The Lord of Learning – Revisit to happier times

We make our way down the main street of Gandhi Bazar on the eve of Ganesh Chaturthi; the familiar sights and sounds, especially the chatter of the people breezily wading through the mad crowds, evoke deep-rooted memories of another era.  Our family was staying at a house in the vicinity some decades ago.  This was the quintessential Bengaluru that has been associated in my mind with its quaint beauty and simplicity of the happier times that I am talking about.  The time was when Ganesh Chaturthi, the popular festival of the South, was celebrated with great pomp and gaiety, amidst my abiding faith in Lord Ganesh, that had characterized my mind as a young boy in the seventies.

The procuring of Ganesh idol by the devout on the eve of the festival day was a big source of excitement.  The first and foremost activity was visiting the different stalls put up by small time Retailers, in order to enquire and settle on the correct market price for the chosen size of the Ganesh idol.   The next activity was to find a Ganesh idol that sported a particular kind of ‘tilak’ that was acceptable to the category of the sub-sect of the devout.  I was told to look for a Ganesh idol that sported an “exclamation” (!) symbol painted in black, on its forehead.   Most of the Ganesh idols exhibited in the stalls had three white horizontal bars on its forehead; which was the most common and popular ‘tilak’ among the devout; but I was told that this form of ‘tilak’ on the idol did not meet with our family’s sub-sect parameters.  I did remember that some of the more enterprising vendors had offered to make some minor alterations to the ‘tilak’ on the forehead of the Ganesh idol instantly from a differently designed ‘tilak’ to the one that we had requested.  The style of the ‘tilak’ was a non-issue to the Idol vendors; but to the devout, like us, it mattered very persuasively.  Buying the Ganesh idol with many other required pooja items and cavorting home was like competing in a marathon; with rain gods, usually playing spoilsport (it invariably rained in Bengaluru; the festival normally arriving at the end of monsoon season).

As the day of the festival dawned, having an oil bath early in the morning and donning new clothes stitched for the occasion (ready-made garments were not very popular back then) was indeed, a great excitement.  After the elaborate Ganesh pooja was over, the sumptuous lunch at home was a huge affair; especially, as the meal was embellished with the soft chewy jaggery and coconut dessert packed inside the fried flour shell (the treat was called kadabu in kannada or modak in Hindi/Marati).  Ganesh Chaturthi was incomplete without this sweet dessert; it was believed that Lord Ganesh loved this sweet treat tremendously.  Lord Ganesh had a mouse as his vehicle. If you notice closely, the picture of the mouse is depicted at the bottom of every Ganesh idol.  How can any human being (Ganesh being three-fourth human) ride on a tiny mouse; wouldn’t the mouse get crushed underneath!  This thought was a source of amusement to younger self.   As the story goes, watching from the skies the Moon also did have a moment of humungous merriment at the spectacle of Lord Ganesh, riding on a tiny mouse with his swollen belly and a huge elephant trunk, fall off from his tiny vehicle (the mouse) while roaming around gleefully after having a hearty meal; this sight, was a source of uncontrolled mirth to the Moon.   The story continues that Lord Ganesh became hugely angry with the merry laughter of the Moon and placed a ‘curse’ on the Moon; and due to this irreversible ‘curse’ on the Moon, the devout are barred from viewing the Moon during Ganesh Chaturthi.  As if by some divine intervention, the Moon would be clearly visible between the passing clouds on those Ganesh Chaturthi nights; I distinctly remember that my eyes would stealthily dart towards the skies (perhaps, as a sort of involuntary dare, especially when you are told not to look at the Moon) and upon sighting the Moon from the corner of my eye, I would soon look away with trepidation, remembering the ‘curse’!

The evenings of the festival day held another great excitement.  A few of us mates had a sort of pre-arrangement every year, visiting and prostrating before the Ganesh idols in innumerable homes of neighbours; and sometimes even outside our familiar locality.  Our target, each year, was to visit 108 homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idols.  Before stepping into the homes of unknown people, we used to look for signs of any dogs in the compound.  We were scared of Alsatian dogs. That was the only breed of fierce dog I knew then and there was this other popular cute dog, the Pomeranian, with all its white hairs, it was only a timid barker!  Once we were sure there were no dogs around, we confidently stepped inside the gate.  As a group, we would step inside the homes and prostrate before the Ganesh idol, one after the other.  Some of the home owners treated us to a small snack or sweet, which was usually, baked chickpea masala or finely ground yellow gram mixed with sugar and coconut. This treat could be one of the attractions for us to venture into this activity.

It was a stupendous task, believe me, going about visiting the homes of unknown people with the target of reaching 108 homes in mind.  However, to my great consternation, I never achieved the target during any of those years.  The rhythm would get broken somewhere between the 20^th or 25^th house visit and I would return back, to my home, citing flimsiest of the reasons to my mates.  Possibly, this could be one of the reasons that Lord Ganesh, the Supreme God of Learning and Education hasn’t blessed me with any great learning or higher education!

cinematic experience!

When I look back on some of those nostalgic childhood memories, what I remember vividly was that cold, chilly evening in Bangalore. It was sometime in December of 1964 or January 1965.  I was all of 6 years of age.  I had accompanied my parents to watch my first movie that cold December evening.  I probably think that this was my first movie because the movie had left an indelible impression on my conscious mind.  The movie was in Hindi, titled “Dosti”.  The movie was being screened in a makeshift cinema tent, located near to my house which, used to be called a “picture tent” or sometimes a “touring talkies” in those days.  The makeshift cinema tent was supposedly a temporary structure covered by some heavy material (to avoid water leakage), that could be shifted easily from one place to another; although this particular “picture tent” never moved from its resting place, that was Tilaknagar (part of Jayanagar T Block now), which was later converted into a theatre, Swagath Theatre, perhaps. The whole concept of the “picture tent” was to provide entertainment to the masses in city suburbs and villages, where there was a dearth of cinema theatres. Inside the cinema tent, at one end, was a white large cloth stretched across a flat surface, acting as a screen; the moving images of the cinema was projected onto the white screen using a projector which, was placed at the opposite end of the cinema tent.  The white screen had become dirty, with large brownish patches, here and there, but still, the movie images looked fairly clear.

The projector operator sat beside a whirring old model movie projector on a folding chair surveying the crowds. In my young mind, the projector operator was some sort of a magician; and the owner of the cinema tent.  The projector operator decided on when the time was right to start screening of the movie and his decision mostly rested upon the size of the crowd; although a definite timing was fixed for the commencement of the show, which was 6.30 PM for the first show; this was rarely followed in practice.  A jarring bell was sounded before the commencement of the movie, which delighted the whistling crowd.  There was a rush of “adrenaline” in the audience, once the screening of the movie commenced.  This was partly because of the excitement created by the whistling and clapping from the crowds.

The main source of entertainment, other than the movies, had been the “circus”, for many of my generation.    The “Gemini Circus” was the most popular “circus” which used to pitch its tent in the Subhash Nagar Grounds (Now the Bangalore Central Bus Station terminus). However, the concept of “circus” which was so popular during my childhood days seems to be fast disappearing.

Coming back to the movie “Dosti”, though a cult classic hit of those times, the movie itself had a lingering melancholic impact on me; the two main characters in the movie, singing on the streets of Bombay to earn a living; had remained deeply etched in my memory for many years.  The story of the movie had a serious depth of intensity and the songs were evergreen classics.  That apart, I hardly remember anything of the black-and-white era movie, now.

The other quite vivid memory, I have, is that the “picture tent” was full of mosquitoes; which were a constant source of irritation to the loyal cinema audience.  However, the people were so enthralled and engrossed in the movie, that they soon forgot all about the mosquito bites. There was also this frequent disturbance happening within the movie tent.  People, who were coming in late to the movie, were constantly lifting the tent on both the sides and leisurely strolling in as if they had all the time in the world.  Every time a person walked in or walked out of the tent, their dark shadows danced on the cinema screen; there were persistent shouts from the people berating them on the disturbance; and every time the tent was lifted, the cold breeze from outside drifted in, making us shiver and huddle inside.

During the mandatory movie interval, the constant play of shadows on the movement of people, lighted up on the dirty white screen, while the loudspeaker blared the popular hit songs of the season.  People noisily rushed out, during the interval, discussing the movie plot and characters.  The interval reminded people to buy groundnuts (or peanuts as it is called these days) to pass the ten minutes of idleness.  Those days there was no concern littering the ground with the peanut shells.  It was a given, that peanut shells and all other food wrappers were left behind inside the tents, after each movie show.   Only once, at the end of the day, I think, the earthen floor was swept clean.  The jarring bell sounded again, signifying the end of the interval and resumption of the movie.

While, we, as a family were seated on the folding chairs in the back of the packed tent, people in the front class sat on the rough earthen floor.  We could see the dust on the earthen floor rise and settle down every time a person stood up or sat down. Some of the people who sat on the ground in the front, lighted a cigarette or a bidi, to the consternation of the non-smokers.  While some of the people objected, the smokers smirked and did not even bother to extinguish their cigarettes or bidis; they exhaled the acrid smoke with pleasure forming smoke rings.

Those idyllic memories of my childhood, watching a movie in a “picture tent” has remained with me, perhaps, reminding me of a joyful time when life was really simple, just black and white; and this brings on a smile to my wry face.

Boyhood Memories

It was a time like no other; the wonderful times that I had, as a young boy, growing up in the sixties and seventies.  Boyhood memories, with all its carefree charm, wondrous, playful, fun-filled life, has a special place in my heart.  Looking back, I was blissfully unaware, of what life had in store for me, down the line, just a few years ahead.

The games, we played as youngsters, had some typically funny names; although same or similar games with minor variations existed all over the country.  Just off the cuff, I remember a few names, (of course, in local lingo) such as, lagory, soorchand, icepies, gilli-dandlu, bugri, goli, tyre aata (typically a motorbike or moped tyre was used with the help of a stick or sometimes even the palm was used to roll the tyre on the streets); and of course, the ubiquitous gully cricket, generally played with tennis ball. Sometimes as a substitute for tennis balls, a rubber ball; or a sponge ball; or a cork ball; or even balls made from the produce of trees that bore red flowers in autumn, were used. You see, the frequent use of tennis balls was a costly affair and moreover, the tennis balls, had a tendency to lose its woollen exterior, very early, and turn into a bald, hard rubber ball.

The cricket bats, sometimes, were just flat wood planks shaped in the form of a cricket bat; cheap cricket bats were available in plenty in sports stores specially meant for playing cricket with tennis balls or rubber balls alone.  These bats, more often than not, broke when played with hard balls. 

For ‘wickets’, three stones were placed as ‘wicket’ markers at both ends; sometimes the three ‘wickets’ were marked on a wall, drawn with red-brick pieces or charcoal pieces. 

We could not afford to buy the 'wickets' or balls and bats ourselves; most of the time, we were dependent on some benevolent sponsors.  Many a time, the balls disappeared into the roadside sewers or drains or even house gardens, from where retrieval was not possible.  The boys who got us new balls, were considered to be important patrons and given special privileges, like batting first.

Playing one or the other games with boys of similar ages, during all times of the day was our main pastime; come rain or hot sun shine; the weather gods, never bothered us.  As cheeky boys, we were in the habit of sneaking away from home, sometimes even during the hot midday sun, away from the prying eyes of the parents.  All that was needed to start a game, was just a companion of similar age to play and an empty street, bereft of traffic.  Each game had a unique flavour to it and all the boys and girls of my generation knew each of the above games, by heart.

I am not sure, if the millennial generation has even heard the names of these games.  I think, many of these games have simply disappeared into antiquity, may be, they are lost forever.  Please don’t get me wrong; I am not making out a case that the games should be revived and the youngsters of today should start playing them.  Each generation of youngsters have their own way of choosing a pastime.  The present-day generation are all for video games and app-related games on their mobile phones and play stations; which are available aplenty and have probably replaced the physical games to a great extent; you hardly see youngsters playing on the streets, these days; the latest craze in the app category, it seems, is the game Pokémon Go.  Sometimes, makes me wonder how the games for youngsters get invented and how they get caught on, in the popular imagination of each generation.

Many of the games we played, required plenty of spare time and open spaces.  Luckily for us, as young boys of seventies, we had all the time in the world and many of the streets in Bangalore were free of traffic; there was very scarce movement of traffic all around Bangalore; most of the vehicular traffic was, just cycles and two-wheelers.  Cars were few and far between; mostly owned by few people, who could afford them.  This reminds me, there were only three major companies manufacturing cars in India.  The regal-looking, Ambassador; Fiat, later named as Premier Padmini and of course, the cute small car of those times, the Standard Herald. All these cars were manufactured in collaboration with UK or Italy.  Japanese cars, which we see, all around us, in plenty, these days, were unknown in India in the sixties and seventies.

As a young boy, I loved the Ambassador car and fervently wished to own the car, some day.  That, however, remained a dream, unfulfilled!  Of course, it never occurred to me, at that point in time, that the Ambassador car, would one day become a relic of the past, soon to be confined to the dustbin of history (or remain only as Kolkata taxis). 

As fate would have it, my boyhood days were soon cut short due to the prolonged illness and subsequent demise of my father; this forced me to grow up overnight and assume the mantle of a responsible adult. However, the wonderful, fun-filled memories of my boyhood days, still remain with me and regale me in my present out-of-work, retired state!

Bollywood goes Vegan!

 

Bollywood goes Vegan! So screamed the headline in Page 3 supplement of a popular Newspaper.  This made me sit up and take notice.  Oh! Good, I thought, Bollywood has woken up at last and very soon even Hollywood would wake up to the benefits of Veganism or at least Vegetarianism.  When I read the article through, alas, I was a bit disappointed; as per the article, a few actresses (apologies! Actors, to be on the safer side of the feminist hardliners) had converted to Veganism as their dietary choice.  If only 4 or 5 actors (note: female actors) follow Veganism, does it constitute that the entire Bollywood has gone Vegan?  Well, merely reading the headlines without reading the accompanying article is definitely misleading, I thought.  The author of the article could probably be a Vegan, and hence this huge misdirection; probably, the author would have loved it, if the entire Bollywood per se, had gone Vegan.

Based on my upbringing, at one point in time, I had thought that all the people in the World ate only what I ate i.e., the Vegetarian food.  I had absolutely no notion, that people could eat animal meat anywhere in the World.  Well, you see the World consisted only of my family and a few relatives and friends.  I was literally living in a ‘well’ (like the analogy of frog living in a ‘well’, thinking that this is the entire World!), up until I completed my primary and middle school days; and had no knowledge what constituted the World; even though I studied Geography and History like everyone else in my School.  This indicated that I was only mugging up for passing the exams without actually gaining an understanding of anything that we were supposed to study.  Please note, I don’t have anything against those following a non-vegetarian diet including eating beef or anything else that moves on this Earth (like one of my non-vegetarian friends fondly preferred to say).  I seek apologies, in advance if I sound, prejudiced or racist or something else; in today’s hyper sensitive World one should be very wary of what you say.   As a matter of fact, I was just pointing out that, what a dumb student I was!

One day, when I was in class 6 or 7, a classmate of mine invited me to his home.  I went along with him and saw lots of hens and roosters moving around in their house compound.  I was kind of flustered with the smells emanating from the hens’ shed nearby.  The friend told me that they had kept hens because it gave lots of eggs and around their festival time, they prepared chicken dish in their home by killing off one or more of the hens.   That was the first time I had come across a family killing off hens and eating them.  I was kind of confused and my mind was whirring.   I couldn’t understand how anyone could eat these hens with all the feathers and the kind of smells emanating from them (Pardon my ignorance here!).   My food habits were limited to the extent of rice, sambar, sabzi and its associated preparations.   My major conclusion was that this family was an aberration!  Very soon, I, forgot all about my friend’s house visit. 

However, on enquiry much later with my other classmates, I found out that many of them had also tasted chicken dishes at home and they, in fact, had loved it!  What I didn’t know then was that “we” (as in my family/relatives and a few friends) were an aberration and not the other way around!  May be, barring one or two percent of the World population, the rest of the people (mind you, the World population at approximately 7.3 Billion people) in this World love eating animal meat including fish, steak or anything else that moves on this Earth!   Here is a titbit.  All chocolate bars have at least 7-8 insect legs (on an average) incorporated inside it during their manufacture (We are told that it is impossible to avoid insects, roaches and the like while manufacturing chocolates on a mass scale).  Have we all not eaten chocolate bars at some time?  Cool, right?  Then, why else was I feeling so excited on reading the headline about Bollywood going Vegan.  Well, go figure!

Reliving the past memories of my school days!

A classmate from my primary school days called me up one fine morning out of the blue, to invite me for the wedding of his daughter.  I could not recognize the voice; my mind was completely blank.  He kept insisting enthusiastically over the phone to recognize who the caller was.  I gave up.  After he introduced himself (rather disappointingly, I thought), something inside my brain clicked and I could vaguely remember the chubby little boy with a friendly face.  Now, who would recognize someone you have never seen or heard from, for the past 50 years or so.

Oh! What a day and week that turned out to be; reliving the past memories of my old school days.  I immediately called up another classmate friend of mine, who is still in touch with me for the past 55 odd years and exchanged this good news.  It appeared that it was he, who had provided my number to the new caller buddy from my old school days.

As old memories rushed in, I rummaged through my desks and drawers to search for an old school group photograph that I had somehow preserved (hidden cleverly from my wife, who has this strong penchant for disposing of old things at random despite strong resistance from the other family members!).  On spotting the old classmate of mine in the group photograph, I felt excited like a school boy who is unexpectedly handed an ice-candy (don't you laugh, ice-candy was a thing in my school days).

I made certain of the venue and date of the marriage reception of my classmate’s daughter; although my inner mind kept agitating on attending the reception late in the evening, all-dressed up, and driving to the venue in Bangalore’s traffic conditions.  I would say it was a real achievement in the end, having managed to keep up my date at the wedding reception.

As soon as my old friend (buddy of 55+ years) and I, entered the reception venue (a little apprehensively as we did not know anybody there), a young lady usher confronted us at the door and asked us whether we were from the bride’s side or the groom’s side.  We were taken aback at this beautiful questioning girl; we blurted out that the bride’s father was our classmate from primary school days.  We could see that the young lady was a bit skeptical with the explanation; however, she hid her disappointment well and bade us sit on one side of the reception hall.  Meanwhile, a dapper middle-aged gentleman (wearing silk brocaded Kurta and Pyjama; I thought he looked like the model of “Maanyavar” brand) with greying hairs, approached us with a hesitant smile, stretching out his hand.  You are Ganapathy and Nagaraj, right, he said.  He was all warmth and ebullient.  Our minds were frantically trying to connect the boy from the school photograph with the middle-aged gentleman in front of us.  We embraced each other warmly and got into deep conversation for the next two or three minutes reminiscing excitedly about our school days.  The bride's father went on to confess that he recognized our faces only from the WhatsApp profile photos.  Unluckily for us, we did not have the luxury of recognizing the bride’s father beforehand, as there was no profile photo of his on WhatsApp.  Be that as it may, how long can the conversation last in the middle of a bustling marriage reception? there were other people in the marriage hall vying for the attention of the bride’s father; he hesitatingly told us take our seats and moved away greeting other wedding guests merrily.

We had the fortune of meeting another primary school buddy of ours in the reception hall (our pal Suri) and it was a wonderful reunion of sorts of our old school mates.  It was an eventful evening to remember!  The food was excellent and we savoured the delicacies along with our sweet chatterings of the school days.  We all swore that we would keep in touch with each other and have a regular sort of ‘meet’ of our old school mates.  We reminisced late into evening about the good times we had as school boys (although I had hated going to school, when I was a kid) and how wonderful those days were (an outright exaggeration, as I was just a naïve school boy of the Sixties!).

In the long years of having lived my beautiful life, I have had the privilege of attending a number of school/college get-together/send-offs; professional get-together/send-offs (innumerable transfers/trainings and even resignations); where there were some moving, emotional speeches made / delivered; addresses or contact numbers exchanged; and tearful hugs with earnest promises made to keep in touch with each other.  Whither those promises and tearful hugs?  Well, that’s life for you; you learn to move on.

Is this emotional reunion of my old school classmates in a wedding reception going the same way?  Hopefully not.  In this age of easy telecommunication access, there shouldn’t be any problem dialing from our mobile contacts, right? Well, keeping my fingers on the dial!

The culinary delight - Madrasi Sambar

This anecdote, during my professional life in a nationalized bank, in the nineties was something of a unique experience; it is worth a recall.

I was posted to work in a branch in the somewhat popular town in Haryana State of Northern India which went by the name of Ambala Cantonment.  I say this place was popular because many of the Indians from the Northern part of the country, knew Ambala very well. Ambala was located on the National Highway; on the border with the Indian state of Punjab and in proximity to the capital Chandigarh. Due to its geographical location, Ambala  was a prominent place with an Army cantonment.

However, many Indians, residing South of Vindhyas, including me, had never heard of the place.  When I received my posting orders, I looked up the India Map (after locating a political map from my daughter’s text book) to ascertain the exact location and enquired from different people on how to get there by train (Google Maps were still way off).

On my first day, I was welcomed to the branch with some warmth but there was also a small measure of disdain.  Some of the local staff, had a nickname for me, a Madrasi.  Anyone hailing from the Southern part of India was a Madrasi, irrespective of the State they belonged.  Since I was replacing another Madrasi, (a fellow Kannadiga), there was not much expectations from me, as this outgoing person had a very somber reputation.  However, I had made it clear to each and every one of the staff member (whoever bothered to listen) that I was from Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka state and my mother tongue happened to be Kannada; more clearly, I had clarified that I was not a Madrasi.  The staff members nodded knowingly, but never bothered to understand the distinction, or how it affected me.  I always remained a Madrasi to them, with a funny name to boot (Snake King, was what one staff member slyly remarked).

After the first few months of my stay, the staff at the branch started pestering me to host a party of home-prepared Madrasi Idlis and Sambar (I was told that the previous Madrasi incumbent had hosted the staff to delicious Idlis and Sambar on several occasions).  I placed the matter before my wife.  It was agreed that during the branch year end, when only the Managers and Officers staff would be present at the branch, my wife would prepare and serve Idlis with Sambar.

The year-end closing of accounts in a Bank branch, is a grueling period for Officers and Managers staff, as the branch balance sheet has to be drawn as on the last day of the year.  The work would entail hours of preparation and would stretch late into the night and get completed only by the dawn of the subsequent day.  Following which, all the staff involved in the preparation of the balance sheet would be able to reach their homes only on the subsequent day morning for freshening up and reporting for next day's work.

When the day of reckoning arrived, my dutiful wife prepared about 80 Idlis, chutney and a bucketful of steaming Sambar to be served to the branch staff as dinner that evening.   I gallantly took up the task of carrying the bulky steel containers of hot sambar, on my Bajaj scooter at around 8 PM that evening to the branch.  The staff members present on the day were waiting eagerly to partake of the special Madrasi preparation of the soft Idlis and the deliciously aromatic Sambar.  One of my colleagues, took up the unenviable task of serving one and all, with alacrity.  As there were about 20 staff members, I had indicated that each person present could have up to 4 Idlis per plate and a generous serving of chutney and Sambar.

After delivery of the food items, I had got busy with some office work that required concentration; and had totally forgotten about the dinner that evening.  After a lapse of some time, when my hunger pangs started tingling, I checked with the colleague on the status of Idlis and Sambar.  He directed my attention to the steel containers.  I looked into the containers and saw a pile of Idlis still left over.  There was a huge quantity of chutney too, remaining unconsumed.  However, not a single drop of Sambar remained in the steel container.  I casually enquired with my colleague, what had happened with the huge quantity of Sambar.  He guffawed heartily and informed me that all the staff present had eagerly pounced upon the Sambar container and literally dipped their cups and tumblers into the container, merrily drinking away the delicious hot Sambar.  Only a few of them had consumed some Idlis and chutney.  It seemed that there were no takers for Idlis and chutney.  More than 40 Idlis and a huge quantity of chutney had been leftover, which I took back home crestfallen, to my beleaguered wife.  My wife laughingly remarked that she would have prepared and supplied only Sambar, had she known the tastebuds of the staff of my branch; where was the need of taking pains to prepare so many Idlis and chutney, she added.  I do not know to this day, if the famous Madrasi idli/sambar, prepared so painstakingly by my wife to be served to the staff of my branch, was a success or failure!

The Portfolio Conundrum – Honey, it’s all about Money!

It is a bizarre experience to navigate the conundrum named stock market portfolio. Emotions run high and dry, during the ups and downs of the equity markets, especially if you have personally invested in equity and consider yourself a stock market fringe player.   The day the Sensex or the Nifty shoots up, your portfolio valuation shoots up sky high, it would be literally like sailing on cloud nine; no sooner, even before the celebration ends, the portfolio valuation would dip down to an abysmal low; so, would the mood of the player, be.  If one is into the stock market game, honestly, I think the person literally needs to be like the Buddha, to remain unaffected by the stock market volatility.

The stock market experts say, that we should not get rattled by the valuations; the highs and lows are integral to the stock market.  If these were just numbers and figures, I would just be fine; unfortunately, this is all about one’s finances.  Honey, it is all about money.   Stock markets, by its very nature is volatile.  The movement of indices depends on composition of the index and behaviour of the individual shares or stocks of the companies.  Many a time, the stock market indices would have shot up, but my portfolio would have gone down.  Vice versa happening is rare; that’s a mystery to date, which has no logical explanation. All this is perfectly understandable to the analysts or advisors. They have umpteen number of explanations on why the stock value is down or up; or why we should buy or sell a particular stock; or why we should hold or remain invested in the said stock. The advisors would never allow you to exit from the stock market, even though some of the stock valuations are down to a loss of, say 90%, instead they would advise you to substitute the stock with another winner stock from their recommendations’ stable.  They have an explanation for every damn thing happening to the stocks in your portfolio.

All of us have heard of stock market wizards; who have made billions, prime examples being Warren Buffet or our own Rakesh Jhunjhunwala.  My stock market broker/advisor has narrated to me stories of how people who have invested in the equity market and stayed put, have raked in Crores of rupees; rags to riches stories abound in stock market history. With this background, my expectations had been kindled, hoping for a very good return in staying invested long, in the equity market.  I have dreamt of wealth being created through the stock market game.  This, of course, has remained a pipe dream, till today.   But, “never give up, my friend”, says the advisor, (I wouldn’t call him my friend at any rate!) “the cusp of a breakout is very near; Sensex touching 100000 points may not be far off; you will get to be a crorepathi, one day soon”, says the advisor confidently. The fool in me, still believes in the pipe dream; however, I dare not take a peek at my portfolio, which has taken a huge dive in today’s market!