Those days of innocence

By: Manju S Chandran Date: 2010-06-16 Place: Mumbai


It's the start of yet another academic year. Little buds, gurgling with anticipation, welcome the sunshine that will transform them into discerning adults. Smart and self- important in their crisp new uniform, they are ready to embark on a new journey that will traverse the many vicissitudes of life. I still remember my first day in school. Fed on stories of termagant teachers, of ears turned sour owing to constant pinching, and of raps on knuckles at perceivable signs of naughtiness, it was not without some trepidation that ” palms tightly clasped in my father's ” I entered the school precincts.

But my anxieties were soon laid to rest as the genial teacher, led me gingerly into the class and settled me on a comfortable chair. Looking around, I was struck by the sea of faces that seemed ready to break into tears at any moment. Many were already bawling and it was matter of seconds before I joined them, as I beheld my teacher shutting the door on my father's face. Amidst blobs of tears, I tried hard to catch a glimpse of his face in the melting crowd of parents. This image still vividly flashes in my mind, when I see the same events recurring every year with yet another child.

After that, the start of each of the 12 years in school was a like a journey into the unknown. It would stir myriads of questions. Who would be my class teacher? Will I be in the same class as my best friend? Who would sit next to me? How many new students would be there in my class? Besides, an entire day would be devoted to motivating (read boring) the students with speeches, anecdotes, slide shows, which no doubt would be lost on drooping eyes, wandering minds and restlessly shifting bodies. But singularly each one would prick their ears as soon as "scholastic" year was mentioned. Nobody ever ruminated on what was it about the word that was supposedly so funny. Probably it sounded too pretentious or may be we were expecting it to pop up any moment. Nevertheless, it would set our laughter muscles rolling.

Now, looking back I realise those "scholastic" years in school were well spent. It was here that the rudiments of lifelong edification are planted. The seeds of personality sown and watered here are etched for life. Then again, they were days of innocent indulgence. Days, when you could afford to be stupid without worrying about the enormity of your actions. It was here that you made friends without being too judgmental. Where you were too young to have any political affiliations. Where hard work always paid and was appreciated, and where once you spoke to God every day!

Oh, I crave

Desire is the root cause of all sorrow - Gautama Buddha.

I follow happiness, but I am unable to hold it, because desire has bound me in its tenacious arms. I try to extricate myself out of her tight grasp and start running. Yonder I see happiness tantalisingly beckoning me. But as I reach out to her, she vamooses. I feel a slight tug at my skirt. Looking down I see a gleam of wickedness in her eyes.
When will she stop bothering me? And when will I finally catch up with happiness.

Faithfuls on a Tuesday!

If you happen to be on the Mumbai roads - somewhere between Dadar and Worli to be precise - during the wee hours of Tuesday, something very singular will attract you.
The steady flow of people, headed towards a common destination. The unearthly hours and the consequent absence of public transport is hardly a hindrance. They are all happy enjoying their padyatra on a divine night.

I see groups of boys and girls, some in shorts and T-shirts, others in track pants legging it to Prabhadevi. I could as well have mistaken them for early bird fitness freaks or would-be doctors from the nearby medical colleges out for a morning trot.
Then there are families comprising father, mother, sons, daughters; the ladies dressed in garish sarees, salwars, a matching bindi, glass bangles, lips painted crimson, eyes coated with black liner (where do they get the time), the men relatively sober in printed shirts and matching trousers.

When I come to know it's mission "Appease Lord Ganesha", I am perplexed.
To forgo a night's sleep and legging it all the way to Prabhadevi from their homes (some do that and Mumbai is not shrinking) was truly amazing.

But why do I see girls and boys in shorts and track pants. Probably they thought they could make it a two-in-one. An early morning walk coupled with a darshan of their favourite God on his favourite day. What a holy exercise!
But, I wondered how Lord Ganesha felt when he saw these boys and girls? Would he cringe at the sight of girls shamelessly flaunting their well-toned brown legs, or would he be too shy to even sneak a look. By now, he would probably be accustomed to such sights. After all if people can change, why couldn't the Gods?
If girls could discard sarees and salwars kameez for the comforts of jeans, skirts, shorts, I am sure Ganesha would readily discard these archaic, conservative, feminist notions of propriety. He would definitely understand. And then consider their sacrifice. Wasn't it enough they had forsaken their sleep and overworked their poor legs.

And then the Siddhivinayak temple was always known for its tolerance. Isn't that the reason even faithful Christians and Muslims flock to this place without the fear of being shunned. Yes, Ganpatiji tolerates them, though the followers of his faith can't stand them. (I wonder if they can even stand each other).

For that I would thank god for the Christians and Muslims. At least the Hindus are united in disliking them. In this united mission, they at least tolerate (if not like) each other.
Especially, when a certain Bal Thackeray is busy churning out new enemies for the Marathi manoos.
Earlier, it was the South Indians stealing the coveted government jobs. Then it was the Muslims, making bomb blasts at will. And now the North Indians.
But then who can blame them for hating the North Indians. I could make a whole list of their crimes. They do think the roads are a big, public spittoon, where they can release their pan-mixed saliva at will. Why roads, buses, elevators, footpaths, staircases, public walls, building walls, walls where it is clearly written ithe thunko naka!
Then they shamelessly grope Mumbai. Yes, they almost rape her. I wish their overactive loins would behave themselves.
So, why blame the poor Maharashtrians for hating them. And these non-Maharashtrians, always stealing their jobs. So, Balasaheb has a point.
I always thought Mumbai is human because of her Maharashtrians. Simple, austere, God-fearing. They are a disciplined lot. So accommodating. A whole family of six wouldn't mind wriggling it out in a one-room flat. And then they eat non-veg only on Wednesdays and Sundays. Good way to economise as I see it. Of course, they are religious. So they even avoid killing mice, because Lord Ganesha likes them. Most make it to Siddhivinayak without fail every Tuesday and if not they ensure their presence in any of the numerous Ganesha temples in their vicinity.

I have been to Siddhivinayak just thrice to be precise in the 25 years I have been in Mumbai. Blame it on my indolence, or my inability to tolerate huge crowds. When I pray, I need a peaceful ambience. Only the occasional clonk of the bells should break my monologue with God. Nothing else. I do not want to be manhandled, pushed and jostled, when all I want is a glimpse of my God and feel his smiling, benevolent eyes on me.
But I still envy the faithful, who without fail keep their appointment with God every Tuesday, while I lazily make excuses of corruption, omnipresence, peace.
Well, if God is everywhere, why do I need to go to temple to see him, or talk to him. Wouldn't the numerous pictures I have at home suffice to appeal to his magnanimity.
Yes, you can avoid the serpentine queues and get a speed Darshan if you pay Rs 50.
But wouldn't that be exploiting people's faith?
And would this God even want to see me, if I pay money to see him quickly?
Or would he like me more because I shelled out extra to get his darshan?
Yes, and I also happen to know the guard at the temple. So if I really want he will allow me in for free that too without breaking a sweat. So would my God love me more because I happened to know the guard. Then what about those who had waited for almost three hours to get a darshan?
of course, they wouldn't know what I did, but then how would I refrain from cursing myself for the ungodly act.
So, I would rather sit at home and admire and envy those, who make it every Tuesday without fail. Or catch a fleeting glimpse of the faithfuls plodding along as I trundle past in my office transport.