A cup of coffee and some memories...

There is nothing more irritating than to come early to office, only to find that the systems are not working and there is nothing you can do except to sit and wait for the system to start. So here I am, at my desk, waiting for my damn system to start functioning.
Man, sitting idle can really make you think… right now, I am thinking of what I am doing here and why I am here. I should be at my home, at my mother’s place, drinking hot coffee prepared by my mom. Those were nice days when mom used to give coffee in the mornings… refreshing, hot and strong, homemade coffee. Nothing can surpass the taste of that coffee.
Mornings were cozy in those days. Though my alarm clock faithfully rung at 5.45 every morning, I never got up before 6.15. Believe it or not, but brushing your teeth at 6.20 in a cold winter morning can be quite a torture… the cold water sends shock waves to each and every tooth till your mouth feels like a rattlesnake’s den. And watching your own groggy, flushed-up face in the mirror while brushing! I mean, how worse can it get…!
After this torture, sweet reward! The whole kitchen used to be a mixture of smells of strong coffee, vegetables boiling in imli water (for sambaar) and hot daal just boiled in the cooker. This happens even today. My mom’s hair would be usually tied to a towel as it would be wet. She looks very beautiful… a big bindi adorning her forehead, lots of sindoor in her wet hair, cotton saree worn casually. I miss hugging my mom in the morning. She would be warm, owing to standing near the gas and cooking.
After drinking coffee, I would again snuggle up into my bed for a small nap. It used to feel delicious… beside me, my sister would be sleeping cozily… all wrapped up in a warm, cozy blanket. She looks very beautiful and peaceful while sleeping. I miss seeing her sleeping…
My verandah is a haven for all kinds of birds. Mornings were delightful and lively with birds chirping excitedly to begin the day. I remember the days of my college when me and my best friend would study together in my verandah. Sometimes I used to get up as early as 4.00 a.m. and start prowling in the gallery with a book in my hand. I used to get a creepy sensation walking alone in the dark. At such times, I would hear my friend’s footsteps, assuring and announcing that she is coming. You have absolutely no idea what a relief it used to be when she came!
By the way, a challenge for you… just try to stay awake reading Economics in a cold winter morning at 5.00 a.m.… if you can do this, you can do anything in this world!
It was while studying in the verandah, me and my friend both developed a liking and interest for nature and planes… It was fun to watch different kinds of birds and hear their different songs. It was thrilling to watch airplanes cutting through clouds and their majestic roar. After a while, we could identify the airlines by seeing the plane and also knew their timings. No wonder my friend went into airline sector for a career…
And those pretty little birds! They were of various colors… bright yellow, fiery red, flashy orange, coal black! The black one sang beautifully. Its tune lasted for full five seconds. The same tune would be sung again and again, filling the air with a divine note of harmony. I still hear that song sometimes in the distant memory of my mind. Imagine how relaxing it must feel to hear that beautiful and heavenly note while pondering about Alfred Marshall and his killer theories!
Mom never let me stay on empty stomach. In every hour, biscuits, coffee and some other bits of snack would follow. Though they seemed to be source of disturbance those days, now I long for the same. You can get biscuits in any shop but when mom serves it with a cup of steaming hot coffee, the warmth that envelopes you is simply delicious. Why do we value and long for those things which time takes away from us?
Another beautiful memory etched in my mind is going to school riding on my dad’s scooter. Me, my sister and my brother would leave together for school in the morning in my dad’s scooter. My brother would stand in the front of the scooter while me and my sister would sit behind, my sister in front of me. On the way to school, there was a lane which required climbing a bit. This would cause my sister to fall back on me, leaning her head on my shoulder. Her cheek would be pressed to my face. It was difficult to resist that fat, little, soft and white cheek with its powdery fragrance and I would kiss her. This became a daily routine. This is one beautiful memory which nothing can erase. I wish to go back in time, to the lane again and to kiss that child…
Have you seen a thick beam of sunlight falling into the ground? It happens in my home always. The beam is full of particles which move frantically when you move your hand through the beam. My hall would always be bathed in a lovely thick divine ray of sunlight which flew in through the window. Indeed a very beautiful phenomenon… Mr.Hiranandani, a question to you… with due respect to your majestic structures, can they bring this beauty to any home?
The season that leads me into nostalgia the most is summer. Especially the time before summer when it is neither hot nor cold. When there is noon for some time and next you find clouds blocking the sun while passing through. Summers were fun-filled as well as tiring. No schools, no homework, only playing all day and watching lots of T.V…. We used to take cycles on hire and ride them joyfully. It was fun to ride bicycles. The thrill of riding one on your own for the first time cannot be explained. Falling down from the cycle was considered as a mark of honor and if one got hurt, nothing to be more proud of! The guy/gal would be the centre of attraction for the whole day and would be literally worshipped by the other kids. A question to ponder: how many kids do you see in cycles today? The little ones barely turn 15 and you see them racing in pulsars or Hondas or what not… sadly, the simple charm of the cycle cannot stand in the way of the roaring pulsar…
While days went by in cycling and playing hide-n-seek and fighting, evenings were spent in quiet and serious exploration of the sky. A bunch of wanna-be astronauts, we would lie in the open terrace in the evenings, pondering about why there are some many hues in the sky, what is the height of the blue ceiling, what lies beyond that , what would happen if the gravitational force stops working one day (that sure terrified us out of our wits!)… I still remember the excitement and happiness in our first spotting of the constellation, ‘The Great Bear’. We had read it in our books about the constellation and that day when we all spotted it, counting the seven stars, we all shouted in unison with excitement. After all, it was the first step for us budding astronauts! I vividly remember, once we all stood staring into the sky, to see when it gets dark and when its color changes. We all kept staring and never realized when it turned dark! We could recognize various patterns among the stars. There was a group of three stars which were placed in a horizontal line and the distance between all the three was exactly same, or so it appeared while seeing from below. I still see that group and think about my friends…
Then there were those sad moments too when some friends shifted to new homes. When a friend moves away, a part of you also goes with him/her. Though fortunately I have many good friends, I had the misfortune too of saying goodbye to a lot many. Time and distance cannot dim the light of friendship; however, it makes a great difference when two friends separate. A part of childhood fades away forever.
All the above seem to be a part of a dream stored somewhere in the hazy depths of memory… But the dream resurfaces… whenever this heart is down in despair or the soul is tired of the daily insipid routine of life, this dream resurfaces in the consciousness like a breath of fresh air.
And while I am sitting in office now, getting all nostalgic and writing this really long story or events or whatever you say, I know that when it gets very tough and complicated to carry on in life, I can always dive back into the depths of memory and go back into time, lying in the terrace with my friends, pondering seriously about what would happen if gravity ceases…

The foundation of a passion...

She was thin and pale with long dark curly hair and a pleasantly smiling face. What I liked most about my English teacher was her voice... It was crystalline and melodious... like waves playing gently in the sea or wind chimes swaying lazily with the evening breeze.

I was in the seventh standard when i had her first as my English teacher. Thereafter, till my SSC, she was the only English teacher I had in my classes. Every year, on the first day of opening of school, all students would be anxious about which teacher would teach particular subject. The moment, my teacher entered the class, all students would cheer happily and she would smile lovingly, a radiant expression in her fair face. She would then search among the top rows, for there was where I used to sit always and the moment she saw me, she would smile knowingly and I would feel as if her eyes are asking the unasked question, 'So we meet this year too ha?'.

Her way of teaching was quite innovative. While teaching, she would pause if she came across any difficult word. She would then ask us the meaning of the word. Obviously, nobody would know. So, our homework would be to check the dictionary at home and find out its meaning and also use it appropriately in any sentence of our own. In a way, this was the foundation of my liking for the subject, I think. Learning the meaning of a new word every day was a sheer delight.

English subject, at that time, was a mass of comprehensions, essays, poems and questions. I could no longer byheart any answers for now there were 'factual' questions which required the readers to vent out their views on the topic asked. I had very abnormal views about any topic. Yet, my hand would be the first one to shoot up as soon as any question was asked. I would proudly proclaim my views in front of the whole class but not once did my teacher rebuke me or say that my views are wrong. She always made it a point to say that my views are different from others and would say so as a compliment.

I remember one incident very well. I shared my bench with two girls, Bindiya and Shalaka. Shalaka was the daughter of our drawing teacher Mrs. Kulkarni who had the reputation of being very sharp-tongued and rude. Shalaka was very arrogant and dominating and always fought with every one. One particular day, we three were playing a game during recess and Shalaka lost to me in the game. Both me and Bindiya cheered ourselves heartily and didnt notice Shalaka slip out of the classroom, teary-eyed.

Soon the recess ended and our English lesson started. After some time, Mrs. Kulkarni straight away rushed inside the classroom and came beside our bench where we three were sitting. She asked Shalaka, 'Who is this Deepa?'. Shalaka quietly pointed her finger at me. Then started a tideous tirade of why am I playing such silly games and how it is very bad to make fun of losers. She shouted at me for about fifteen minutes in front of the whole class and then marched out after venting her anger.

Having been humiliated in front of the whole class, my eyes threatened to fill up with tears which i hastily tried to blink away. It didnt help that my English teacher was looking at me with a kind expression on her face. I was inwardly praying that my teacher shouldnt say anything sympathetic to me as I was sure to break down. I didnt want to cry in front of the class.

To my surprise, she cleared her throat and started teaching. When she came to the section of 'factual questions', she directed all her questions at me. Very soon, I was back to my normal self as I started giving one foolish logic after another. After every answer, she gave a proud nod and to my astonishment, she started to defend and explain my logic as well. I cant forget this incident. Two teachers.... one humiliated me in front of the entire class and the other one made me stand proudly again in the midst of the same class...

It pains to remember that she was not there in the send-off party of my batch... for some reasons, she couldnt attend the same.. and here i was... having prepared an entire speech of thanks specially for her...

I met her after the results came... I had scored 80 / 100 in English and the highest marks in English were 81 in my school... When i informed her about my score, she was very happy... but the best compliment to me was when she asked, 'Why didn't you get 81?' To know that she actually expected me to get highest marks in her subject was an exhilarating feeling...

Thereafter, I met her after many years when i went back to school to take the results of my cousin who was also studying in the same school.... I had learnt from her that my English teacher taught her too... And there she was .... sitting in a chair with her head bent to check the enormous load of answer papers which she was distributing to all the anxious parents and siblings... I informed her my cousin's name and without looking up, she searched for her papers and gave them to me... I waited for some time till the crowd dispersed and finally spoke to her.

'M'am?' ... She turned her face upwards and looked at me questioningly. The face hadnt changed at all... though the hair was not only black but now carried a few strands of grey... She was still the same frail-looking woman with the pleasant face... But this time, she had some difficulty recognizing me.

'M'am... I have been your student. My name is Deepa.'

She seemed to have recognized this familiar face but couldnt remember quite distinctly. She smiled tiredly. 'I know you were my student but I am sorry that we teachers have very poor memories about the names of their students.' It pained me a bit to know that she didnt remember me. But then I realized that there might be hundreds whom she influenced with her kind nature. She might not remember every one. And I went back to her after almost a decade. i was no longer the two-plaited and fat little kid who gave the most ridiculous answers to her.

I then asked her, 'How r u M'am?' ... She said, 'Still the same as u might have noticed... the same school, the same subject but not the same students, isnt' it?' She laughed pleasantly. She then asked about my job and other general issues. Finally, I had nothing to say more.

'Ok then M'am... I will leave now... Just wanted to meet you thats all'...

She sent me off happily and that was the last time I met till date.

My cousin's classes started again after a week. The teacher mentioned to her class that one of her old students had come to meet her during the results and that this had made her very happy and proud. I was delighted to hear this from my cousin.

Her name is Usha and I know that she must still be teaching in the school and may be she is patiently listening to the ridiculous answers of another fat kid with plaits....