Something Amiss..

As a sheer wave of nostalgia hits me in this sunny Sunday afternoon, I couldn’t help but muse on all those lovely moments of my life.. Yes, Indeed I miss

• Those Hasty Bicycle rides to School
• Climbing Guava and Mango trees in search of sweet temptations
• Those Hide and Seek Games that filled lazy afternoons
• Summer Time.. Umm.. Mango eating competitions in the village backyards.. Yummy!
• Hosting Bicycle Championships around the village roads
• Inventing creative reasons for missing classes
• Those innocent dreams of Ramayan, Snakes and Shaktiman
• Those days of ‘Chitrahaar’ and ”Doordarshan’ sans remote control
• Bending rules with childhood pals, my partners in crime
• Those summer rains and the lighthearted frolic on the terrace
• The sheer joy of growing up, and the academic rigmarole

Umm.. How I long for a little drizzle of joy or a time machine… Suddenly this whole business of playing the adult isn’t that appealing any more.

Blind Men And The Elephant..

This is a story from my Granny’s collections. One of those fond memories of childhood and yet such a lifetime lesson to practice. A little googling helped me locate this story and saved me from recreating its fondness from memory. For the trading with memories involves dealing with interpretations and perceptions which may not let you remain true to the original. 🙂

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Once upon a time there were six blind men. They lived in a town in India. They thought they were very clever. One day an elephant came into the town. The blind men did not know what an elephant looked like but they could smell it and they could hear it. ‘What is this animal like?’ they said. Each man touched a different part of the elephant.

The first man touched the elephant’s body. It felt hard, big and wide. ‘An elephant is like a wall’ he said. The second man touched one of the elephant’s tusks. It felt smooth and hard and sharp. ‘An elephant is like a spear’ he said.

The third man touched the elephant’s trunk. It felt long and thin and wiggly. ‘An elephant is like a snake’ he said. The fourth man touched on of the legs. It felt thick and rough and hard and round. ‘An elephant is like a tree’ he said.

The fifth man touched one of the elephant’s ears. It felt thin and it moved. ‘An elephant is like a fan’ he said.

The sixth man touched the elephant’s tail. It felt long and thin and strong. ‘An elephant is like a rope’ he said.

The men argued. It’s like a wall! No, it isn’t! It’s like a spear! No it isn’t! It’s like a snake! They did not agree. The king had been watching and listening to the men. ‘You are not very clever. You only touched part of the elephant. You did not feel the whole animal. An elephant is not like a wall or a spear or a snake, or a tree or a fan of a rope’.

The men left the town still arguing. A little girl heard them and said ‘Each of you is right but you are all wrong … but I know what you are talking about.’

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A nice illustration of this story in poem is available here. This story leaves me with a lingering echo that sounds like this.

“O how they cling and wrangle, some who claim
For preacher and monk the honored name!
For, quarreling, each to his view they cling.
Such folk see only one side of a thing”

Well, thats the thought that stayed with me since carefree days.

Weekend Musings..

The word for the weekend is Nostalgic! It is filled with recollecting memoirs and reliving memories from old letters, mails, chats and catching up on long pending reflections. I have had a pensive Saturday and a homely Sunday. This is my first weekend at Bangalore where I had time entirely for myself and guess this is much needed to flush some pensive musings. At times it is tough to enjoy the company that I keep when am alone. My mood closely rhymed with this expression.. ‘Looking back on the tears would always make us laugh, but little did I know that the moments we laughed together will make us cry one day!’

Happy Ganesha Chaturdhi..

This is a very special festival in both family and cultural aspects as never a year rolled by when I haven’t prayed Ganesha in this occasion. Ganesha is one of my favorite Gods, as he is so much malleable to creativity. He get the first prayers as he is the one who guides opportunities by eradicating the obstacles. (So as the mythology goes).

This is an old forward, yet it was so current in my memory that I hunted it down to share it with you all.

I celebrated this year with my family friends and as I was enjoying the puja it struck me how much these rituals create the bonding of being together with the family. Whenever this festival arrives and wraps me in a humdrum of activity, I cant help but take a trip down the memory lane.. Reliving all those days of hectic shopping for the idol and flowers, Troubling Mamma for new books, Drawing Om on the book covers, Setting up the Mandapa, Dressing up in new clothes, The humdrum in the kitchen, Chanting of the sloka, Ardent avoiding of the moon and so on.. All those moments flash live they are still alive and are happening now.

Sometimes somethings sound plain stupid to the naked eye, yet they have a lot of depth behind it. The entire personification of God and treating him with flowers, dressing him up, and offering food in a particular process may sound tiring and ridiculous, yet I love the effect of peace it creates in the mind, the feeling of unity in entire family helping each other in getting things done, and the visits of the relatives and friends and the community bonding.. Sometimes I feel as if there is a meaning behind everything and everything has a meaning.. It may be hazy to figure it out in an instance yet, it doesn’t stop me from believing.

These rituals are just not about religious beliefs, they are about uniting everyone under simple purpose and activity, and sharing common memories through procedures and protocols. How much I love them!

Beauty Of Mother Tongue..

I was browsing through and guess am locked in an air of nostalgia.. Flashes of memories, of granny teaching you Aksharamala (Alphabet), of the childhood victorious glow when you grew up enough to read those Chandamama, Balamitra, Bommarillu and all those child magazines enveloped me in tight hold. As I grew up I read wonderful books in telugu.. Be it novels or poems.. Sumati Satakam, Vemana Padyalu, and all that grammer.. I still miss some novels like Mohana Vamsi, Venello Adapilla, Lakumadevi which I read some fifteen years back. And the worst fact is that neither I can google them down nor can I load them up in my PC.

Guess language sets an ambience for cultural expressions and nothing can beat mother tongue in it. Learning a language opens up an entirely new world.. You can associate with the spirit and at times some expressions are so authentic that you cant translate without watering down the intensity. Sometimes I face this problem too. I still wonder how would I translate ‘alambana’, ‘samyamanam’.. When emotions succumb you in a deluge it becomes difficult to relate to heart matters in a language thats alien to you in the same spirit that you want to express.

If I muse on, I speak Hindi with friends, Telugu with family, English in Profession and to write on.. I see things as I am made, cause I rely on my perception over reality.. And when immense depth of feelings hit you, you may be at loss for words. Guess I am blessed in that sense that I had great grand parents who introduced me to the world of Telugu Literature and my parents encouraged me in every means possible.

Thanks to the advent of globalization, English is slowly taking the place of mothertongue and ‘Amma’ is becoming ‘mom’.. With all fairness, I accept and respect English as any indian language yet I only mourn about the dwindling focus on native languages. Are we missing only the language or a breadth of cultural experience? Think it up..

My trip to Hyderabad

Albeit short, this trip to Hyderabad was a delightful one. I spent a day there watching a fabulous Telugu movie called Style. This movie is based on a bunch of guys who were dedicated to Freestyle dance. A couple a good songs, sensible performance by Lawrence and a great deal of fabulous dance made it quite an enjoyable show. I chanced to have a glance at the new IMAX and the Prasad multiplex and took a long drive to the Necklace road. All these brought back the memories of the nostalgic university life back. I went to my old Osmania Ladies Hostel, catching up with the old times. Nothing has changed much, apart from the colour of the walls. (Got a recent white wash!). The same old Bawarchi restaurant and the same RTC X roads flanked by theatres on either sides, at times it’s nice to live the old times again, though for a short time. Nothing changes much apart from the soul within!

My Convocation!

I went to Pune on this 21st of Jan. 22nd Jan was our batch convocation at IMDR. The moment Chennai Express reached Pune, every grueling moments of the 23 hour journey was forgotten and I was giggling like an idiot! I never know that I was suffering from such heavy dose of nostalgia! The train journey was quiet enjoyable, thanks to my batch mate who gave me a good company. I went to my old flat at Mini Apartments on Bhandarkar Road. Everything seemed so normal…

I met an old friend there. He became sick without proper food and a lot of tension in life. Well, he is working in sales in the financial sector and guess there lies the reason for his unbalanced life. Financial sector frightens me with a strenuous work life. I just wonder about those poor souls who are facing the heat! I spent the evening with another friend over dinner catching up with the old times. Nothing changed infact!

On Sunday Morning, I had a great time running to the railway station for booking my return tickets.. That was quiet a long walk which rejuvenated my old memories. Infact, I went for walking for about 4 km a day throughout my stay in Pune.  I went for the convocation dressed in the Maroon Sari, a tradition of IMDR. I was feeling curiously strange as the convocation discussion was a little off the track. Surprisingly, I was a little tensed! Ultimately I was called on the podium as I stood first in Lady Students of our batch. I won a cash prize called “Late Shri. S.G.Barve free studentship.” Well, I felt strange that they decided to have a prize for a ladies topper and that ended up to be me of all probabilities! I was happy that the most creative award of the batch went to Reema Sahay. Who else? I can never forget the beauty and simplicity of her poems.

After the convocation, I had a grand lunch with my Mentee. There is a thing called Mentorship in IMDR where one senior takes the charge of one junior in the process of begadofying and guiding. That’s quite a fruitful relationship as it creates the pegs and relationships across the batches. After that hearty lunch, I went to my relatives place. I love their daughter, who is just 6 years old. She is too sweet and pleasant. Infact, I extended my trip in order to spend decent time with her.

My Observations

One thing that echoed common among a lot of my batch mates is disillusionment, as their expectations are no match to the kind of profiles in which they all ended up. I could sense the dilemma and the turmoil. Life has become a struggle in work life with the emerging challenges. The desire to keep the dreams alive is dwindling and life is rolling in pursuit of mundane tasks. Sad, yet true. I felt little lonely in the campus, guess that’s because of the lack of the comfort factor. A lot of things changed, isn’t it? That’s all about my convocation..

Chennai IMDR Alumni Meet..

Yesterday we had an IMDRite get together at Dhaba Express in Cenotoph Road of Chennai. Thanks to Juniors and thanks to Placement preparations, I could see a lot of IMDRites. It was a small gathering of around 15 people. There were a few who were about 5 to 10 years seniors to us. I really liked their commitment to come after this many years.

The gathering brought back quite a lot of memories.. Sitting under the Bodhi tree, fighting for the computers, gossiping with friends, arguments with Doc, the serene quadrangle and the feeling of Bhupi’s presence. Every moment seems the Best. I am pretty impressed by the feeling of unity among the alumni. Really, its very important to have a sense of identity and IMDR has a unique culture of itself. IMDR makes one simple and down to earth. It made me more introspective and observant. Down the memory lane, I know that IMDR has made a big impact in my life.

For a moment, I wished to be at IMDR.. To silently walk around the campus, to see Bhupi from far (I am a little hesitant to talk to him,as always), to sit on the stairs and to listen to the humming of the birds. It really made me nostalgic. I know its not possible, yet, its great to have good memories, longings and a sense of belongingness. When I was at IMDR, I never thought of the feeling of being an alumni. The corporate life is quite a shift from the sensitive culture of IMDR. Yet, I need to come out of the shadow someday.. To realize myself and to be myself.

Why Robert Frost comes to mind always? May be his poem is very exquisite. It sums up my feelings..

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Last day at IMDR as a student..

Don’t even know what to write. Its one of those days when my mind blanks out and heart feels heavy. There are still a few classmates around in the insti. Today seems like a normal day but I know its not the same. Today is my last day in IMDR as a student and I know that I can never get back to these days again. A phase of my life is ending and I am in a transition period caught in between the aching sweetness of college and the lure of the glorious future.

When I think of the days of IMDR, all I have is memories to fall back to. The days of Hip Hip Hurrays, those playful taunts, running for printouts, those naps in classes, that Time Pass in cases and those group arguments.. All and almost everything will make me miss IMDR more. I will miss all the IMDRites, those familiar faces who are friendly and trustworthy, those steps in quadrangle which seem inviting to spend hours together with pals and lots of Gappa, the Bodhi tree which is the platform for all the gyan sessions.. But then, once an IMDRite, always an IMDRite and memories never die. The feeling of belongingness I have with the IMDR community will always stay afresh in my heart. Life goes on collecting memories and memoirs.. What say?