(Jan 4, 10:03pm)

Do you have songs that specifically remind you of some past event?

I have this one from Madhuri Dixit starrer Pukaar... where she bustles with Prabhu Deva in that iconic Que sara, sara number...

It was the January of 2000... the movie was yet to hit theaters, but the song was a hit... we had newly moved in to this apartment in Patna...

At leisure, I used to explore the place.. by the river side... though sometimes, it seemed too silent and secluded...

Mum had invited our cousin for lunch that day... 29th Jan, his birthday... a Saturday... Or did she invite him the following day?

My uncle always celebrated his son's anniversary on a belated date.. with Hindu rituals.. So, mum invited him for a lunch on 29th.. or may be 30th, on Sunday.. it was her way to commemorate the day...

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Despite our pleading with him to come early... he was nowhere to be seen... Mum was busy in kitchen.. and I was in terrace.. at the 10th floor... gaze fixed on the road beneath, waiting for cousin..

It was a new, scary experience to look down below from the 10th floor.. I was very scared... yet, I would take the Gods' names and bend down every two minutes...

Finally, he arrived... in the evening, two more pals joined in.. sons of a family friend.. I remember we played the Que sara, sara number a lot many times that evening... while mum chatted with the elders..

It was very cold that day... Those days the winter would spill well into the end of February..

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I have another memory of the day... We had bought the January issue of the Filmfare.. an absolute forbidden buy for young schoolchildren back then...

But mum made an exception to the rule, and bought us one...

Happy, the older of the two brothers, who was to appear for his 12th board the following month, begged us to lend the magazine..

Fearing his father's wrath, he hid it inside his clothes... he had undressed his upper garments to put it inside his vest,.. then he had worn the Cotswool shirt again.. the sweaters.. the jacket.. as we watched in amusement...

I don't know what incited me and my brother.. just as we were about to see them off, at the apartment's basement, we spoke out loud to him, "Happy, hope you have a good read of the Filmfare... Do feel free to keep it as long as you want."

All hell broke loose.. "Filmfare? What Filmfare? Whose Filmfare? Who has Filmfare?" the family friend uncle roared in to break the silence of the night...

Happy was pale already... Uncle nudged him, "you have it", "you hidding it", "you think you're smart", as he shivered in the foggy night...

We still have a hearty laughter remembering how his father had made him to almost undress again and take the magazine out..

XXX

(Jan 1, 11:49am)

Life always gives bountiful returns. Only that we miss to invest carefully.

Happy birthday to me, and Happy new year to all...

XXX

(Dec 31, 10:45pm)

A visit to your school, especially one with as splendid a campus as St Xavier's, is a rejuvenating experience...

I am down with viral, but did not feel like cancelling my planned visit to Fr Peter...

After a decade long tenure at St Michael's, the principal of our times has returned to Xavier's to take charge of the 10+2...

And what a delightful conversation it was,... from down memory lane talk, recounting interesting anecdotes about us growing up, to our future, and the country's politics...

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Father offered to take me for a round of the campus.. A mix of nostalgia and happy surprises followed as I noticed the changes...

They have renovated the swimming pool... and there's also a stage come up on the assembly grounds..

The new building has an additional floor.. Decaying trees have been felled and several new ones are slowly growing up to gigantic sizes..

There's a kindergarten now... Father took me to the kids' classrooms... the smart boards, wall hangings, the deco, little chairs of many hues... you got such a lively feeling there...

The Christmas decorations were still there, reminding of the festivities that must have been grand...

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It's new year tomorrow.. It's my birthday...

I didn't blog much this year.. though I promised to myself I would... but it's reassuring to know I'm already getting the hang...

Which is nice...

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(December 30, 9:57pm)

Feeling guilty.. I'm holidaying in Patna.. Was scheduled to travel back to New Delhi today, but could not... A hassled journey kept me down, and I wouldn't be able to join work tomorrow..

Patna, in the meantime, is bitterly cold..

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I somehow dragged myself to the Archies gallery near my apartment... opposite of Convent...

The same shop I first visited as an eighth grader when we shifted to this place many, many years ago...

Many, many years.. that sounds dramatic to me.. Wasn't it yesterday.. Muma still in college, teaching Mathematics.. and I in school... making plans for the future...

Plans to become a journalist... with mumma always trying to help me culture my interest in literature.. yet, silently in her mind, sceptical of my choice of career..

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The Archies was a weekend haunt... this double storey shop, along the kindergarten ward of the Convent, with beds of different hues of flowers greeting you, had everything to perk up your leisurely hunt for gift items..

Diaries... table top calendars.. slam books.. tiny to big statues of gods, tribal dancers, Egyptian figures.. wind chimes.. when I was in school, wind chimes were craze.. I don't see many people buying them now.. at least not with same excitement..

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The gentleman at Archies, who has seen me grow up from a school student to journalist, was delighted to see me..

The conversation branched onto many subjects, including politics, and it was not before one hour that I left the shop with a new year diary.. He gave me a Rs 60 discount on an item of Rs 499.. unsolicited..

I wished him happy new year...

XXX

(December 23, 7:42 pm)
Repost from 23 December 2010

It was December 23, 1992..I was young...very young..
but, the memories are clear like marbles..

Since the Gods knew our days were numbered, they bestowed me with sharp memory. They needed to prove they were kind.

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The Babri had just been pulled down, and anticipating the riots, we had left our sprawling cottage-house in Sultanganj, and moved to this place where Muslim population was thin..

Grandmum had tough time convincing mumma, since even her personal tailor and the tax consultant were muslims..

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I despised the house...but since it offered me a view of the main road, from where i could keep a watch for mumma to return, i had agreed it as periodic arrangement..

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So, there i was in the terrace that afternoon, standing under the radiant sun.."Look its approaching four now, she said she'd come by 2," I told my brother, with whom i had played the ludo and hide and seek many times already...and left with no innovations now, had decided to just kill time, looking at the street below..

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Every year, after our schools had closed for winters on December 3rd or 4th, we counted the days for 23rd to arrive..Mumma's last working day!

And with bro's b'de the next day, she'd hurriedly come back from college, dress us up, get us a brunch, and we'd be off shopping...we bought the jackets, we bought the shoes..pairs of denims, santa caps, wind-cheaters..gloves and mufflers to match..story books, toys..the cake, the meat-balls...the list would be endless, because mumma, before she'd come to pick us, would have encashed whatever was left in her bank that day..

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23rd December 1992.
Bro still was waiting for mumma.

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But, I was waiting for the culprit.

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Brightness slowly began to dull, and despair set in like some unsought guest..i was more and more sure she had failed us. Yeah, she'd turn up, but without the money.

Grannie had just told us how we were in for a crisis..how Mumma had first squandered everything, her arrears, her deposits, her NSCs...then indulged in relentless charity..and this magnanimity as if so intoxicating, she hadnt even bothered to draw salary between..

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So unless there was some bounty of magic, we would not have any money for the year end.. Her salary would come only on Jan 2nd, when the university reopened..

Fingers crossed, we waited.
We prayed.
We implored upon the Gods to be kinder..
Else bro's birthday would be wasted.
Even Xmas.
My b'de too, which coincided on New Year.

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But she would not turn up. "Why is she taking so late. Is her salary credited. Why did she have to go looking for it the last day. why dint she draw it three months? And why did she spent all her money away?" I asked irritatingly.

"May be it's credited," bro suggested, not willing to give up.

"In that case she'd have come already."

"May be she is shopping," he tried to reason.

"Without us? No way." I dismissed.

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And then with careless abandon to how it might upset him, asked him again, "Will she come?"

"Not again," he stooped me midway.

"Will she..."

"Will she what," this time he didnt beat around the bush, "She is not dead. Nobody dies just suddenly. But if you believe she has, do it all to the Goddess, please."

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He left.

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I felt better. His outburst had somehow convinced me she was not dead. So i was back the tyrant again. Awaiting the culprit.

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It was a long wait.
The sun God said he'd send the moon to befriend.

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From the crossing, she appeared like spring.
And the grace in her walk, undid all the wrongs that were done.

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Who'd say she had been so long into the 40s...
Except the laugh lines, perhaps.
But, they appeared only when she laughed tumultuously.

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She did rarely.

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She was wearing pure-silk saree.
It was finest silk. Grannie's testimony to mumma's indulgence.

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The story goes that in the late 1960s, decent pure silks were available for Rs 120. The classy ones came for 200. But if you were the type who wanted the bride-hunters do talking, you wore a 300..to upset would-be brides, a 350...and to let the men gasping, a 500.

And upon such times, i am told, mumma had bought this sari for 900.
Even professors were paid 800 then, aunts had added.

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To be continued....

(December 17, 3:46pm)

I am seldom convinced when people say they ended a relationship.. or moved on... Truth is, you never can..

If there truly was a relationship, you can not break it unless the relationship breaks itself..

What you do is fill the space between you and the person you loved, or for that matter, a friend you trusted, with new people and situations... To deceive yourself that you have moved on..

You feign indifference... You pronounce that too... But why would you pronounce it, if it really was over?

Fact is, you don't pronounce anything, when somebody or something is really over...

XXX

(Dec 3, 1:54pm)

I am beginning to write again.. Stay tuned.. thanks..

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