My tryst with Yoga

Yoga, in recent years, has reached the centre stage and has become one of the most popular and sought after, powerful routines across the World.  In recent times, it has come to the notice of human kind that Yoga is not only a superior form of exercise but also extremely beneficial to the mental health and happiness of people across the spectrum, irrespective of age / race / colour / faith.  Across the World today, people are practising the different forms/combinations of Yoga postures/asanas/mudras, which is, especially true with Western cultures.  

There was a time when Yoga was quite not as popular, as it is today.  I had my first initiation  into Yoga in the early eighties when I had just completed my studies and freshly got into employment.  I had a colleague in my work place,  who introduced me to Yoga.  During the times I am talking about, Yoga was not very well advertised.  The classes then, were run in the empty corridors of an ill-lit, impoverished Temple.  The Temple premises was a bit decrepit as there were not many patrons to fund the infrastructure improvements of the Temple which was situated in the environs of Thyagarajanagar area of Bangalore.  It suited us very well.  The corridors were fairly free in the evenings for conducting our Yoga activities.  Our Yoga Guru was a young man in his late twenties. The young Guru taught us some powerful Yoga asanas in a very cavalier manner, perhaps it appeared so, because our bodies were young and supple, and we could easily perform some of the difficult asanas.  We were all very enthusiastic about the exercise part of it and not so much about the technicalities or the correctness part of the asanas. Without much ado, we were able to learn some basic Yoga postures.  A few months into the Yoga routine, we had to discontinue the classes for want of a basic place to train.  You see, the Temple that we were practicing Yoga, had started its own renovation work and we were asked to stop our activities. We lacked the necessary dedication and devotion to find an alternative place for continuing the Yoga classes. So, my initial tryst with Yoga came to an abrupt end.   Looking back, I think, we just did not have the necessary perseverance and diligence for continuing with the craft.

I suppose, life has a way of providing us with second chances to experience the spiritual side of things which we may have lost out in our quest to acquire material things. Well, to put things into perspective, may be, one has to go through life experiences the hard way to learn the basic lessons of getting to be happy and following good personal life habits.

Fast forward to nearly five decades into the future. My tryst with Yoga somehow got reconnected again by one of those unforeseen events.

It all happened so very suddenly that I had no inkling of what was to come.  One fine morning, my body movements became numb and I had to be urgently shifted to a hospital for immediate treatment.  I was advised immediate surgery of my lumbar region. The surgery lasted a few hours, but the damage done post surgery was quite a long drawn process.  I was confined to the bed for a week and was advised to move around with the help of an attendant and a 'walker'.  There was the additional treatment advised to seek the help of a physiotherapist to hasten the recovery process.  The physio treatment was quite painful during the first few days but after a couple of months, I was ready to move on.  You see, I was diagnosed with an unusual condition characterized by the inability to lift the front part of the foot, aptly called "foot drop".  The front of the foot literally dropped on its own volition from the attached leg.  The nerves connecting my foot were damaged and they had to regenerate on their own; this can be a long drawn process; further complicating the issue was my age and the debilitating diabetic condition.  All in all, a long drawn recovery process.  This brings me to the topic on hand.  The Yoga therapy.

During my physiotherapy phase, I was finding the therapist totally ineffective and was looking for an alternative therapy; when it was suggested to me to try out Yoga therapy.  This is when it all began.  I was indeed very lucky to come across an incredible Yoga Guru.  I was initially hesitant and even reluctant to put myself through the Yoga routine as I had a typical notion that Yoga was just meant for ascetics or mystics! Not at all meant for me, a 66 year old patient with post surgical and other health complications.  I agreed to go through the therapy for the first few days, more out of curiosity and my wife's insistence rather than as any serious form of exercise that would improve my condition.  My initial experience turned out to be rather encouraging and I was increasingly getting bested by the routine as the days progressed. The Teacher made a vain attempt to teach me some of the Yoga prayers with even some home work to comply.   As can be expected, I was finding it difficult to even pronounce the tongue-twisting  sanskrit words in the beginning. The Yoga teacher struggled hard with me on my initial recovery stages by training me at my home on the specific exercises designed to strengthen my back (specifically the Lumbar region) and legs/feet. 

The Guru I am talking about was a very warm and kind individual, who had a great sense of humour to go with it.   She taught me the essence of all the varied forms of Yoga postures and mudras with a serious intent to repair my peculiar condition.  I really liked the way she helped me work hard with her easy demeanour and charming methods.  It looked simple when she showed us the complicated asanas but when as a matter of fact, it was difficult to replicate them on our own.  I can still recall her words "Hari sir, your face looks pinched as if you are drunk on castor oil, try doing the same asana with a pleasant face".  Truth be told, I am still trying hard to keep a pleasant face when twisting my arms and limbs in a rather complicated intertwined position!  I don't know how she does the complex Yoga asanas with composed graceful and svelte movements like a gazelle, combined with a happy and pleasant face to go with it.   I would rather gleefully watch her do them effortlessly rather than trying them do on my own!  In a lighter vein, it is rather that the young boys and girls of the Yoga class think that she is an Angel of sorts!  I would second that notion whole-heartedly as she has performed some miracles with the way she has made me try some really complicated Yoga poses using her enormous talents.  When I started attending her classes, I found to my dismay that I was the only male around; all other attendees were ladies of different ages. I felt embarrassed the first day but very soon I was made to feel welcome, more like a member of the family and even joked around as 'Krishna Paramatma'.  I feel overwhelmed and proud that I am able to walk on my own, without the aid of a walking stick or any other form of support now; which is largely due to the unstinted efforts of the Yoga teacher who worked very hard with me to enable me to regain my strength in my lower back region and my legs/feet.  

I bow my head in humility to this extraordinary person who has been my teacher and Guru in my second tryst with this wonderful Yoga routine.  

Let me end this narrative with a quote from the greatest of all, the Yoga Guru, the sage Patanjali himself:

When you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all of your thoughts break their bonds. Your mind transcends limitations; your consciousness expands in every direction; and you find yourself in a new, great and wonderful world. Dormant forces, faculties and talents become alive and you discover yourself to be a greater person than you ever dreamed yourself to be.

Hail Emperor Akbar!

Many of us would remember our school days with a tinge of nostalgia.  The days, when we, as school boys were carefree and life was great fun.  Well, some of the days were not really that good.  The bad days in school would be when we were asked to complete homework by the next day on a topic which we knew nothing or little about; we had to read the entire chapter or lesson in detail to undertake the homework; or when we were asked to stand up on the bench for apparently speaking to the boy seated next to you, while the fault was entirely of the other boy.  The other boy who actually spoke to you first would get away, while you would get caught while whispering back to him on his query or laughing at some joke the boy had cracked.  If you argued with your Teacher that the entire fault was with the boy sitting next to you, the Teacher would increase the quantum of punishment and the other boy would become your sworn enemy for betraying him and giving him away.  Well, the life of a young boy in school had its own peculiar impediments.  Who would know it, other than the young boy himself who had experienced it first hand.  Ask any young boy, if you don't believe me!

There were other times, when as a school boy, I wondered, why were we asked to memorise a complete poem and recite it in front of the class.  When the poem was clearly printed in the text book, what was the need to memorise and recite the same poem, once again.  If one made mistakes in reciting the poem, the whole class laughed.  When it was the other students’ turn to recite a poem and they committed some mistakes, we laughed louder to make them understand what the ‘shame’ part of it meant.

In the mind of a young school boy, ‘grown-ups’ were almost always a source of envy, because they did not have to attend school; they only had some office job to attend, where they paid you handsomely in return.  You could buy any number of ice creams or chocolate treats with the money earned and no one would dare question an adult on his choice of purchases. As a school boy, I always felt that the boys were at a disadvantage, compared to the ‘grown-ups’, who had everything going for them.  Of course, now as a ‘grown-up’, I feel differently; life as a school boy was the best of times, in one’s life.

I am reminded of an incident when I was in 4^th or 5^th standard; the class Teacher had asked us to enact a drama for the ‘School Day’ function.  One of the boys in our group took the initiative.  He knew the story of Emperor Akbar by heart and he had suggested that, we stage the drama of Emperor Akbar.  The boy who had taken the lead, wanted to play the main role of Emperor Akbar.  Most of the other boys in our group had no objection to this, as none of us had any experience in staging a drama.  Moreover, the boy who was to play the lead actor was taller and well-built, compared to the other puny little boys in the group.  One fine day, we all arranged to meet at the home of the lead actor.  The home of this lead actor, had an open porch in the front of his house.  This place was quite convenient to stage our drama rehearsals.  I had, albeit, reluctantly agreed that my role would be that of guard who would stand in front of Emperor Akbar’s throne.  My role had very few sentences to recite; hailing the Emperor, whenever he appears on the stage and announcing the name of the visitor to the assembly.  I had to loudly announce at the top of my voice, ‘Hail the Lord and Master, Emperor Akbar’ or something to that effect.  My role was to always remain as the main guard and attendant of Emperor Akbar.  I was told that my role is important as I would appear in every scene, whenever Emperor Akbar took centre stage.  I felt pleased when I was told this.  My role did not need much rehearsals, which was a good thing.  I did not have the patience to read through the drama scripts or dialogues and mug them up, word by word, at rehearsals.   We had prepared dialogues sheet, actor-wise, by writing down the dialogues on a page in the school note book.  Each actor had to memorise his part of the dialogues from the pages torn out from the school note book.

The rehearsals for the drama went on for almost a month.  We would diligently meet every week end, at the lead actor’s house and stage some part of the drama rehearsal.  I don’t remember we ever enacted the entire drama in one stretch.  The rehearsals were always in bits and parts.  After enacting a few scenes, we would soon get bored with the drama rehearsals and sneak out to play, Cricket.  We were more interested in playing Cricket rather than enacting the drama rehearsals.  All the boys in the group were of the outdoor type and excelled in physical sports rather than displaying dramatics skills at school functions. We, however, assiduously practiced the drama rehearsals, though we were not sure how the drama would be received by the audience.

We were asked by the school Principal to stage a dress rehearsal with the basic props required for the stage, including dresses to be worn by the characters.  We had arranged to rent out some dresses for the characters in the drama.  A decorated chair was arranged for the throne and I remember that I had taken out some flower pots from my home to be kept before Emperor Akbar’s throne.  There were more number of drama entries to be staged from participants of other classes too.  The school Principal, had agreed to watch the dress rehearsals of all the dramas, before giving his approval of the final play/drama selected to be enacted on the function day.

On the day of the dress rehearsal, we were all called on to the stage to display our dramatics talents.   We staged the play of Emperor Akbar in the presence of school Principal, although during the play, some parts and bits were totally forgotten by the drama actors.  There were some awkward silences and few slip ups.  We were all told to speak in a loud voice as there was no microphones on the dress rehearsal day.  I clearly remember that I had shouted at the top of my voice, hailing the Lord and Master Emperor Akbar; my voice had boomed through the empty hall.

We, the actors of the future, were all waiting with bated breath for the Principal’s final approval, which was to be announced the next day on the school notice board.  When we did not see the name of our drama on the notice board, we were all crestfallen.  All our efforts in enacting the great drama of Emperor Akbar had gone down the drain.  We did not have the resourcefulness to meet the Principal again to put forth a request for reconsideration of his decision.  After seeing the plays of other classes staged as part of dress rehearsal, we knew in the heart of our hearts that, our play simply, did not measure up.  We were disappointed that the careers of all the budding actors of our drama had come to a premature end.  Hail the Lord and Master Emperor Akbar! 

Millionaire Dreams!

Millionaire dreams

Stock market pundits have great aphorisms to explain the fall in market indices and especially in the aftermath of a market crash. Among different explanations, I came across a beautiful expression by one Analyst. He had said, "The bubble has burst; Stock valuations have gone down under; Market correction was due anytime; The market is a great equaliser, etc".  Great sound bytes! This explanation looked impressive to me. The following day, the newspapers were full of doomsday predictions informing their readers that the market crash had dissolved the overall investors’ wealth and made them poorer by a few millions or billions! It appeared to me that the market analysts and journalists were mocking at the equity market investors and did not want them to sleep well!

It left me wondering how does the stock market really work? Does anyone know when there would be a rise or slide in the Market Indices? Some of the stock markets around the World reacts to every small or minor event, let alone huge events like election results, earthquakes, floods, fire etc.  This affects every other stock market around the world as all markets are connected.  When would the bulls play out or when will the bears have a field day? As a layman, I was impacted by the market behaviour when I looked at my paltry portfolio! Most of the days, there would be a big dip in my portfolio (though the market indices had gone up!) or whenever I was lucky (which was very rare, indeed), I would see a marginal rise in my portfolio, much to my glee! My Advisor proudly says that ‘wealth’ can be built only when we stay invested in Equity Markets, deep and long; citing the example of Warren Buffet or still better the Indian stock market bull Rakesh Jhunjhunwala; driving upon our millionaire dreams! Or in Indian terms ‘making us Crorepatis’!

I wondered, how deep and long one should stay invested to make a decent profit (say 10%, which I am very content with!). Well, in the words of my Advisor one should stay put in the market for long years or even decades! He related an inspiring story of how one of his clients invested in ‘Infosys’ stock for a few years and today he is a Crorepati! I truly believed him, impressed. Advisors do not want us to ditch them in between snatching away their hours of hard work in mesmerising us by selling big dreams!

Hours and hours of Television prime time is devoted to discussions on the market behaviour with market pundits having a field day in their technical analyses’ of stocks and world markets! It gets to be an addiction for a layman investor to watch the TV discussions go on, to and fro amongst the panelists of distinguished experts. Latching on to every spoken word by these wonderful analysts gives us a ‘pumping of adrenaline’ adding to the excitement of a market opening day. Beautifully worded technical statements are bandied about by the Analysts to the excited TV panelists; ‘Market fundamentals are weak / strong’; ‘Global scenario is playing out’; ‘Panic has gripped global markets after China’s sharp slowdown and currency adjustments’; ‘Commodities are driving the markets/weakening; ‘Chinese markets have opened weak’; ‘Greece default has spooked the markets’; ‘DOW and NASDAQ closed strongly’; the list goes on. Sounds nice! I have always wondered, where do the market panelists get such wonderful brainwaves with such superior confident conclusions on the market behaviour! How can we poor laymen understand what the market pundits know for sure! When the market closes for the day, these market pundits and panelists are nowhere to be seen, as the markets would have behaved exactly the opposite of what was predicted by them in the morning! The TV channels would have made their money (by switching to innovative ads in between shows) and nobody is the wiser! When the market closes for the day, the TV host would be recapitulating the day’s indices’ movements and preparing the grounds for the next day, without a word on what was discussed by their wonderful panel just a few hours before. The next day is the exact repeat telecast with more number of distinguished panelists coming on to the TV studios and sharing their wonderful stock investment tips and market predictions with us dumb investors!

After watching umpteen number of TV shows, latching on to every word spoken by these great market pundits, analysts, panelists, and all other sundry market players; it dawns on me that nothing is really sacred anymore. It is business as usual for all the TV channels, market strategists and all those involved in selling the ‘millionaire dreams’ to us poor laymen investors holding dearly on to our measly shares of few companies, here and there!

As my portfolio was not going anywhere, I decided it is time to seek some expert advice. One fine morning I called up my Advisor asking him to help in “rejigging” my portfolio. The Advisor promptly arrived. He made me sell some dud stocks (which I had foolishly held on to hoping it would revive soon!) and buy some ‘midcap’ and ‘largecap’ stocks to reinvigorate my portfolio. He explained that I should keep on revisiting my stocks every now and then to ensure that my portfolio stays healthy. After the “rejigging” of my portfolio with the help of my Advisor, I kept a close watch on the stocks, daily calculating the returns on my investments. This went on for some time when I thought that I had really ‘turned the corner’ and was on my way to becoming a millionaire! By God, how wrong I was. The bull market phase was over and the bears had taken hold of the stock market! My stock valuation dove straight down gradually, following the well tread pattern! I was back in the ‘all-too-familiar’ situation. I called up my Advisor, he reassured me that this phase is temporary and this is a minor correction; soon the stock market would be back in the hands of the ‘marauding’ bulls! He assured me that there was a huge expectation on India story achieving the highest growth rate in the world! He also assured me that more “rejigging” of portfolio may be needed once the stock market is handed over to the bulls!

I am sharing the optimism of my Advisor and that of my Indian Government on our Country’s growth story. We will register a double digit growth soon! Equity market will surely give me handsome returns; I am still holding on to my ‘dear’ stocks as if my life depended on it! I am hoping and keeping my dreams intact that one day I shall also be a millionaire or more aptly a ‘crorepati’. When my Advisor’s client (real or imagined, I am not sure) can become a ‘Crorepati’ by holding on to only one Company’s share, why can’t I?

Happy dreams with “Bulls” leading from the front. On my way, to becoming a Millionaire!  Will the dreams come true or the bubbles burst.  Only time will tell!

Retentive memories!

Retentive memories!

I am sure most of us would wistfully look back on our childhood years with a sense of longing. The wonderful times that we had, as children, would be stored as a beautiful memory somewhere with in the inner recesses of our brain. Some early memories are more likely to survive than others say researchers. As examples, the researchers cite, is a memory that carries a lot of emotion and the other is a memory connected with the injuries sustained during childhood. I believe my brain has stored similar such memories from my childhood as I can recall the exact sequences of such events, to this day!

One such incident from my childhood that is still fresh in my mind is related to the injury mark that I sustained on my right temple.  I may have been around 10 years of age, when this incident occurred. One evening I was waiting for my playmates, leaning on the front gate of my house watching the street for signs of any boys who would be interested in playing with me. Meanwhile, my attention was caught by an ass ('donkey' for the uninitiated) munching some newspapers strewn around the garbage bin. Those days a concrete circular garbage bin (with the marking B.C.C) used to be placed on the footpath near the houses. One such garbage bin was placed on the footpath near to my house. As was usually the case, the garbage had piled up and was overflowing, spilling on to the streets. The ass looked quite happy investigating the contents of interest thrown around the garbage bin. There was this naughty boy living next door who was also a half friend of sorts. What I really meant was that this boy was an on-and-off friend.  He was friends with me when no other boy was around.  When others friends were there, we largely ignored each other. This was the extent of our friendship.  This on-and-off friend was standing near the gate of his house watching the ass munching away, as was I. This was the scene. This boy was not interested in playing with me. He was more interested in the ass. You see, this boy was something like the legendary Arjuna.  While Arjuna the warrior was an expert archer, the boy I am referring to was adept in throwing pieces of rock (or stones in the local parlance, let us not get into semantics here) at animals and other inanimate objects. He considered himself the present-day Arjuna.  But most of all what he loved best was aiming the rock pieces at animals; this gave him immense joy as the animals scampered away in fear.  

I digress.   Coming to the point, this boy looked at the ass and the ass looked at him askance rather non-chalantly while munching on his favourite snack, the newspaper.  This evening, as was his favourite pastime, while looking at the ass, a bright idea had stuck this naughty boy.  He was determined to make the animal feel miserable. There was a piece of rock lying nearby.  The rock was beckoning to him "pick-me". He could not resist the temptation; he promptly picked up the piece of rock and aimed it at the ass and hit it squarely between the legs. Our modern day Arjuna's aim had struck home.  However, our ass had thicker hide; it did not flinch. The ass did not mind the rock thrown at him and made no effort to stir from its place. This infuriated the boy further.  The boy was anything, if not made of stronger mettle.  His next unflinching aim was directed towards the head of the animal to wake it up from its languorous stupor. Spoiler alert.  This time his aim faltered slightly and the rock missed the intended target. How could he miss such a simple target, he thought.  If Krishna or Dronacharya were to look upon him at this point, they would have been sorely disappointed in him, their foremost disciple missing the target by a wide margin.  However, the rock had hit another unintended target.  Only instead of striking the animal's temple region, it had hit my right temple region. narrowly missing my eyes.  The angle between me and the ass was just a few degrees apart, you see. That was what the boy had miscalculated or calculated (I am not sure, may be, he thought I was another animal) while taking his aim. A sore point for our modern day Arjuna, indeed.  I screamed instinctively as I was bleeding profusely. As soon as the boy saw the damage that was done, he immediately disappeared quietly inside his house. This was not what Krishna had taught Arjuna; running away from the battlefield.  But our boy, remember was not the great archery warrior Arjuna was!  

My screaming continued vociferously as the pain had become unbearable. My mother heard my screams and came out. Amidst the hullabaloo, I explained as best as I could as to what had actually transpired pointing out to the boy next door. Without much ado, I was immediately rushed to the nearby clinic. Some stitches were required to seal the cut on my right temple.  The wound on my right temple had left an indelible scar in its wake which is visible clearly to this day. I heard a funny jibe from one of my Uncles that the naughty boy next door had mistaken me for the ass that I was and had aimed it quite well!

It is funny that one can remember the bad times more than the good times. I had to bear the responsibility (at least I thought so at that point of time) thrust upon me being the eldest child of my parents. I remember it was my job to carry out minor purchases (buying green chillies, coriander, curry leaves, lime, tomato etc.) from a nearby retailer, which was always a source of irritation to me. There were similar mundane tasks assigned to me in my younger days as I was the only young free 'male' in the house. The other task was going to the 'flour mill' carrying rice and wheat for grinding into flour, which I literally hated to my bones. This reminds me of an incident that is still fresh in my memory. As usual I was given the task of going to the 'flour mill' and getting wheat grains ground into flour. I insisted my sister also accompany me. We were both very young. May be I was 8 years old and my sister younger to me by 2 years. While on our way, the bag of wheat which I was carrying unfortunately slipped and much of the wheat grains fell on to the ground. My sister and I salvaged as much wheat grains as we could from the ground. In the process we had picked up some sand grains too. We were shocked and scared of what had occurred, accidentally though. We decided not to go back home with the unground wheat. It was the feeling of guilt and cowardice in my mind and I was not ready to face the consequences of my actions. So we trudged our way towards the 'flour mill' hoping that the mill worker would not notice anything. We were lucky, indeed.  The mill worker did not notice anything amiss. I think he was plain bored because, he had just ground the wheat along with the sand particles that had been scooped up from the ground, into fine sand dust mixed with wheat flour! The resultant flour was darkish brown in colour. We went home and delivered the bag of wheat flour, all innocent, without a word on the incident! Nobody looked into the bag of wheat flour immediately. May be after some time, my mom should have transferred the contents on to the big container in which flour is usually stored without suspecting anything. Being scared and ashamed of the incident, I told my sister to keep quiet and not to disclose the incident, ever. We were anxiously waiting when the wheat flour would be next used for preparation of chapattis. Luckily for us the whole week passed without chapattis being made. We thought that the incident was behind us.  How wrong we were.  Nothing goes wasted in our household.  The dreaded day had arrived. Even while mixing the chapatti flour my mom suspected that something was wrong.  She was murmuring that the flour was grainy and overly brownish dark. My sister and I looked at each other with mixed emotions;  guilt and fear, writ large on our faces, but we kept our cool; quiet and apprehensive. Once chapattis were prepared and served, the ensuing scene is a blur.  Being children, my sister and I were the first to be served with the sand infused chapattis. We ate it without murmur though the chapattis were grainy and tasted of sand. When it came to my dad's turn, just one bite was enough for him to guess that something had occurred. He inquiringly looked at me. I looked at him askance without meeting his eye. Feeling guilty and finally ready to face the consequences after the long drawn out suspense, I had decided it was time to come clean. I blurted out the incident masking that it was my fault all the way, trying to pin in it on my innocent sister! The chapattis that had already been prepared went into the dustbin! My parents were angry that all the good wheat flour was wasted. This incident appears silly and naïve now. But as kids, we felt ashamed and guilty; we tried to hush up the incident without taking our parents into confidence. However, as a lesson learned the hard way, my sister and I had to eat those grainy sand infused chapattis; the price we had to pay for trying to hush up the incident!

Looking back, it appears that my childhood days were numbered right from start. The period was a turbulent one, as my father (I was very close to my father) was very sick with many health complications plaguing him from his fortieth year onwards. My childhood recollections are mostly filled with memories of accompanying my father to clinics and hospitals for his treatments, in the hope that there would be a turnaround in his health condition. This was not to be. His health deteriorated and the biggest disappointment came when my father passed away soon. He was around fifty at that time. I was barely 16 years old. I felt as if the whole world had come crashing down on me. That was also a turning point in my life that made me realize that my childhood days were over and I had big responsibilities to fulfil. It had taken a while coming but the price was too steep to pay!

A Class Reunion

A Class Reunion 

A School friend of mine for over 6 decades (you read it right!) got in touch with me and invited me for breakfast at a nearby eating joint along with another School friend of mine (we were mutual friends for over 6 decades!).  Well, long story short, we three friends decided to meet.  This was not very unusual.  We had been in touch off and on;  only that we were busy with our own lives and had never found the time to meet at regular intervals.  Only the breakfast meet did not materialize due to some indeterminate reason. But there was a huge promise in the air.  Spoiler alert.  There was some backchannel talks going on to rope in more number of School mates for a reunion of sorts.  Presently, lo and behold, a firm date and time was set for the grand reunion of a dozen or so School mates.  The venue was proposed by a senior arranger and agreed upon by all the reunion group members. There was an unanimous chorus that the Hotel agreed upon would be well suited for the purpose.  

The time: 4 PM

The Venue: Hotel Anantha, Jayanagar 4th Block 

Directions: Click on Google GPS link

All set for the grand reunion of Class mates of Holy Christ School batch of 1970.  

Finally, the  propitious day of the grand meet arrived. It was early November and good old Bengaluru was getting cooler by the day.  There was a nip in the air, announcing the onset of Winter.  Weather was glorious. The weather gods had smiled down upon us.  The azure blue sky was spotless, not a speck of cloud anywhere in sight.  The school mates started arriving at the venue.  Hello, said the first mate to arrive and warm greetings ensued.  More and more mates started arriving.  There were firm handshakes and few warm hugs going around.  The School mates had not seen each other for 54 years, to be precise.  Were there any surprises.  You bet, there were. All the cute, sweet baby faces of yore (I mean the School days) had wizened out; the smooth and flawless skin had given way to signs of ageing.  Truth be told, many of the class mates had become grandfathers and grandmothers.  I couldn't recognise a few of them.  But this was par for the course.  Few of the mates had stayed in our School for only a year somewhere in between the middle school years.  There was a flutter and our main star attraction had arrived.  I wouldn't dare say the name of the person.  It is anybody's guess.    We all moved in a file to the inner seating area of the Hotel.

The chattering of the school mates continued unabatedly after they were comfortably seated in the cool Hotel climes.  The old School mates had becomes young boys and girls once again reminiscing on their past memories.  There was the customary round of introductions; and each of them talking about themselves revealing their life stories.  Many of our mates had achieved high degree of success in their lives with extraordinary achievements to their credit.  We toasted them, applauding their hardwork and perseverance.  

The appearance of a latecomer to the gathering created a palpable excitement in our midst.  The mate turned out to be a handsome gentleman with impeccable manners.  He had brought a sweet and snack packet along with him, which he meticulously went on distributing to each member of our group.   We were all excited and the latecomer forgiven.

In between these beautiful interactions between the old boys and girls, there was the enquiries and small talk; and the unavoidable cross talk; What happened to this person, where is that person, where does this person live/stay; the incessant chatter continued on into the late hour as the dusk set in.  

Meanwhile, the waiters were hovering around the tables, waiting patiently to note down the food orders.  Many of us, were not forthcoming on what to eat/order. Although, there were a few firm food orders.  The waiter who was initially assigned to our tables (a probationery waiter, perhaps) was completely dumbfounded.  He appeared flustered. Acting on a cue from the management representative,  he confabulated with his senior waiter colleague looking for clarity.  The conversation with the waiters took predominance. There was a lull in our conversations.  Waiters' doubts were completely addressed.  Finally, food orders were taken and food distribution ensued.  

Was the food that was served on the menu, the highlight of the evening.  Not really.  I can conclusively and vehemently say, 'NO' to that my dear sirs and madams, it was not.  The highlight was, of course, the afterglow of the warmth and the camaraderie that had set in amongst the mates; that was slowly forming into a deep, abiding and beautiful friendship.  Will this last.  That, my dears, is a million dollar question. 

As good times cannot last forever, things have to come to an end, so did our meet.  We ended our conversations on a very happy and pleasant note promising to keep in touch with each other and to have more such meetings.  This was an event to remember for all concerned .  Will the promises made on that eventful evening be remembered.  Only time will tell.  And that my dear readers, is life!  In all its glory and mysterious ways. 

Oh! Vanity, spare me?

The weekend supplements of many newspapers carry the news and photographs of the people having great parties in upscale hotels and restaurants or pubs; the photographs of some of these people holding a drink in hand or swinging away their blues on the dance floor, set me thinking.  What could be the reason that newspapers spend so much of resources on publicising the news and photographs of the partying men and women.  Many of these people partying hard are not even celebrities like movie actors (well, who doesn’t adore cinema idols!) or cricketers or some sportspersons (famous for their exploits on and off the field!) who need attention and publicity for their survival.  Seriously, do the newspaper editors really allow these rubbish materials to be published; fortunately, or unfortunately, it appears so!

Going through these news snippets in question, I saw that one of the photographs mentioned about the partying exploits of some DJ or RJ with their band members in tow.  The families and friends of such wonderful people would, of course, love to read and feast their eyes on the jovial camaraderie of their kinsmen/friends in the newspapers. If, on the other hand, these people are unknown to the readers, what interest would these news and photographs generate?  Don’t you think, reading snippets of partying information of unknown shenanigans or looking at some random photographs is sheer waste of time.

Made me wonder, who would benefit from the published news/photographs of some people having a nice time in upscale restaurant or pubs.  May be some of these partying people are wannabe actors or professionals in their respective fields who bribe the newsmen and photographers to publish them to further their careers;  Or is it that the newspapers need some juicy titbits of information for the financial survival of their newspapers;  Or the upscale restaurants and pubs would pay the newspapers handsomely to get publicity for their businesses; Or could this be some remnant colonial practice left behind by the aristocratic (or is it autocratic) British genteel customs.  We would never know, unless the newspaper publishers or the concerned newsmen spill out the truth behind this practice.

Whatever be the reason, it stuck me that if I were to visit one of these upscale restaurants or pubs during an exciting evening with my lovely and graceful partner in tow, maybe we could be lucky enough to be photographed and published in a popular newspaper!  Oh, dear vanity!

Short Pants - the sartorial statement!

I have always wondered how the fashion trends in men’s clothing department has evolved over the years.  Time was when, during my boyhood days we were sick and tired of wearing shorts or half-pants (as we called them, then); we wanted to grow up fast so that we could start wearing trousers or pants (as we used to invariably call them); what can I say, the shorts have now come onto the fashion scene with a bang; not only for young boys, but for men of all ages!  Older the man, more his new-found love for wearing the shorts.  I recently saw an old man, touching eighty, I would say, wearing beautiful chequered shorts and lovely beachwear T-shirt too.  He looked really smart with Nike sports shoes and a walking-stick swinging in his hand!  Shorts or half-pants, so to say, has really caught on, with great aplomb, in the minds of style-conscious men; young or old, alike.  It is considered the new-age ‘cool thing’ for men, to be seen wearing shorts!

Well, ruminating on my boyhood days, I had felt, rather ashamed of being seen, wearing shorts in public; I was ever so eager to enter manhood, mainly to show off wearing full length classic terry cot pants and growing a moustache (or rather, start the process of shaving).  I remember, I was so embarrassed of buying half-ticket in city transport buses.  I used to persuade my parents to buy me full ticket in buses; more than anything else, to feel the pride in being called a man, rather than a boy eligible only for half-ticket.  As a young boy, when travelling alone in buses, I was stealthily buying full ticket, away from the prying eyes of my parents; though, I was entitled to half ticket, according to my age, then.  When I asked for the full ticket, during those half-pant days, the bus conductor, used to look me up askance, weighing the options, whether I was eligible for half ticket or full ticket; but finally, the conductor used to issue a full ticket; giving in to the profit motive of the Bus Corporation!  In those days, the bus conductors had a way of assessing the boys’ ages, based on their attire; whether the boy was wearing half-pants or full pants.  Full pants warranted a full ticket and half pants were eligible for half-ticket.  It was that easy!  I don’t know, how it is, with the present-day BTS bus conductors.  It may not be that easy, considering that most men wear shorts or half-pants as their casual attire. Or else, do they even have half-tickets now, I am not so sure!

It was standard attire with the villagers of those days, to wear striped shorts; with a pocket sewn on the inside to keep their currency notes safe.  These striped shorts were made of pajama cloth material and all the village tailors were wonderfully skilled at stitching the pajama-based custom shorts.   I am not sure, if this village dress code was confined to South Indian States alone or was used widely in all other villages of India.  Striped shorts combined with inner vest (or banian, if you will) was a regular attire for village men.  Recently, when I passed through some of the villages, I could observe from the road-side that these village men too had radically evolved into wearing vibrantly fashionable shorts and colourful T-shirts.  It appeared to me, that the India I knew, had changed; had indeed, moved ahead on a swift path; fast catching up with the wealthy nations, at least, from a sartorial perspective!

Considering the current fashion trend in men’s casual wear department, young boys of the present day need not feel ashamed of wearing shorts or half-pants.  Most of the men’s population is wearing them too; men of all shapes and sizes; loving the comfortable and trendy short pants.  It may not be too far-fetched to assume that in the very near future, we may see most Indian men wearing shorts and T-shirts to their work places and offices in lieu of the formal shirts and trousers.  The only downside of older men wearing shorts, is the amply visible hairy ankle, which may not be such a pretty sight to most people, after all!