Category: Yesterday

  • Ends and beginnings

    Work took me someplace where I normally wouldn’t be found – an AOL (Art Of Living) discourse. While I have nothing against those who choose that path, I don’t see myself there. Standing there, as a non participant while a few thousand listened and performed yoga, I thought I got a few pointers to what made them a part of this movement. One was a feeling of belonging to a community that had the same wavelength and subscribed to the same thought processes and the other was a meaning, a purpose that the movement gave to their life.

    Since it was an official event, I got dropped back at home, and in the process got to do something that i rarely get to do – forget the road, the traffic and the world ahead and soak in the effect of humanity passing by. I don’t know if you enjoy what could be uncharitably labelled gawking, but if you pause and consider that each face, and each expression contains a story, maybe you’d enjoy it like you do.

    I passed Resthouse Road on the way, and saw Pecos and Guzzler’s Inn, not places I frequent, but places that are ‘tagged’ in my memories of Bangalore from the time I came here. As i proceeded down Brigade Road, i also saw the signage of Vaayu, a lounge bar, and thought I could see a difference in the crowd that each catered to. I realised that after a while, after a few generations had passed, Bangalore’s character most likely wouldn’t include Pecos, although we would, in our denial of mortality, not think of it that way now.

    I reached home, and after the obligatory channel flipping settled down to Rocky Balboa, the comfort of a ‘seen before many times’ movie that will let your thoughts drift and you still wouldn’t feel left out. I never thought I’d quote from a Rocky movie, but it seemed to fit in

    Ya know they always say if you live in one place long enough, you are that place.

    It stuck to me when I watched Delhi 6 the next evening. An old woman comes back to her country-city-locality to die in peace, in a place that she’s familiar and comfortable with, and finds that the place has remained unchanged, but the people haven’t. And it took me back to this post that I had written a while back – on Cochin and the cosmopolitan place it was becoming.

    So, where will I be comfortable finally – Bangalore, where I have now spent 6 years (almost to the day) and where I will (at some point in time) have lived long enough to ‘be the place’, Cochin, which I refuse to let go of, whose memories I guard like a treasure- the chaotic, humid, gets-on-your-nerves place that I consider my home, or someplace new that the cosmos has in store for me. A place which gives me a sense of belonging. A set of people who matter to me and who I matter to. And that’s where this stream of consciousness ends.

    The cosmos is listening. From the list of 143 songs in the list, on ‘shuffle’ mode, it has suddenly chosen Daughtry’s Home.

    until next time, are we on the same home page? 🙂

  • An idea called Home

    …and sometimes you turn back to look at your past, it looks right back at you, there’s a smile of understanding, and you decide to move on…

    As i looked around the room, i could see the images flash – hunting for the missing single white uniform sock which was mocking me from somewhere on the stand,  climbing up on multiple stools to nail that Ash poster on to the wall, numbering new cassettes and arranging them on the cupboard shelf,  skeptically viewing the computer when it was brought in, and then spending hours browsing, adjusting the angle of lying down on the bed to watch TV in the other room while pretending to be studying, gazing fondly at those hard earned trophies and remembering the exploits that earned them….an almost endless stream…

    There has been at least one occupant since then, but ‘I’ can still be found there, after all i spent close to a decade there… memories buried amongst books, clothes, and all those assorted things that are part of the everyday existence… forgotten heroes… part of a story that once used to be called home…

    As i left the room, there was an uneasiness that gnawed at me… it happened during every goodbye, but somehow this time I felt it was different.. and a few hours later, as i opened the door of our current place of residence in Bangalore, and gazed around in affection at the familiar settings, I sensed an understanding of the uneasiness, and remembered the words from ‘Garden State’ that I tend to quote often

    You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone
    … You’ll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I mean it’s like this rite of passage, you know.
    … I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

    ….for even as you smile in understanding, there’s the pain of moving on, of losing touching with the ‘you’ who once were, of acknowledging the paradox of Time – which caused you to change, and the room to remain relatively unchanged..almost frozen in time….perhaps a keeper of memories that you couldn’t find space for…

    until next time, a room with a point of view

  • Home is where….

    He enjoyed the cosmopolitan version of Bangalore. One of his favourite haunts was Indiranagar. When he’d first come to Bangalore, Indiranagar’s 100 ft road had lots of trees and a few brand stores. Now the situation had been reversed. And it wasn’t just brand stores, there were restaurants – fine dining and cafes. Yes, he did hear residents complaining ever so often about how Indiranagar used to be a peaceful locality until a few years back, and now the retired folk rarely dared to come out. It wasn’t just the noise, the bustle and the pollution, there was also the problem of how costly everything had become all of a sudden. He understood their plight, but couldn’t really sympathise with them, after all he enjoyed the cosmopolitan Bangalore.

    He loved Cochin, it was the place he wanted to retire to..later, after all it was his hometown. In addition to that sentiment, there was something fitting about dying in the place you were born in, a kind of closing the circle. When he walked the streets, when he talked to people, when he looked around, he knew that he belonged to the place, and  in spite of some things he loved to hate, his love for the place was quite unconditional. But he wondered what was up with these new malls, cafe coffee days, swank cars, swankier apartments and a cost of living that was aiming for the stars. The place was, damn, becoming cosmopolitan, and he didn’t like it one bit. After all, this was the place he wanted to retire to, and he had made an image of it in his head, which he didn’t want changed.

    And thus the realisation that the cosmos always has the last laugh.

    until next time, a homing device

  • Something in common

    A few weeks back, I read a book called ‘Patna Roughcut’. Its one of those nice little books that reminded me of ‘The Wonder Years’, except that this one is non linear even in terms of narrators (not just narrative). While it is set in Patna and Delhi, I could identify a lot of the stuff – something I described in my short review as “you know you were a kid in india in the 80’s ” moments.

    A few days later, I had a conversation with someone on GTalk, about Thums Up and Frooti and all those drinks that existed in the 80’s and 90s, some of which, like Gold Spot and Sprint don’t even exist now, except in our memories. I realised that inspite of the vast distance between us, in terms of geography, we had a few culture icons that transcended it. That includes consumer items like those soft drinks, ads like Surf-Lalitaji, Lijjat Papad, Rasna, serials like Humlog, Mr.Yogi, Buniyaad, books – Amar Chitra Katha and Indrajal and many other things.(if you have been reading this blog post 2005, you might like to read that post, its one that’s very close to my heart)

    I wonder whether there’s an inverse proportion between the maturing of a country/economy and the common memory of generations. I can imagine the earliest generation of our free country, who had a bond – they’d rejoiced on Aug 15th, 1947 and then watched, or sometimes, suffered, the horrors of partition. Later generations who could associate with Jawaharlal Nehru’s socialist monuments (from dams to PSUs), the assassination of Indira Gandhi and where they were when they heard it, the triumph of a cricket world cup, and for us liberalisation and a new economy that changed everything forever.

    And while we have an SRK, a Tendulkar, a Dhoni, perhaps even a Vishwananathan Anand that binds us, in essence we’ve boiled down to Bollywood and Cricket as our icon providers. Everything else pales in comparison, and is at best, a regional influence. A single DD channel doesn’t find a place now even in our favourites, and the same goes for brands across categories. Sometimes I wonder, when the post 2000 generation is all grown up, whether they’ll only be able to relate to those whom they’ve known through some earlier association, like a school or college, and relate only because of those shared memories. Are they missing out on a large collective consciousness, one in which even this generation can relate to someone of their own age, simply because they’ve grown up in the same era? Maybe there are icons that I know nothing of, after all I belong to an earlier set. 🙂

    until next time, nostalgia trips 🙂

  • The Moment

    The moment went off without a thought. It was only when his wife reminded him that he realized the specialness of the moment. It wasn’t much, but the last time it happened was eighteen years back, in eighth standard. The next day, he chewed over the nostalgic moment a bit before he opened his lunchbox.

    until next time, do you remember your favourite school lunch box? 🙂