The newspaper 'editorial' piece

Back in the days when I was still a school boy, one of my Uncles had exhorted me sternly to start reading newspaper ‘editorials’ to improve upon my English communication capabilities. This was his angry outburst to my terribly misspelled simple English words and my poor usage of English sentences in an essay I had casually written as part of a mandatory school vacation exercise. His continued  tirade against my English writing skills was rubbing off on me poorly.  I was riled at his regular admonishing, but couldn’t do anything about it, though.  He was my eldest maternal uncle.  Finally, I took his advice, rather hesitantly and wistfully.  The main issue was my family was not subscribing to any newspapers as we couldn’t afford it at that point of time.  However, much later, when our financial position improved, we started subscribing to an English language newspaper 'Deccan Herald', which was quite popular in Bangalore, but then it was too late.  My brains' ability to make new neural connections or pathways, were almost in its last phases, to wit, I was too old, all of 16 or 17 years of age!

It was the late sixties.  The common middle class people were not in the habit of subscribing to newspapers nor had any TV news channels to watch as Televisions were still not available to us, then.  Only radios were the common man’s source for entertainment, information and knowledge.  There were roadside libraries in a few old and established areas of Bangalore like Gandhi bazar, Malleswaram and Chamarajapet and of course, the main City Central Library in South end Jayanagar.  I was a frequent Library visitor. You could see me there, any hour of the day, quietly ensconced in the newspapers section. After getting bored with the newspapers’ drab news coverage, I would slowly wander into the inside of the Library section where fiction books were stored searching for racy and trashy thrillers. The likes of James Hadley Chase or Earl Stanley Gardner was my first choice.  You guessed it right!  These books were far and few and had been snatched up by the regular Library members.  My desire was to secure a membership to the Library which was again, unaffordable to me in those early days.  To cut a long story short, I was always on the lookout to borrow these thrillers from friends and a couple of Uncles.  I have quite a collection now, apparently, there are no takers for the books anymore.  Glued to the phones or TV screens, the book-reading era has passed into oblivion. 

Back to the story.  My newspaper 'editorial' hunting took me to different branches of the City Central Libraries, which had mushroomed across various localities of Bangalore in the later years.   Instead of reading newspapers, I had become enamored of the thrillers of the day. Again, you ask me, what’s the point of all this.  Well, in my defence, the point I am trying to make is, I never quite caught on to reading newspaper 'editorials' which, perhaps, is the cause of my poor writing abilities; below par choice and usage of words.  My Uncle would have strongly rebuked me for not sticking to his advice, had he been alive now. 

Nevertheless, the point I am trying to make is that, whatever be your English language skills, the world goes on, with or without learning or acquiring English knowledge.  Precisely, it is not a required skill in effectively doing your job, whatever that is, unless if you are in the profession of English newspaper production. 

 

The City of Dreams - A teenage love story!

He had always wanted to visit Bombay as a young man in his late teens (apologies, it is Mumbai, now; but then, he always remembered Mumbai as Bombay, the city of dreams). He had heard that Bombay was a bustling and glamorous city filled with beautiful and enterprising people and above all, the city that never sleeps. When he first travelled to Bombay by a train from Bangalore, it was raining heavily when he reached the outskirts of Bombay.  The bustling activity in the station had jolted him out of the deep slumber, which he had fallen into while the train had glided slowly into the station. At a station on the outskirts, he had to switch trains and board a local train at about 3 AM in the morning. The local train was overflowing with milkmen and their families loading and unloading huge milk cans into and out of the train.  He had reached his uncle’s place in about ten minutes by the local train.  His first impression of Bombay, was, that the city is always awake.  People were going about their activity at all times of the day and night.  Many a time, he had wondered when do these people sleep, amidst all the hustle and bustle?

For the next few days, he gradually explored the city, as he had nothing much to do.  He had completed his graduation in Bangalore and landed in Mumbai (staying in his uncle’s place on the outskirts of Bombay) in search of a job.  The job searches consisted of merely looking into the columns of Times of India newspaper daily for any suitable opening, which was hard to come by, during the late seventies.

He bought a second class season local train pass for the entire month from the part of the city (where he was residing) to the centre of the city that was, Victoria Terminus, called VT, during those days.  After his morning breakfast, he had set himself a daily routine of boarding the train and travelling to VT station.  From there on, he had no place to go.  He explored the city walking alone from the VT station to the nearby places that he fancied, mostly in the direction of the Arabian Sea, which was quite near to the station; this was at a walking distance of half hour, at the most.  Sometimes he walked down to Crawford Market or to Colaba.  His regular walks within the vicinity of the VT station had become a sort of daily ritual.  Being young and alone in Bombay with hardly any money, can be quite exhausting and excruciating.  The lonely walks created an intense feeling of disenchantment in his mind.  Just looking at the Sea intently, while lazily strolling on the sands of a beach, alone, can be a rather jolting and tiring experience.  Once this daily job of staring at the Sea was done, he used to hurry back by the late afternoon local train to the part of the city, where he was staying with his uncle, after partaking of a light meal in a nearby cafe.

The experience of boarding and alighting from the local trains in Bombay, was, in itself, a huge and scary experience.  Luckily for him, he used to board the train after the mad office rush was over in the morning times and even before the evening office rush started, he used to travel back to his place of stay.  He had learnt the trick of avoiding the rush hour on the local trains as it was a physical impossibility to get into or get out of the train during those mad rush hours.  One had to be a seasoned veteran of Bombay to master the tricks of boarding and alighting from the local trains during peak hours.  He was not quite there, yet.

In the first few days, he used to watch this mad rush of humanity, boarding and alighting from the local trains, with amusement.  After a few days, the amazement faded away and it was fast becoming normal routine with him, as well. He wouldn’t call himself an expert, in this activity, though he had a few close calls, a couple of times.  It had almost felt that his end had come, during those times, when he was left dangling, hanging without any support holding on to the ledge of the train doors.  He had miraculously scraped through, surviving those terrifying moments.  He could now say, that he was lucky to be alive.

The vast sea of humanity, that is Bombay, is an experience, in itself, that one can never get over.  The sheer number of people, in every direction you look at, is just mind-boggling. Despite the vast number of people, the place can be humbling and quite lonely.  Being a shy person and an introvert at that, he had difficulty in striking acquaintances in the trains or on the beaches.  He stood staring, sometimes, at the various moods of the Arabian Sea, the dirt and remains it carried to the shore; huge ships and trawlers were visible at a distance.  He was devoid of human company and wanted someone with whom he could share his innermost thoughts and the situation he was himself in.

One sunny morning, during one of his long walks on the Seashore, he came very close to striking friendship with a beautiful girl, who appeared to be of his own age.  She had a dog with her.  He first thought that she smiled at him, though this was more of his imagination, playing tricks on his mind.  She was slowing down as she approached him.  The girl was of medium height, wearing a smart dress with long hairs flowing down her neck.  He was tempted to strike a conversation with this girl as she was comely in appearance and was alone; other than the dog, she was holding on to, at the other end of the leash.  As she neared him, he remarked that the dog she owned, looked beautiful and he asked her, what was the breed of the dog. She replied something, which he couldn't remember now.  What actually he wanted to say to her was that she looked beautiful and would she be friends' with him.  It was an awkward moment.  The girl was looking at him inquiringly, as she paused right in front of him.  She appeared more beautiful now and her eyes were sparkling; she had long eye lashes. There was a hint of a smile on her face, as she looked at him.  He was dumbstruck and could hardly speak another word; as the girl came near him, her close presence and the perfume she wore held him in a mesmerizing spell.  He was speechless, staring dumbly at her. His heart was pumping and he could feel the blood rush through his veins, pulsating and throbbing.  He could feel his dopamine levels rise, leading to a warm and happy feeling.  He let go of the moment.  The girl walked away slightly disappointed, he thought.  He kept on staring after the girl, as she disappeared in a distance.  He had a strange feeling, perhaps, he thought this was what people called love at first sight.  It was a strange and bewildering thought.

From that moment on, his mind was in a whirl, racing with mixed emotions, unable to fathom what was happening in his mind.  He desperately wanted another opportunity to just see this girl, even for a moment.  During his entire stay, of nearly an year in Bombay, he never came across this girl again.  A strange sort of hopelessness had swept over him, disappointed with his own shy and reticent nature; adding to his hopeless situation was the fact that he could never find a suitable job in Bombay during his year long stay, in the city.  People called it the city of dreams, but, not to his mind.  He returned to Bangalore, shortly afterwards quite disappointed with the situation.  What could have been a love story, that never was!  These thoughts kept revolving in his mind. 

The story of each human life on earth lies in unraveling and experiencing the complex emotions that pervade the mind through the different phases of life.  Seizing the moment to connect with the emotion called love is perhaps one of them! 

chocolatey goodness!

Chocolate is a wonderful treat for young and old alike. Many of us would have craving for chocolates, especially if you have been told not to eat anything sweet! Perhaps, if one is a diabetic, like me, the craving for chocolate increases many fold. I am sure, most of us would agree that chocolate is one delicacy that you cannot resist and even defies age barrier. My late mother (while on 87), loved to lap up on the chocolates with a childlike demeanour, although she used to say that she had lost the taste for other kinds of food. It is very rare, indeed, to come across a person who does not love chocolates. The only person I knew, who said a vehement “No” to chocolates was my grandmother, which was perhaps because, she was an extremely pious person and was convinced that chocolates did have eggs or something other than vegetarian ingredients.

As kids of sixties, chocolate was handed out to us sparingly with a mild warning to avoid them in excess; we were told they would spoil our teeth. The adults used to regularly point us to children having rotten/bad teeth as examples of the effects of indulging in too much chocolates. It was ingrained in us, as children, that chocolates were bad stuff. Pardon me for saying so, the dentists, who were very few in number those days, used to make a killing with chocolate-consuming young children as their regular clientele! There are various studies, these days, which says that dark chocolate is healthy because it contains flavonoids, which act as anti-oxidants. Had these studies been published when we were younger, perhaps, life would have been much more 'chocolatey' and delightful for us kids!

As young kids, we often imagined of a “chocolate-filled dream land”, where a variety of chocolates were available for the picking; in abundance, spread out on  the streets.  A life where there were no restrictions from adults citing bad teeth concerns or cost-prohibitive barriers; where one was free to indulge in the different kinds of chocolates available and savour them to ones' heart’s content.  Just imagining a scene from the movie 'Charlie and the chocolate factory' releases the happy harmone "serotonin" in my brain.  What if those chocolate dreams were real!  

Those days, the milk chocolates bars (like Cadbury’s) were very expensive for ordinary folks to afford; the chocolates that were generally gifted were of the candy variety with a mild coating of chocolate; either Parry’s brand (with green transparent wrapper) or Parle brand ('Kismi') candies or toffees. I still remember, as children, we used to mistakenly call toffees and candies as chocolates, due to the chocolate colouring and coating. These were the candies distributed by children in our School days, on their birthdays.  On some very special occasions, our parents used to treat us to real milk chocolates, like the Cadbury’s chocolate bars. We were not aware of any other brand of chocolates till very much later in life.  

Buying chocolates in bulk quantity and enjoying them had become a habit with me, during my stay in the Middle East. There were huge discounts available at various Department Stores and Malls where the chocolates could be bought cheap in bulk quantity.  We were so buoyed up to have tasted different brands of chocolates produced from different countries; the Belgian variety or the Swiss variety and even the French variety. Life was, indeed, a “chocolate dream” come true.  Obviously, when there is too much of “chocolatey goodness” in life, can the dreaded “diabetes” be far behind! Thanks to this debilitating condition, all our chocolate buying spree came to an abrupt end, leaving behind only the "craving" to eat more chocolates!

My early memories of Jayanagar

I still think, Jayanagar is the best locality to live in Bangalore.  Though, arguably it has grown beyond its breeches, with crass commercialization all around; it still retains the old world charm in some pockets, with its quaint streets lined with red flowering trees interspersed with old-style individual bungalow type traditional houses. The recent plethora of apartments/flats bombay-style, is booming all around Bangalore and Jayanagar is no exception to this trend.  As the availability of empty sites is less, and arguably residents are loathe to give up on their old bungalows, the trend is a bit slow in catching up to the rest of Bangalore.  The offerings of flats are few and far in between and most flats are built for individual residences by the owners themselves.  The commercial popular branded builders have hardly any property presence in and around Jayanagar.  I think that speaks volumes on the mindset of the residents who would like to hold on to their spaces rather than fall for the big bucks being offered by established builders.  Happy to see that Jayanagar didn't go the Indiranagar way, in terms of commercial greed, at least. 

There was a time when this beautiful extension of Bangalore was bereft of people.  The lonely streets stretched long and were filled with dread.  It was scary to travel alone on these streets during the late evening/night times.  The traffic, those days consisted of mere bicycles and scooters; with a few cars scattered here and there.  As kids of 60s and 70s, we used to play cricket and other games like the lagory, soorchand, bugari, gillidandlu and so on, on the empty streets.  Games unheard of these days!  

The Shopping Complex in 4th Block was just the boys' playground where we had our initiation into tennis ball cricket.  It was the unofficial school ground for us High School students, where we spent the 'games period' with a variety of sports like the kabaddi, kho-kho and the like.  The multi-storied shopping complex was still a few years away.  There are so many tidbits of memories tucked away in a corner of my brain that it is hard to pick and choose a few.  I rack my brains for the prominent ones and here are a few.  The search light beams dancing in the night skies of pockets of Jayanagar area that emanated from the Circus tents of Subhash nagar grounds; the lingering taste of Orange ice candies of shellys Ice Cream corner; the gingery taste of masala tea of Bharat Cafe; eating groundnuts with my parents, seated on the stone structures (situated on the four corners of 4th block complex grounds); watching with trepidation when dead bodies were being carried for burial (in 4th block burial grounds behind the main bus stand) in bright green coloured coffins by a group of people wearing handkerchiefs as head-bands; shivering with cold and fear while walking along the empty 9th main road stretch. These are some odd memories that has remained with me to this day.  What an epic time and era that was! If we are to go back in time and recapture those forgotten childhood days, the only way would be to stop progress and development.  Alas, that can never be!  Just reliving these old memories puts a smile on my old haggard face!