Puraney dost; nayi dosti

December 2014

The blog has two unique things, which other blogs didn't have. One of course is the title (in Hindi) and the second is the blog is dated. Both with a purpose...as readers will know as they read on.

I left school in 1974. Schooling in Ranchi since my father was employed by SAIL in Ranchi and as he was about to retire within two years of my completing school, as a family a decision was taken to put me in college in Chennai. That's how I landed in South India for my higher studies. B.Sc in Chennai, BE in Bangalore and later PG in Chennai. Work postings were also predominantly in South but for brief periods in Delhi. So I imbibed a lot of knowledge of customs and traditions of Tamils while in South India - something which didn't happen during my school days.

As is the norm, unless the friends go to the same college, they drift apart, pick up new friends and at work colleagues who are bound by working for the same organisation and can discuss many things in common.

I had for the last forty years since leaving school back in June 1974 maintained continuous contact with two classmates - SP and Panda. Both in different organisation than mine. SP as an HR professional in a PSU and Panda a Medical specialist in Air Force. But one thing that bound us together irrespective of our profession and education was our schooling and the many hours spent together playing or chatting or just whiling away time.

Over the last few years though we happened to connect with a few other classmates - Lalit, Santosh, Amitava, and Rajnish. All different backgrounds and organisations they work for; most having lost all the childhood mannerisms and quirks that I remember of them. A few turned serious!

As recently as September of this year I touched base with another classmate and a neighbour in the township where I lived. Rajinder now lives in US and remains as bubbly as I remembered him from his school days. He insisted that we should connect in a better way than what we had been doing. The next logical step was a whatsapp group. Over the last three months since it was set up, we may have been exchanging about 100 messages a day (on average)! We are now 13 classmates who are connected through the media and what a group we have turned out to be. Guys in Shillong, Delhi, Kolkata, Ranchi, US, and Bhilai - united in a common purpose. BRINGING BACK OUR CHILDHOOD FUN! It has been fun throughout and looks like the 40 years have just melted away and we have never left our adoloscent years behind. Though some guys are serious and post messages which carry a moral lesson or a saying which touches our heart, others take away that seriousness by posting good jokes and lame ones too! Our motto for posting has always been, "Sab chalta hai" (except swear words!).

Our intention is to meet in October 2015 in Ranchi and get more friends into the group. That is what all are looking forward to now.

Me and Chennai @ 375 - 1

Chennai has been my 'home' for only about 20 years of my life. Having spent most of my childhood in Ranchi, I share a greater bond with that city where I grew up, attended school, made friends, roamed around on a bicycle, learnt how to drive a scooter, and did many things that a school-boy does. Chennai was my home in my adulthood, the city which defined me, which shaped me, where I married, where my children were born. Now Chennai is no longer the 'home' it was.

So what do I write about Chennai which is 375 this week? Not about the city - there are more learned persons who would do a better job  of writing a well-researched piece on its history. I plan to write about me and Chennai over the last 40 years. This may spawn a few instalments. And I start with my first brush with Chennai back in 1974.

I came to Chennai to join college. My "adventure" started immediately. From Ranchi (which was but a small town then) and moving alone to Chennai and living there was an adventure that I didn't much relish, but I had no choice in that matter. My parents and elder sisters advised me in no uncertain terms that if I decided to go for my graduation in Ranchi, my 3 or 5 year college may extend to 4 or 6 years at least - and not because I would fail one year. Exams were held there in those days at the whims and fancy of students who would decide to go on strike and postpone exams at the last minute. The dates of exams were always a moving target then.

Forms were procured from some reputed colleges of Chennai and filled up and sent.

CBSE declared their Std. XI results by mid-June and my parents thought that leaving for Chennai by the third week would be sufficient. So I landed in Chennai after a 2 day train journey and straight away went to my aunt's house in T'Nagar. Accompanied by an uncle and a cousin we went to the college of choice (where I had got the admission card). Met the Principal (a very strict Professor of Physics) who dismissed me straight away saying that I was late and my seat was no longer available. My first taste of 'demand-and-supply' started there. Demand for a seat in Science stream in a good college far outstripped supply. Pleadings by my uncle were to no avail. My marks-card was shown to prove that I was a good student. Um-hmm. Didn't cut any ice. We left the office in a despondent state and I was worried if I would have to lose one year in this process.

Then started a hunt. My aunt and uncle advised me to keep meeting various professors and the Principals of different colleges and keep requesting them for a seat. I was keen on Mathematics, but at that time a seat in any branch would have been welcome. Ten days of hunting for a seat in Madras Christian College, Presidency College, Vivekananda College, and Loyola College among a few more proved futile. All admissions were closed.

Then my uncle took matters into his own hands. He approached a member of the community that managed the college of my first choice and took me to his office in Parry's. We went inside and I was asked to touch the elder man's feet, which I proceeded to do. Explaining my predicament, my uncle got a letter of recommendation from the gentleman and took me immediately to the same Principal who had earlier refused me a seat saying "a lapsed card is a lapsed card". A seat in B.Sc. (Maths) was not available; would I be willing to accept a seat in B.Sc. (Physics)? Before I could answer either in the affirmative or in the negative (which my uncle may have thought I may say), my uncle said that would be fine. The Principal then said that hostel was full and I would have to make my own arrangement for stay. My uncle immediately said that I would be staying with them so accommodation was not an issue. We came out of the office clutching the prized possession of an admission!

I roamed the streets of Chennai in June of 1974 hunting for a college seat. I don't remember the sweat and the hustle and bustle of the mega city. I  don't remember the routes I took, or the first suburban train ride of mine. I don't remember the many restaurants that I went to to have coffee or tiffin. I don't remember the people whom I met. All happened in a blur and the only thing I remember is the constant travel from one place to another in the amazing city buses and the end result of my struggle - a college seat.

Oh Kolkata, Ah Kolkata!

Just returned after a three day visit to Kolkata to attend a wedding. This is not about the wedding, per se, though that would make an interesting blog; instead it is about the city.

Day 1:
We travelled from Ranchi and landed in the morning. This group was made of 5 people - two sisters of mine and their husbands. The plan was to stay in the house of one friend of my brother in law for a day (who lives in Barrackpore - a northern suburb of Kolkata) and then move over to Salt Lake area to the wedding venue - a hotel.

We were told that the taxi fare from Howrah station to Barrackpore would be Rs. 350; however, when we reached the pre-paid taxi queue, we found a lot of people queueing up. There was no way we could hope to get a taxi within one hour was my guess. A guy came up to my brother-in-law and offered a Tata Sumo for hire to Barrackpore for Rs. 1500. Now that amount was fairly high for the price that was initially told to us. After a bit of haggling, calling up the friend at Barrackpore (who advised us to settle for Rs. 900), we got into the rickety Sumo and braced ourselves for the journey. But Barrackpore was not willing to come within reach for close to an hour and a half, rides through some narrow streets, some busy thoroughfares, a trunk road, and then again some narrow streets through which I would find it difficult to manoeuvre even a car, but through which the Sumo driver managed to overtake a rickshaw, move past a parked car, avoid bicycles and pedestrians without as much as grazing anyone. Remarkable!

Day 2:

Two taxis were engaged for the nine of us back to the wedding hall. Four more had joined us the previous day from Bangalore. Again a long drive into Kolkata in the morning rush hour saw the same process of vehicle/person avoidance manoeuvres by the taxi driver. 

Honking is a system to tell all and sundry (including the seated passengers) that I am driving on the road and brook no interference in my path. I have never heard so many car horns in  my lifetime as I did in my two days stay in Kolkata. Why do all drivers honk so  much? I happened to choose the wrong driver to ask this question though. He retorted, "Have you heard me honk even once today?" I said, "Maybe once!" Then he said that Kolkata police do nothing to guys who run over anyone or meet with an accident. The guys just move on. Anyway, I do not know if that is true or not; but the way the people drive on the roads gave me an impression that brakes are for applying only when absolutely necessary and as a last resort - when honking has no effect on the "obstacle" in front.

While on our way to the airport from Salt Lake area, we passed through what is called "New Town". A spanking new city is being built beyond Salt Lake area, which has wide roads, huge residential towers, footpaths, and the works. This part of the city doesn't look like Kolkata of Kalighat or Barrackpore! 

I was told by many people whom we asked that Kolkata taxi drivers don't cheat (take you through a long route on purpose) and I found that to be true. Never felt cheated while moving around there. Most of the drivers that I met were from either Bihar or Eastern UP. Is there a clique? Or do Bengalis feel it is below their dignity to drive a taxi?