A Pendrive full of Memories

I look through my Flight’s Window to the panorama below restless as I have nothing better to do, a rarity nowadays, before I land in Bangalore and resume my life as I am use to and prepare for my meeting .The Sky is clear from the top and I can see clouds which are not visible from Mumbai Skyline due to ever clinging Smog…….I get this feeling of Déjà vu and go back in time, I begin to count the number of times that I've sat back like this and reflected upon my childhood a childhood fastooned with memories of my formative years and the beginning of day while preparing for exams. The day use to start with early dawn rendition of “Hey Bajrangbali Hanuman, Hey Mahavir karo kalyan” in deep baritone of Shree Hariom Saran piercing the morning air from a Temple near our house and then the day had a flurry of songs being played repeatedly by a next door neighbour right from “Yehi kahin jiyara hamar aye gori gum ho gawa re” to “Tamma Tamma” at that time me and my Brothers use to curse it and use to be terribly irritated of the same but the same songs bring back nostalgic feelings whenever I hear it now

Our childhood belonged to the Prereform years of India, It was a time when great changes were about to take place and consumption and instant gratification were not yet the way of life for Indian middle class.

It was a time where vacations would mean time to have pure and simple fun and not a time to enhance your skills by joining all possible vacation courses ,Where Doordarshan's Sunday morning Cartoons and evening Movies used to be a special event and the entire week we use to look forward to the Sundays to watch our favourite serials on Black & White TV.

It was a time where birthday's would mean friends & family get together at your place with homemade food and not just a birthday treat in a flashy Restaurant or Bar. Cold drinks were once in a while thing and drinking it used to be an event. Something to be enjoyed and to feel good about and not just a mean to quench your thirst.

We were used to playing Hide n Seek, Flying Kites, Plucking Guavas , Cycle Race and Cricket matches and were not hooked to any Mobile Phones, Play Stations or X-Boxes .It was a time of Blackboards and not white boards, fans and not A/Cs, Inter school Sports meet, Annual Functions, Rainy day off, group photographs, selling “Helpage India” tickets for school. SUPW (Art & Craft) class, School Orchestra, Bunking Library class

Our childhood was about picking up pups from the street, making a shelter for them out of bricks and requesting our parents to let them stay,
It was a time when we use to get Videos on rent and watched movies entire night on VCR. It was a time on innocence where we use to have friends and not girlfriends

It was a time when traveling by “Sleeper Cass” on train was of great joy and Aeroplane was something that we only saw flying across the clear sky, There was no internet and Personal Computers had Boot Floppy Discs, no home loans, no EMIs ,No Telemarketers, I remember Bajaj & LML Vespa Scooters that we had in an era where less was more and new cloths were a by-annual affair bought during Holi & Durga Puja ,during one of these festivals invariably one occasion purchase use to be our School Uniform.

We now live in time of rampant commercialization ,things are changing every second, We don’t write letters anymore but SMS our friends and family, Harry Porter has occupied the place once enjoyed by Enid Blyton’s. Truly lot has changed, lot will change for better and for worse but memories remains and come flashing back in time like these when we bring it out from the labyrinth of past for spring cleaning and safekeeping for another time, another day, another flight like this one.

Happy Landing!

Nicknames

William Shakespeare quoted "What is there in the Name" , I say a great deal here is a piece dedicated............ 

To Choton, Bulbul, Khoka, laltu, gogol, babai, buro, tutu, bubu, ghoton,bhutan, chotka, shanto, bubai, tubul .... et al. being half bengali myself and being called “Lintu” by most of my relatives I make here an attempt to alert people to a great injustice that is being perpetrated upon the sons of Bengal.So you thought they were wimpy to begin with. Far from it, my friend. Their current state is a result of years of conditioning by the oppressors - namely the women. By using a variety of psychological weapons, they have reduced these fine men to what you see today.

Today we focus on the first weapon in their hands - the nickname.

When a son is born into a Bengali household, he is gifted with a resonant, sonorous name. Bengali names are wonderful things. They convey majesty and power. A man with a name like Prasenjit, Arunabha or Sukanta is a man who will walk with his head held high, knowing that the world expects great deeds from him, which was why they bestowed the title that is his name upon him.

But it simply will not do for these men to get ahead of themselves. Their swelling confidence needs to be shattered. How can one go about it? This task is left to the mothers of these lads and is accomplished by the simple act of referring to the boy, not by his fine-sounding real name, but by a nickname which Shakti Kapoor would be ashamed to answer to. Their are some rules for creating nicknames, which need to be followed. They are -

1) Nicknames must have no connection to the real name. Arunabha cannot be called Arun. No, for that would be logical, and such things are anathema in the world of women. Instead he shall be called Bhombol. If possible, the nickname and real name must have no letters in common, but an ancient alphabet proves to be the constraining factor there.

2) Nicknames must be humiliating. If you are a tall strapping boy, with a flair for soccer, an easy charm and an endearing personality, then you shall be nicknamed - Bhondu. And every time, you have set your sights on a girl, and are on the verge of having the aforementioned lass eat out of your hand - your mother will arrive and pronounce loudly - "Bhondu, chalo". The ensuing sea of giggles will drown out whatever confidence you had earned from that last winning free-kick.

3) A nickname must refer in some way to a suitably embaressing incident in your childhood that you would give your arm and leg to forget. If it took you a little too long to shed your baby fat, then years of gymming will not rid you of the nomenclature - Motka. If your face turned crimson when you cried as a toddler, you will be called Laltu. When you turn 40, your friends' children will call you Laltu Uncle. Even age will not earn you the right to be taken seriously thereafter.

4) Different members of the family will make up different nicknames - each more embaressing than the preceding one. If one member of the family calls you Piklu, then another will call you Gonsa, and another will call you Jumbo. The humiliation multiplies.

5) You will always be introduced by your nickname until people forget you had a real name. Inspector Ranajoy might have taken on a gang of armed men single-handedly, but Toton really didn't have a chance. After a point Toton will completely take over the beaten body of Ranajoy,
weighed down by the pressure of a thousand taunts.

This strategy is surprisingly effective. Ask yourself - would you take Professor Lintu seriously? Or put much weight by the opinion of Dr. Babai? Or march into battle under the command of General Tubla?

The power of the nickname has scarred the psyche of Bengali men everywhere. It follows them like a monkey on their backs. That too, a monkey with a flair for slapstick, that was gifted to them by their own mothers.

Return of the RAJ

Earlier we were a slave nation ,now we are citizens of an independent nation ,or are we? Independence which gives us fundamental rights to live and earn our living anywhere within the boundary of this nation. I saw a report in newspaper that one person of Bachhan family was lamented of proclaiming that she should speak in “Hindi” as she is from UP ,First let me clarify, I don’t think that was in good taste either but just a publicity gimmick as I have seen the person speaking in honey coated English in a session drinking coffee with “KJ” but this is not about her, This is about a politician who sends his son to an “English Medium” School and forces or rather threatens first Schools and then Shopkeepers to write their shop names in Marathi. I would still respect this person If I got to see his “Sound Bites” lamenting horrendous terrorist attack in Delhi, but no there was no such feeling ,no such emotions for him who believes the terrorist are less condemnable than people who are very much a citizen of this Country but are not from Maharashtra…

Another publicity gimmick from a power hungry man who thinks Politics is a business and not duty, fuelled by media which is ready to sell an alcoholic monkey as a “Breaking news”, Is it not time to stand up for the unification of country? ,Is it not time to stand up and take note of dying farmers of Vidharba? .We have politicians who are busy using politics for their personal gain. Somewhere a Car factory is being targeted whose owner has a conscience to incur loss for safeguard of his employees.

Have you met Rajendra Pandey? Rajendra Pandey arrived in Mumbai ten years ago seeking job as a security guard in one of the many housing societies that dots south mumbai & suburbs, violence was something he was willing to live with.Mumbai is far more peaceful. Okay, you get harassed by cops occasionally or roughed up by local toughs, but life was far worse back home for Pandey and for many like him who came to this wonderful city before him.Home for them are places like Bhopal,Jaunpur,Patna,Darbhanga,Ranchi,etc.Brahmin by caste reservation in government jobs for the backward castes (Another gimmik of our power hungry politicians) have ensured that men like Rajendra don’t stand a chance despite being a graduate,Poor knowledge of spoken English has ensured that pleple like him work every month for his 12-hour shift, seven days a week.

Pandey and people like him share sleeping space with scores of kinsmen all brought to Mumbai by someone from their village who had come earlier. Extra income comes from washing cars,submitting electricity bills and doing ather such odd jobs for flats in the society that employs them. Men like Pandey form the backbone of Mumbai’s support services driving Taxi,Auto,Selling Vegitables,etc. Mumbai has something for everyone. A city of gold for migrants down the ages who flocked here to earn a living. The success stories of the ones who came before and sheer desperation back home continue to draw newer migrants.

Today was Ganpati Visarjan in Mumbai …..I saw a sea of people moving in processions, dancing ,frolicking. I saw people distributing water and sweets to strangers…They did not bother to ask if the other person was born in Mumbai (Mumbaikar)or had shifted to Mumbai (Parparantia).

I hate terrorists who have destroyed the peace of our Country ,who indiscriminately kill men,women and children and I hate the politicians who discriminate between the people of this nation.

The Westcottians

This story began in a time of innocence, dreams and nothingness and span over sometime calm and sometime turbulent quarter century, culminating in me jotting down these lines in multitude of alphabets similarly scattered over the cyberspace.

It was the fall of 1984-85 when I first entered the precinct of Bishop Westcott Boys School, one of the oldest schools in the eastern region of India founded in the year 1927 by Rev. Foss Westcott. Located on the bank of River Subarnarekha, situated in a picturesque green environs the school had the distinction of serving as a make shift hospital during the World War II and a movie based on it called "Hip Hip Hurray"

So here I was….The first day was very hectic where all new boys were assembled in the prayer room after the morning prayers to be sorted in four respective houses which were to be their family or identity of sorts throughout their years at Westcott Boys’ ,New students were hurdled in the centre of the room where they were to pull a chit from a fishbowl ……It took me sometime to understand what was happening…..
By then it was my turn…….. one of the teacher called out “Nelson House” and here I was marked for life…It was only latter in the day that I realized each house was represented by colours . Nelson- Blue ,Hastings-Red, Wellington-Green & Allenby- Yellow next we queued up in book depot and got our new books and notebooks. Rest of the day passed and we settled in our new desks and benches in our respective classes.

It was a time we wanted two Sundays and no Mondays and yet managed to line up daily for the morning prayers at Assembly hall. When we use to chase one another in the corridors in breaks and returned to the classrooms drenched in sweat. Those were the days when we had lunch in Classrooms, Corridors, Playgrounds, under the Trees and even in Cycle Sheds.

We use to have two “Roll calls” –one early morning after the prayers and one in the Afternoon…..I remember we use to check our nails and try to chew it off at the seams, If shoes were not polished it was wiped behind the trouser legs or socks as “Juniors” were not allowed to wear Trousers.

Westcott was highly competitive where students never use to forget their individual ambitions. Students at Westcott wanted to be the best. It was hard to shine at a place where there are so many stars. Often, even if you were a stellar student in many areas, there was probably going to be someone better than you at something else. This competitive spirit pushed people to do better and achieve an even higher level of excellence. Many times, this academic environment involves a great amount of stress and Westcott was not for the faint hearted. The workload was rigorous right from learning mathematics with its calculations, physics with its proportions and chemistry with its equations, life was filled with hopes, dreams, confusions, tensions, happiness and sadness, a beautiful world of success and failure. Altogether it was an eventful one. The loving and caring words of our teachers, their claps at our victory, smiles at my achievements, those special moments set aside to talk and listen, their encouragement till the end

It was a time when a single P.T. period in the week's time table was awaited more eagerly than the annual appraisals of any large corporate house .It was a time of fights but no conspiracies, of competitions but seldom jealousy, When we used to watch live cricket telecast in one of our teachers’ bungalow in Intervals and Lunch breaks.

It was a time when “Days Scholars” rushed at 2:30 to "Conquer" window seats in our School buses and hostelites or “Boarders” use to make same rush during meal times with all boys hung on to the fragile rear door of their respective dining hall (We had two of them Juniors & Siniors)
when the kaka (the helpers were fondly called that) opened the door, 800 plus starving students rushed in for breakfast, tea, lunch or dinner. Each meal started and ended with a grace. Food was quite restricted in those days and every opportunity of grabbing extras from the “Dekchis” or you neighbour’s plate was made use of. We often bartered food items. Boys who brought eatables from home (called TUCK) guarded them like gold. One of my classmates brought some milk sweets from home and kept them away from us. One day he surprisingly became generous and starting distributing them to all, only to find no one eating them because they had picked up fungus. We also had one Sushil Maheskar who was once hunting for some money to go for a movie. He entered our room and asked us for some which we naturally refused. He then sighted some loose coins lying in front of the god’s Portrait. He picked out a few toffees from his pocket, dropped them in front of the god’s photo and picked up all the coins and left stating that his requirement was more than that of God.

During those days the “boys” and “teachers” were given nicknames and were called by those nicknames (Boys openly referred each others by nicknames but we were more discrete where it concerned our teachers and use to refer them by their nicknames only behind their back) , some of my friends were Michel Daru (his name was Mukul Kumar),Dibba ( He kept all his Boxes intact and use to take it back home at the end of each term) ,Nepali ( due to his anatomical resemblance),Foggy(Vikas fogla),Lambu(Rahul Shahdeo due to his height),Teachers’ nickname were traditionally passed on from one generation to another and were equally colourful ;Viz, Chakra (Mr.Chakraborthy),Bando (Mr. Bandopadya), Daku(or dacoit due to his aggressive and abusive dialect), We had Dingu or Mr.Dinger use to make comidies out of  Shakeshpere tragedies.

There was a big craze for collecting “Big Fun” stickers and flag stickers. Most of our canteen money was spent on them. Boarders used to get twenty rupees on Sundays to go on out pass and during these time of City visit “Siniors” were to accompany the “Juniors”. Part of the money was also used in going to a “bakery” as our Canteen was called and eating some snacks. We often stole snacks and hide them in one pocket to eat later. The remaining amount was used to bribe the gatekeepers of the Sujata and Mini-Sujata theatres to check ou on Adult Movies.

The competitions for the inter house championship were taken very seriously and I had got into the habit of noting down points. As per official records our house was coming second but my records showed we were first. The anomaly was corrected and we walked away with the championship trophy. My house captain gave me a day’s leave for my effort. Another high point of my School days was Sports Day, and the annual School Day and month long preparations for them. Though my dream of seeing “Nelson” house at the top was never fulfilled ,the best we did was reaching the 2nd position .but I still cherish the adulation and admiration I use to get every year for one whole month for being one of “Champions”.

Imprinted in the memory lanes are the stressful quarterly, half yearly and annual exams and the most enjoyed holidays after them. We learnt, we enjoyed, we played, we won, we lost, we laughed, we cried, we fought, we thought. With so much fun in them, so many friends,
so much experience, all this and more.

Days passed, years flew at Westcott after a tumultuous, fun-filled journey and finally we were at the end of our school career. By then the miscreants were reformed, misdemeanors were punished and misunderstandings are cleared up and here we were transformed from boys into young men ready to take on the world with our aspirations and dreams

The last day is still very vivid when all of us were busy filling our scrap books and meeting teachers after our emotional and teary farewell , it was time to remember our days and years in Bishop Westcott Boys’ School ,It was time to remember our own stories and snippets through the years inside those four walls and relieve saga of members of the class of 1995 and teachers with whom their lives were intertwined. With the dusk setting in we left bidding one last farewell, this time for the good with our School motto “Non Nascor Mihi Solum” (Live not for self alone) printed in our heart.

Our lives took its own course and we all parted ways to meet again but not in such large numbers and whenever we met it was time to compare the balance sheet of our lives and always at the center amid the passion, laughter, and glory, stood Westcott the symbol of who we are and what we will be. We were a generation who made the rules and then broke them…We were “THE CLASS OF 95.”

Meandering Memorylanes

Then I was a “Bihari” now I am a “Jharkhandi” . Even though I left it for better future in 1998, my heart is still there.

I miss those long bicycle rides….those very competitive cricket matches…….time spent doing nothing with friends…… moments of idealistic boyish dream about the future……but most of all those memories of my home town……Mumbai has given me everything that I wanted, but the heart still lingers and misses Ranchi .

Mother nature had blessed Chotanagpur with a wide array of natural beauty. Rugged and richly wooded mountains, serene and secluded valleys, serpentine rivers and gorgeous waterfalls providing ideal habitat for people with thirst for beauty of nature, peace and tranquility. Chotanagpur is also blessed with the munificence of verdant forest wealth as well as sumptuous mineral reserves like coal, mica, bauxite, Iron Ore etc. It is also home for numerous ethnic tribes like Santhals, Mundas, Oraons, Cols, etc. who have their own rich tradition of art, craft and culture.

At the heart of this region, amidst sylvan surroundings nestles Ranchi the queen of Chotanagpur, which was once the summer capital of Bihar and was in the forefront of several movements of far-reaching significance both before and after the independence.

It is one of those places that might not find itself on your 52 weekend gateways’ must-see places. It's a "hmm, intresting very cute" kind of place which you would leave while you are planning a vacation,but even though it may not get a mention in tourist “hot spots” it is very much a Christmas Card town that you can imagine, picturesquely situated in the Plateau of Chotanagpur consisting of relatively flat terrain filled with green covers .

The name Ranchi comes from "Archi" a village/villager of the time in the area I am not sure. An important administrative and military base of the eastern India during the Raj, Ranchi developed as an important centre of trade and commerce, including a traditional base for sericulture and manufacture of shellac. After India gained independence, Ranchi continued to grow and a number of industrial facilities were located in and around the city, and it emerged as an important industrial centre. Along with other two industrial townships of Jamshedpur and Bokaro, Ranchi completes the industrial structure of Jharkhand.

Ranchi has changed……since that last fateful day of 1998 and I realized it when I was there last year in April ,I remembered the tribal festivals of Jatras, Janni Sikar which added to uniqueness of the place. There are mini Connaught Places and Nariman Points  here now,To think of it they always have been there only the flashiness has increased.

I saw “Café Coffee Day” here, in our time we only had Uday Mistan Bhandar,Punjab Sweet House and Madras Coffee House to go to, I use to simply drool over softy ice creams that were sold at Firayalal’s a landmark in itself .

The uptown Church Complex impressed me. It had outlets of all the leading fashion brands. There were youngsters withdrawing money from the ATM. The imposing Capitol Hill Hotel nearby has come up in a place that was, until a few years ago, barren and nonexistent. last time I remember I use to hang out in this place was with my friends to ogle at girls who use to shy away……This time, the flashy stores and confident-looking jeans-clad young women revealing their navel baffled me.

Bylanes are still the same, well almost! but small cottages and bungalows have started giving way to vertical malls and residential towers…..cars have increased on the roads…….roads that are still the same except wider. A lot has changed.

I met this guy Rajendra (Rajender as we pronounce)…….Rajendra was happy because he has got everything settled in life. His eldest son Ravi is studying MBA in one of those private institutes here. But Ravi was unhappy with the education system in Jharkhand. He said "The session in the Ranchi University is very late. It took me four years to get my bachelor's degree. I could not get admission in Delhi because of that.”He was left with no choice but to take admission in a private institute here.

Like most of his batch mates, he wants to go to Delhi or Bangalore for a job. He said there are very few job opportunities in Jharkhand…..There were few in our time too pushing us out of the meandering experiences of our childhood to find a foothold in large metros…So somethings in life never change.

Why blog?

Quite a few of my friends pointed out the mistakes on my blog and I agree to most ..........,Lot of you pointed that the grammer,the punctuation and the spellings were not right......I humbly agree to these and request you all to keep giving feedbacks as I am a little rusted .....To think of it the only writings I have done in last few years are my emails with same mistakes.....the marketing presentations and signing on official documents.......to think of it....not a volume of work that I can boast about........One friend of mine asked why blog??? and to top it all why call it "experiential marketing"?

To answer the first one I dont know, or maybe to say something about things otherwise unsaid...
Why "Experiential Marketing" -----maybe I may add something worthwhile on this some day.... can I effectively blog only time will tell....but I want to blog because

1.I want to Blog
2.I want to read other blogs and comment
3.I want to admit mistkes which otherwise I dont
4.Have a voice
5. but most importantly to make a choice

Spirit of Mumbai

City of dream never stops amaizing me,The only city where you do not know your neighbour of 10 years living in the same locality but yet you have "Train Friends" a concept which exist only in Mumbai ,Where you do not have time to stop by the roadside and chat with your close friend because both of you are busy...... but paradoxically you will stop to give directions to a complete stranger........

I remember the rains of 26th July 2005 which put a brake to the city which is alien to the meaning of "Stop" at all.....That Day the road outside my rented flat in Mahim was flooded. It was flowing like a river. I waded through, then dragged my feet lest I stumble into a gutter.

I reached the main road leading to Mahim after walking for 2 hours from my Office in South Mumbai... where I saw the spirit of Mumbai and once again I was proud of being a part of this city. The traffic was at a standstill. There was complete chaos but the Mumbai cops were not giving up. They still continued to direct traffic.

There were more people walking on the road than inside cars or buses. Mahim Causeway was flooded. The water level was so high that we could reach out and touch it. But the flood of people walking eclipsed the floods. They were laughing, singing, dancing and no one was complaining.

Strangers on the road helping each other.......Shopkeepers serving buiskits and tea,I saw young men on the streets keeping people away from potholes and gutters. They were dripping wet but looking after strangers.

The rains may have paralysed the city of Mumbai. It had failed to paralyse the spirit of the people. I saw a wine shop crowded.....after all a large "Patiala" does wonders on a rainy day.

Latter, I head that  few people in my Office were stranded in a cab overnight....One of my colleague was saved from being washed away at Andheri Subway....... even today every one in Mumbai has a story to share....stories of their horrific experiences,stories of grif,stories of hardship but most of all stories of grit,determination and compassion.

Another time when the same spirit came to the fore was the horrific day when  11 blasts ripped through our local trains,I was in my conference room at office in a management meeting where the TV is perrinneally in mute ......and I remember one of my VP who was facing the TV loudly  exclaiming that there is a blast on the news....In a jiffy each one of us started checking on our colleagues who were out for meetings and  our family members, I too took time first to locate my Brother and check his safety and than to call my parents  back home to inform them about our safety before the phonelines get jammed with innumurus calls......

While getting back home on a cab .....I saw a family serching for their Son ,apperently the mother was in shock and decided to accompany them to "Sion Hospital"...The family was lucky that their Son was "Hurt" but still alive when we finally located him in Raheja Hospital unlike so many who lost  someone in the family.

That day I saw people helping each other.....assisting each other,consoling strangers.

Next day most of us were back at our stations to get a train back to our "Work", many cynic proclaimed that this was not the "spirit" but sheer helplessness on the part of the people to board train next day to work......would those cynic help explain why did people choose to go to work at all the next day ?........

This is what makes Mumbai the commercial capital of the country. Not the money, but the spirit of its people.........We may not have the best of infrastructure,we may not have the best of wether but we know how to make the "best use" of  whatever we have .....We know how to spend the morning rush hour reading "Newspaper",playing cards and listning to iPods........We know rains will continue and authorities that might be can keep giving reasons for flooding .......Low Lying Areas ,High Tide...etc...etc...we will still wade through knee deep water singing,laughing or just munching on our "Bhuttas"......

Three cheers to the spirit of the city that I love

Nostalgia of my hometown

It has been almost 10 long years since I cought that fateful train on 11th Aug 1998 from my hometown Ranchi . Then I had a dream in my eyes of making it big in Mumbai,one more to add up to those 1000s,I must say the city of dream was not so kind in the bigining as I had to spend the first night here at the platform....sounds romantic straight out of bollywood script, one more of many thing for which Mumbai is famous for ......

Time changed, I changed and so did the dreams...Mumbai became a karmabhoomi........

On a busy day ,I still try to stop and gaze the skyscrapers and become nostalgic about that naive boy who came here with a dream in his eyes,I become nostalgic of times in 2001 when I started working and was trying to sell Stall space for an Exhibition and in the bargain was insulted by numerous Jwellers and their Watchmen..........I still think of the guy who had to walk the streach from Andheri to Mahim because he did not had a penny in his pocket to eat or pay the bus fare -8 years back Event Management was not such a lucrative carrier that it is today. The I think of those resolve of not returning home a "looser" with shattered dream......each day a fighting chance to get a knuckle hold in the event management industry and trying to be successful.......time passed.....years flew and Mumbai bekoned my dreams.....gave me a home when I was searching for one....gave me hurdles to strengthen my resolve......and gave me hope, when I thought there was none.....Mumbai......My Home & My City.....

The eyes become dreamy once again.....din of the city that I love so much and identify myself with diminishes....and I go back to that naive boy sleeping on the platform,scared of the crowd and lonelyness but dreams in his eyes and resolve in his spirits.