“Yes Darling, what’s new?” Now when she would be with us for another forty days only, I had to maintain a no-war-situation though it meant suffocating myself to death at times. My little one, who is going to do her MBA from Rotterdam Business School in the Netherlands, has been busy as a bee preparing her to-do-list and clothes are her top-of-the-list at this point in time. Her happiness was clearly audible in her voice when she answered me back, “Macy has some dresses on a clearance sale!” I was happy that she was still looking at the screen of her laptop and didn’t look even for a second at my face otherwise she must have sensed the diametrically opposite expression on my face, the expressions that my sweetened voice tried hard to conceal! “Maasi?” I asked, “which Maasi?” “Oh, don’t you say that you don’t even know Macy’s?” Her look clearly showed her disdain for an ignorant me. But she enlightened me on Macy’s as a famous US Department stores’ chain that had recently started selling goods to customers in India, Online!

“Maa, you know I need daily-wear dresses for the business school and also the formal dresses for many official functions.” And I remembered that she had been enlightening me, since months,  about “the little black dress”, “the …, the……” etc. etc. And now I could see reed thin models displaying all those dresses on the screen of her laptop. My Little one would enlarge the selected dress and would closely and critically watch it from all possible angles. While she focussed on the dresses, my eyes would search for the price tag which would be not less than 10k for a simple “Kameez” which she kept on calling “the dress”! I wondered what kind of “sale” is that if even after discount, the dresses easily cross-over 10K price! When she would like some “dress” she showed that to me, her voice like a child who wanted her first ready made dress when all the child had earlier the home made dresses! These sleeveless, above-knee “dresses” made my head swirl, in fact it was the price tag that did the trick. “But of what use are these “dresses” when you say that it could be snowing at Rotterdam and the temperature already is zero there, and can go sub-zero!  And then comes the pat reply, “Oh, thanks you reminded me, I need to buy good woollen over-coats and trench coats!”  ”But why do you have to buy these costly little “kameezs” when you will anyway buy even costlier over-sized over-coats?” And then I added, diplomatically, ” These figure-hugging “kameezs” doing great justice to your hourglass figure would be hidden under the shapeless hags, what you call coats!”. And there I saw a potential “argument” building up, which I had been avoiding all this while, as she reacted, “Do you want me to die of cold Maa?” “Cold? Anshu you already have two BIG suitcases unopened of all the shopping you did in the US and do not forget the luggage allowance!”, comes my reaction, as I fail in holding it inside me. Poor KS, as is the case nearly always, silently sees us both getting ready for another war, and he still is unsure if the rotten pumpkin is the trigger or something we both saw on the internet!

“But” I added cautiously as I knew I was treading on sensitive areas, “don’t you think these “dresses” are little overpriced.”  ”No, on the contrary the original price is much higher, these are on SALE!” she added emphatically. Now honestly speaking those dresses were nothing more than the “Kameezs” that the Bollywood heroines of the Sixties had worn in all the pictures but our heroines, sensible that they are, always made a point to wear these with  Chooridar pajamas, the models in the pictures seemed to have forgotten wearing chooridars with the dresses and had garish stockings and Robinhood-like shoes to go with them. I ruefully thought, these models have no dressing sense and wanted a give them a lesson in how to dress. My little one engrossed in some pictures finally selected a few dresses that she wanted to order online from the Macy’s!

I was shocked to look at the price tags and wanted to steer her clear of her temptation  when she was making a very unprofitable purchase!  ”But these are “kameezs” and I can stitch for you any number of them.” The shocked expression on the face of my little one made me add as a bonus, “Or we can find some good tailor!”

“Are you out of your mind?” she cried, “what has happened to your dressing sense?” I knew I had to convince her now otherwise it would mean a great tear to our hard earned money. I ran to my room and brought my black and white photographs of the early seventies when as a teen-aged girl, I was wearing the similar “dress” but of course with a chooridar! There was something in her eyes that caught my attention. She was wavering between two worlds. I had to teach her the ways of the Business world before the Business school erased all the common-sense that I could fill her with!

And I am waiting for her coming back to the fold and am keeping my fingers crossed till then. I know she would go for Macy’s but I do know one more thing that she understands that dresses are not as costly as they are made to  be and she would make all purchases with this truth in mind.

I have given her the first lesson in Business and marketing!

I deliberated throughout the day whether to write a line remembering an Institute that I loved so much or not? And that too when it was the 25th raising day of the Institute?  At this point of time that is 11-12 p.m. I realized that my love for NIT Hamirpur outweighed my despise for many of the people associated with NIT and here I am. People come and go but the Institute must go on… All the very best to NIT Hamirpur!

If I say that Time flies, it would not be an overstatement. Time really does fly leaving behind memories–good and bad. Not exactly memories but a strange pinch of feelings of pain and pleasure. And of these happy memories bring a full smile on my face. Aarush, my grandson, came to my life exactly at a point of time when I needed something great to happen in my life so that my mind could be diverted from the petty selfish happenings, taking away all my positive life force, could be slowed down. I forgot about everything else and focused on a small bundle of joy who seemed so vulnerable and weak. But gradually I learnt that Aarush has got his fighting genes from his Nani and he fought everything, be it a severe jaundice during his early days of birth!

Iam so proud of you my dear and today when you turn two years old and smile back at me i thank God for being so good to us. Despite what all that the ignorant may term as very “bad” ever happened to me, i do not stop thanking God every bit of my life for being so caring and merciful for us. He knew the best for us and gave us the Best. What more could I have ever asked for?

Happy Birthday dear Aarush for being a ray of light in our life when we were literally  groping in dark!

“I have the honour to be your most obedient servant”

Now this expression, “your most obedient servant” always generated a debate in our home. Though I had never seen this letter earlier but there were a number of English Grammar books and also Essays and letter writing books, belonging to my father, that I would read with great interest. All the official letters, in the Essay and Letter writing books,  had in the signature line the same very odd expression, “your most obedient servant”! As I grew up, in an independent India, inhaling the fresh and clean air of Simla, I would be very angry to see that government officials would resort to use such a language in their official communications. I would question my father, “Do you also write expressions like these while writing to your officer?” And when he would say Yes to it, my little heart would bleed with agony. My Bauji was epitome of dignity for me and the fact that he used such expression of obedience would just be difficult for me to swallow!  “But we were servants of the Angrez Sahibs” he would say laughing aloud in his open style laughter and would add wistfully, “we are servants of the public”. “Why have our books the same expression in all the official letters?” I would retort back, “Are we  not living in a free country?” People of my generation would recall that all our English Grammar books had this kind of concluding line. My father had no answer to it except saying, “Old habits die hard”. and would add. “gradually with the passage of time people will learn to use more dignified language in their official communication.

My father’s dream of  free people living in a free country has, unfortunately, not been realized despite being the fact that we have been free of the slavery of the British rule  for more than sixty four years now. But, sadly, the mental slavery to the master still pervades all walks of life.

I cannot say much about the corporate work-life but in the corridors of Government work-life it still remains, “your most obedient servant” though the style has innovated a little. People address the Director, invariably, in their official communication as “Worthy Director” or sometimes even “the  most worthy Director” and use so many “your kind attention please” in one single letter that would have sufficed my father an entire year of official communication.

Nothing has changed. “Public servants”, in the name of Government, make blatant misuse of power vested in them for public good and sadly no one, I repeat NO ONE, seems to mind. The chalta hai attitude has rotted the fabric of good governance. And under such circumstances persons like me who have grown up dreaming of living and working in a country where there would be no need to write, “your most obedient servant” are worst hit by the powers-that-be!

Bauji, I ask you today, why didn’t you teach me the tricks of the world? Why did you bring me up to be an upright citizen? Why did you fill my little heart with the feeling that all will be well in Free India?

I was dumbfounded when I looked at the paper as it was in my father’s handwriting. How could I ever forget long and drawling hand that he wrote in.  The paper was sanctimonious. My father has been dead for more than twenty-one years now and holding in my hands a paper in his handwriting moved me a lot. More surprise was in store for at the revelation that this paper held. It was my father’s official communication after he had joined at Head Post office Simla in March, 1947, some five months before India became free! The fact that the paper was more than 61 years old and the ink he had used to write in was equally old, the letters on the paper were bright and illuminated the way my father always had been!

I went through the paper and two things struck me at the very start–one was the impeccable style of writing that he had and the handwriting. As a teacher of English, I always look for mistakes in any write-up so unconsciously I was searching for one in my father’s official communication  as well but amazingly found none! There were no cutting, no overwriting and no mistake–grammatical or otherwise. it becomes more important when I think that his only grouse with life had been that he was not able to continue his studies. He wanted so much to complete B.A. but had the satisfaction of having completed only F.A.! But he always wanted us, his kids, to do our best in studies and did everything possible within his means to see to it.

Holding the letter in my hands I was able to peep at the world of my father through his words! The old world charm, held in Agni Purana, opened up a barrage of emotions in my heart which I promise to write shortly!

One such situation was that we were not able to find a good photographer for her marriage as it literally over slipped our mind that we need one at Palampur. The local photographer at Hamirpur showed his inability to escort us to Palampur as he had planned to cover so many marriages on the same date.  So we had to take a last minute decision and that was to use the handy camcorder for video recording and to use our newly acquired Sony digital cam for still photography. As it was the first marriage in the family and also because we had to manage everything on our own at a new place, it was decided that pictures would be shot by whosoever would be free at that moment. I have been feeling guilty for not having a professional photographer at the marriage of my eldest daughter. But the recent marriage season has made be healthier (by eating free food), less wealthy (by gifting a lot) and wiser by learning a lesson or two.

Having watched closely the nosey interference of the professional photographers at marriage ceremonies and having seen the marriage ceremonies taking place at the sole direction of the photographer, I no more feel guilty that we didn’t have a professional photographer at the marriage of our daughter.

The pictures we have clicked are light years more authentic and real as compared to the make-believe pictures taken by the so-called professionals! As there was no outsider photographer to record moments, the marriage ceremony was conducted in a homely ambience where only relatives and friends gave us company. Later looking at the pictures I find how original and how spontaneous they are. My son did a wonderful job clicking the right photograph at the right moment. But being a naughty child he had captured some such moments which I would have kept a well-hidden secret from the outsiders! J

Looking in retrospect and at the positive outcome of not having a photographer I am glad that we didn’t have to dance to the tunes of a photographer and the marriage of our daughter remained a family affair the way marriages should be! There was no taking direction from the photographer to move this way or that way, to smile while looking at the lenses of the camera when the occasion was solemn and personal! Some of the best pictures are before the marriage ceremony. They are wonderful indeed as my son used to capture some very interesting pictures that show the real situations in a family where the marriage of the daughter is at hand! Some are really hilarious!

One of my friends working on a project on Life in Hill stations during (Nineteenth and Twentieth Century) remarked casually that she didn’t come across any material on life of the natives living in Simla though many books devoting to life of English masters were available. I thought of recording all my memories about life in Simla from my perspective. Having been born in Simla in 1956, I recall life in Simla from early sixties till late seventies that I was there.

Angithi used to be the most essential part of life in Shimla–be it Angithi for cooking or as a room heater. Life in Shimla seemed to evolve around Aginthi only! Living in a friendly neighbourhood of Lower Bazaar in Shimla, I still carry many a memories of life revolving around angithis. Ah! What a lesson whole of the process has been during our formative years. A chnace writing abour angithi in my previous post opened the floodgate of so many instances that lay buried, God knows where in my deep unconsciousness!

Apart from getting the Angithis ready for kitchen, the need to collect the material to light these Angithis with was as essential as the Angithis themselves. I can see vividly, even today, more than almost forty five to fifty years back, short and stout pahari men coming to the neighborhood carrying loads of wood on their backs. Amma would come out and check the quality of the wood, its weight and its moisture contents. Drier, weightier the better it would be. The man would unload the wooden load in front of our house and would take some time to straighten his back. Drying his sweat that would be on verge of dropping down from his forehead, he would carefully fold the rope used to tie the wooden bundle and counting the money would put that in inside pocket of his dirty undershirt. My Amma would offer him water, invariably, and sometimes if she would be free from her chaotic morning chores, a hot steaming cup of tea. He seemed to have travelled a long distance with this load on his back.

We learnt, by default, how to differentiate between the good firewood and the bad firewood as we kids would watch with interest what were the qualities to look for in firewood. The fresh resin drops trickling down some of the freshly chopped firewood would remind me of the sweat drops trickling down the poor man’s forehead. I would deeply inhale the smell of the fresh resin though  Amma would be shouting at me for not touching the firewood. The resin would stick to my small fingers and I would secretly rub it off with any rough surface. There being only one challa in the small kitchen it was a difficult task to wash my hands with out Amma noticing it. Today, when all kids in the family need to have a personal space and a personal bathroom this may seem as belonging to an unbelievable world. My father, on his weekly off day, would chop this firewood to small pieces that would fit the Angithi’s upper chamber. Ah! What an operation Angithi it would be. These wooden pieces would be neatly stalked at their designated place.

Procuring good quality coal was another job that was of paramount importance in Shimla of those days. You just needed to go to different Coal depots to check the quality of the coal and order a quintal of coal of the quality that you wanted. A hatho would, the same day, carry the load-full of coal at your doorsteps. This coal would be in various size and shape and just like the firewood it also needed to be broken down to manageable size. This job was done by the women in the neighbourhood. Every home had a iron hammer, specially designed to break big coal pieces into smaller ones. Many helping hands would join to break the coal into pieces. The coal dust would settle on our face and hair. Amma would admonish us for keeping the head uncovered. The coal would also be stacked neatly at its designated place. I am really surprised how did Amma, and many other women in the neighbourhood, had everything in place and place for everything, in such small establishments called homes!

And the waste material, left out of the coals fine enough to pass through the grill of the Angithi would not be discarded. The fine clay would be mixed along with water in the coal powder and it would be rounded off to “Gole” of manageable sizes, just equivalent to the size of the coal pieces used in the Angithi! These “Goles” would be dried on the tin roofs and then neatly packed at some appropriate place. When these “Golas” would be put in the Angithi, it would burn slowly and some special dishes that required to be cooked on slow heat would be cooked by Amma.

Next job would be to procure rough papers needed to ignite the wooden pieces set in a proper for in the Angithi. Our old notebooks, rough pages, used paper bags would do this job. Once the wood will catch fire, coal pieces would be put on the wooden pieces so that they would catch fire from the wood and ignite. The papers would burn to ignite the coals and coals would ignite to cook food for the family. Sometimes a little of Kerosene would be used to enhance ignition process. It was a chain reaction and the use of a catalyst to enhance the rate of reaction that we learnt through this exercise.

Cooking, in those days, used to be a fulltime job and was done in the most devoted manner. All members of the family would put in their mite to help cooking process though on the surface it was the woman of the home that did the cooking. Oh! My dear Angithi, you have really taught me so much in the field of management skills!

During my childhood, in early sixties, in Shimla, for my Amma, a routine job like, cooking food was not less than religious ritual. Amma would  cook food on a Angithee which would have coal in it. Old iron buckets would be used to make this Anghithee.  The ironsmith would cut a hole on one side of the bucket and would fit an iron grill at the center of the bucket. Mixture of fine clay and shredded drass would be used to line the inside of the Angithee and the top would have three round projections to hold the cooking vessels and also to let the air and fire flames pass from below!

The last kitchen chore that my Amma would do was to give this Angeethi a fresh coating of clay. Even this was a ritual worth explaining. The used coals, still hot and buring, would be put out from the Angithee and the Angithee would be prepared for the morning use. Amma would give a fresh coat of clay to the Angithee. The liquid clay would at once dry as the angithee would be so hot even when there were no burning coals in it. The vapours would fill our small kitchenette with a smell which no perfume today can compensate for.

And why did Amma do all these rituals! For my Amma, and most of the women of her generation, Angithee was the abode of Agni Dev. Amma would purify her Angithee every time after cooking food. When she would cook food, the first offering of the food would be made to Agni Dev! Such was her belief that Agni has to be fed the first thing before serving food to anyone else. The food had to be pure! Nothing could or should defile food while being cooked.

During my recent visit to my Amma, I saw an old Angithee lying in the storehouse. No one ever uses it. It lies discarded lamenting, perhaps, her golden times.  I thought of all the ritualistic performance that this Angithee had seen and paid my obeisance to it for having been instrumental in feeding us.

I wanted to peep through relics and memories of my childhood—some old paraphernalia, books, papers and yellowed black & white photographs! I thought of annual issues of Purana, published by Gitapress Gorakhpur, Uttar Pradesh. I craved to find them.

“Amma, where are the old Puranas?” I shouted while searching for the old heap of books and paraphernalia that seemed so out of place in the marbled new construction that is my Amma’s proud home now. I had asked her as I was not able to locate the old books that during my childhood had made a small abode in Shimla, our home! I was searching for a part of my childhood that still was alive in the yellowed papers of the old books.

All those Puranas lay peacefully in a steel trunk lying in a corner of a room that had all the old unusable paraphernalia spread in it. I opened the trunk and scrambled through so many old papers, each of which had something or the other to remind me of. And then I came across Agni Purana. Now this was a Purana that I remembered only glancing at during my childhood as it didn’t have any stories in it! I loved reading anything and everything that had a story  but AgniPurana had description of many of the tricky religious practices. So this is the Agni Dev that my Amma fed everyday during her daily ritual.

But now when I had reached an age where such religious practices and methods interested me a lot, I picked up this Purana and went through some of its pages to have a look at it. The Purana had Agni Dev as the recite of various Akhyanas of the Purana and I found tits and bits of the Purana very interesting. The Purana was in a very bad shape. Its pages had yellowed, the paper cover had come off but luckily the inside was intact and in good shape. I wanted to carry it back with me to Hamirpur to read it and to find why my Amma religiously fed the god of the Angithee, the Agni Dev. And what I found in the Purana was nothing less than a miracle to me.

To be continued…..

When my Little one had come visiting us recently, we both decided to design an applique work. The bags were opened and colourful small pieces were brought out, the designs were neatly cut and the applique was put on a light coloured base material. And Lo and behold–pretty soon a very beautiful design surfaced brightening up the plain surface. The result was electrifying! The joy of watching the pretty design emerge and adding some more of small pieces to the applique was mesmerizing experience! My Littlle one with her deft fingers hemmed the applique while I was giving my expert opinion about “hows”!

I thought, while looking at the end product, how colourful life can be if we have the art of bringing back the small pieces of remnants of love back to it. The dull and drab life would become rocking only if one could learn to applique it with colourful leftovers memories that we might have put in some, difficult to find, mental block!

Couldn’t I do to my life what I was doing to a colouless plain surface? I could only if I tried! So I am on a lookout for the remnants of pleasing memories of my past that could add to my present and lend colour to it!

Amen!