Wednesday, July 19, 2017

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE



My class room on the left.
Those were the days which were filled with sunshine. The morning was meant for rushing from bed to school. There was no time in between for any thoughts except for reaching the Assembly on time.
Meeting friends was the highlight of the day, exchanging glances, smiling without anyone else looking at us, giggling without a reason - those were the days which have gone far away. Learning, studying, attending class was only incidental. Those memories were stored away and were never  revisited. Life went on so fast after school that one went from one stage to the next without blinking an eyelid and noticing the time.
Varsha, Balbir, Kalyani, Pamela, Alice, Nilima, Bina, Sondha.

Then suddenly out of the blue contact was made with someone from the past. We spoke and chatted and hoped that someday we would meet.
That was the moment of realisation. That was when suddenly I realised that it was actually half a century ago that I had been that school girl in a hostel, in a small little town called Hazaribagh, who oiled her hair every night and made two tight plaits before sleeping, with the firm belief that my hair would remain healthy and grow fast. I remembered the wonderful song that we sang every night before sleeping.

" I lay my body down to sleep,
I pray to God my soul to keep,
And if I die before I wake,
I pray to God my soul to take."

Those were the days when we would rush to Room number one of the hostel on Wednesday night at 8 pm to listen to the honey sweet voice of Ameen Sayani presenting the wonderful Binaca Geet mala. Those were the days my friend which were in my memory bank, waiting to pop out in a jiffy. Only that jiffy needed to be triggered by meeting a school friend.
Indu Bhardwaj, Nilima Roy, Varsha.


It is surprising that school friends take us back as if in a time machine. The journey is instant. The rewind is without any stop. As if that half a century never passed in between.

Amita Samonta

A few years ago one day I took just an instant to dash to Calcutta when I found that my friend Amita was there. I spent the day with her, walking near Dhakuria lake, eating at a fabulous Chinese restaurant. We spoke nineteen to the dozen, we went on and on until it was time to say goodbye.
Varsha, Jayashree Nair.

Speaking with Jayashree on the phone is another non stop journey where we catch up with all things that we cared about.  The distance of the continents, do not matter at all.

Nilima revived all those memories once again. The meeting has been as if we never parted 49 years ago. Remembering names, forgotten incidents, forgotten memories has rejuvenated me once again. Life seems good. 

Meeting old friends is the elixir for a better life. It is the balm which heals. It is the refreshing whiff of fresh air which revives my memory and makes me want to look forward to the next meeting for a fresh dose of ambrosia.

I need to thank all the girls of my school who call me didi and care for me so much. I need to thank my class mates for keeping me in their memory.
Mount Carmel Hazaribagh, you made us what we are. Thank you.

Our beautiful trees.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

MY DISHONEST MIRROR


 Time has this wonderful habit of moving on. It moves on and so pain goes away,  miserable memories fade away, what remains forever are  joyful memories which are embedded in some secret chamber which can be opened whenever I want, without a secret code. 

Sweet sounds of laughter and also a shy smile of a beloved child,  comes back on the minds portal like a beautiful stream of crystal clear water running down the crevices of a wonderful green mountainside. The sparkling water of the stream is like the spirited laughter of the child. The music and the joy that I can recreate is never ending. I can re live those moments and enwrap myself with  joy over and over again any number of times.

Time takes me from day one when I encounter it,  just onwards like the "Charge of the Light Brigade". I just go on and on, I never stop, I never sit by the wayside, I just drift along on the wings of the wind.

One fine day in a strange mirror outside of the house, the face that looks back at me looks different. It is someone else's face, lined with wrinkles, with laugh lines and dark patches under the eyes. Strangely I am startled to see that face. How could that be me I wonder. Does my mirror have a personal affinity to me? Does it show me only that which I want to see? Why does it  not show me my wrinkles and laugh lines and dark circles? Why is this strange mirror honest with me?


I wonder if this happens only to me. 
Does my mirror indeed lie to me?


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