V is for VCRs

Do you remember the time when VCR( video cassette recorder) used to be an item of luxury? That was way before we had access to multiple TV channels or the onset of cable TV.

I remember one of our tenant uncle used to have a VCR which he used to rent out to folks. So when the VCR was not on rent, he would ask us if we wanted to watch a movie on it. And immediately, all 4 of us (me and my brother and sister) would take a poll on which movie we would like to watch. Brother's favorite was Sallu Bhai (yeah his really irritating early movies) and the other action stars, sisters wanted comedy and I demanded the ultimate melodramatic ones(as advertised by Ameen Sayani on vividh Bharati)

After much deliberation, some tears and some peace treaties, we would settle on a movie. The next tedious task would be to go convince mom about watching a movie. That task would be assigned to me. I would go and talk to mom, take all the heat, make all promises to finish all homework as soon as movie was over and what not. Once we got a green signal, the other 2 sisters would race to the video library and demand the finest print of the movie. All the while threatening him to not pay any dues if the print is not clear. I must say, for the 6 year old that they were, they were pretty demanding in that.

And then we would be all set to enjoy the movie. If the movie turned out to be a utter rubbish(which most movies during that time were),all 3 of us would grill him/her for the remaining part of the movie.

Trust me, it took a lot of project planning and execution in those days for a simple act as watching movie; unlike today when movie are so easily accessible on every other channel.

T is for train journeys

The one thing I have so badly missed ever since I moved to US (apart from the road side chats) is the train journeys.

Yes, I used to love travelling in trains. They were so much fun and I so looked forward to them.

The very first memory of train journeys is from the days when we were in Ranchi. Every summers, we would travel to Delhi to meet my Nanaji and naniji’s place.

Back at time, this journey used to take about 30-36 hours. So, with mom travelling with 3 kids and that too for month and a half, there used to be massive preparation for this journey.

In our house, we used to live on the top floor.

The ground floor was rented to 2 different tenants but one of the rooms was locked and that’s what we used to call “mummy ka khazana (mom’s treasure)”

So as soon as our tickets were booked, mom used to go down to that room, with 3 excited kids following her.

She would take out the suitcases, the bedding (remember the green colored army style), handbags and then a basket.

The clothes and other necessary items would be packed in suitcases, air pillows, bed sheets and light blankets in the bedding

Comics, cards, games, towels, soap, toothbrushes etc. in the handbag

And then the basket would start getting filled with food for the journey – poori, sabji, achar, biscuits, mathri, sweets, namkeen, fruits – you name it !!

And then the day of actual departure.

Dad would drop us off at the railway station

We would be checking at the railway tracks every now and then to check if the train was arriving.

In the meanwhile, dad would buy us loads of comics for our journey – Pinki, Chacha choudhary, Biloo, Madhu muskan

And then as soon as the train would arrive, the coolis (luggage porters) and dad would immediately get into action to get all the luggage into our designated seats

Dad would arrange the  luggage so that all the pieces needed during the journey would be easily accessible.

Make sure we had enough water bottles; check our tickets multiple times

And then as the train would whistle away,  we would all be settled away in the seats

Waving bye to the unknown strangers left behind on the station

As we would move from station to station, dad made sure to stop almost every vendor that crossed our seats to get something or the other

Mom kept offering us something to eat almost every hour.

As the night dawned, mom would take out her paper plates and served poori and sabji to all of us

Followed by some sweets

Followed by the thums-up and limca dad would get from one of the vendors passing by

Then off to the top seats we would climb

But not before fighting with each other about who sleeps on the top seat and who sleeps on the middle one

Early in the morning, we would be close to the Allahabad station. And that’s where we would get our favorite breakfast, white poori (Or Chole Bhatoore in grown up terms)

I used to love those and somehow as a kid always thought that that station was the only place where you could get it.

As the day would brighter, we would fight for our turns on the window seat, watch the train getting less crowded as each station approached;

Start assembling our things together and start our count down for the New Delhi Station; asking on every station, how many more stations till we reach Delhi?

Finally, when we touched Delhi station, the excitement and joy would be limitless.

We would be mesmerized by all the hustle and bustle at the station and trying to locate my Mamaji on that crowded station.

Once the train stopped, mom would carefully get us all down and stand in a less crowded corner of the station while dad and mamaji’s would get all the luggage.

We would be too excited and happy on reaching our destination to even notice the empty train (Delhi used to the last station) pulling away from the station.

And the excitement began all over on our next journey and many many others that we took.

R is for Room no 113

Room no 113: yes that was my room in my hostel for all 3 years that I stayed there. It was a typical girl's hostel. A "khadoos" looking warden, bechara and trying-to-look-strict type chowkidaar.
Once inside the hostel, rooms all around a central verandah, music playing in the rooms, girl's laughing and shouting in other and cooker whistling in yet another room. And girl's lingerie hanging outside on the strings tied outside each room.

And my room was on the second floor at the end of the corridor, facing the open terrace. It was also next to the common bathroom shared by 4 other rooms in the corridor. Open terrace and shared bathroom made sure I had no shortage of traffic around my room, even at midnight.

Initially, I felt stranger in my room and it seemed no less than a relative's place where I was never at ease. But then, slowly the room started to accept me and I started to find comfort in the my room. I could not wait to get back to my room at the end of the day. I even decorated it like my home. Loved my little music player with tons of audio cassettes stacked near it. Loved the little window which opened to the road that went behind the hostel. And could always spot one or more boys from the university trying to take a peek inside the room in a girl's hostel.

Whenever there was a visitor for one of the girls, the watchman used to give a call for that room from the corridors downstairs. So as soon as the visiting hours would start, girl's would anxiously wait for their room number to be called. And even though I knew I had no one who come to meet me after college, I still listened to those calls eagerly.

Ans then one day, while we were having evening tea and snacks in the dining room, I heard "Room number ek sau Terah(room number 113)". At first I ignored it thinking I was just imagining things, but then he called again and it was indeed my room he was calling. And I ran. Not to answer the call but to wash my face and change clothes. Because whoever it was, I could not just run out like that.
And when I went outside to see who it was, it was one of my seniors and one of my best friends, grinning all over and blushing.
Surprised I asked what he was doing here.
And his response:"poore teen saal me in ek baar bhi girl's hostel mein ladki ko call nahin lagayee. Aise kaise degree le leta. Socha tumse to yeh liberty let sakta hoon"
And we stood there talking endlessly for hours.

These and so many more memories I still have so vivid of my room
Room no 113.

April fool?

1st April... Exactly the day when she told him how she felt about him - Not just a friend, but a little more. It was a life changing moment for her, and in return, he gave her the gift of her life.. memories, moments .. to hold on to, to cherish in her heart. But at times, she wondered if she did the right thing by doing what she did. what would have happened if she had not told so, how would the lives be different?
Why does the heart refuses to accept what the mind is trying to say?
Why is rationality so easy to preach but so difficult to accept?
Sometimes she felt like she made a April fool of herself.

Read somewhere..“A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets.”
So true...
Dil se..