Not-So-Sunny Side Of The City That Never Sleeps!

 

There are many people that we meet in our lifespan. What makes some unforgettable?

I have pondered over this and have arrived at the conclusion that it is the feeling and the emotion those people invoked in you when you met them, or saw them. Years later, when you think about that person, that moment, the same feelings arise. And you realise that life has never been the same again. That a part of you got left behind. Froze at that moment. Never to return, never to resume!

There is not one, but many people who became an integral part of my life. I met these warriors when I had a job and was still working. This was about fifteen years ago.

My first job was in a forex agency and the office was situated in Fort area of Mumbai. That meant I had to travel by train from Dombivli (a precious town nestled in Thane district of Maharashtra) to Mumbai CSTM terminal (where a piece of my heart lives permanently). I met a lot of people in the train and saw quite a few people while stepping out of CSTM station. Ironically, it was the later where I met those who were to become some of the most unforgettable people of my life.

To start with, there was the boy who used to polish shoes of people. I would see him sitting at his regular post everyday, beside a number of guys all set to polish shoes. The boy was clearly the youngest in the group. His voice would be the loudest. Saab, polish kara ke lo na Saab, boni kara do! (Sir, please get your shoes polished, give me my first earn of the day!) Something stabs the heart, doesn't it? There is more to come, friend!

I remember this boy not because he polished shoes, but on saturdays, when I could leave from office a little early, I would see this boy reading a book. Sometimes he wrote on a notebook too. That would be his off-hour as there weren't many people keen to polish their shoes while going back home. The boy got maximum business in the morning but he would still sit in the late afternoon, probably to see whether he could earn something more.

It has been almost a decade since I visited CSTM again. And I hope that I don't see this boy there, now grown up but still polishing shoes! I hope he found his true calling, I hope he found a better way to earn money.

If the story of this boy stabbed at your heart, then the story of the Young One will surely blow your mind. The Young One was actually a pretty girl, aged about twenty or so I guess, who would wait outside the CSTM station every evening. For 'clients'. She would be dressed normally in chudidaars, and yet something about her look, about the way she moved, indicated that it was a call to attention. I named her as the Young One, because her face still retained the cute baby fat that some people are blessed with. It made her look all the more innocent. Every evening I saw her stand at her usual place and look at guys brazenly. That look broke my heart. I take a perverse kind of satisfaction in saying that I never saw any guy respond to her look. At least not in my presence. Does that make me mean? No, it shows my weaker side, that I would have broken down if I had seen someone take up on her offer. I know there are many people who are eking out a life in this way, but to actually witness someone take advantage would have broken me inside. And if I, as an onlooker, feel so, I can't imagine what the girl would go through.

To go to my office, I usually took a shortcut which involved passing under a foot-over bridge. A place which was home to the homeless of the city. There were many, eating and sleeping beneath the flyover. And one particular guy deserves a mention.

At the very first sight of him, I knew he didn't belong there. He looked as if he came from a well-to-do family. Atleast his clothes showed that. But as the days passed, he became one with the homeless. The same blank look on the face now muddied and browned, and the same posture of sitting with his head leaning on a wall beneath the foot-over bridge and staring vacantly into space.

He did find a friend in a dog. A stray one. Every morning as I passed by the road, I saw him share a bun with the dog. It was always a bun.

Every evening, I would board the train back to my home with the same resolute feeling that I would do something to change the lives of these people. But the more destitute people I saw, the more I realized that it would take some gigantic effort by a gigantic-willed individual to provide a better life to the scores of people living in the city destitute, homeless, polishing boots and trying to eke out a living in every possible way. There are probably tens of thousands of such people living there, and it would take an entire city to help them!

Not a peppy blog this one, right? But I often think about these people, and felt like writing an ode to these warriors who were dealt an unlucky set of cards in life, and yet decided to make it through, to survive at any cost and to get through this lifetime. Not unscathed, not unhurt, but still made it. Perhaps, by writing about them, I can create an awareness among people, and contribute in my own way for the Change For A Better World!

A Town Called Dombivli

 

I am someone who suffers from a major identity crisis. You see, my parents’ native place is Palakkad, which has an identity crisis of its own, being on the border of Kerala and Tamil Nadu. I was born in Anand, Gujarat. If you ask me what I consider my hometown, I would say a quaint little town nestled amidst the landscapes of Maharashtra, a town that doesn't fall under Mumbai but whose native, if asked, would say he/she is from "Bombay," a town most famous for its Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations, and a town where I was raised.

This beautiful town is called Dombivli, and I call myself a Dombivlikar. It is the identity I most relate to. Unfortunately, I do not have any photos of this town because, as such, it is not about sightseeing but more about feeling and living it. I spent the first three decades of my life here, and those decades feel like a lifetime of events and happenings.

You have to visit this town during the Ganesh Chaturthi celebrations. What a splendid welcome the town gives to the Ganesha idols! Hours and hours of dhol, tasha, dance and chants of Ganpati Bappa Morya, the idol seated majestically on a pedestal atop a truck decorated with flowers, the crowd going crazy on seeing the idol arriving at the lane where they would be waiting eagerly and patiently, the dance, the beats, the rhythm, the euphoria and the ecstasy! In this situation, I challenge you to find a single person who can stop themselves from dancing wildly. The reception of Lord Ganesha is grand, and equally majestic is the farewell ritual of the Lord. The farewell ritual is tinged with some sadness as the eleven-day long festival comes to an end. There are several Ganesh Mandals exhibiting extremely beautiful idols of Lord Ganesha. Many come up with a theme every year, a theme that touches the cords of the devotees’ hearts.

My childhood comprises of beautiful memories of spending evenings visiting various Mandals of Lord Ganesha with my family and friends. I swear, with every visit, every Mandal, and every year, I fall a bit more in love with the cutest of all gods.

Equally grand is the celebration of Navratri. The sounds of Gujarati songs accompanied by the ‘click! click’ of Dandia or the claps of the beautiful Garba resonate in many lanes on Navratri nights. I, my sister, cousins, and my friends would dress up, buy new dandias, and rush to our nearby lane where we would dance Garba and Dandia to our heart’s content. Our parents literally had to drag us away on such nights!

On the eve of Diwali, you have to assemble at Phadke Road, a famous junction where many events are conducted by the local groups and bands of Dombivli on Diwali. While you will enjoy these events for sure, you have to first ensure that you get a place to stand on the road! It is crowded, unbelievably crowded on the morning of Diwali. The people bursting firecrackers at random locations don’t exactly make matters easier. You may be standing by the road and feel the 'zzzz’ of a firecracker about to explode. You turn around to see a firecracker just behind you! You scamper off in a rush just when the firecracker explodes, you swear heavily, and then you burst out laughing. This is typically a Dombivlikar. It is not easy to be a Dombivlikar, but it is an honour to be one!

After the event's high has worn off, you might want to pay a visit to the Ganesh temple across Phadke road. This is a ritual that I am sure every Dombivlikar still follows.

If you are a South-Indian Dombivlikar, you will find most of your clan at the Balaji temple in Dombivli, which has a majestic and beautiful Lord Balaji, an extremely gorgeous Devi Padmavati, and a very feminine and lovely Devi Andal. During Navratri, a majestic Brahmotsavam function is held in the temple for nine days where Lord Balaji is decked with a new avatar every day. This is a grand function and attracts a huge crowd of devotees to the temple.

On the way to my home from the Balaji temple, there lies another beautiful temple dedicated to Lord Karthikeya. On the night of Karthik Poornima, you will find both Maharashtrians and South-Indians assembled at the temple to see the beautiful lighting up of earthen lamps in the temple.

Dombivli is not just about temples or festivals. On a Monday evening, try to go to the market near the station. You will find that there is no market, but there is still a market. You see, on Mondays, the shops in Dombivli are closed. At least they used to be closed while I was still living there. The shops would be closed, paving the way for the famous Monday market of Dombivli East. Except for people, you will find everything on sale here. Don’t be alarmed by seeing the rush! The stall-keeper would be barely visible to you over the crowd of people surrounding him, but he would peep out, trace you out somehow, and ask, "Bolo Saab, kya dun aapko?" ("Yes, Sir, what can I help you with?" The stall-keepers of Monday Market are blessed with the ability to remember what every customer asked for in the first place, deliver it to them, and not leave any customer dissatisfied. The Monday market is a once-in-a-lifetime experience!

And talking about lifetime experiences, you've got to board a fast local train from Dombivli to CST terminus in the wee hours of the morning. It is a soul-shaking experience that will turn you into a believer. You pray when you see the crowd at the station waiting for the local train to arrive. You pray when you see the overflowing local arrive at the station. You first swear and then you pray when you realise that there are more people trying to get inside the train than people trying to de-board it. You pray when you want to get down at a station. You send out a silent note of thanks to the Universe for helping you to reach the office safely. Then you start the whole process again in the evening while going home.

When you are miles away from Dombivli, you pray for all these people, thinking about their daily struggle. "Struggle" is the middle name of every Dombivlikar. There are guys who travel every day from Dombivli to Pune (a 3-hour journey) for their work. The ladies travelling on the local train cut veggies while returning home as it saves so much of their time. At ten or eleven in the night, the trains are still full, with many people having to stand for more than an hour after slogging the whole day in the office. And how do these people handle their struggle? By playing Antakshari in the train, by singing Bhajans regardless of whether you are sitting, standing or floating (it is a possibility that sometimes both of your feet will be above the base of the train and you will be solely supported by the people crushing you from all sides). Every Dombivlikar is a hero who has conquered his/her struggle with their indomitable spirit and will-power. You won’t find such people elsewhere! There is a well-believed legend from Dombivli that if you have lived there, you can live anywhere on earth.

Actually, I find it only partially true. Because once you are accustomed to the fast life of Dombivli, once you have gotten used to the festive aura and the grand celebrations, once you have had your first ‘vada-paav’ (a staple delicacy of Dombivli that no other dish can match!), you will constantly find yourself comparing your present living conditions with all these relics of Dombivli, and find them falling short of Dombivli’s standards.

While I have settled in Hyderabad, a large part of my soul still lives in Dombivli, among the lanes where I used to play with my childhood friends, where I used to wait eagerly for Ganpati Bappa’s arrival, where I used to burst firecrackers with my family and friends... a part of me has frozen here forever.

My friends from Dombivli tell me that it is getting harder and more difficult every day there because of the crowd and the rush. While the practical 40-plus me is grateful to have escaped the fast pace, the emotional Dombivlikar in me refuses to even believe that life in Dombivli is tough now. (After all, I am a Dombivlikar through and through). Even though I am miles away from Dombivli, a part of me will always live there amidst the crowd and rush, frantic but happy beyond words, because I will be where I was destined to belong always.

When A Celestial King Used To Descend On Earth!

Since the past eight years, on every eve of Ganesh Chaturthi, especially in the evening, my spirit sinks. Ever since I shifted to Hyderabad, I haven't seen or participated in the home-coming ceremony of Ganesha. I haven't listened to the Dhol - Tasha. I haven't seen people dancing passionately on the streets, regardless of the heavy rains. I haven't seen random people joining the crowd, bowing to the majestic idol with a Namaste and start dancing with the group. 

If I were in Dombivli now, I would be waiting patiently in my balcony. Waiting for the arrival of Bappa. Looking back, if I made a list of Happiest Moments Of Life, welcoming Ganesha would make it to the top.

After marriage, I had shifted to a new home in Dombivli. The flat was on the third floor and the balcony overlooked a busy road. From my house, we could see entire processions of Ganpati Bappa's homecoming. The music and beats would resonate on the road, and I would dance in my house! I have always loved the Dhol-Tasha that accompanies Ganpati Bappa. It is overwhelming to see the Lord welcomed so majestically with drums and beats that could give a tough competition to the celestial musicians. 

As I watched the musicians beat the gigantic drum continuously for hours, I realized that they were the true recipients of the Lord's grace. They stood for hours, not letting their hands go off the drums and not minding the heavy rainfall. 

The chant of 'Ganpati Bappa, Morya', the idol held up on the person's head with reverence and devotion, the person walking barefoot on the road, his family singing, dancing and chanting Bappa's name... I am getting goosebumps even as I write this! The smaller the idol, the more impact it made on the heart.

Bappa has many means of transport to reach home. There are carts which people from the same building or area use to collectively bring the idols of each home together. Sometimes Bappa gets a ride in the car. Sometimes it's just a small cart, but with a large group of people dancing and singing with enthusiasm. Be it any transport, the level of devotion and dedication is always, always high! The place where I used to live in Dombivli is blessed, for many large idols of Bappa pass through that route. And just in front of the building where I stayed, the procession would stop and I would get to see the beautiful idols. The people in the procession would dance with unparalleled enthusiasm. The beats, oh the beats! How I miss the music of the Dhol! It actually produces a physical ache when I think about it! Another thing that always touched the heart - Whenever it rained during the procession, the idol would be immediately draped and protected with plastic covering. But the people in the procession? They would brave the heavy rains and still continue beating the Dhol and dancing, and giving a grand welcome to Bappa. There hasn't been a year when I didn't wish to be a part of the procession.

Ganesh Chaturthi in Hyderabad is celebrated differently. Nonetheless, the idols are grand and perfect. Beautiful eyes, rotund belly, gracefully sculpted fingers blessing the devotees.... And the size of the idols is indeed huge. 

In my first year in Hyderabad, I got a pleasant surprise when I saw a Ganesh- Pandal erected right outside the apartment where I lived. The daily Aarti, people coming to see the Lord and take His blessings and the songs that would keep playing - these brightened some rainy and gloomy days.

And yet, I could never see the idol being brought to the pandal. In Hyderabad, the people bring it in secret by draping a cloth around the idol to not to show a glimpse until the idol is installed after proper worship. Without much fun-fare or ado, the idol is brought in during the late hours of the night and installed in the morning. 

Bappa brings happiness to the whole world. And yet, something seems missing when I compare the celebration in Hyderabad with the celebration of Dombivli. This time of the year, I specially miss Dombivli. I miss seeing the majestic welcome of Bappa, I miss seeing the dance and listening to the Dhol. 

Bappa, I felt Your presence more in Dombivli! Have you arrived there? Are You waiting outside my building in the lavishly-decorated truck, gently smiling and watching Your people welcome You in the grandest of ways? In the third floor of the building to Your right, You will find a part of myself that I left behind in Dombivli, leaning eagerly from the balcony, with folded hands, and wishing like I always do, that I too was a part of the procession welcoming You.

May be someday, I will be able to, with Your grace. In the meanwhile, I watch Ganesh garjana videos in YouTube and try to get the feel of Welcoming Bappa In Dombivli.

It's close enough, although I am far!

(Happy Ganesh Chaturthi, friends! I miss Maharashtra specially at this time of the year. Here is wishing and praying that Lord Ganesha brings in auspiciousness, prosperity and joy in your life!

Train, Thy Name Is Happiness!

 

Given the large number of my relatives scattered across the country, and also considering the numerous rituals that we South-Indians have, I have been blessed with many opportunities to travel outstation. Every trip has been exciting and has taught me something new. In fact, I feel that I changed a little after every trip I went on!

For me, the preparations for the trip have always been more exciting than the trip itself. Shopping for the trip, packing the suitcase, preparing food to be carried in the train - these give a different kind of pleasure. And speaking of trains - I just love train journeys! I love the fact that I can sit beside the window of a speeding train and see the world rush by. As the train takes me through strange lands and unknown territories, I find myself lost in the world outside, trying to learn about the place and the people I get an occasional glimpse of.  Sometimes there is only wilderness for miles in the journey, at other times farms pass by, with mountains in the background. Once, I was travelling through some Ghats in Maharashtra in the rainy season and came across an enormous waterfall. I can't describe the beauty of the water cascading down the cliff of the huge mountain. And then there was the journey when I was shifting to Hyderabad. When the train left Kalyan Junction, I couldn't help feel emotional. Although a new life was luring me, I just couldn't say goodbye to my beloved Dombivli. I sat brooding until the train reached Karjat. A beautiful rainbow stretched across the sky. It seemed to stretch along with the train route. I enjoyed the view for a long while. The rainbow brought in peace and solace to the mind otherwise grieving for a home that I had to say goodbye to. Moments like this made me fall in love with traveling.

It is a necessity to drink coffee in the train. And from a coffee-lover's point of view, the coffee in the train is - bland. There is no other word to describe the watery concoction that they serve in the name of coffee. And yet I can't say no to it. I make it a point to not to count the number of cups of coffee that I have in the train. Tomato soup is something else. I don't know how they make it in the train but the soup tastes just delicious! The tangy soup and the crunchy bread crumbs they add to it make it a sheer delight to be savored in the evenings when it is too dark outside the train to enjoy the scenery. 

Most of the times, we eat home-cooked meals in the train. Methi-roti, Idli and onion-tomato chutney are the usual favourites. We got to travel in Rajdhani sometimes. And that is a different experience. There are no complaints about the food there. My kid specially loves the thaali! 

And the nights in the train. There is something absolutely soothing about the rocking motion of the train and the dim lights, even though I am not a fan of the dark. And to wake up to beautiful scenery is something that I literally crave for. Sometimes we get a beautiful view of sunrise. No picture or image can justify the feeling of seeing the sun rise over some mountain, or between the trees, or over a farm. 

Needless to say, Maharashtra and Konkan routes are my favourite. The Sahayadri Ghats never cease to amaze the weary traveler. All the problems seem to disappear when we behold the gigantic Ghats existing since eons. And then we have beautiful Kerala with its palm trees, neat roads, thatched huts and paddy fields! A train journey through Kerala is like seeing the very essence of the place.

I can go on and on. I prefer train journey over a flight on any given day. Sure, the flight saves time. But it is not as enjoyable as the train journey! 

The best part of a train journey is all the family members coming together for a while and enjoying each other's company! Ludo, playing cards, dumb-charades, Antakshari - all these make up for an awesome bonding time. 

Most of all, the train journeys bring in beautiful memories, to be savored in the evenings at home - the memory of beautiful sunrises, of cascading waterfalls, of cozy evenings with hot tomato soup and comfy nights with the rocking motion of the train.

An Ode To Coffee!

 

I have always declared myself as a coffee-lover. For me, it is the panacea of all evils, this delicious hot-drink called coffee. It is the thing that I look forward to most in the morning. It instantly brightens up my mood, and turns a bad day into an adventurous one. Somedays it is the only reason to wake up!

It all began somewhere in my teens, when I started preparing coffee for my father, who is another coffee-holic. Every time he told me to prepare coffee, I would end up preparing much more than what he wanted. So I would drink the extra coffee. And thus began my love affair with this divine beverage.

Be it summer, rainy or winter season, I never could say 'No thanks' to coffee. In the noon of the scorching summer, I drank coffee. In the gloom of the rainy evening, I drank it. In the chilly misty morning of winter, I devoured it! I loved it with a passion. The aroma of the decoction prepared for filter coffee, the colour (somewhat a golden brown), and the kick, oh the kick! The stronger the coffee, the happier it made me! 

I always inched more towards filter coffee. I still am partial to it. It is all the more special because of my grandma. She would roast coffee beans in the morning, grind them finely and use them to prepare the decoction. The aroma of roasted coffee beans cannot be described in words. Almost half of the people in my building would come to know that it was coffee-powder-making day in my house.

After my grandma passed away, I started purchasing coffee powder from a South-Indian store. I would wait outside and chit-chat with the kind shop-owner while his assistant would grind the roasted coffee beans. The aroma brought in sweet memories of my grandma. (Come to think of it, it has been a while since I smelled this!) While I waited, the shop-owner would show me the new books arrived in the week and I would purchase copies of my favourite Twinkle and Gokulam (a delightful book for children that was very popular in those days; I am not sure whether it is still in circulation.) Of all the tasks I did, this was my favourite, purchasing coffee powder from this particular shop because it combined two of my loves - coffee and books! 

No offence, but CCD pales in comparison to this. To be honest, I have visited a few branches of CCD. And I hasten to clarify that I have found the coffee here to be absolutely delicious. Be it Cappuccino, Mochachillo, frappe or any of the numerous delicacies that CCD offers, I have loved each and every one of them. But for some reason, the simple filter coffee touches the heart like nothing else. Maybe because it has many special memories associated with it. 

The best place to have coffee is obviously the south of India. Tamil Nadu takes the cream when it comes to coffee. It is something else when taken there. It becomes an unforgettable sensory experience, having coffee in the South. I am yet to find out what makes south-Indian coffee so delicious. Is it the air? The soil? The people for whom coffee is the elixir of life, who make it a point to drink it at night before going to sleep, who serve ‘unlimited’ coffees at weddings and functions and who literally worship this divine beverage? I am baffled!

Life went on, with five or more cups of coffee in a day.

Until one day, I took in some tea that was left-over after all my family members had it. For reasons unknown to me, I added some pepper powder and sugar in it. (Okay, truth - some pepper powder and lots of sugar!). And it felt - right. Not good, not delicious, but somehow it felt right. 

Also, the constant knee pain demanded that I take in some calcium every day. So the second cup of coffee in the morning and in the evening was gradually replaced by Horlicks.  From five cups in a day, my coffee intake reduced to just two.

Now, as on date, I just have two cups of coffee in a day. It feels unbelievable, it feels sad. But somehow, the health constraints replaced the cravings for coffee.

But this had made my bond with coffee stronger. The first coffee of the day has become all the more precious now. I savour the moment; I treasure the moment when I drink coffee in the morning. It has become the most anticipated moment of the day. I spend over ten minutes on the same, and these ten minutes are my personal mini-session of Spa For My Soul. The second cup of coffee in the evening is a mood-booster. It drives away the blues that evenings typically bring. A cup of coffee, a good book in hand and I am lost in my own mini paradise!

Dear Coffee, don’t worry! Even though I have drastically reduced my intake, I still want to be known as a Coffee-holic and as a Coffee-Lover. And no matter how many beverages I drink, you will always be special!  

Of Bus-Rides And Blissful Journeys!

 

When I think about buses, what prominently comes to my mind is CSTM Station (Mumbai). One may wonder, what does a station have to do with buses?!

My office was in Colaba. I used to travel by train from Dombivli to CSTM. Just outside the station, there was the stop for buses that ran for Colaba. After standing for an hour in the train, I would stand in a long line for the bus. But the line would move on quickly and buses came every few minutes or so. Hence it wasn’t much of a trouble and I could easily board the bus and could get a seat by the window. It was such a relief to finally sit after standing for a long time!

The drop-off point was very near to my office and it also operated as a pick-up point for buses going towards CSTM station in the evening. I could appreciate how convenient the bus was only when I decided to walk to my office from the station in the morning. It so happened that once the queue was indeed very long for the bus and I was already frustrated because of the crowded train. Standing in the serpentine queue felt overwhelming that day and out of sheer frustration, I decided to walk to my office. It took me half-n-hour to reach the office by foot. But I came across some vendors selling books in the pavement near Colaba. And that decided it for me! Since that day, I grabbed every opportunity to walk to my office, peruse the books (and buy them, of course), listen to some music and reach the office feeling invigorated by the walk. Gradually I started walking in the evenings too towards the station but this had a different incentive. There was a Bhel-puri vendor near Hutatma Chowk (also known as Fountain) who made the most delicious and spicy Bhel that I have ever come across. I would buy a book from the road-side vendor, buy the Bhel, deliberately choose a slow-local train that would take one-n-half hours to reach Dombivli, sit by the window and enjoy reading the book while munching on spicy Bhel. If asked, this is the thing that I miss most about my working days!

My tryst with buses didn’t end there. Every weekend, I would feel the urge to go out somewhere. I and my husband would board a bus from Dombivli to go to Vashi. There were other ways to go to Vashi. There were local trains too. But I always insisted on traveling by bus. Before boarding the bus, my husband would buy some packets of chips and a bottle of cold-drinks. Sometimes I would download some songs in my mobile and we would enjoy the ride, listening to soulful melodies, while munching on chips and enjoying the drive through the city.

Talking about scenery, I have had the most wonderful time travelling to other cities by bus. While staying in Dombivli, I and my husband would often go to Shirdi by bus. It used to depart at night. I cannot describe the cozy feeling of travelling at night in a dimly-lit bus, watching the dark road outside only illuminated by the occasional vehicle passing by, all the while listening to songs of yesteryears. The return journey from Shirdi to Mumbai used to be during the day and I absolutely loved it. The bus would pass through many villages, offering beautiful glimpses of scenic locales and life in rural areas. I remember one particular return trip from Shirdi. It was raining the entire route and our bus passed by Bhandardaara, a scenic spot in Maharashtra that many people frequently visit during rains to enjoy natural waterfalls. It was an unforgettable trip as we passed beautiful lakes and saw lush green hills at the far end. And talking about hills, the route from Shirdi to Dombivli required passing through the famous and immensely beautiful Malshej Ghat. The number of times we have passed through this mountainous route! I am glad that this was a time when the mobiles didn’t have camera, else I would have missed seeing the original beauty of the places while trying to capture their images in the camera.

I and my husband always search for opportunities to travel to other cities by bus. Hyderabad is centrally located such that from most cities, it is easily accessible by road. We have travelled to Nagpur, Bengaluru, Chennai and even Mumbai by bus. It is an amusing (yet slightly cumbersome) experience to sleep in a running bus. While the beds are spacious and there is no dearth of blankets, one can feel every motion of the bus while lying down. On my first over-night journey on a sleeper-bus, I found it extremely difficult to sleep as I kept swaying in whatever direction the bus turned.  But now, considering the number of trips my family has made in the bus, I have become used to it and actually look forward to the trips. There is something extremely cozy about travelling on a highway at night, lounging on a bed placed at a higher level inside the bus so that we can see outside the window.

In Hyderabad, special buses named Pushpak operate to and from the airport. These are air-conditioned, having comfortably spacious seats and large windows. I have often travelled in these buses with my family. I have come to love these rides. I and my husband often prefer to travel by the bus whenever we need to go to the airport to either pick-up or drop any relative.

My recent over-night bus journey was from Palakkad (Kerala) to Bengaluru last year in the month of May. This was a most memorable experience for me, my kid and my husband as we had to wait for almost two hours at night on the highway for the bus. I was worried that probably the bus missed our pick-up point. My kid was feeling the pangs of hunger and my husband had had it with the mosquitoes that had started viewing us as the menu for their dinner. The bus came at about 1 in the night and the moment we lay down on the bed, we fell asleep.

I also had a memorable experience of travelling in a tour bus. Last year, in the month of October, I had been to Mumbai and wanted to show the landmarks of the city to my kid. There are Mumbai Darshan buses departing from Dombivli. I, my son and my sister-in-law booked seats for the same and went on the one-day sightseeing tour. The remarkable part of the tour was the guide. While giving information about the various landmarks, he said a lot of jokes, most of which, I am sure, were repeated by him every day. Sometimes people laughed, sometimes they didn’t, but it did not deter him. He kept entertaining the passengers with his funny anecdotes and remarks. It gave me a glimpse into the life of guides. I wonder how they manage to survive today when information is available to everyone through their mobiles and websites. It must be tough, keeping up with the jokes even though people aren’t laughing, repeating the same jokes and information and travelling by the same route every day. Not everyone is made to be a guide, I guess!

Hyderabad offered me a lot of chances to travel by bus. The place where our rental home used to be, had a bus-station from where buses would start their journey and return to. It was most convenient for us as we had to walk for just five minutes from our home to reach the bus-stop. I have lost count of the number of times we have travelled by bus to the station to pick up our relatives and to drop them off. Having shifted to another place now, we do not often travel in city buses. But they made our journey very comfortable, all the while that we were in that part of the town.

My kid loves over-night bus journeys. We are just waiting for another opportunity to travel by bus. Without my knowledge, somehow, the bus has become a most memorable part of my life. I hope that the buses never go out of service and continue to spread joy among the people with their simplicity, speed and charm!

The Magic Of The Nostalgic Nineties - 5

 

As I took a print-out of some notes for my kid's classes, my mind reeled back to a place somewhere in the 90s. I traveled back to a place that I don't believe, exists today. Or maybe it does but not in large numbers as it used to, before. 

My mind went back to a cyber-cafe.

A blessing for teenagers in those days. Feeling bored? Visit the cyber-cafe. In a long-distance relationship? Visit the cyber-cafe. Need a print-out? Visit the cyber-cafe. The cyber-cafe must have seen so many stories! Stories of beautiful relationships and painful break-ups. It must have felt the fear of the kid logging in to check the results of their exam. It must have felt the anticipation of the nerd to see his/her results. It must have felt the dread of opening an examination paper. It must have heard so many prayers, so many sobs of happiness and grief - so many feelings associated with this place!

I have had my own sweet tryst with the cyber-cafe for many years. My cousins are scattered all over the country (and abroad too). One particular summer vacation, we all met at my dad's house in Chennai for the first time. Our meeting could be best described as match-stick and fire. We all bonded closely right in the first meeting and the bond has only strengthened with time. 

There was a slight problem that we all were scattered in different parts of the country. So we decided to stay in touch through emails which were a hot trend those days. The weekly emails started, with each one of us visiting the cyber cafe to send out emails which were marked to every one of us. Gradually we discovered video-chats. The emails progressed to video chats and conversations and the cyber cafe became our own hang-out point. 

I have wonderful memories associated with the cyber-café. I and my friends have spent many hours there, chatting with cousins, other friends and family. The fight for a computer with webcam was fierce, given that only two or three computers had webcam installed over them. The cyber-café operator must have been fed-up with almost everyone telling him to intimate them when the computer with the webcam was available for use, which was very rarely. Some of the best times of my life are those spent in the cyber-café.

The cyber-café brought a revolution in the field of communication and technology. The letters vanished slowly as emails and yahoo messenger became the new rage. For a while, it was as if a golden age of communication had descended upon the society, enabling people to stay in touch with their family and friends at the click of a button in an object named The Mouse.

Then the mobile came. Along with it, came the Message app. Which then upgraded to Whatsapp and several other apps. Lengthy emails reduced to monosyllables. Chatting over Messenger reduced to forwarded memes sent in a group.

Today my cousins, friends and family all are in a whatsapp group. And yet the conversations are very less! The bond is still there. But somehow the emails disappeared, along with the chats and conversations. Video calls happen every weekend where I get to meet my family.

Are there still cyber-cafes around? They probably are, though I am yet to see one in the place where I live. Today online classes, office presentations and sessions happen over the mobile. I don't know whether any one still visits the cyber-cafe. I believe that a golden era of communications, video-chats and emails ended when more technology replaced all of these.

I wonder what happened. Did the relations seem more precious because they were so difficult to access before, or did the easy availability of resources today to stay in touch, diminish the value of relationships? Where we used to write lengthy emails before, now we exchange forwarded messages. Memes. Jokes. Whatever happened to good old communication? 

I know the answer. It is still frozen in the best part of life. We call it The 90s.

And herein ends my Nostalgic Nineties Series. I lived and relived every beautiful part of that golden era. And now I am just waiting for a Time-machine to bring me to the present.

Although I don't mind waiting a bit longer here.

Only a little bit more.