’m writing, I’m remembering others I’m missing, those I haven’t located today, but I know they’re somewhere near, just out of sight. I love all of them to bits. I can be weird in a lot of ways, but who cares? This weirdness defines me. Do you have any such fetish?  

A day spent zooing! ;)

Hello awesome people! If you're among those readers I so adore, that is, if you've been here long enough (hey new guys. I like you too :P ), you remember reading two crazy posts about two crazy days with two friends with crazy stuff we did, and the crazy fun we had? My two oh-we-might-meet-twice-a-year-but-we're-awesome friends, Aneesha and Richa? Henceforth, A and R. The point is, I was feeling so cruddy yesterday. I mean, that's not the point, but the beginning of the point. A pinged me on Facebook and then this happened (not exact):

A: Mausam is so cool! Let's go enjoy in some park-kinda place!

Me: Really? I'm in! I'll ask R if she's free to go tomorrow! Decide the place.

A: I'll Google.

Just like the cute friend she is, R agreed, not forgetting to giggle at the random plan. :P

A: Let's go to Indraprastha Millenium Park. Pragati Maidan. Metro+Auto.

Me: (asks parents who say a weary yes. - It's so not easy getting permission.) Yeah sure. :D Whatever it is :P

So then I had this dawn of intuition that my morose mood wouldn't last for long. And jeez, I love the guy who discovered intuition. Thanks dude! (or dudeni. Uh, I should probably curtail the excitement-which-leads-to-weird-lingo-and-unnecessary-length-in-my-anyway-long-blog-posts! :P) This morning the weather turned hot again! That rogue! But A still said we'd go. What a my-kind of friend she is. :D I picked her up on Scoot on our way to the metro station, and as she hopped on pillion, she said, "We're not going to IP park." 

Me: Why? Where then?

A: I have no idea. Let's just go, then we'll see. :P

R met us at her station and then we decided (when I said like a drooling child, please!) to go to the National Zoological Park, a.k.a, Zoo! I said how I've been crying and dying to visit it since the past two-three years especially, ever since I learned photography and have a camera, and the last (which also happened to be the first) time I visited was when I might have been a ten year old. A and R too, had just been there as kids and I had brought along my camera (supposedly, we wanted to have a nice photo-session) and we were oh-so-excited! Since it was initially my idea, supported by A and an okay-alright-R, they said they were depending on me to get them safely to the zoo. Oh my dear friends have so much faith in me. No wonder I talked to an auto wallah who overcharged. Sorry guys. :P

I'm going to try to make this post short, so I'm just pointing out the highlights. 

# 1: We were just really excited and happy. You know, that forest-y feel, natural environment, okay-type weather, each other's company and an interest in such stuff. You know how it is! After looking at (and I don't need to mention, photographing each of those) a few basic animals and birds, we saw an enclosure with a huge pit, jungle-y kind of a place and just a railing to ward people off. I mean, to keep us out, because like A said, "this is their home and we're the strangers here'. Aww A, sometimes you're just profound. (Okay, sorry. :P). So, I looked at that pit and had a flashback. Ten years old and mom telling me the pit is important so that those animals don't jump out and eat us alive. I said how there might be something big over there, and then read a warning sign, "Dangerous animal: keep off the railing". That got me excited (I'm normal okay? This stuff just excites me! :D) and then we went further ahead when I spotted a sign! Eep! It said, 'White Tiger'. By the time I literally shouted, "Tiger!!!" my eyes adjusted to a great beauty standing right at the edge of the pit, just looking at us all as if we're the novelty around here (which for it, might be true :P ). I mean, it looked so good, so white with black stripes, just standing with an attitude. Really, those beasts have attitude and it shows! I heard small "aaoohhh" and saw R and A looking scared and starting to go back! Getting scared because the tiger was out in the open and it did not occur to them that there's a whole pit to save us and that it's unlikely it'll jump on us. :P

As expected, I took out my camera and clicked! And it posed. And I'm not kidding. I always had this photography dream to photograph wild animals, and today it seemed like they were just waiting for me, saying, "after all this time?" I just had the time of my life. Yeah, so when I had clicked a few pictures and adored the animal, with A and R now looking at it with awe too, it moved and went to hide in those bushes. :P Ha! I was just so happy! (I've said that already how many times?)

Ah this tiger! ^_^
Yeah, I clicked. I'm a good hobbyist photographer! :P

# 2: Wolf enclosure: I had never seen a wolf before, except of course in National Geographic and so I was making my usual huge eyes even huger and searching the compound and the three cave kinda things for any sign of the wolf. After a while, R and A got excited and R pointed towards the caves and said, "There! Something's moving! It's the wolf!" A was nodding her head but then like me, searched even more carefully. Then I saw those tiny irritable mosquitoes (or whatever they are), hovering in front of the cave in two batches and said, "It's not the wolf, those are mosquitoes!" R kept pointing and saying, "No, it's there! Something is moving. Seee!!! It's moving into the third cave!" I thought she might have some special vision powers because I could only see blackness and my eye sight is okay. By that time, a few more people had gathered behind us, trying to peer into the caves for any sign of the wolf. Then I took out my camera and zoomed in (it's awesome with a 24x optical and 48x -or more-digital zoom) and showed her the whole cave from the inside! It was empty. :P I clicked a picture that shows those mosquito-kind of things. Of course, we left the place discreetly, leaving the rest to try and look for the wolf. :P (On a serious note, if there were those mosquitoes, it might have been there, hidden somewhere like a clever......uh, wolf.)

I still can't see anything except these mosquito-thingies. 

# 3. We reached the water-part (how, I'll explain in point number 5) where there was green, slimy water with a sign that read, "Spectacled caiman crocodile". We peered into the water, into the bushes and whatever part was visible, but could not see it. That was when R said, "it might be hidden because it's wearing specs and looking hideous." Uhh. Okay. :P

# 4: Walking towards some deer and stuff, we stumbled a bit over uneven ground. There were small mud hills and pits big enough for a small animal and a human kid to fall into. R, showing off her genius said, "Do you know why these pits are there?" We shook our heads and she continued, "because in case any animal takes off after someone like us, they'd fall into the pit and we can run away to safety." Just. Hhahahahhaha! :P

# 5. We had been having a great time, what with that White Tiger, and then finding Cheetah and Leopard-in enclosures, unfortunately- and oh, a lion who was just staring at us all the time! I mean, there were more people too, but the lion found us fascinating. No wonder, my dad was worrying that the zoo guys would keep me for show too :P But still, we three together must have been a sight. ;) Yeah, we had been able to look at many animals probably for the first time in years and we were drooling with happiness, if at all this is anything. And we'd clicked a lot of pictures (and yeah, I was thrilled with having had the opportunity to photograph those animals!) and then we saw the time and didn't realize it had only been an hour and a half! Then to add to the awesomeness, we found elephants, all sorts of monkey-ish things: baboons, langurs, chimpanzees, etc, many many kinds of deer! I was seriously crying (not literally) over not having seen the giraffes yet, because I really wanted to have a picture of a giraffe, just to make a lame joke to my brother who is tall and I call him a giraffe too, that I spotted him at his righteous place: in the zoo. But I couldn't make that joke because of course, I didn't find any giraffe. We were near the exit and hungry and tired, but we still hadn't covered one part of the zoo, which forked left from the entrance/exit. 

R didn't want to go, A wanted to eat something and then go and I just forget all kinds of tiredness and hunger when I'm excited! We saw a board with a list of animals and realized we'd seen only half! I had to beg to these guys to just see the left side once :P And R agreed on the condition that we wouldn't go for boating at Purana Qila, which we thought we would do and which was right next to the zoo! Five minutes of decision making and we were off to explore the left. God, it was fun. Mostly water-stuff, so yeah, that croc who was hidden because of his specs, and then a whole lake with water birds! Whoop! We saw storks and ducks and birds whose names I did not care to find out, because they were just so pretty (and so far!) and my camera was literally having a field day. :D Then we found a beautiful cave kinda pathway which was out of the normal path and where R did not allow us, but A and me went there nonetheless. It seemed magical! Then I got to know something about crowd psychology, which I'll explain in my research paper which will fetch me millions of dollars. There isn't enough space here anyway. ;) 

Finally, we had lunch among stupid scary flies-cum-bees who loved our soft drink cups and then left in an auto that charged an amount Rs. 20 less than what we came for. (I said sorry, guys!). We went through the pictures in the Metro, laughing and my constant dialogue of the day, "It was such fun!" :D We were just wishing we could have had a slightly rainy day, so it would have been even better, but nothing beats what did happen and that was a hell lot of fun! As the previous readers already know, and newbies may take note, I always have the time of my life with these two of my friends. They're just awesome! A and R, take a bow! And if I've forgotten anything (I would have! I couldn't possibly explain every single thing we did), you may comment. ;)

Here are some pictures for you to enjoy! ^_^

Note for pic stealers: I didn't have time to watermark them, so please don't steal.

Hi Lion-who-stared-at-us. See how it's looking? :O

One wella baboon who loves to hangofy like this :P

Hi elephant-who-was-jhooming-and-eating :P

These antlers! 

Storks? or cranes? I'm so bad with this stuff. Water birds, it is. ;)

I'm just an awesome photographer. :D
(Yeah it's blurry, but WHO CARES?)

Thanks A and R for just giving me an amazing, to-be-remembered forever kind of a day after so many cruddy days. I love you!!! ^_^