The day the music died.....

One fine morning as the sun was about to reach midway skies, I felt the music of harmony no longer existed in my lovely city. Bangalore has been a wonderful city for every individual. It welcomes you with wide arms no matter where you are from and what you do. Every one loves this place! It was on one such day when I realized that the city is beginning to lose an important shade of life. One of the best things and worst things about Bangalore is it’s buses. The blue boards, black boards, red boards and the wonderful pushpaks and of course off lately, the even more wonderful Volvo buses. Do you know when you begin to hate them and call the drivers names? That can happen when you are not inside the bus but driving and sandwiched between two aggressive drivers. Ever wondered what the rush is all about! Just for the thrill of it.
It was a Monday and I was in pushpak 195, on my to shivajinagar bus stand. It’s one of my favorite routes back in those days when Bangalore had no metro plans. A wonderful view of the Vidhana Soudha, the morning breeze of cubbon park, the pigeons flying over the high court. It always felt like a privilege driving on the vidhana veedhi. My love for the city would get refreshed as I passed along that particular stretch. It was on one such journeys that I encountered the changing face of my city. I was listening to music on my phone on what seemed a normal day. In 6th block Rajajinagar bus stop, a guy entered the bus. Tall. Handsome. Fair. Light brown eyes. I believe I was staring for quiet sometime. Then I went back to listening to music and occasionally checking him out.
Suddenly there were a few exchange of words between the cute guy and bus conductor. Then the driver joined in. I hurriedly removed my ear phones to get a reality check. The conductor began abusing this guy because he could not talk in kannada. He seemed to be a north Indian. The driver and some passengers began to issue statements against all non-kannada people. And how they had polluted the city by migrating in such large numbers. I could not believe what I was hearing. The guy excused himself in hindi and escaped before he was physically assaulted.
Bangalore is a cosmopolitan city, with thousands of people belonging to different cultural backgrounds. Language was never a barrier, and a Bangalorean has been the most friendly person. He/she speaks Kannada, hindi, telugu, tamil, English with an ease unknown to other people. Is there a frustration untold within the commoner, despair within hope, hatred within love! What I witnessed were only glimpses of that ‘mixed’ feeling. It was the first time I felt a bit ashamed to look at my fellow people. The rush of high emotions were subsided as I heard the following lines of Don McLean's 'American pie':


And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.....

Rosy Encounter

From that day on there would be electricity for us too but at that moment we were unaware of the fact that our lives were about to change. It was the day the prime minister visited our little village.

My mother dressed me in a pink frock, I looked like a 'English girl' with rosy cheeks and red lips. My hair was oiled and then plaited in a manner that even the strongest of the winds could not dare disturb. All three sisters looked so much alike that day. Everyone said we looked like dolls. I knew I looked the loveliest and the prime minister would only accept the rose I am going to present him. They said he loved roses, he loved children and the white dove. We all called him Chacha Nehru.

I had preserved a big red rose for him. Hiding it from my mother and sisters was very tough but I was determined to do it. I carefully removed the thorns, few of which had hurt me in the process. Covering it in a kerchief I followed my sisters to join the rest of the village in welcoming Chacha.

I had never seen so many people together. Only a few weeks before this event there was a wedding in a neighboring village and it was my first time to a wedding. Mom said now I am big enough to go to a wedding and feed myself, I was five then. I clutched my sister's hand tightly. She whispered into my ears 'What if you get lost here?' and it scared me like hell. My heart started racing and tears were beginning to form. I whispered back 'will you come to look for me?' and she answered 'No, I can play with all your dolls and wear all your frocks. Why would I look for you?' I ran to my father and asked to be carried.

I know I am safe in my father's arms, he will never lose me. Something soft in my hand started to crumple, it was the rose that I was carrying, I had already destroyed it. The stalk with a few petals was all that remained now. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I silently cried lest get caught with the 'rose episode'.

Suddenly there was news that cars were already reaching our village. Huge groups of men descended from the first car, I could hardly see who they are. But they were big and tall with big mustaches. Then a tall man in white emerged wearing a white 'topi'. people started shouting slogans of praise. As we walked down the path many fell to his feet, handed him garlands and shook hands. It was a special day for all of us. We loved him even before we knew him.

As he walked past us, my father touched his feet in reverence I stood below and raised my torn rose high up. Chacha smiled at me and he looked like an angel. The rose remained in his pocket for a long time that day. I told all my friends about the rose. I still do, even after sixty years.......

A literary crush....

3WW LXXXIV

Empty
Highway
Ignored

Three word wednesday



'Do you know how my friends used to call me when we were in college 'OOOsha - the wise owl' she laughed loudly in a manner befitting a young girl of six pointing at the miniature owl sitting on the table with the graduation cap. This little owl here reminds me of those long forgotten days. Thank you for the gift, it's special to me' and her students walked out without making much noise. It was always like that. When Usha spoke, everyone looked at her totally mesmerized by her beauty, her dignified voice and at the way she spun words for her listeners. No one speaks when the wise owl is talking. They just listen.

She turned to face the others seated near her table. "Did I ever tell you about a 'literary crush' I had when I was young! It's a very interesting one. I was a huge fan of the Russian literary giant 'Vladimir Nabokov'. I had just finished reading his most famous work - Lolita". She paused adjusted the strand of hair falling on her face as gracefully as a Greek Goddess and asked inquisitively "Have any of you read Lolita?"

The subjects to whom the question was meant to looked at each other and nodded. When Ooosha spoke about books, it was usually a monologue. No one around her read anything beyond 'Nancy Drew and Sidney Sheldon'. One of the listeners replied with a sense of Euphoria ' I have seen the movie Lolita'. Ooosha acknowledged the answer and was pleased to hear it.

" I was nineteen years then. So imagine it has been such a long time since this has happened. To be precise it's been forty long years. We were traveling then constantly shuttling between my parents house in Delhi and my maternal grandparents who lived in Dalhousie" saying these words she slipped into the nostalgic mood. Her eyes became distant and she was staring at the white empty walls. One of the junior staff whispered into another's ears 'FLASHBACK'.

" Those English Bunglows, the green meadows, Dahlia gardens - it was simply wonderful. Me and my younger sister were always found picnicking near the river beds. I would carry a few books to read after our picnic, cycling along the highway with hot samosas and mint chutney in our backpacks. Lying over the grass I would dream about my first love. I used to be a romantic those days."

A few eyebrows raised, a few of them controlled their laughter by using the cover of an unavoidable cough which seemed to spread as an epidemic among the listeners. It was difficult to ignore 'such' statements. One coughed, the other picked it up. Ooosha was disturbed. She waited till the commotion ended.

" On a fine sunny Sunday afternoon we were passing through the Tibetan shopping centers which tourists always frequented. We would flirt innocently with the young uniformed officers who formed the usual crowd. That particular day I was destined to meet my 'imaginary soul mate'."

"As we walked across the lanes my eyes fell upon a man wearing a hat holding the book Lolita in his hand. I knew I had to find out who this guy was, may be a soul mate. That's why he's carrying Lolita. I followed him, he was already a few yards away. I had wasted my time staring at the book cover. My heart beat raised as I followed him closer now. May be it was destined this strange meeting. By the time I was right behind him, the book had slipped away from his fingers. I picked it up and anxiously called out 'Sir your book has fallen.' The tourist turned to face me, he was a forty year old European with green eyes. I controlled my disappointments. He said 'Young woman. You just saved my favorite book . Wait a moment I shall thank you more appropriately'. He bought a rose from a hawker around. ' This one is for you. Thank you again.' "I was completely swept away by this man's charm. Half the crowd was staring at me, smiling at this wonderful man. And I turned around to join my sister."

The listeners left out a deep sigh. But Ooosha was yet to finish she quoted her favorite lines from Lolita as a conclusion

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta:"

Why 7?

Any one who knows me well also most certainly is aware of my deep affections to author Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I have read his books again and again to re-discover the world of Macondo. In this list is included a short story collection 'Strange pilgrims'. On one such expeditions of re-discoveries I eventually found myself pondering over the issue of 'Number seven'. Let me make myself clear. To quote from 'strange pilgrims':

"choose a number" she told me: "three, four or seven"
"four"
Her smile flashed in triumph.
"In the past fifteen years that I worked here" she said "you are the first person who hasn't chosen seven"
-Sleeping beauty and the Airplane




I would have chosen seven! There was no second thought about it. And the majority of us would have certainly chosen seven.
Seven-the mystery number.
Seven- magical number.
Seven- the mystical number.
Seven - the sexy number? (!)

Some more interesting facts about the number seven:

1 Seven is the optimum number of hours of sleep for humans, according to a US scientific study.

2 Seven is seen as a lucky number in many cultures. Japanese mythology talks of Shichifukujin (The Seven Gods of Fortune).

3 The seven deadly sins, or cardinal sins, were refined by Pope Gregory I in the 6th century. They are pride, avarice, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth.

4 The seven virtues are humility, liberality, chastity, kindness, abstinence, patience, and diligence.

5 In Vedic Hindu tradition, the human body features seven basic chakras, or "wheels of energy".

6. The seventh and final book in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

7. Seven is "neutral" on the pH scale. Pure water has a pH of seven.

8. The phrase "seven-year itch" was first recorded in 1899. It characterises a man's urge to roam after seven years of marriage, the theme of Marilyn Monroe's 1955 film, The Seven Year Itch, right.

9. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey has sold over 5 million copies in 38 languages since 1989. The seven habits are: be proactive; begin with the end; put first things first; think win-win; seek first to understand, then to be understood; synergise and; sharpen the saw.

10. From the Seven days of Creation to the Seven Seals of Revelation, Scripture is saturated with the Number Seven.

11. The root of the name of the Number Seven means Perfect, Complete, or Satisfied.

12. Thammim means perfect, and its numeric weight is 70 x 7, which is the number the Lord used to describe the perfection of forgiveness.

13. There are seven visible planets and luminaries (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn). Each one rules a day of the week (Sun=Sunday, Saturn= Saturday, Moon=Monday, etc.) and that is where the seven day week came from. Each one is supposed to have a particular virtue or power.

Yes, I have just given you 13 more reasons to choose number 'seven'.

What's good? What's bad?

A simple incident in a moral science class in my eighth class created such an impact that I haven't forgotten it till now. It was a debate that no one would have given much thought before - What's good and what's bad? The topic was briefly introduced to us and we began to contemplate in our own little ways. A number of questions rang in my head. 'Is everything we are being taught by our teachers good? Is 'good' limited to what we learn or think? Can we find 'good' really in the world? If they say I am bad, do i really become bad? If I think this is good for me then does it really become good for me?' Being lost in a web of questions sometimes takes you away from the present. Thats when some people are accused as dreamers. And I too have been a victim of such accusations.

A loud strong voice shook me and I got entangled from my question web. A boy had begun answering the question of the day. What's good and What's bad? He simply said ' If a musicain finds a fallen tree, he will think of making a flute out of the wood. That is good. If a criminal see's a fallen tree, he will think of making a gun out of it. That is bad. Good is always better than bad '

All of us gave him our un-divided attention. The stillness of the moment must have made the strong impact. I shall never forget that some things can be told in such a simple manner that no grandeur shall be required to glorify it. Truth when spoken is always like that.

Loneliness/ solitude

Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone.
~Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now


Enjoying solitude is one of the most exquisite experiences in our lives. Instead we complain about lack of companionship. Lost among the labyrinth of life we assume functioning similar to a metronome. We repudiate opportunities of solitude and embrace the fastidious lifestyle. Why is there an assumption that solitude can be enjoyed only at a matured age? Is it because more than half our life is spent and we can ponder over mistakes done, dream about undoing them and clear our conscience? Solitude is not to be wasted brooding over past.
You are alone on a certain Sunday afternoon. The arabesques decorated over the ceiling catch your eye and you wonder at their intricate design. You look at each leaf of the design and appreciate the creator of that thing of beauty. It reminds you of nothing and nobody. A train of thoughts is not followed. A languor smile is seen over your face and emits a kind of soporific effect. That is solitude- glory of being alone.

Why we BELIEVE what we believe.....

If a man is offered a fact which goes against his instincts, he will scrutinize it closely, and unless the evidence is overwhelming, he will refuse to believe it. If, on the other hand, he is offered something which affords a reason for acting in accordance to his instincts, he will accept it even on the slightest evidence. The origin of myths is explained in this way.

Bertrand Rusell