MY LIFE IS IMPORTANT TO ME
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
THE OLD MAN AND HIS OLDER REMINGTON
The other day I was at Tees Hazari , Delhi in connection with some legal matter and
was required to submit an application
post haste.
Bereft of the
support of a Computer /Printer I looked around, searching for some one free and
unoccupied from among those busy in the innumerable, miniscule open cubicals displaying Court Marriage, Affidavit and
such sundry jobs on small boards, lining the narrow road.
The heavy traffic plying in both directions, making walking across on my wobbly legs a dangerous proposition,
still I make slow haste towards one, who
appears to be free and without business, hoping to get the job completed
quickly.
Next to his seat, under the same shed, a Court
Marriage was being solemnised. The young
couple, the bride in her finery, possibly, self made-up and dressed, as there
was no one accompanying them, were
setting up on a journey, with hope and love , in un-chartered waters and an uncertain future : what are their
aspirations and worries, forgetting my on immediate concern for a moment , I wonder. I did congratulate her
as they rushed past, possibly too involved in her own thoughts, to be aware of
the surroundings, thee was no response.
He happens to be an old man with an even older
Remington typewriter, possibly a family heirloom handed down from generation to generation, on rickety table, next to it is a stack of files, possibly containing
templates of the various legal documents in demand for typing. Both are an aberration, in the company of
young operators, with computer/printers, around and stand like a sore thumb.
Distracted briefly, by the happenings nearby,
I quickly draft the required matter, in my nearly illegible hand and not only have to dictate but, due to his rudimentary
knowledge of English, also spell most of the words.
Despite his age, his typing skills appear to
be that of a beginner, with no delete /insert facility and apparently no
whitener available, I have to be content with what ever he could and did produce.
A wise man nonetheless,
with the going rate being per typed page, I notice, he has typed in double
space, trying to stretch the matter on as many pages as possible.
The typed page now in my hand I query
“How much”
“Rupees Twenty “he
replies.
With the business settled amicably I leave
wondering as to how many such Rs 20 he will earn in the day to subsist upon
Sunday, April 13, 2014
PRE BOOKED AND PRE COOKED
From the 25 C, the isle seat of the GOINDIA
Airbus flight from Delhi to Chennai I can see right up to the far end to the flight cabin.
In the near vision is 25 DEF and also, with a slight twist of the neck 26 DEF.
There is a group of Marwaries men, women and children,
as learnt later, on a tour of various religious places, noisily trying to
settle down in their allotted and also the unoccupied seats
I,
twist the neck and look back and what do
I see: before fully settled the lady in
26 E has already unwrapped a packet of Snacks from her bag and is busy dipping in it and
offering from the same to those seated near of the group..
Even
before the plane has started its takeoff run she unties the knots of the cloth bag
revelling, a stack of Aloo Puree, GOINDIA is a low fare airline and food is
available on payment at exorbitant rates, wise people bring their own food an
drinks on board, soon starts the distribution of the Aloo Purees, served
on plastic plates up and down the isle to the
other members of the group.
I slight hungry, having missed
breakfast due to the early flight, am reminded of our train journeys as a child, when Mother
would bring the Aloo Puree and mango pickle for the journey and even before we had
settled in the compartment Father would ask mother to serve
the goodies, so bidden she would start with giving two purees, a dollop of the
potatoes and a slice of pickle to each one of us..
The setting
is the same, except it is the
aircraft’s AC cabin of the plane flying at
25 000 feet at 800 Kms per hour instead of the Inter Class, hot or cold,
depending on the season, railway compartment of East India Railway chugging along at 25 Miles per hour, with mother no where to serve the Aloo Purees, that I covertly watch in the hands of others in s nearby seats , while waiting
for the trolley being trundling up the isle bringing my prebooked and precooked, tasteless, Paratha Rolls
while savouring, with nostalgia, the wafting aroma from the Aallo Puree being
devovered with relished around me.
Friday, April 11, 2014
MHOW
: THE HOME COMING WITHOUT A HOME TO
I was coming to Mhow, kind courtesy of Lt Gen Pant, Commandant MCTE, Who had invited me to deliver a talk on ‘Signals in Sino Indian Conflict of 1962 as it effected me.’ and also join the planned get together of SODE 41, as the Faculty Commander during the tenure of the Course in FCE.
I was coming to Mhow, kind courtesy of Lt Gen Pant, Commandant MCTE, Who had invited me to deliver a talk on ‘Signals in Sino Indian Conflict of 1962 as it effected me.’ and also join the planned get together of SODE 41, as the Faculty Commander during the tenure of the Course in FCE.
It was a home
coming for me, unfortunately without a home to come to. Our home, where we had
lived during our last stint at MCTE, some time during 19 79-82, a Second World
War Hutment on Generals Road existed no more It gave me no joy to see that the
dilapidated hutment that we had moved in to and over time with love and
effort nurtured it into the most
coveted dwelling of its type on Generals Road.. had been razed
and in its place had sprung two modern characterless looking bungalows.
It was with a late evening Air India flight from Delhi that
I landed at Indore, with the city lights glowing all around.
Indore
at night appeared to be a
stranger, my eyes kept roaming , desperately
and fruitlessly searching for some old land marks to anchor on , what I could
see was a mass of new buildings
with glass façades, illuminated sign boards flanking both sides
of the broad well metalled road from the Airport to the City. Strangely, though
it was early night, the traffic on the road was rather sparse, possibly every
one was glued to the TV watching the on going India Bangladesh ICC 20 20 match.
The car took a turn and
hit the road to Mhow and then the nightmare began: there was hardly any road
left with diggings
on both flanks, for flyovers under construction, on going development for new colonies, shopping centres and what have you, living little space for the heavy two way traffic of trucks, passenger busses, cars and the ubiquitous motor cycles ridden by daredevil riders, zipping in and out of the non existing gaps in the
chaotic traffic on the now single lane
of a road..
The
torture, from blaring horns, head lights
on full beams making one blind to the
oncoming traffic, lasted for long and ended only when the car crossed the toll barrier near Mhow and
the sailing became
smooth with the drive now on the
reasonably good surface road with sparse traffic.
Mhow Cantt at night with brightly lit roads,
flood lit prominent buildings, approach
gates, sign boards and even some trees was shinning,: power appeared to be
available in plenty .
It appeared as if the
town was awaiting the arrival
of some VIP. However, for the time being it had to be content
with me, a non VIPs’ arrival.
Nearing the
portals of MCTE, it was a different
world altogether, what was visible
of MCTE from the car window was shining
like a new bride, even the iconic
tree of HQ Mess appeared much younger than it’s age.
Passing through
and by a plethora of new constructions the car drove into the guestroom complex
where I was received by Lt Col Preetal, the SO of FCC. Till now, in my retired life,
I had come across Captains and Majors of
the other sex; It was for the first time that I was confronted by a Lt Col of
their elk.
Looking around I could see bright lights all around,
what especially caught the eye was a brightly lit complex in near distance that
proved to be the sports complex of MCTE.
I had nagging feeling that I was in a
different place and not in the Mhow of yore.
The place had changed drastically in the last ten years, from my last
visit to Mhow.
Mhow
Cantt by day wore a different
look, still shining bright with liberal application of Garu
Chuna, replete with massive, characterless, new construction sadly
interspersed with old bungalows with large compounds, in advance stages of
disrepair, with roofs fallen and grass
growing through the now gaping holes. Surprisely, a few, though equally derelict,
still occupied by some adventurer minded, diehards, unmindful. of the possible
danger to life and limb.
A round
of the
MCTE Campus evoked a mixed feeling: the old buildings that of
FCE, that I had commanded, the old mess barrack, where we as YO’s had dined
for six months, the dreaded Commandant’s office complex appeared to have lost their aura now
downgraded with current lowly
ranked occupants., the glamour, power and authority having shifted to
modern and swanky abodes leaving
history behind.
The Passing out Parade Demo by the cadets was
impressive and drew prolonged applause. The following High Tea provided me a unique
opportunity to interact with the cadets.
The time spent with the SODE officers and
their wives brought flooding memories of
my tenure as Faculty Commander where and when I had made a large number of
enduring friendships.
My presentation to a packed house, based on
the question answer session, appeared to have been well received.
The Dinner in Ashoak Vatika was an
unforgettable experience. the soft lights dotting the vast expense of the lawn , the typical Malwa
evening breeze blowing mildly,
the myriad trees around, festooned with multi colour lights, swaying in
the breeze the old favourites being
rendered by the Gazal
Singer in the back-ground, combined to make the setting memorable and the mood go soft, albeit sadly reminding me, now alone, of such Mhow evenings of distant past spent together, with Jeet, my
late wife.
On a visit to FCE, so different from that of yore, now located
in the renovated/rebuilt Raman Block, with Brigadier Bhatt apprising and updating as to where the Corps
has arrived technologically and also of venturing in the yet unexplored field
of Robotics. The Corps that brought in
Computers has always been forward thinking and pioneers in new fields.
A visit to the
ongoing exercise of YO’s being conducted
in the faculty premises convinced me of the new challenges to be faced by Signallers, both present and future, of
managing the complex networks, providing
voice and data, while not forgetting the requirements of logistics and man
management.
The Dinner the
next evening on the rear lawns of HQ Mess provided a unique opportunity to
interact with young officers of different ranks and length of service and renew
friendship with old friends staying in Signals Vihar.
Preceding the
dinner we were witness to a unique function:
a quiz on Corps Domestic Matters: organized by the Young Officer and conducted under a dynamic Quizmaster from staff, where along
with the competing teams the
more mature audience also got a chance to participate, some times silently at
others vocally.
The unique feature
of the evening, apart from the lavish spread, was being serenaded by a Saxophone player: a welcome change from
the Bagpiper of yore.
To catch the
returning flight from Indore I had to start early, with the morning Sun
yet to emerge from the horizon Mhow Cantt, was still shining bright and had
some early walkers already on the road. Surprisingly there were also some health
conscious, unaccompanied, ladies also out.
Mhow happily was
safe for ladies unlike the other not so lucky places in the Country.