An Octogenarian’s Tales of Shimla’s Past

26 August, 2009

Wednesday

Early in the morning when I walked past Snowdon hospital alongwith my brother and my daughter, my brother looked up and said, “there is my school.” I looked up and saw clouds having hidden the Kendriya Vidyalaya Jakhu’s building which was thus could not be seen but he could see it as it came alive to him–in his memory.

 I saw the Poodiwala sitting near the tree on the Ridge where the road from Lakkar Bazaar meets the Ridge and could not help thinking that the tree did not look as big to me as it looked during my childhood. What had happened? Perhaps now I was watching it from the critical eyes of a seasoned mature person and not a small girl who seemed to be in awe of such a big tree on the Ridge!

Near the Golcha Restaurant where the steep stairs lead to the Lower Bazaar, we looked down at the market which was yet to open and decided to visit our old neighbourhood. Who would be there to remember you? Protested my daughter, scared at the thought of descending into a hub of small structures, seem to be grown on the sliding side of a hillock, and that through such steep stairs!

“We used to run countless times up and down these stairs!” said I in a reproaching tone. The small girl in me wanted to run the way I used to almost a decade ago! My knees and legs felt sturdy and I wanted to gallop down the stairs to the labyrinth of lanes where my childhood memories lay still fresh!

Down we went. My brother and I full of exciting chatter and my daughter grumbling at, what she considered, the precarious stairs! It was early in the morning and ringing the door-bell at such a nearly time was not, by any means, a good manner. But that was my neighbourhood where every time was considered a good time to call upon neighbours. I rang the bell. The door opened instantly and I could see her sitting by the side of a window. I had nearly overlooked the pretty young woman who had opened the door as I was literally dying to meet my childhood role model—Leela Behan Ji!

I was overwhelmed to see her. She was still the same—beautiful, graceful and ever smiling! Though it seems sacrilegious to me to name her by first name but this is how we have been addressing her ever since we became conscious of her existence. I ran to her open arms when she acknowledged me saying, “Kalo”! My childhood name never sounded good to me but it seemed musical to me at that moment as I seemed to find a way in the labyrinths of the maze of my childhood memories.

She was nostalgic for the good old times, for the old friends and for so many other things and the tales that came from her made us all mesmerized for their plain simple truth. Even my grumbling daughter sat quiet and absorbed in all that she heard. Stories and tales of a different time, a different world that was so different from the world she had seen.

I wanted to listen more stories, sitting at her feet, when she would be travelling in a far off past that was unknown even to me.

Stories from the Raj that she had seen from close quarters being a witness to so many of the happenings of those days of the Raj! I would relate all that I hear from her to my readers so that instead of the polluted information we get first-hand information from the perspective of a small girl who would run through the Mall, touching the satiny and silky gowns of the English Mem Sahibs!

Recurrence of the Chewing Gum Dream…

26 August, 2009

It was strange–very strange but the dreaded dream about chewing gum stuck to my teeth recurred after a very long time. Perhaps I want to say a lot but am not saying it and this dream was a plain indication of these suppressed thoughts. So, taking a cue from the dream I had last night, I would, henceforth, write down all that comes to my mind. Better to write than to have a strange dreadful dream!

A Blessing in Disguise…

I travel a lot and most of the time by State Transport buses. When I propose to take a long distance journey, I prefer taking a window seat for two reasons: one is that it keeps me occupied in the panoramic view outside the moving bus and the second is that I have one side of mine free from the awkwardness that I feel when some stranger sits a bit too close to me. I think public transports are the only places where men and women sit close to each other. I don’t find anything out of place in such an arrangement unless someone tries to recline against me on the pretext of scarcity of seating space.

During one of my recent journeys I had a very interesting experience and also found an impeccable solution to the problem that I referred to above. A gentleman, sitting next to me, started to indulge in small talk as soon as the bus started. He seemed to belong to that tribe of Indian men who become very voluble when they find themselves in company of a woman, travelling alone, without a chaperon and the poor thing has no escape from either the bus seat or the unnecessary small talk that these men would, invariably, indulge in.

“You live in Shimla?” A very general question emerged as a gunshot. The tone was excessively inquisitive. “No,” I replied in monosyllable to give him a polite hint that he was not welcome as I was in no mood to indulge in small talk with him. “You had come to Shimla to visit relatives?” followed another question. “No,” I replied calmly. Undeterred he pried like Sherlock Homes, “Some official work?” “No.” Exasperated I said. Not to be discouraged he continued, “Oh! You must have been transferred, and must have come to arrange for settlement.” I felt like shouting but my good manners prevailed and I said as coolly as I could, “I am a retired person.” “Voluntary retirement?” he shot back. “No they retired me compulsorily.” I replied. Now compulsory retirement is always given to an employee as a result of his having proved guilty of some official misconduct or misbehaviour. His interest was aroused to know what it was that made me receive such a punishment.

“Did you embezzle official money?”

“No.”

“Was it a fictitious T A bill?”

“No.”

“Some vigilance inquiry?”

“No.”

Tired of the guess game he looked piteously at me and asked, “What were you accused of?”

“I was accused of having caught a man from his collar.” I said keeping as straight a face as I could.

His hand, involuntarily, touched the collar of his own shirt as if to make sure that I had not caught him from the collar. He had suddenly lost his garrulous self. I don’t know whether I imagined it or it really was true but I felt him slightly pulling himself away from me and I could sense some more space around me. Now his eyes had a strange frightened look, a look of wishing to run away but as he was occupying a middle seat, he could not even move away. I was in a winning position now. He seemed to dread me like a “man-eater of Kumaon” and squeezed himself still further. And I had more space to me than I had paid for and more freedom than I had hoped for as well.

It may be a surprise for my readers but the man maintained a safe distance from me then on. So now I have learnt a mantra for safe travelling. I recite to all sitting next to me, whether they are willing to listen to or not, why I have been compulsorily retired and they maintain a safe distance from me. I have become the dreaded “man-eater of a Hilly town”!

Today I am Fifty Three Years Young…

25 August 2009

Tuesday

It could not have been a better way to start this day for me because when I got up early in the morning, my Maa patted my back for being such a brave girl and wished me success in all that I take up. I was curling next to her in the bed and her touch made me feel like a small girl that I was 53 years back, cuddled in her soft lap, searching for warmth, love and safetly! And to be at Shimla, the place of my birth makes this day even more special for me.

It was by chance that my Maa had come to Shimla and I decided to sleep in her bed last night as she had had a surgery on that day. The morning was so pleasant as she wished for my happiness and success. Mothers’ wishes are like oracles out of the mouth of the God and I am sure of my success in all fields of my life!

Maa had an interesting story to share. She told me that she was admitted in the snowdon hospital for her confinement but had come home to Lower Bazaar  where my elder sister, barely one and a half years old, was left under the care of my grandmother. My Maa stayed home that night as it was raining heavily and my elder siister was wailing loudly when any attempt was being made to leave her home.

And I was born at home. My Maa says that I was a tough child from the childhood and would do things that children would ordinarily not do. What she tells about my childhood, makes me realize that i was a little different child. Is it true that one is born with a temperament and a behavioural pattern which may be modified a little but is difficult to change altogether? I think I was a born rebel. I still am. I hope to be the same so long this helps in making this world a better place–free from malpractices in the name of conventions. Amen!

Pursuit of Happyness…

Yesterday my Little one asked me to watch a movie. Though I was not very inclined but once I started watching, I was deeply immersed in it. I cried unabashedly as I could identify myself with some of the situations–well not exactly the similar ones but the general feeling being the same.

Throughout the movie she kept her arm around me and would comfort me whenever I would start sobbing. I thought is it not the real Happyness when you have people around you who really love you. I am better away from the sham relationships in the name of friendship who stabbed me from behind and had the shameless guts of giving me a smile.

Thank you dear little one. I think these days we have a reversal of the roles when you have starting mothering me instead of the other way!