..the moving finger writes...

House That Remembers

2026-01-13T16:56:00.001+05:30

The House That Remembered

The house stood at the edge of the town like a paused breath—neither abandoned nor alive, neither welcoming nor hostile. It simply was. People passed it every day, their eyes instinctively sliding away as though the structure demanded a respect that bordered on fear. No signboard marked it. No fence guarded it. And yet, no one entered.

Until one evening, someone did.

Aarav Mehta arrived in the town of Chandipur at dusk, the sky bruised purple and gold, his suitcase lighter than the weight he carried inside. He had come for distance—distance from a life unraveling too quickly, from a marriage that had ended in echoes, from memories that refused to remain quiet.

The house was not on any map.

He discovered it accidentally while walking aimlessly, following a narrow lane that twisted like a hesitant thought. It rose suddenly at the end of the road, an old colonial structure with peeling paint and tall windows clouded by time. A banyan tree loomed beside it, roots like frozen serpents gripping the earth.

A hand-painted board leaned crookedly near the gate:

ROOMS AVAILABLE

Aarav hesitated. The town’s lodges were full, he had been told. Festivals had that effect. He pressed the gate; it creaked open, complaining softly, as if surprised to be touched after years of neglect.

The door opened before he knocked.

An elderly woman stood there, her frame slight, her eyes sharp and unsettlingly aware. She studied him as though she had been expecting him—not today, perhaps, but eventually.

“You’ve come,” she said.

“I… yes. I’m looking for a room.”

She smiled faintly. “Everyone who comes here is.”

Her name was Mrs. Sen. She spoke little, moved quietly, and handed him a heavy brass key without asking questions. The room was large, sparsely furnished, with a high ceiling and a single window overlooking the banyan tree. The air smelled faintly of old paper and something else—something metallic, almost like rain.

That night, Aarav slept deeply.

Too deeply.

The first sign was the mirror.

When Aarav brushed his teeth the next morning, he noticed something odd. His reflection blinked a fraction of a second after he did. He froze. The reflection froze too, but the delay lingered like a held breath.

He laughed it off. Travel fatigue. Poor lighting.

But over the next few days, other things followed.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor at night, stopping just outside his door. When he opened it, the hallway was empty, but the air felt recently disturbed. Objects shifted subtly. His notebook appeared open to pages he had not written. A pen rolled across the table against gravity.

At first, these occurrences unsettled him.

Then, inexplicably, they comforted him.

He had not felt noticed in a long time.

On the fifth night, the house spoke.

It was not a voice. It was a pressure behind his ears, a sensation rather than sound.

Stay.

Aarav sat up in bed, heart pounding.

“Who’s there?” he whispered.

The walls answered—not with words, but with images.

A woman standing by the window, hair braided, eyes tired.

A child running through the halls, laughter bouncing off the ceilings.

A man slumped in a chair, hands stained with ink, tears dripping onto unfinished letters.

They were memories.

Not his.

The next morning, Aarav confronted Mrs. Sen.

“This house… something’s not right,” he said.

She stirred her tea. “It remembers.”

“Remembers what?”

“People. Their stories. Their grief.”

She told him the house was over a hundred years old. Built by a man who believed walls could listen. When people lived there long enough—when they loved, suffered, waited—the house absorbed them.

“Most people leave,” she said. “Those who don’t… become part of it.”

“And you?” Aarav asked.

She smiled sadly. “I was never very good at leaving.”

That night, Aarav dreamed of a hallway that stretched endlessly. Doors lined both sides, each marked with a name. Some were faded beyond recognition. Others gleamed as though freshly carved.

At the far end, he saw a door with his name.

AARAV MEHTA

He woke up gasping, sweat soaking his sheets.

From that moment, the house grew bolder.

His reflection smiled before he did. Shadows lingered even when light moved away. Whispers followed him, soft and intimate.

You are tired.

You are alone.

You have nowhere to return to.

He tried to leave.

At dawn, he packed his suitcase and walked toward the gate. The road shimmered strangely. When he stepped forward, the ground shifted, and the house loomed suddenly closer.

Every path curved back. Every turn returned him to the banyan tree.

“It doesn’t let go easily,” Mrs. Sen said.

“Why me?” Aarav asked.

“Because you listen,” she replied. “Because you’re empty enough to hear it.”

Days passed. Aarav felt lighter, less solid. He found himself sitting in rooms he did not remember entering, writing sentences that felt older than him.

Yet, for the first time in months, he felt whole.

The house showed him his own memories—his failed marriage, the words he never said, the love he abandoned out of fear. It did not judge.

Stay, it urged.

And he wanted to.

Until the night he heard a child crying.

It was real.

He followed the sound to a locked room and found a little girl curled on the floor, eyes wide with terror. She had wandered in, like he had.

The house wanted her too.

“No,” Aarav whispered.

He took her hand and ran.

The house fought back. Walls groaned. Shadows thickened. Memories surged like waves trying to pull him apart.

At the gate, the banyan tree’s roots writhed, blocking the way.

Aarav made a choice.

He gave the house everything it wanted—his grief, his loneliness, his memories.

He pushed the girl through the gate.

The world snapped into focus.

And the house took him.

The girl was found the next morning near the road, shaken but unharmed. She spoke of a man who saved her, though she could not remember his face.

The house still stands.

Mrs. Sen still lives there.

And sometimes, in the upstairs mirror, a reflection smiles gently at anyone who looks too closely.

Because the house remembers.

Back from purgatory

2025-06-13T20:56:00.136+05:30

Back from purgatory

This is a true story in which a very close friend was involved and I wish that you read this to educate yourself to a very hard to diagnose and a very rare type of infection. If not treated in time it can consume your entire body and you may have no chance of survival.

The information here can save a life.

Only the names of the characters are changed to protect the individuals’ privacy.

Let me call the central character by the name “Tarun”.

In August 2024 Tarun was trying to reduce his weight, by reducing his belly fat, by decreasing his food intake. He did start losing weight, but then the weight loss did not stop and he kept losing weight; by November he had lost more than 10 kgs. Had become weak and very thin. Almost a skeleton.

Tarun and his wife are both fond of travel and they he had gone to London for a short trip. They were to return on 5th of January.

On the night of the 18th of December, Tarun tripped and fell, while going to the toilet, hurt his lip and his head. It was discovered that he had become quite weak and had lost his sense of balance. He had two successive falls in the next few days while they were moving in the market and he hurt his head. He had become totally disoriented. He was unable to even stand up or go to the toilet without help. Was unable to move or even sit in the car without assistance.

He was taken to Saint Georges Hospital, London, in an ambulance, where he was admitted. For 5 days, many test were conducted. All parameters appeared normal, except that he had lost a lot of body weight and muscle mass. He was discharged from hospital. They had to extend their stay in London, and came to India on 16th February.

He was unable to move on his own and needed support even to stand up.

After reaching Delhi, he was taken to Max Hospital for check up and almost every test in the books was done, but without successful diagnoses.

He also consulted a very senior private dermatologist, Dr Sanjiv Khandari. He got the biopsy done for the scalp, as Tarun had also developed lesions on the scalp. The report took almost 10 days to appear. With this, finally the diagnosis was done. It was diagnosed as a fungal infection, histoplasmosis, that had affected his entire body and had also started attacking the vital organs.

A senior doctor, Dr Rommel Tickoo, of Max Hospital recommended him to consult a specific doctor, Dr Anivita Agarwal, of Sir Ganga Ram Hospital, who happened to be a specialist in infectious diseases and this particular infection. They met Dr Agarwal, and Tarun was admitted in Sir Gangaram Hospital for 17 days for enabling them to test the medication on Tarun, which was to be given intravenously in the drip. It had to be done in the hospital. Since it was an SOS situation. Monitoring the dosages and the reaction of the strong drugs that were being pumped into his body.

He was allowed to go home after 17 days in the hospital and to continue the medication orally at home. Also regular consultation could be required for the next one year. Recovery had started and slowly he was regaining his body weight and muscle strength. He had had blisters on his head, tongue and gums, which had now started healing. Gradually, as the mouth’s blisters healed, Tarun was able to eat normally, in spite of the fact that he had no appetite nor desire of eating. He was simultaneously undergoing physiotherapy to regain muscle strength and to enable him to stand and walk. Finally, he was able to walk in about 2-3 months. It appeared like a big step in the recovery.

Now he is improving day by day, after about five months of suffering, as the diagnosis had finally been done correctly. Dr. Khandari who had recommended the biopsies, when he saw the report, exclaimed that he was seeing this rare infection after a period of about 45 years.

At this juncture, there was scan’t hope of survival but Tarun managed to pull through.

His head injury, although it was external, there was no internal damage, except that his vision became slightly

abnormal and defective. His peripheral vision was also affected at the moment. He is now walking without support.

At present, he is allowed to eat anything. There is no restriction on food. He needs to concentrate on having proteins, to build up his muscle mass. Do regular exercise, physiotherapy and walks

In this period, he realised how important is the family support and will to live.

Correct and early diagnosis is crucial.

I do hope none of my readers have to go through such an ordeal.

To know more about histoplasmosis, you can read on AI sites like chatgpt or Gemini.

The good news is:

1 it’s curable

2 it doesn’t spread from an infected person.

The bad news, it’s hard to diagnose, as it’s very rare and uncommon.

Anurag’s 50th

2022-05-28T09:03:00.006+05:30

For Anurag’s 50th

I remember the day when you came into this world, I was not around, was away to Mumbai attending a technical course at the IIT. There were no mobiles. The IIT office got a call from Daddy that I attended. I was told that Varsha has been moved to the Holy Family Hospital.

I managed to catch the fastest train to Delhi, that was the Frontier Mail. It used to take close to 24 hours. Taking a flight was not even imagined in our wildest dreams.

The train had an unscheduled halt at Okhla station. I got off there, as there was just a small airbag in the name of my baggage.

I reached the hospital in record time, you had already come into the world. Could only see you through the glass partition of the nursery.

It’s a strange and euphoric indescribable feeling when you see your own flesh and blood in a seperate being.

Could only touch and hold you when you came to Varsha’s room for your feed.

I stayed back in Delhi for just two or three days and rushed back in the same way as I came to enable me to finish the training.

As a small child, before the age of 3, you were quite subdued and literally sought permission for each and every action. And look at you now, holding the reins of a million dollar, or is it a billion dollar, company and steering it to goal after goal.

You were shy and did not make friends with strangers. While in Chandigarh, at the age of 5-6, you literally had to be pushed to join the kids playing cricket in the open field near our house.

You and Chaitali stayed with us in most of your growing up years. This gave us an opportunity to have a lot of companionship with you both. I still remember teaching both of you cycling, swimming, and even driving a car.

Remembering all those moments and growing up years shall be cherished for ever by Varsha and me. There are infinite memories that will stay with me for life.

Wishing you the best in life for this 50th birthday of yours.

Short Story 1 - MEOW

2021-08-30T00:32:00.005+05:30

Hi,

My second book - that is in progress at the moment - is going to be a book of short stories of a suspense and mystery genre.

One story is reproduced below. I would not only love to have your comments, I do need your honest feedback.

At times giving comments on the blogs does not work, especially when you do so on a mobile, feel free to write to me by any direct message, Mail, messenger or whatsapp.

Thank you in advance.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Thnks

MEOW - मैं आऊँ - Triloki Nagpal - 30th May 2021. 2273 Words

In the year 1981, I was visiting Calcutta, now Kolkata, while I was working in the British Company - Molins of India Ltd, which had one of its factories cum Head Office in Behala, in Calcutta, not too far from the DMET, on the Taratala Road. I was posted at the other factory in Mohali, near Chandigarh. A childhood friend of mine had completed his Marine Engineering from the DMET (Directorate Of Marine Engineering Training), and was staying in the Behala area itself. He was my best friend when I was studying in the South Point School in the Gariahat area. We were also staying very close, barely about 100 metres from each other's place. We were in Lake Place and his house was on Parasar Road. We used to be picked from the same point by our school bus. His name was Sukumar, an only child of a Keralite father and a Bengali mother. Because of the mixed lineage he was not only very handsome, but also a very rational and an intelligent young man. He did not believe in blind superstitions, after life, ghosts or god. I would say his thinking was very similar to my rationality and thinking.

He invited me to spend an evening with him. He told me that he was living alone. I was aware that he had married quite a few years ago.

I asked, “How is baudi?”

He said, “We are meeting in the evening!”, without really answering my query.

I reached his house in a black and yellow cab, after finishing my work for the day at Molins. It was a three bedroomed house and was furnished appropriately for a family. It was immaculately clean and decorated tastefully, that made me feel the presence of a feminine touch. The master bedroom also did appear to have the feminine touch with small and simple artifacts and photo frames on the walls and the cabinets. The second bedroom was converted to a well furnished guest room. The third and the smaller bedroom was converted into a study. There was a small outhouse, ideally suited for a live-in domestic help.

Although Sukumar had a live-in manservant who did his cooking and cleaning, he wanted to take me out for drinks and dinner on board of a ship that was berthed in the harbour docks between the Calcutta Port Trust and Garden Reach. We walked through the DMET campus and boarded the ship by a ramp, he did tell me the name of the vessel though it eludes me now. I felt that this was his regular haunt, as the waiters and the crew members all seemed to know him and almost everyone we accosted exchanged greetings with him. After reaching there I discovered that they had the availability of a vast range of imported alcohols, viz., beers, hard drinks - like scotch, single malts, liqueurs, and many others. I was told to enjoy, have my pick and imbibe whatever I desired. First time I saw a bottle of Benedictine (liqueur). It is distilled and bottled in France, and contains 40% alcohol. Tastes almost like honey and cognac mixed together. It's a sweet liqueur that has a very deliciously unique flavor and taste. The label on the bottle informed me that it is made with 27 herbs, spices, and peels. The flavor is smooth and sweet, like honey, and also has a subtle taste of licorice to it too, with a flavor of sweet spices. The original drink, also explained on the bottle, was distilled and prepared by the monastery of the Order of St, Benedict, an Italian monk. The present day drink was developed in the 19th century. I relished it so much that I did not try the favourite Scotch or any of the Single Malts at all. In fact this needs to be taken straight and can really knock you down easily. He told me that you can drink for free on the ship, as much as you desire, but no drink can be carried out from the docks unless it is in your tummy.

Sukumar was happy with his single malt. After his three 60 ml pegs he told me the story that I am repeating almost verbatim.

“After finishing school, I joined DMIT and completed my B. Tech from there with good performance. Somehow, I was not eager to start as a sea-farer, and I easily managed a job in Balmer Lawrie as a Management Trainee and was posted to their head office in Calcutta.

“I got married almost four years ago, within two years of starting my job, and had a very loving and beautiful Bengali girl for my wife. She was also working in the same company and that's how we met. We loved life, and were literally ‘made for each other’. We must have visited most of the restaurants in Calcutta. We saw movies, spent time in theatres, and did whatever was there to do. Like lovers, we would always hold hands while walking, or going anywhere. The company was also kind enough to allot me a two bedroom flat in the Alipore area. It was on the second floor with a beautiful view of a children’s park from its balcony and our master bedroom windows. It was fully furnished, as it had been used as a guest house by the company for some time; so we could just move into it just with our suitcases.

“We were both very happy. We had our small world. Stable job, decent income and a comfortable lifestyle with all amenities that could be desired by an upper middle class couple. The first two years of my marriage were like an extended honeymoon. We were both fond of similar and non-vegetarian fare. Having been brought up in Calcutta, I also loved the Bengali food and the local cuisine. We always slept close together on the double bed and cuddled up like newlyweds. When she slept curled up, with her head on my chest, she used to snore softly, almost sounding like a cat purring. Soft fragrance of shampoo from her hair would put me into a deep and peaceful slumber.

“I used to call her a biral, a cat, in Bengali, and it was a standard joke between us; she would show her fangs and claws and playfully attack me. I had given her the pet name of Biral; her actual name was Tapti and was affectionately called Tinku in her parents’ house. She would say that she will be born as a cat in her next life. We both used to laugh about it. Like me, she was also a rationalist and did not actually believe in the afterlife, rituals or any superstitions.”

Sukumar became very emotional at this point in his story and I could see tears welling up in his eyes. He took another fill of his single malt and just gulped down the full peg. He continued:

“We were both fond of visiting historical sites and ancient temples, churches, mosques and other religious places. She was always the planner for our trips and visits. Although we both had been to Dakshineswar and Belur Math, we decided to go there once again - more as an outing than a pilgrimage. We took a cab till Belur Math and had planned to cross the river by boat and visit Dakshineswar. The return home would be by a cab or any other public transport from the eastern shore of the Hooghly. Although the river is less than a kilometer wide, going across by boat made one traverse a distance of 2.5 to 3 km, for landing at the ghat near the temple. A large size boat was available and filling up when we reached the boarding point. It could roughly take about 35-40 persons at one time, it had only two oarsmen cum punters. We took the particular boat and started our small journey across the river. All went smoothly till we reached near the pylons of the connecting bridge. The boat started going round and round, spinning on an imaginary central axis. Suddenly without warning, Tinku, who was sitting close to the edge, tumbled over and fell into the whirlpool in which our boat had got stuck. Her falling overboard was noticed and a lot of people on the boat started shouting. She disappeared in the water before anyone could react. Instinctively, I also dived in. We both knew swimming. I just could not locate her. One oarsman had also jumped in but she was just not traced. The deep currents of the whirlpool probably sucked her to the river bed. We remained in that area for a long time, maybe about an hour or so without any luck. Ultimately the boat reached the shore near the Dakshineswar temple. I was accompanied by the oarsman to the police post in the vicinity to lodge the report and to be able to receive communication in case she or her corpse was found.”

At this point of the story Sukumar just could not keep control of himself and was sobbing and convulsing.

He continued,

“Days turned into weeks, there was no sign or news of Tinku. I returned and joined my duty after a month of the incident. I was still not normal. I was distracted at work, I used to get nightmares and imagine her being in our bedroom and had a very disturbed sleep most of the time. I had to be prescribed antidepressants. At times I would have guilt feeling as to why we went by boat, or why I was not holding her hand at that time

“It had been a little over two months since Tinku disappeared in the river, I had a strange experience one night. I felt as if she were sleeping with me with her head on my chest, I could hear her soft snoring that I used to call ‘purring’ and I could smell the scent of her shampoo. I woke up sweating, I could feel her head on my chest. I reached for the light switch and I saw a white cat, a kitten about 6 week old, with yellow patches jumping out of the window. Calcutta does have a lot of semi-stray cats and mostly the Bengalis are quite affectionate to the felines. I did not think too much of it at that time.

“Later I realized that this particular cat had adopted me and I too would be looking forward to her coming. I named her Tinku. She would actually come and snuggle with me into my bed and I started sleeping quite soundly with the warmth from her body and the imagined perfume of Tinku’s shampoo in my nostrils.

“I have had a live-in female servant since before Tinku’s disappearance. She wanted to be excused and did not want to continue in my house after Tinku’s disappearance. I had managed to get another female servant for the house. Tinku, the cat, refused to accept her, it would hiss and try to attack the new servant. She had to be replaced and I opted for a man servant. It did resolve the issue. Meanwhile, I tried to get back into my social circle again. I had become close to another Bengali girl, Kajal, and I invited her for dinner to my place. To make it a little less obvious I had also roped in two male colleagues for the evening. The cat’s hostility towards Kajal seemed very obvious and apparent. In fact she lunged at her and scratched her cheek with her claws. It was apparent that Tinku, the cat, had become very possessive of me and was not willing to share me with another female. I have not dared to invite anyone and I have also stopped socialising.

“I am not able to discuss this dilemma with any of my friends or colleagues - they might feel that I have gone crazy; but I tell you that I am convinced that it's Tinku, my Biral, who sleeps with me every night. She also gives me company over dinner. She still enjoys her fish as well as all other favourite foods that we had. Please tell me TN, if you think I am going nuts? Do you think I need psychiatric help? You are the only one to whom I have told my full story.”

I was nonplussed and very disturbed by the facts as he narrated them.

We both had consumed more than enough alcohol and were in no position to even walk upto the gate of DMET from where we might have got a cab for his house. So we slept on the ship, in two of the empty bunkers in a cabin.

In the morning I took a cab to my hotel in Shakespeare Sarani, from where I would be picked up by the Molins car. Sukumar was dropped off on the way. He was saying he shall take the day off and was keen that I join him for lunch. I told him I have to be in Molins till 5.30pm and can come to meet you at your place after that and can have dinner together. You have a good cook or we can get some food delivered and spend the time together. He seemed quite reluctant to be at home for dinner time. I had a feeling that he wanted to avoid exposing his Tinku to me.

I was wondering if we had spent the previous night at his house, would his Tinku have come and shared his bed?

***

My Story 7 - Reading Road & Delhi University

2021-02-18T20:08:00.000+05:30

If you have come here before reading My Story No. 6 OR would like to go back to it, please click here.

As I mentioned that I joined Delhi College, which was a part of the Delhi University although its campus was nowhere near the University, which is now called the North Campus. The University also has a conglomeration of colleges that is referred to as the South Campus, it is situated near Moti Bagh, on the Ring Road. I had taken up Physics Honours in the B. Sc. course that I had joined. The strange part was that the classes of the main subjects, viz., Physics and Chemistry were held in the Delhi University and the subsidiary subjects classes, viz., English and Mathematics were held in the college. It was quite a grind that I had to shuttle from one location to the other for various classes. Someone suggested that I could apply to migrate to a college in the North Campus. Hindu College was the best running neck to neck with St Stephens, so as to avoid the hassles of classes being held in classrooms miles apart. I put in an application and it was accepted and I became a student of the ancient Hindu College. I call it ancient, as it was founded in 1899. It might interest some of my readers to know a brief history of the college

Hindu College was founded in 1899 by Krishan Dassji Gurwale in the backdrop of the nationalist struggle against the British Raj. Some prominent citizens, including Rai bahadur Amba Prasad, Gurwale Ji, decided to start a college that would provide nationalist education to the youth while being non-elitist and non-sectarian. Originally, the college was housed in a humble building in Kinari Bazar, Chandni Chowk, and it was affiliated to Punjab University as there was no university in Delhi at that time. As the college grew, it faced a major crisis in 1902. The Punjab University warned the college that the university would disaffiliate the college if the college failed to get a proper building of its own. Rai Bahadur Lala Sultan Singh came to rescue the college from this crisis. He donated a part of his historic property, which originally belonged to Colonel James Skinner, at Kashmiri Gate, Delhi, to the college. The college functioned from there till 1953. When the University of Delhi took birth in 1922, Hindu College along with Ramjas College and St. Stephen's College were subsequently affiliated to the University of Delhi, making them the first three institutions to be affiliated with the university.

Around the same time, Pitaji got an allotment of a Vespa scooter from the Central Government quota - which had a wait time of about 8-9 years in the open market. The scooter too had been booked on my suggestion and request, a few months earlier. Now I pressurized him into buying it for the home, it could be used by either of us for numerous errands that I could think of. For every little need, we had to either pedal or walk to the Gole Market or the Bhagat Singh Market. So the scooter came into our house. The Reading Road house had more than ample space to keep the two-wheeler inside our premises. Until this time neither Pitaji nor I had ever driven a scooter. However, I would dream of driving it and theoretically knew how to drive it even before I laid my hands on it.

Within a day or so, Mamaji - majai's younger brother came visiting and he did have a motorbike at one time. I immediately pestered him to take me to the Talkatora Gardens that had enough open space, to teach me how to drive the two-wheeler. I sat on the pillion and he drove us to the Gardens. After reaching the chosen area, he got foo and handed me the vehicle, and started telling me its theory. I cut him short, saying I know it all - just need the hands-on experience. I took two rounds of the garden and told him t sit on the pillion. Seeing my confidence he acceded to my request. I drove him back home. That was all the driving lesson I ever had.

With DU campus, a co-educational college, and a scooter at my disposal I wasted my time in galavanting. I had a good friend (a boy) and we used to literally spend time in the coffee home rather than the classroom. I just had to pass one year and then go into an engineering college that was my goal. I did not have any girlfriend as such - though I did go to see a play in St Stephen's college with a girl, my classmate in Physics Honours. I was quite shy and never asked any girl for an outing or a date. As a matter of fact, one day she casually mentioned the play, it had tickets, and said she could get them if I would be interested. That was the only "date" I ever had in this period of my education in Hindu College.

The year passed quickly and without any real studies. I was applying to all Engineering Colleges now, finally, a good choice came in the form of BIT Mesra. I had also attended the counseling for the IIT Delhi and was offered Textile Engineering. I got totally put off by that. So off to Mesra Ranchi. Pitaji sold off the Vespa, as it was decided that I would not require it there as I was going to be staying in a hostel on the campus.

My Story 6 - Meri Dilli, Reading Road

2020-06-30T00:57:00.005+05:30

If you have come here before reading "My Story 5", or would like to go back to it again, please click here.

In 1961, Pitaji was allotted a Government accommodation on the same Reading Road where my school was located, just next to the Kali Bari. My school became a walking distance - about 4-5 minutes' walk, it was adjacent to the well known Birla Mandir also known as Lakshmi Narayan Temple. There was just a wall between us. In fact, the ridge behind ur school merged withe the ridge behind the temple, without even a fence in between. Our house was a ground floor bungalow, attached one side with the next bungalow in a row. Our house was just at the end of the row of houses, we just had a high boundary wall on the other side. It was just at the foot of the Lovers' Lane (now renamed Mandir Lane) that descended from the Central Ridge.

Birla Mandir, New Delhi

Life in Harcourt Butler was cool and comfortable, I quickly had a group of friends - one of the best friends that I had was Dilip Bam, a Maharashtrian. His father was a very senior officer in the Railways and they were staying in a government flat in Moti Bagh. We were in touch with each other till recently - when he left this world quite abruptly. Another friend was Vijay Bhushan Dixit, who was a great singer, he was junior to me by a year - but we had both joined the NCC Air Wing and had become good chums. He used to stay in the Government Flats also very close to the school and we used to visit each other's homes quite regularly. He was a fantastic singer and had a very melodious voice. At the age of 14, the voice of boys is often still very feminine before it starts cracking and they become hoarse. This friend of mine got nicknamed "Lata" (Lata Mangeshkar) by Pushpa, who used to love listening to his singing, her favorite was 'o basanti pawan paagal' from Dis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai, for a very long time. Recently I met him and his wife at the Harcourt Butler annual meet. He still sings as melodiously. He gave a performance on the stage in the function.

Harcourt Butler H S School

In Butler (as it was generally referred to), I also joined the NCC Airwing and remained in it for two years. I learnt aeromodelling - it was an interesting and also expensive hobby. Being in the NCC - we did not have to buy the kits for making the models. They were supplied to us by the NCC. They were either solid wood planes or planes with only a skeleton wooden frame pasted with stretched kite paper sheets for the skin. The skin was made weatherproof and strong by applying a lacquer-like solution that was called DOPE. The structures and the skin of the model almost replicated the structures as they would be in the actual aircraft, except for the fact that aircraft structures mostly used magnesium alloys, whereas only balsa wood was used in the aero models, no metal was used. Balsa was very lightweight but not very strong. A crash would invariably badly damage the model, mostly breaking it into a few pieces. We had various types of models classified as Chuck Gliders, Tow Gliders, Control Line Models, and Free Flight Models. The latter two were powered by small propellor IC engines that were got from the India Hobby Centre in Connaught Place. The fuel used was a mixture of methanol and castor oil (for lubrication). The most common name in aero models and engines was Aurora. Some other lesser-known brands were also available. It was very interesting to note how the engines would have to be fitted to the delicate balsa wood frame. A hardwood cowl was generally used on which the engine would be screwed, the cowl would then be pasted on the airframe by strong adhesives. The gliders had a limited range and they would generally glide back to the ground aided by gravity. The free flight models were really interesting and often they could travel as far as 2-3 km with their tiny engines with the tiny fuel tanks. In order not to lose the model, often a couple of cadets would be chasing the model on ground, trying to keep it in their line of sight.
There were other categories of powered models also. One was powered by a rubber band that would have to be wound up and run propeller when released. These had a relatively short flight and the model would glide back to the ground after that. Another powered model was by a jet engine. A small jet engine without any rotating parts, were a little akin to the rockets that we use in Diwali - except that it was a reusable engine and it could be refilled by the dry fuel mix, would get powered when the fuse was lit.
Radio-controlled models had just made an entry too. Our school too managed to get one piece. There were only two controls, one for moving the stabilizers up or down (for UP or DOWN), the second for moving the rudder to in a sequence to the next of the three positions, viz., straight-right-left-straight-right-left-.... The controls were just actuators for giving a single pulse two tiny battery powered motors. If you are interested in knowing more about aeromodelling - just click here.

We had a very lovable incharge of NCC, First Officer WF Samson. All the boys (cadets) were very fond of him. We did not know what his initials stood for, so we called him WonderFul Samson.
By virtue of my aeromodelling interests, I was also promoted to the rank of Corporal in a year's time. I was also awarded a small silver shield on our school annual day by Pt. Jawahar Lal Nehru while he was the PM in the country. The photograph is no longer available but the shield is still with me.
First Officer Samson was also quite influential and he kept the standard of our NCC amongst the better organized and managed schools to get facilities and benefits for his boys - as he would refer to us. Not only did our school's aeromodelling flourish during that time, but he also managed to organize a trip to Bombay for us, during which we were given a ride on INS Vikrant to visit the famous Elephanta Caves. During the ride most of us got a chance to steer the ship, receiving and confirming the commands through the voice tube. It was quite an interesting and rewarding experience for me. Aye aye, Sir!

Until the Bombay trip, I used to only wear shorts. Before going to Bombay, I insisted on having some trousers and I got three new trousers, the trip duration was below 10 days. It was quite a memorable trip - mostly without adventures and bizarre events, yet it was an experience as I was without the umbrella of the family. Apart from the Elephanta Caves, we practically visited all the places in Bombay with their name.

I attended two NCC camps while in school. The camps were held in the month of December and it was the time when Delhi was coldest. That had an advantage, we would not sweat profusely in the parades and the PT and we could avoid taking a bath for the ten days of the camp. Each boy had to carry his own offwhite canvass kitbag that included all his stuff including an enamelware regulation mug and an enamelware plate. The mus was really versatile, starting with morning ablutions, drinking water or tea, for the gravy vegetable or daal in the meals. We were near about 90 cadets. The kitbags were loaded in a heap in the trucks and we clambered on to of the heap for our brief journey to the venue of the camp. In the first year, the camp was held at a site in the cantonment area. In the second year, it was held at Khanpur - which seemed far away from any civilization in 1961, the campsite was surrounded by agricultural fields. It was the same procedure - 10 boys in a tent. One of them would be designated the tent commander. In the second year camp, I was a Corporal, so I got the Tent Commander position with Manranjan Singh jointly, of Patel Nagar, who also held the Corporal's rank. The procedure was to clear the land of weeds, level it, pitch the three main masts and hammer the stakes firmly into the ground. Tie the tent securely to avoid it getting uprooted in a storm. Swab the interior with a mop to make it smooth. Tie the kerosene lantern to the center mast. Keep our holdalls in position, not opened yet. Dig a trench all around and a small mud wall about 2-3 inches high - this was to prevent crawlies as well as floodwaters from coming in case of rain. In our first camp, there was a moderate rate and most of the tents remained dry inside; but the Khanpur camp was a different story altogether. It rained almost continuously for eight days. Of the 10 tents of our school, 8 were flooded and most of the bedrolls became soggy. My tent was of the two that remained dry. We had to keep rebuilding the mud wall at any time the water would start entering any breach.
On the ninth day, there was no rain and the sun shone brightly. A parade call was given that day. After assembling for the parade, the boys started collapsing and falling like nine-pins. They were rushed to the MI room and it was discovered that most of them had been holding on without getting rid of their poop and had developed constipation or some issue. On the last day of the camp, we were given a chicken curry dinner. Just one measly tiny piece. After we had retired after dinner, there was a message from our Flight Seargent, Shashi Bhushan, summoning us to his tent. He was quite friendly with both Manoranjan and me. When we reached there, what we see? There were two bucket fulls of chicken curry, a couple of other boys, and all gorging on it. We also had our fill until we could eat no more. Of course, next morning saw long queues at the toilets.
As the rains washed out 7 days, the aeromodelling display as well as shooting range were canceled.

I finished my schooling in 1962 (Class 11 - Higher Secondary) and landed up with a good first division, almost 67%, which was considered very good. I was hoping for admission in BITS Pilani and was, in fact, assured by an insider. There's many a slip between the cup and lip. I realized that I had missed the bus - the admissions were over and I had nowhere to go. With Pitaji's personal influence he managed to get me to join B.Sc. (Hons) in Delhi College after the last date of entry, so that I do not end up as a vagabond and had a place to bide my time before going for engineering after a year. Being wiser I joined BIT Mesra, in the branch of my choice - IIT Delhi could only offer me the Textile Branch that did not look inviting to me at all.

Pitaji retired in 1962, soon after I finished my school final (Higher Secondary) and he headed to Calcutta, where he had secured a job with Amin Chand Pyare Lal.

Click here to continue to My Story 7 - Reading Road & Delhi University

My Story 5 - Meri Dilli, Patel Nagar.

2020-06-24T22:26:00.000+05:30

If you have come here before reading "My Story 4", or would like to go back to it again, please click here.

We came back to Delhi around April/May 1959. It was quite a train journey - so much luggage. Although we were in a 1st class compartment with a proper reservation for all family members, still our compartment looked like the luggage carrier or a loaded truck. Dicky was also traveling with us. He was in a cage in the Guard's Coach, along with his collar and chain. At every large station or junction, it was my duty to go and meet him, take him out for a pee or same another call of nature. Feed him and then put him back once again. Although the complete coach was reserved for us, still carrying Dicky in the coach with us was not permitted in the rule book.

The journey was quite uneventful.

We reached Delhi Junction station around 10pm in the night. With our baggage - the only mode of conveyance that we could get was a tonga (horse-drawn carriage). Devika's husband GK, as we used to refer to him, had found an arranged accommodation for us in East Patel Nagar (West Delhi, New Delhi). If I remember correctly, two tongas were hired to fit in all the persons as well as the luggage that was to be carried. Devi (Devika) was also traveling with us and was sitting perched on top of the heap and was holding on to our clock with both the hands. Being a fragile item, it was carried separately and without any packing. Dicky was held by his chain in the second tonga by me. It was probably a sharp turn that was executed by the horse, Devi lost her balance as she had no other hold, and literally rolled off the perch but still tightly clinging on to the clock with both hands. The tongas halted. Devi appeared unhurt, literally without even a bruise. The clock also appeared without any damage being in her embrace. The tonga wala was warned to proceed cautiously and slowly. The rest of the ride was without any other incident.

The house of East Patel Nagar was owned by a Sikh gentleman who lived on the ground floor with his family. They were generally nice and helpful. One young boy was in the family who was almost my age and he became my friend. Our premises were on the first floor. We had a common terrace that was only used by us. The Sikh family used the courtyard downstairs for sleeping in the open in the summer months. Unlike the Lake Place house that accommodated 4 families, we were just two families in this house. Apart from the terrace, there was also a bit of an open space on the first floor also where we could sleep under the open sky. Our floor had four rooms plus a bath and kitchen, a verandah plus an open terrace on the same floor. There was a tiny room, could have been useful as a storage space. This room opened into the verandah and also had a window. It was an ideal study room and it was given to me. A study table, a chair, and a small bookshelf managed to fit in the space.

The house was close to the market which was self-sufficient for all needs, including a post office and a PCO phone. You must remember that in 1959 home phones were rare and a luxury, even for many years after that. We got our first residential phone in 1982 in Chandigarh. Post & Telegraphs Department was the only service provider for phones in the country. In most places, there used to be a big waiting list for an individual owned phone line. Industries and Registered Companies were given a priority. The nearest bus stop was a 6-7 minute walk from the house. This was also an important feature as we all, the kids and Pitaji, needed the public transport on a regular and daily basis.

Neena and Prem joined Delhi College (near Ajmeri Gate) in Pre-medical and MA (English) respectively. Pushpa had completed her MBBS in Calcutta and joined the AIIMS for completing her house job and her MD. Subsequently, she joined the Defense Science Laboratories, Metcalfe House. I was admitted to Class 9 in Harcourt Butler School on Reading Road (now known as Mandir Marg). I was keen for Modern School at Barakhamba Road, as I had done my earlier schooling over there. Their science stream seats were full and I did not want to do arts.

Qutub Minar, New Delhi

Life settled down to a routine in Patel Nagar. I did make a just few friends in the locality. Most of my friend's circle was from my school only. Lack of means of telecommunication made us loose our previous friends very easily. As a matter of fact, Facebook coupled with other internet options have made me locate a few of my childhood friends of Belvedere and South Point School. Staying in touch has become so easy and convenient with all the multitude of social applications, mobile phones, emails, and the like.

After living in Patel Nagar for about a year, Pitaji bought an independent house in Rajouri Gardens. A single storey, four rooms, plus a store-room, Verandahs both in front and at the back. Small garden space in front as well as the back. We got the place whitewashed and repaired and moved in there within a month. At that time for going anywhere, we had to go over a level crossing near the Shadipur Depot. Bus service to Rajouri Gardens was also not that frequent. All this caused a lot of time spent in traveling almost an hour plus extra each way. Thus the parents decided to shift back to Patel Nagar, which was familiar territory. The Rajouri Garden house was rented out, and we moved to East Patel Nagar once again. This was an even better location and was closer to the market and all the other points of interest. We were bang opposite the Grand Bakery and from our first-floor verandah, we could place an order for any bakery item - for home delivery. Our favorite was their cake rusks.

Unlike most EPN (East Patel Nagar) houses - this house was not on the usual 200 square yards plot - it seemed much bigger. In fact, we had a huge verandah for a living room, it was quite large. A portion of it was also converted to a small clinic for Pushpa, as she wanted to start a private practice. It was like a big hall except that on the front, or the south side it did not have a wall and overlooked the market. It was so large that there were two huge columns in the hall which divided it into almost six portions.

During our stay in this house, we once experienced quite a massive earthquake (July 1960), in the late evening and was over 5.5 on the Ritcher Scale. We were all sitting in our verandah doing our respective studies/work etc. The massive jolt literally made Neena see the verandah columns sway like crazy and she was terrified, almost in hysterics. She was so shaky and scared that Prem had to accompany her to the loo in each visit. I am sure she would have been holding her hand while going to bed or for sleep.

The East Patel Nagar market was also a foodie’s paradise. There was a popular chaat stall that always drew a large crowd in the evenings. Its preparations were quite yummy. It was most visited for golgappas, papri chaat, aloo tikki, dahi bara, and other items. There was a family restaurant “Progressive”, it had most delicious vegetable samosas stuffed with aloo and matar and just the right amount of spices. Then we had a small non-veg dhaba that was a boon for Neena and me - could just carry home a plate of mutton curry when the food seemed bland and uninviting. There were no burgers or pizzas in the Indian scenario at this time. The closest to fast food to a burger was a bun-samosa - it's popular in most hill stations - and as the name suggests is just a bun split in the middle with a knife and a samosa is pressed in along with some chutneys. There was also a small shop where we could buy our non-veg items. Mutton used to cost around Rs 2 for a kg. It was the pre-broiler era, the table variety of broiler chicken had not invaded the Indian market. The old hens who had passed their prime laying time used to end up on the table. At times there were some partly formed eggs also within them, we would really look forward to finding them when the chickens were dressed for the table. The organized sector for poultry - broilers and eggs came much later into the scene. We had no fish in our household menu. However, Delhi’s markets (including East Patel Nagar) often had a machhi-wala who would fry the fish piece selected by you by weight from the prominent display on an aluminum foil sheet, marinated in the turmeric colored spices.

In fact it was such a foodie place that Dicky developed a sweet tooth and would be often be found missing from our house and lounging near a halwai, a sweetmeat seller. He became quite a vagabond and even started remaining with the halwai. Ultimately, the halwai adopted our vagabond and we wrote him off from our household list. Sometimes I do wonder that to what extent were we responsible for his errant behavior.

We children did not have many friends in the colony, I had a friend called Manoranjan Singh, he was also in Harcourt Butler but in the arts stream. Our common point of interest was NCC. At times we would take an evening walk together in the colony market and foodie areas.
Neena had a good friend of the college in Pre-Medical - Amita Seth. She became a family friend and used to visit our place quite often, and likewise, Neena visited them often. She was sweet and soft-spoken.
The local colony friends became rare and distant once we moved out of Patel Nagar.

We did not live in this house for long and we moved to a government accommodation to Reading Road (now known as Mandir Marg) in less than a year's time.

Click the link to continue to My Story 6 - Meri Dilli, Reading Road.

My Story 4 - Calcutta, Belvedere

2020-06-06T20:48:00.000+05:30

If you have come here before reading "My Story 3", or would like to go back to it again, please click here,

With the allotment of a Government Quarter in practically the poshest area of the city was indeed the best thing that could have happened to my family. It was a newly developed colony that was located in the very picturesque compound of the famous National Library. The library used to be the house of the Lieutenant Governor of Bengal during the British Raj. After the independence of the country – it was converted into a Government Library, in 1953 when it was shifted from its location at Metcalfe House, to the present location at Belvedere. It is the biggest and the best library in the country containing about 2 million books and half a million documents. It is also the second-largest public library in Asia. According to popular belief, this building was not built by the British. Azim-Us-Shaan is believed to have constructed it in 1700 A.D. After the Battle of Plassey, Vanceytart got charge of this Bhawan. He was an Italian who named this mammoth building 'Belvedierre', giving the present-day name of Belvedere to the colony. The word connotes 'the queen of beauty'. Lady Hastings was also the owner of this house for a short while. It was sold to Major Tulley in 1780. The modern-day 'Tollygunge' in Calcutta bears memoirs of Major Tulley. However, this building was put to auction after the demise of Major Tulley in 1802. In 1850, the Govt. took charge of this palatial house. Some believe that Nawab Meer Zaffar had once stayed in Belvedierre Bhawan.

The Majestic National Library

The housing made here for Central Govt. officers consisted of fourteen 3-storeyed blocks of 6 flats each. Garages were also provided, though the number of garages was about 33% of the number of flats, I guess that was about similar to the proportion of officers who actually owned cars in those days. As it is Calcutta had a fairly efficient public transport system that included double carriage trams, single as well as double-decker state transport buses, and private buses. Taxis were also in the field and were reasonably convenient because the distances were not very large. There was nothing like the present-day autorickshaws (or tuk-tuks). No tongas or horse-drawn vehicles. Though rickshaws were there - not the cycle variety but the hand-pulled rickshaws. These are attributed to a colonial hangover. They could squeeze in two adult passengers.

Life in the colony was totally different from the paada life at Lake Place. The senior government officials were totally in a different world from the Bengali and bhadralok culture that I had been exposed to until now. In Belvedere there was a club for the Central Government Officers – having facilities for tennis, swimming, table tennis, squash, badminton, etc, and of course card tables. One could see young lasses dressed in western attires, skirts, shorts, and the like. The shortcomings of games that I felt in the school were overcome in life in Belvedere. The friend circle that I moved into consisted of only a very small percentage of Bengalis. We were literally from all over India - Punjabis, Marathis, Sindhis, UPites, MPites, Biharis, Oriyas, South Indians (includes Tamil, Kannada, Malayali, and Telegu speaking folks) Parsis, etc., strange it may sound - I do not recall any Gujratis in the colony.

Hand-Pulled Rickshaw

Our small band of about 15 boys was into all possible games. We played cricket, hockey, badminton, football, and rugby (played with a football). Tennis and squash were also available in the officers club though all youngsters did not actively get involved in that. The spoken language amongst us was English. Most of the boys were students of Calcutta Boys School or St Xaviers; the girls were mostly studying in Loretto. Neena and I continued in South Point School. A smaller size school bus was made available for the far-flung areas, it was a station wagon or equivalent to the present-day SUV. It picked us up along with about half a dozen other children, from our area, Chetla, and Alipore.

The Central Government officers Quarters Area does not seem to have changed at all over the years, the Google Map still shows it exactly as it was in the fifties with all the green spaces intact. However, some more buildings appeared to have come up in the compound of the Library. There were 3 ponds, which used to have ducks waddling in them in the fifties. I was unable to spot them in the present-day maps. They have probably been filled up to reclaim the land for some buildings or the gardens.

Belvedere - Google Image (Present Day)

At times I used to wonder where my childhood buddies Subhash and Indra might be. There was no communication from either side. We were too young and did not know about the art of letter writing. One evening I was going to a friend's house in the colony and suddenly I heard someone calling out to me, "Cuckoo". What do I see, Indra her younger sister Munni and their mom Mrs. Tahilraamani, just a few paces away. Indra and her mom, both had recognized me. Contact got renewed. I discovered that Mr. Tahilramani had also got transferred to Calcutta and presently they were staying in a rented accommodation in Hazra Road. Subsequently, they too moved to Belvedere - to Flat no. 72. We were in Flat No. 73 while we were there, we had moved out and we were back in Delhi at that time. However, contact got re-established and we have been in touch with each other to date since then.

Once we settled down in the routine life at Belvedere, it was very peaceful and satisfying. When we stayed at Lake Place, Pitaji had got deeply involved in learning yoga, so much so that within a short time he had become a teacher of yoga. Every morning he used to go to the maidan opposite the famous Victoria Memorial. About 20 to 30 followers (or his students) would also assemble there and they would be performing the Yogic Exercises. His guru was the well known Dhirendra Brahmchari, who shot to fame many years later, as he became the personal yoga trainer for Mrs. Indira Gandhi when she became the Prime Minister of the country. Once we shifted to Belvedere, going to the maidan was not convenient, because of lack of public transport on this route. So he just picked up his dari (yoga mat) one day and started going to the National Library compound for his exercises every morning. He was soon noticed by other morning walkers and was adopted by quite a handful of them as their guru, all wanting to learn yoga asanas. In 1957-58 yoga was very rare and not a household word as it is now. He never said no to anyone for joining the group and soon he had a bigger following of the residents of the area than he had at the maidan. It was totally free for anyone who cared to join in

During the vacations of the schools, Neena & I used to also go for yoga classes. I discovered that my body was quite rigid as compared to Neena's and to that of many other youngsters, and they could do many exercises with ease whereas I was either unable to do so or found them extremely difficult. Quite a number of my circle of friends also joined in during the vacations. Recently I met a childhood friend of mine, Prakash Karve, of Belvedere, who had also joined Pitaji's classes. He lives in Pune at present. He was remembering the yoga classes of Pitaji and mentioned it as a reason for his good health even at his present age.

In our small circle of friends, we had two brothers Deepak and Pradeep Mulay. Their father was the Deputy Librarian of the National Library. Deepak was my age. On one summer afternoon, he had ventured out to the duck ponds for a bath cum swim with another friend. He fell down in the not so deep water and he got stuck in the mud, his friend panicked and ran home and informed his father, who in turn informed Mr. Mulay. By the time help arrived, it was too late. Deepak had drowned and died. He was my age. It was the first time I lost someone close to the cruel hand of death. His death affected all in our friends' circle. It was quite an unnerving experience. It took a fairly long time of a couple of years for us to get over the tragedy.
Deepak had an elder sister, Suhasini. When Bhuvan Shome was released I noticed that the female lead was Suhasini Mulay. When I saw the movie, I was sure that it was Deepak's sister. That was in 1969, about 10-11 years after the tragedy.

Another family that had become a bit closer to us was the Mehtas. There were 3 young boys, Pradeep, Sudhir, and Randhir (Pullu). Their flat was bang opposite our flat - on the other side of the colony road. They also had a dog, a Doberman, which was very ferocious and all the dogs and the dog owners of the colony were terrified of him. Once the dog attacked a cousin of theirs who was visiting them and hurt her quite severely. After that, the colony folks put their foot down and the dog had to be given away. Sudhir was a dog lover. He now adopted a white she-dog and named her Rani. Things were not going right for the little puppy, who was now just a couple of months old. One day Sudhir fell on her while playing and she got internal injuries and died in a couple of days after the incident. The Mehtas decided not to keep a dog after that.

We often had screams and hysterics because of the girlie nature of the crowd at our house. Once a tiger moth had entered our house, my excited exclamation, "Moth has come to our room!" - was interpreted as "maut" which means death. I don't recall who all screamed but Mrs. Mehta came running to our flat to check on us.
Do you know the basic difference between a moth and a butterfly? Both can be very colorful. When a moth sits, its wings are spread and a butterfly sits with its wings folded.

Prem and Pushpa were also fond of Planchette - a practice of dabbling with the para natural. You summon Mr. Planchette and subsequently ask for the spirit of a particular dead person. At times, any random spirit could make its presence felt and it was rumored that such self inviting spirits enjoyed human contact and were had to get to leave when requested. One day the spirit of the "monkey's paw" (click here to know the story) made an appearance and it was followed by screams and Mrs. Mehta running across the road to our place. In retrospect, it seemed quite delightful and humorous.

Another couple of friends that we made at the time and who are still in touch were Pinaki Dutt-Roy, Samaresh Chatterjee. Pinaki is working freelance as a sound engineer in London, got located on Google. I do meet hin when I visit London for visiting my daughter Chaitali. Samaresh was found by a common friend, he stays in Delhi, not too far, and often meets up in our morning walks.

I have talked about my love for animals as pets. I got the opportunity to adopt a puppy very soon. There was an Anglo-Indian family in our colony who had two pets, one female dog and one cat. Surprisingly, they used to co-exist and had grown up together. Their dog had a litter and the pups were available for adoption. I went and met the lady and she interviewed me thoroughly before handing me a brown male pup. He was between 3 and 4 weeks old. We named him "Dicky".

Belvedere was sandwiched between Belvedere Road (on the east) and Alipore Road (on the west). In the north, the National Library compound's gate opened near the main gate of the Calcutta Zoological Gardens. This was one of the better zoos of the country in terms of number and variety of animals. The other entrance to the Zoo was near Kidderpore. We could frequently hear the roars of the big cats very clearly in our houses, especially in the silence of the night.
On the south of the colony, we had the Horticultural Garden - where Mataji and Neena were regulars in their morning walk. The garden was a paradise for botanists and lovers of plants. The garden also had two trees that were known as pagla trees (click for more info). The leaves appeared to have been cut in individual contours - all appearing different, Neena was a lazy child (around 14 years old, at the time) and never liked to wake up early. She would go for the walk and promptly go back to sleep after the walk. In fact, Neena used to complete the morning walk with her eyes half-closed. After coming back from the walk Mataji would sit down for her morning puja and Neena would be in bed again, sounds crazy - I often spotted her sleeping while standing near the bathroom door. Before sitting at the puja Mataji used wooden slippers, khadaon, which made a clickety sound when she got up after the puja. The moment Neena would hear the sound of the khadaon, she would straightaway bolt to the bathroom. Once Dicky was trying to play with Mataji while she was at the puja, to shoo him away she picked up the khadaon and tapped it on the floor. I am not sure whether Dicky got shooed away or not, but we also saw Neena bolting to the bathroom.

Just across the Alipore Road, that was on the west of the colony, brought us to the gate cum check-post of an army establishment called Command Hospital. It was a very huge area the other end going to the Diamond Harbour Road as one went further west. It housed barracks, hospitals, Kendriya Vidyalaya, CSD Canteen, Gurudwara, Temple, etc. The premises is an army area even at present. Our gang of young boys had made friends with the guards that manned the gate on the Alipore Road. So on one Sunday, the guard invited us for sharing the langar, the community lunch at the Gurudwara. We were a happy and a bold lot and graciously accepted the invitation and enjoyed the meal. The guards became our cronies and invariably we would go to chit-chat with them.

Once we had a visitor from Delhi, one Captain Prem Varma. He was the brother of Mr. Chandra Prakash Varma - a very close family friend. He was addressed as mamaji (maternal uncle) by us(children). Capt. Varma had been posted to this Command Hospital area for temporary duty. He was received very cordially by Mataji & Pitaji. His visit just preceded my birthday that was being celebrated in a week's time. He was also invited to attend while going that day he asked mm my choice of a gift. He wanted to know between two alternatives, one being an airgun (have forgotten what was the other). I happily chose the airgun. On my birthday he promptly appeared with a DIANA airgun along with a box of 100 lead pellets. I was absolutely ecstatic. This airgun was with me for many years and I had developed into a very good shot. I could hit a match stick at nearly 30 yards. When my son Anurag was about a year old he was staying with Varsha's parents at the Netaji Nagar Government flat, the airgun was decorating the wall near the entrance door of the flat - that is roughly after 16 years of it having been acquired by me. Neena was also taught by me in the use of the airgun and while she was studying in Lady Hardinge Medical College, a few years later, she drove the airgun shooting stallholders at a fete' that was held there, into near bankruptcy by winning all the prizes. They had to literally beg her not to try for more. Just a corollary, saw Yasmin Daji from very close quarters in the fete' - that was in the same year in which she became Miss India and Miss Universe. She was still studying for MBBS in the college at the time.

Life in Belvedere had many hues and there are many memories of incidents that van be remembered for posterity.

The National Library compound had a fair number of mango tres, which used to yield a large number of mangoes. The area had a few watchmen to look out for children like us to protect the mango trees from our stone and catapults, from ruining the crop of the fruit that would have found the way to the Librarian's house. As a matter of fact, we used to gather enough stock of raw mangoes to make an endless supply of achaar (pickle) for the next one year, and aam-panna for our individual households, to last out the summer. I even recall storing the raw mangoes in the hay to ripen them successfully.

Once I was on a prowl with friends and armed with my airgun in the library area when we spotted a snake coiled and partly hidden in the roots of a large tree. I never liked to kill birds, I thought this is a good shikar. I pumped 5 pellets into the portion of its body that was visible. The head was hidden in the roots. Hearing the shots the watchman on duty came on the double. Ultimately the snake was pulled out but his lathi and bashed on the head to strike the death blow. When Mataji came to know that I had killed a snake, all hell broke loose.
"Your grandmother (daadi) would feed snake milk if it made an appearance in the house. We are Nagpal (meaning snake keeper or protector) and we have to protect the snakes and not kill them," I was admonished and made to do penance the following day by remaining locked in the house, reading a religious text.

In the Metro cinema on Chowringhee, we used to have a special show of children's movies or cartoons on Sunday mornings. We, meaning me and friends, used to attend most of them and enjoy clean healthy fun. The tickets were also on a reduced rate and were probably less than a rupee for the show.

On the 15th of August, our friend circle decided to have a party on one of the terraces of the flats. It was going to be a dinner with each person in the group was required to bring one special or favorite dish of the family. If I remember correctly I had taken Punjabi Chhole. It was the first time I got to taste Lobster. Pinaki's mom had prepared lobster curry for us. It was delicious and very hot. It was many years later that I got to taste lobster again, with our son, in the USA.

Once there was a test match in Eden Gardens, It was India vs West Indies. We kids decided to go for that. Getting tickets was out of the question. I recall that we climbed on the roof of the All India Radio building which was in the same vicinity and watched whatever we could see of the match from there. India team got a follow on after West Indies scored 614 runs. Pankaj Roy - our opener gave a miserable performance with 11+duck in the two innings. The match finished in less than 3-1/2 days. We even lost the series 3-0.

Our colony had a massive tree near its second gate on Alipore Road. The tree had a very interesting feature that almost made a natural machan, about 10-12 feet from the ground, by an unnatural formation of its branches. How could it remain hidden from our natural explore instincts! We started using it for a treetop picnics. The flat area on the tree could comfortably seat four youngsters with their hampers.

On the north side of the library, building was located a huge green lawn area that doubled as a playfield for hockey and cricket areas. On its west corner of this green, there was a cluster of banyan tree(s) that had money plants growing wild over it with leaves going up to 1-1/2 to 2 feet size. One typical branch came down in a majestic curve just about 3 to 4 feet above the ground, which could not only seat 7-8 of us swaying gently but also bear to take up our load. That was the favorite spot of the batsmen waiting to go on the crease.

Once granny (Pitaji's mother) had come to Calcutta. She was around the age of 80. After a few days, she developed serious diarrhea/dysentery, and being frail and delicate at her age, we were all very concerned. She had to be taken to hospital and was admitted to the R G Kar Hospital. Mataji was almost in a panic, she kept praying that she should recover and not succumb to her illness in our house. Else she would get branded the evil bahu. A few days in the hospital helped her to a full recovery, much to everyone's relief.

All good things also come to an end. Pitaji got transferred and we moved to Delhi in April 1959.

I shall continue the narrative in My Story 5 - Meri Dilli, Patel Nagar. Click here to continue.

My Story 3 - Calcutta, South Point School

2020-06-04T21:36:00.000+05:30

If you have come here before reading "My Story 2", or would like to go back to it again, please click here.

Neena and I had been admitted to South Point School in Garihat Area, in Ballygunge, in class 7 and 5 respectively. At the time we joined South Point - it was a relatively new school with a strength of only about 300 students. It had been started just over a year ago. It was administered and run very well. English medium and coeducational; one could avoid having to learn Bengali, we could choose Bengali or Hindi as the extra language, although Sanskrit was taught there as a compulsory subject. Thus the school suited us very well as transfer students from Delhi, it was also at a reasonable distance from Lake Place, just about 3 kilometers. We had a school bus service, so it was also very convenient. Pushpa had got admission for the MBBS course at the Calcutta National Medical College in the previous year itself, as per her heart's desire. Prem had finished her Senior Cambridge before we moved to Calcutta and she got admission into the Ashutosh College for persuing her under-graduate course for her English Litterature, in which she ultimately did her M.A. & Ph.D.

Victoria Memorial, Calcutta

In spite of the fact that the school was just over a year old, it was well managed and we were a happy lot. It was strict in discipline yet maintained a friendly atmosphere with the students. Ii was a fairly small premises having a playfield that was a wee bit smaller than the area required for a football field. It seemed quite enough for most of the needs of the school. The administrative block was the size of a modest bungalow. Many of the classrooms were constructed with cement sheet walls, they were well maintained and did give a good feeling because of the newness. We had a good interesting faculty and many of our teachers were involved with the well known CLT (Children's Little Theatre) group who excelled in stage plays. They were very well known for their Shakespearean plays. Fantastic stage dresses, excellent lighting, makeup, direction - all were considered the best in the Calcutta theatre networks. The most famous name was that of Utpal Dutt, who not only made a mark on the Bengali Stage and Bengali movies but also excelled in the Hindi Bollywood cinema in the later years. While Neena and I were studying in South Point, he had already created and proved his histrionics on the Bengali Stage and Cinema. We had quite a handful of other teachers in South Point, who did not just act on the stage but also excelled in many aspects of the theatre, viz., makeup, stage lighting, dialogue delivery, etc. I still recall quite a few names - Mr. Chatterjee (PT & Games), Mr. Sen, Mr. Bannerjee (Fine Arts).

I remember I had gone to school one day without completing my homework for the Maths class. It was a fairly common practice to skip doing the homework with some lame excuse. No action was taken normally, except a reprimand. Today the maths teacher became strict - no excuse or story would be heard. We were six of us who had not done the homework. He got dunces' caps made for us and we were paraded and taken to all the classrooms to be shamed. When we reached Neena's class I started sobbing. I was terribly ashamed. She showed her kind nature and did not tell our parents about my humiliation.

Mr. Utpal Dutt had unique characteristics very much of his own and without compare. He used to teach us the Queen's English. He not only had mastery of the language but he also made his classes very interesting with his histrionics. He was a die-hard Marxist as far as I can recall. He had quite a loud and booming voice. His hallmark was a thick cigar that was always with him, matched his personality. While teaching his class, he was always with his cigar and he easily spent 10% of his time lighting the damn thing with a match, he never used a lighter. I think he used to think out his next step or direction while lighting his cheroot.
Another catchphrase of Utpal Dutt is illustrated here.
English has many anomalies that come up while teaching language and grammar. When an anomaly would rear its head Mr. Dutt would say in his booming voice, "BECAUSE....." and the entire class would respond in unison,"...ENGLISH IS A MAD LANGUAGE!"
All these little quirks, if you like to call them that, made him an interesting and memorable teacher. His historic cigar was always there even in his Hindi movies, starting with "Shakespeare Wallah" - his debut on the screen is lighting his cigar by a blow torch, he is busy doing some welding work. His most popular Hindi movie was Bhuvan Shome, a non-commercial film that went on to win three National Film Awards, including the one of Best Actor, for him. He is no longer with us except in our memories. He died in 1993 at the age of 64.

The deficiency of a big playfield got highlighted very cruelly during a football match with St Lawrence School. They had very huge premises, possibly 8-10 times ours. The match was held in their football ground. In spite of a valiant fight we were down by a dozen goals - the final tally was 12-NIL. A fairly large contingent of two busloads of students had gone to cheer our team. We were all so excited while we were going with slogans and cheers of an anticipated and misplaced victory. In the return journey, everyone was totally silent, you could hear a pin drop.

Like any other school of that time, we had our share of street vendors at our gate. I developed an insatiable urge and taste for the historic Orange Bar (of Magnolia), and also a digestive pudia of a gooie chooran. I also loved an occasional daab (tender green coconut) for its water as well as a layer of soft and tender coconut that had started forming within the shell. The vendor would split open the fruit with his hasiya a heavy sickle-like tool, and scoop out the yummy still soft and tender fruit from its insides, deposit it one half of the shell of the nut and hand it over as the 'bonus' - after all only the water had been paid for.

In 1957, the Naiya Paisa was introduced. India had overtaken many of the advanced Western Nations in adopting the CGS (and the decimal) system. The earlier rupee had 16 annas, Each anna has 4 paisas. Smaller denominations of paisa, viz., dhela and pai, had already been discontinued. Now we had coins of 1, 2, 5, 25, 50 and 100 (1 rupee) paisa. One Anna became equivalent of 6-1/4 paise; the earlier coins of 1 paisa (old), 2 paisa, 1 anna, 2 annas, 4 annas 8 annas were gradually withdrawn from the system. Initially, a lot of confusion prevailed but we gradually got used to the new system. We stopped referring to the Naiya Paisa as such and it was replaced by calling it Paisa only. Gradually miles were replaced by kilometers and yards by meters; degree Fahrenheit by degree Centigrade or Celcius. But we still live in a dual system. Body temperature is still Fahrenheit, though the weather is in Celcius, land measurements are still in square yards in many places.

The lack of playing fields in the school did leave me with a little setback as far as my sporting abilities were concerned. I was an outdoor person by nature and I did get my exercise in the improvised football field in the empty plot by the side of our Lake Place residence, but that somehow could never help me become a good footballer nor allow me to learn the finer aspects of the game.

Another change happened for the better in 1957. Pitaji was allotted government accommodation in a beautifully developed new colony within the huge compound of the famous National Library. 84 flats were constructed for the Central Government Officers in the area they called Belvedere, in fourteen 3 storeyed blocks. It was not only a modern and posh locality with lots of greenery and open spaces. Proper garages for parking the cars were also made, although owning a car was not all that common at the time. Thus we shifted to a new and totally different environment from the paada culture.

I shall continue the narrative in My Story 4 - Calcutta, Belvedere. Click here to continue.

My Story 2 - Oh Calcutta. Lake Place

2020-06-01T23:49:00.001+05:30

If you have come here before reading "My Story 1", or would like to go back to it again, please click here.

We moved to Calcutta in the year 1955, around the time of the start of the new session in schools, perhaps it was sometime between April and June. Pushpa had moved a year earlier for her MBBS from the Calcutta National Medical College. She had to take off from studies for a year because of her critical encounter with meningitis.

Pitaji had found a house on rent south Calcutta - 22 Lake Place (Road), the address has been etched permanently in my memory. It was a typical Bengali area. There were at least half a dozen children in the neighborhood who were in the age band that could be befriended, which is within 2 to 3 years of my age. The spoken language was only Bengali.

The Lake Place house was a 3 storied structure. Our Bengali house owner lived with his family on the top floor, with his wife, married son, and a daughter-in-law who use to sing and play the sitar. The ground floor had another tenant named Babbar, who was also a Punjabi. The first floor had a Tamilian family (a Central Government Officer) Still remember the lady as she had her hair cascading up to her ankles. The house also had a courtyard in the middle which was in the area of the Babbar family. After a few months, the Babbars moved out and were replaced by a Bengali family. There a girl called Tapti, of Neena's age, one fine day she broke half of her front incisor after a small fall in the cemented courtyard.
The house was a good-sized building that could house 4 families. We had 4 rooms plus a fairly spacious verandah, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A passage used to run behind the house and the boundary wall, in which all the windows opened, which helped in good ventilation for all the rooms. The adjoining plot of land (no. 24) was lying vacant and was used by us kids as a football ground. Bengalis had a yen for the game and we played football in all kinds of weather. The most interesting was during the rains, and we kids used to literally have a mud bath while we enjoyed the game.

The best part of this place was its location, Dhakuria Lake was just about a kilometer from this place and many an evening was spent by us children or even the family, in visiting the lake. We would go across the suspension bridge that connected to the small island in the lake, watching and feeding the large fish, with small balls of kneaded flour or atta.
There was a small ornamental garden called the Lilly Pool, near the entrance of the lake. It had beautifully manicured lawns and an abundance of colorful flowers. We had a few family picnics in this garden. For our regular walker, that is Mataji, she would encircle the complete lake, making about five kilometers for her morning walk.

Calcutta is a city with a soul and culture very typical of the Bengal you read about in the multitude of well-known writers. I will talk less about Calcutta and more of my life in the formative years of my life in Calcutta. For those readers of mine who want to see Kolkata through my eyes - please visit my blog http://tnagpal.blogspot.com/search?q=kolkata, I am sure that you will love it.

Conch Shell Blowing

Around dusk, there would be the soothing sound of conch shells coming from all households and shops. The shops in the market would burn a very sweet and strong-smelling incense to purify the atmosphere (and of course to overcome the "fishy" smell of the city). These sounds and the smell are as much a part of the city as a living being. Dusk is the puja time. Calcutta was well known for its nightlife and night clubs. The bhadralok would step out of the houses to visit their favorite haunts, be it a bar or a club. Donning a gajra of strong-smelling mogra or similar flowers on the wrists, along with a spotless dhoti and kurta, they exude a very regal presence. After 10.30pm - our Bengali neighbors would start frying the fish, the smell of which would permeate the atmosphere. The bhadralok would generally arrive home anytime after midnight. This was a regular feature in most middle-class and upper-class households. We did not get much direct exposure to the lower strata of the society, but I believe that the menfolk would normally return home drunk and would often get into brawls with each other or indulge in violence at home.

I was always fond of having a dog or some other pet. Till now my parents did not permit me to indulge in this luxury, the condition was that I will have to give my full time for it. Being a Punjabi and from north India, milk was an important constituent of our diet, as we were growing up. Pitaji managed to rope in a milkman who would come to the gate of our house and milk his cow then and there, the white foamy milk collected in a bucket clamped between his knees as he squatted to do the needful. He also brought a calf that would remain close to the front of the cow while he did the milking. The stupid cow would think that the calf is suckling and having the milk while the milkman filled his bucket. Once I noticed that instead of a calf, the milkman had a small wooden log with the skin of the calf wrapped on it, he suspended it near the front of the cow. The cow would lick that contraption while getting milked. How dumb are the animals, compared to us, the crafty humans.
We would get fresh milk in our utensils. All four kids, my 3 sisters and me, hated milk. So invariably some milk would remain leftover by us dodging the intake of the recommended quantity. We did not have a fridge in those days and often the leftover milk curdled. Cats are really smart animals and one white cat with yellow patches adopted us. We started feeding her regularly with milk - curdled or otherwise. She became most comfortable with me and our family that she even had a litter in our drawing-room under a small low diwan. It was a litter of very sweet-looking three kittens. They were duly christened Beauty, Cutey, and Sweety by Prem and Pushpa.

Pitaji's office at the Indian Museum was on Chowringhee and there was a direct and very convenient tram connection from the Lake Market to his office. It was so convenient that his office peon Ganesh would come home and carry Pitaji's dabba (lunch box) to enable him to get a hot meal. It was a tall lunch galvanized grey-colored lunch box with a double outer layer. It housed 4 inner containers and food remained warm in the case for more than a few hours. A monthly tram pass was also made for Ganesh, which allowed 2 journeys (one in each direction) every day.

Mataji had become a vegetarian after I was born, it was done to fulfill some mannat (a promise to the deity or god). Pitaji also became a vegetarian though he was less rigid about it. At home, only Neena and I were the only regulars for having non-vegetarian food. So much so that we became self-sufficient for it. I would buy the mutton and wash and clean it and Neena would do the cooking. I would often help her and developed my cooking skills which even hold me in good stead to date, I developed my basics in cooking very well. To augment our non-veg food, I once got fish from the Lake Market, mutton was not available in this market. Neena and I tried cooking it, we messed it up, it became like a halwa and the smell seemed to just linger on in the house for the next few days. I was getting desperate to eat some non-veg stuff, so Pitaji invited me to his office on one Saturday, as our school was closed on weekends. I went with Ganesh when he came to fetch Pitaji's lunch box. Pitaji had sent for a plate of chicken curry from Punjab Hotel (a dhaba, not far from his office, located on Lindsay Street). It was a small eatery and we had gone there with the family earlier - something like the Kake da Hotel in Connaught Place in New Delhi. The preparations were absolutely yummy, loaded with spices and ghee (oil was taboo in Punjabi eateries). I loved this lunch so much that it became my Saturday ritual. After lunch, I would hang around in his office, play with the typewriter, go up and down the manual lift, which resembled a cage. It was enjoyable for an 11-year-old. Then finally I would return home with Pitaji at the end of his office time. He was a person of few words, there were no lectures or sermons or tips for life. Mostly we both remained in our respective thoughts and worlds. It never occurred to me that Neena would have also loved this meal - I guess I was too self-centered.

At times Pitaji would have an invite to attend a Bengali wedding feast, and I loved tagging along for these, mainly for the food; I loved the Bengali food. Mutton curry, fish curry, and fried fish were the essentials along with at least two sweets like raj bhog, sandesh, rossogulla. I had a sweet tooth plus a non-veg tooth and I never missed a wedding feast. In contrast, if there was any other wedding, Punjabi, Marwari etc - it was strictly vegetarian food. I also developed a great liking for the luchchi - the small pooris made of the refined flour. Developed a love for eating with the hand. I still enjoy my rice and curry with my hand.

Life was good as a child and I savored and enjoyed every bit of it. Calcutta always seemed to be celebrating some pooja or some function all the time. I had picked up a reasonable amount of Bengali and was managing to converse with the pada crowd. I could understand them fully and managed to communicate with words of English and Hindi thrown in the conversation. After defeating a boy of my age and size in a friendly wrestling match and I was accepted as a part of the gang. Reminds me of wolves (and dogs) I guess that is how their packs and territories grow bigger. I starting accompanying the group of boys in collecting chanda (donations) for the festivals. Was generally around for handy jobs in the pandals and even accompanying the group when they went for the visarjan (immersion of the idols, in the Hooghly river), with all the drums and music and a lot of vermillion being smeared on all.

EMAM-DASTA

SIL-VATTA

Vishvakarma Puja was the kite flying festival for us and the Calcutta sky used to be a riot of color with kites of all hues and sizes. BHOKATA was the war cry we yelled when we succeeded in cutting the string of the opponents' kite during the pech (duel of kites). It was in this period that I not only learnt to fly kites but also learnt making the manja (kite string with embedded glass powder) to get an advantage during the pech.
A lot of waste glass - bottles, bulbs, etc. - was collected, pounded, and ground into a fine powder in the emam-dasta (kitchen pestle and mortar) of wrought iron. Then this glass powder was mixed in the glue that was made by boiling refined flour. Care had to be taken to avoid the formation of lumps. The plain string would then be strung around two lamp posts in the street while applying the glue with glass powder by bare hands. (We had never thought that gloves could be used, if at all). The string would remain on the lamp posts for a good part of the day in bright sunlight to dry it completely before coiling it on the charki(s) - the spools on which the string is coiled while flying the kite. Making the manja caused a great displeasure in my family as I needed the pestle and mortar of our home. The Bengali homes used sil-vatta - which was not at all suitable for the job. Once there was a minor mishap - a bovine trundled through our manja that was drying on the lamp posts; bringing us to tears.

Traditional Dance during Puja

The Durga Puja is celebrated across Calcutta for 10 days, with pandaals erected all over the city. One gets variety of savories and Bengali cuisine in each pandaal. Stalls for sale of clothes are also common. The evening hours are for puja, with conch shell sounds, loud drums, dances, and burning of incenses. The festivities generally carry on for the entire day, however, the evenings see the women folk decked up and dressed in all the finery and jewelry. Most of them are dressed in traditional white sarees with red zari borders. Generally, dances, songs, and plays are performed throughout the night

Life could not have been better. It seemed all fun and play. The studies at school continued at their own pace without any special emphasis on performance or ranks or undue pressures that we see on the children these days.

We meet again in My Story 3, of my schooling at the South Point. Click here to continue.

My Story 1 - My entry into the world. Kashmiri Gate.

2020-05-28T01:09:00.001+05:30

Modern School, Barakhamba Road

I am taking up the pen again, the present lockdown due to the COVID-19 scare does leave us with time at hand. Rather than go into a depression due to idleness, I decided I shall just be penning the story of my life - as I remember - as seen through my eyes.

My earliest memories are of our house in Kashmiri Gate, Delhi, where I was born and spent nearly the first ten years of my life. It was a government accommodation - a stand-alone bungalow.

My memory always showed the bungalow as a massive and very large property. I was disappointed and realized that it was not all that large when I visited the place with my wife and daughter, many years later. In childhood, one has a small frame and small steps, and the distances appear longer than what they are in reality. The bungalow also appeared massive in my childhood memories.

Initially, the bungalow had 3 rooms. One was a large hall, which was our living cum dining room, It became an extended bedroom during the winters. The second room, on the western side of the hall and covering its full western wall, was a kind of a large storeroom. The third room, on the southern side of the hall, was also fairly large and longish. It was a bedroom cum pooja room. It also served as a labor room during my birth. There was a very large verandah on the northern side of the hall, that had a sloping roof of clay red tiles which was the hallmark design of English cottages and bungalows. This verandah opened into a cemented courtyard. The courtyard and the verandah were the family sleeping areas during the summer and the rainy seasons. We had a fairly large kitchen on the eastern side of the courtyard. It was in a separate building altogether and was not a part of the main building. The eastern side of the hall had an open passage connecting to the bathroom on its southern end.

A lot of additions were done later on and I recall the addition of at least 5 more rooms over the years. 3 were made on the northern end of the courtyard, One of these was a small-sized room (probably about 6’x6’) and we called it the kothri. It was used primarily for storing coal (soft coke) and firewood for the hearth. Our kitchen used these fuels only. Kerosene stoves were a rarity. Cooking gas had not come to this part of the country, though piped natural gas was known to be available in some areas of Bombay and Calcutta, a legacy of the British Raj. The area in between the kitchen and the rest of the house had a tap and a washing bay, that was used for washing clothes as well as the kitchen utensils. My family here consisted of my parents and four elder sisters. There was another older sister, Phulan, she was already married and stayed separately with her husband and her children. Her place was also in Kashmiri Gate, though it was about 2 km from our house. On the north side, we had a row of rooms that housed the domestic helps and their families. Dhobi, sweeper and cleaner families lived these rooms. Their housing was also built like the English cottages having clay-tiled roofs.

Our bungalow was located on what was known as 5 Lothian Road. Now it is shown as "Kela Ghat Marg" in the present-day maps. The house was on a 7 to 8 foot higher ground than the road and about 50 meters off the main road. Presently the area is shown as Priyadarshini Colony - in the Google maps. The river Yamuna was almost where we have the present day Ring Road on the north side, Frequent floods in the river used to cause a lot of hardship and devastation. One could invariably see human corpses as well as domestic animals like goats, dogs, and cows being carried away in the flooded and fast-flowing river. During floods, quite a bit of the Kela Ghat Marg would be underwater and the river waters would threaten us from the steps as well as a sloping ramp that lead to the higher ground where our bungalow was located. Flood water did not ever our area because of the higher ground.

The next few paras are, of course, from hearsay and not my memory:

It was a cold December morning much before sunrise, with just a few days before the New Year of 1946, when my mom (she was called Mataji), Lilawati, went into labor before I was born. Although it was peak winter, the atmosphere in Delhi was hot and burning in those pre-partition days. A night curfew was clamped in the whole city with a shoot at sight orders. Shouts of Allah ho Akbar, Jo Bole so Nihal and Jai Bajrangbali could be heard amongst the clanging of swords and sound of gunfire. Screams and yells of humanity rent the air. My father had to go unseen and hidden to fetch the midwife to deliver me into this world.

I was born around 4 am. Word was sent to Phulan's house that an important event had taken place and she has been blessed with a young brother after a long wait of the parents after 5 daughters. What do we see next morning! Phulan and her family coming to our Kashmiri Gate bungalow with a regular brass band that one sees in traditional Indian weddings, to celebrate the birth of a son in the family! I was born with sounds of gunfire and swishing of swords and heralded into this world amidst sounds of trumpets and drums. I am sure, not many can boast of such a welcome into this world.

My other siblings were Neena, Prem, Pushpa, and Devika, in the increasing order of age.

My name had to start with the letter "T", it was drawn from Guru Granth Saheb, the holy book of the Sikhs. Accordingly, I was christened Triloki Nath, another name of the Lord Shiva, meaning the lord of the three worlds. During my growing up years, I was very protected and always treated with kid gloves. The son is the most important being in a Hindu family. He is looked upon as the torchbearer for the future generations. He is required to light the funeral pyre of his father to ensure the latter's entry into heaven. We had a family astrologer by the name of Ghananand. He was always consulted for all our family's religious needs. My birthdays were celebrated with a havan and it was followed by distribution of grains equal to my weight plus cooked rotis equal to my height when stacked. All this was done to ensure a long and healthy life for me. A huge weighing scale suspended from a tripod made of thick wooden bamboos would have to be erected in our courtyard for the purpose. I was made to sit in my underclothes in one pan of the weighing scale and a sack of grain with an open mouth would sit on the other pan. The grain would be added into the sack until it balanced my weight.

My oldest memory is when I was just around 2 years of age, I had gone to Vaishno Devi with my parents, to get my hair shorn - mundan. I do not have any recollection of the journey but I do recall the hot paved courtyard where my hair was shorn, and I was barefooted having great discomfort. I do recall seeing my picture in our archives with shoulder-length hair before going for the mundan ceremony. I also remember crawling on my stomach to enter the cave of the deity at Vaishno Devi. This was my first and last visit to this place.

The evening celebrations were non-religious and generally included the performance of any popular English play to be staged by my 4 elder sisters who were being educated in the most reputed convent of the time - Presentation Convent. The stage would be set up most professionally, with footlights, a draw curtain that could be closed with drawstrings. I can still recall two very well known plays very vividly, which were performed in our home theatre; viz., “Bishop’s Candlesticks” and “Blue Beard”. My sisters were very resourceful and used to get all the props for the play and well as the scripts from their school. I still recall the silver candlesticks that had been borrowed from the school for the occasion. I, on the other hand, did not study in a convent. My father was of the opinion that boys become too docile if they are taught by the nuns. So I had my schooling in Modern School at Barakhamba Road - which was considered the number one school in competition with St. Columba's School.

The whole environment would be that of a festival matching the decorations of a pompous Indian wedding. This continued for the first ten years of my life before we moved to Calcutta because of the transfer of my father to the National Museum, Calcutta. He had got transferred in 1951, however, the family moved to Calcutta only in 1955.

While we were in Kashmiri Gate, a back room and the open space at the back was let out to a Sikh family who had two boys. The boys were probably a year or two older than me and were bullies. We never played together, in fact, I did not like them at all. In fact, I felt vastly relieved and happy when they vacated the place around 1952. The backroom and the entire open space came into our possession and was never let out again as long as we lived in this house. Later we did get a couple of our relatives viz., Yoginder (YL Arora) and Satish Gulati to stay in our back room. The open space had the passage through the back room. It was now converted into a vegetable patch and we had a good sprawled out kitchen garden with my first exposure to vegetable plants like bhindi, brinjals, tomato, peas, beans, karela, pumpkin, watermelon, cucumber and many more. Everything comes with a price, hordes of monkeys had started coming in to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Mataji had green fingers and the garden prospered well with her efforts. With our own garden, I started to develop an interest in nature, insects, birds, etc. I started keeping caterpillars in a shoebox and would wait for them to emerge as butterflies. A few of them did emerge as moths but none as butterflies.

Once I found a baby sparrow that had probably fallen out of a nest and was too tiny to fly. I kept it in a shoebox and tried feeding it for a couple of days but it just died. I was most embarrassed and ashamed and I did not tell anyone at home, not even my sister Neena who was just a bit older than a year and we shared most of my secrets.

I did have a few friends in the neighborhood. One nearby bungalow had a family (Ahujas) and there was a boy of my age. I do not recall his name, however, I do recall some of his toys though. He had a train set which fascinated me. They also had a fridge - which was a rarity in that period. The father was a senior government official and they had also spent some time abroad - probably in England. I recall another neighbor's family, the Mathurs. They had children closer to Prem's age and Prem had found a friend - a girl from that family. The Mathurs' bungalow had a bigger open lawn and I recall Ram-Lila festivities being celebrated there. As a matter of fact, the characters who dressed/acted as Ram, Lakshman and Sita were revered by the crowd and many of the spectators bowed before them and touched their feet in obeisance.

Then we had a Sindhi family staying nearby, the Tahilramanis. The gentleman was a senior official in the Posts & Telegraphs. He was tall fair and handsome. Their flat was on the first floor in a building adjacent to the present day GPO. From their back courtyard of their flat one could look into our back courtyard (vegetable garden) and we could converse or exchange pleasantries very easily, the crow's flight distance being just about 15 meters. The wife was a housewife, as it used to be in almost all cases, a chubby sweet and short woman - very loving to all of us. Their son Subhash was almost my age, maybe a year senior. He had an older sister Indra, who was Neena's friend and her age. There were two younger siblings, Chandralekha (Munni) and Ashok (Kiku). The youngest - Kiku - was born during the course of our friendship. Subhash and I had gone to their old residence a few years ago. The place had been converted to a guest house of the Posts and Telegraphs Department. We are still in contact with the family. Subhash and Indra do meet Neena and me quite regularly. Subhash is settled in Saginaw (MI, USA). Indra lives in Mumbai. Her children are also settled in the US. Our parents did not have much interaction with each other, but the children did. We used to play together every evening and our favorite play area was the green areas around the present day "British Magazine Memorial", opposite the General Post Office at Kashmiri Gate. As children, the various games that we indulged in or played in the limited area available to us were: Pithhoo (7 tiles), Hide and Seek, Geete (5 stones), hopscotch, skipping et all. It was generally just four of us in the group - Indra, Subhash, Neena, and me. Prem was much older and Munni was much too young. We lived in the Kashmiri-Gate house till mid-1955, before we permanently moved to Calcutta.

Around 1951, Pitaji had got transferred to Calcutta on promotion as the Administrative Officer to the Indian Museum. However, we did not all move to Calcutta as Prem was to complete their Senior Cambridge. Pushpa fell sick and was diagnosed with meningitis and was hospitalized. The parents decided that Pitaji should accept and proceed to Calcutta and Mataji would stay back with the children and would move only after the problem of Pushpa's illness and Prem's school final were resolved. She became quite serious and was hospitalized in Irwin Hospital (present-day LNJP Hospital). Pushpa was very critical in some of the phases of the sickness and had to battle with life and death. As Pitaji was in Calcutta and Mataji had to battle it out without his support plus looking after 3 children at home. Prem was the eldest and was just about 13-14 years of age. Neena and I were between 5-7 years old. Pushpa's hospitalization lasted about thirteen months and Mataji had to spend all her time in the hospital leaving Prem in charge of the home and the two siblings. It was a tough life for both Mataji and Prem. The latter had to not only look after two siblings but also manage the kitchen and the cooking. This period with Prem brought Neena and me quite close to Prem. She was like our parent who had to look after both of us along with managing the household for the entire length of Pushpa's hospitalization. She had to invent stories and anecdotes to keep Neena and me engrossed and in awe. Using her very vivid imagination, she created stories out of shapes of clouds that flitted across the sky, stories made from the play of lights that would fall on the large side wall of our kitchen from any vehicle would headlights coming down on the unnamed road coming right in front of our colony from the side of St James Church in Kashmiri Gate. Ghost stories would be made up by her by the imaginary shapes on the neem tree after it became dark. The massive neem was in the north-east corner just outside of the hall. The squirrels used to make an unusual side, with a little imagination, you could hear the tinkling of anklets or ghungroos. There was such a fertile ground for an imaginative storyteller - ghungaroos and the shadows on the tree; and Prem was really good at creating stories from anything and everything. At times when she would bungle in the making of the quantity of dough for the rotis, she had to hide the excess dough by tossing it in a ball of the slanting red-tiled roof of the verandah.

We had a lot of fat monkeys and their families as visitors in this house. They would invariably find their way to the verandah’s sloping roof and create quite a havoc there - fighting to grab the dough balls or the leftover roties thrown on the roof by Prem. The racket created by them would make us wonder if the clay tiles would hold on and not start braking and collapsing. There was a huge neem tree overhanging on the roof of the verandah, which was the playground for the monkeys, squirrels, and a variety of birds and insects. We could often spot a large honeycomb high up branches of the neem.

Prem did prove to be the biggest support for Mataji during Pushpa’s sickness in being able to look after the house as well as her two young siblings viz., Neena, and me. The house problems and issues were getting resolved. Mataji’s strongest anchor during the crisis and illness of Puspa was our family astrologer, Pandit Ghananand, without whom no decision was taken during this crisis period. He had predicted that Pushpa would recover fully, in spite of her close brushes with death and long hospitalization. When it was finally decided and the complete family moved to Calcutta in April-May 1955, the happiest persons would have been Mataji and Prem, for their respective reasons. Mataji was finally able to be able to depend on Pitaji for the innumerable problems that she had faced all alone with the 4 children with the eldest in hospital in a critical condition most of the time. Prem, who had her childhood snatched from her by the added responsibility of the hearth and two young siblings. Pandit Ghananand also got left behind and we moved on to the typical happy family. Pushpa got admitted into the Calcutta National Medical College for pursuing her MBBS as per her life’s desire. Prem joined BA in Asutosh College to pursue her love for English Literature. Neena and I joined South Point School in class 7 and 5 respectively.

Before I move to Calcutta with my next chapter, I would like to share some of the anecdotes that come to my mind as I pen (or rather, type) this document. Let m share some of them with you.

As mentioned earlier, Phoolan’s house was less than a couple of kilometers away and she had some of her children even older than the 3 of us, Prem, Neena, and me. Her one daughter Mohini was quite friendly with Neena as they were almost of similar age. She was extremely naughty in her childhood days. One day when we had gone to Phulan’s house, we children - Mohini, Neena, and I had gone to the market. Mohini hatched a plan of stealing guavas from a fruit vendor selling the fruits on a hand cart. The plan was that each of us would pick one/two fruits at a signal from Mohini and run for it. Mohini managed to pick two guavas, Neena picked one and yours truly just panicked and ran without any fruit. We ran on without looking back, till we reached Phoolan’s house. Neena hurt her hand on the next day. She felt that she had sinned so that hand injury happened. Result of her convent upbringing.

Delhi summers were hot even in those days with temperatures going up to 40+ deg C and we had dust storms and loo (hot winds) even in those days. The hall had a wide door (about 6 feet) opening into the passage on the eastern side, into the passage for the bathroom. In summer months we had a khas ki tatti (wicker frame with fragrant grass) covering the entire doorway opening. My parents had got a G.I. pipe connected to the water supply fitted on to of the tati, that had drilled holes on the eny=tire length. This was connected to the main water supply of the house through a valve. So keeping the khas wet was no big deal and did not require a great effort of a person to keep splashing water on it. There were no G.I. sheet desert coolers we have in abundance these days.

I was not just naughty but also quite destructive. A heap of clothes used to lie for washing on the stone slab outside the bathroom. One day I just lit a match and just burnt them. Neena was also there and witnessed the destruction She was absolutely dumbfounded by my act. She could not keep the secret and I received a thrashing from Mataji.

One day Subhash and I were playing near his house. A truck was parked there and we would get into the driver’s cabin and jump out on a sand heap nearby - pretend to be doing a get-away. In one jump Subhash landed at a peculiar angle and started howling that his bone had broken. Some workers nearby immediately came and took him inside. I was very scared, I went away home without even knowing if he was badly hurt. When I came to play the next day, his arm was in plaster. He actually had a fracture.

So with these anecdotes, I close my Delhi (Kashmiri Gate) Chapter, please click here to move to Calcutta in Story 2.

Growing up in CP - Lalit Narula

2019-11-11T11:46:00.002+05:30

Growing up in CP

LALIT NIRULA

Dilliwallahs was a term used for people whose families had been living in Old Delhi – or Purani Dilli – for generations. My family migrated to Delhi in the 1920s and settled in a brand new, still-under-construction, 20,000 inhabitant-strong, New Delhi. And that, I guess, would technically make us Nai Dilliwalas! My folks were one of the few Punjabi families who lived in Delhi in the ’20s and I, the Nai Dilliwala or CP wallah, was born at Lady Hardinge Hospital, just a stone’s throw from Connaught Place. The first four years of my life were spent at Hanuman Road, right next to CP and from then on, for the next 58 years, I lived and worked in CP.

My father remembered seeing a train track passing through the not-yet-completed Connaught Place complex, en-route to Raisina Hill, carrying building material for the under-construction Rashtrapati Bhavan, North and South Blocks and Parliament House. While the whole complex of the inner and outer circle is popularly known as Connaught Place, or CP, the outer ring of buildings was called Connaught Circus and the inner ring was called Connaught Place. Most of the buildings came up in the ’20s and ’30s and the last buildings to come up were as late as the ’50s.

There was a big divide between the old parts of Delhi and the new, culturally and physically. I remember an aunt telling me how in the late ’20s, she returned to Delhi by train with her brother and got off at the main Delhi station which was in Old Delhi. As her husband lived and worked in New Delhi, she wanted to go there immediately. However, it was winter and dark when she alighted from the train, and she was advised not to venture towards New Delhi until the next morning, as in the area between the walls of Old Delhi (where Asaf Ali Road and Ramlila grounds are now located) and Connaught Place, there was a jungle and it was not safe to travel at night!

CP was not a favoured shopping centre in the early days and there were very few people who wanted to open retail outlets there. While the ground and mezzanine floors were commercial space, the upper floors were residential and till the ’70s, continued to be primarily residential.

My father and uncle were young bachelors running a photo studio in D-Block and, being fond of good food, had to travel to Chandni Chowk or Kashmiri Gate in Old Delhi to get a proper meal. So was born the idea of starting a small hotel with a restaurant on half the upper floor of D-Block so they could be assured of good food! Encouraged by their neighbour, Mr Beaty of S.M.G. Beaty, they opened Hotel India in 1934. Hotel India became popular, as the only other hotel that existed in New Delhi at that time was a luxury hotel, The Imperial. Marina Hotel in G-Block came up a little later.

While CP was still developing, my father and uncle discovered a large ground floor location being used for charpai storage on the corner of L-Block in the outer circle. They negotiated with the four owners and took it on rent and opened a first class restaurant and bar serving continental and Indian food and named it Nirulas Corner House in early 1942.

During the War years, business improved substantially and the restaurant became well-known for its food and entertainment which included cabarets, flamenco dancers, magicians, and performance ballroom dancing. A friend’s father told me that as a young cavalry officer in the early ’40s, posted in Delhi Cantonment during the war, he would motorcycle down to our restaurant once a week to have ‘desi khana’, as all he got in his very pukka British Army Mess was insipid British food!
An Englishman who met me in the ’90s showed me one of our table d’hote menus from the early ’40s that offered two 5 course meals, for two rupees each! His father had picked up the menu when he was posted in India.

Gol Dakhana (GPO), New Delhi.

I remember being told of a legendary gourmand, a very eminent tall and rotund lawyer who was a regular at our restaurant for lunch. He would sit at his favourite table and ask the butler, Jameel, what was being offered. He would select one of the full meals and many times, after finishing it, would proceed to enquire about what else was available as he was still a little hungry. He would then order the second meal and proceed to finish that as well.

Christmas and New Year’s eve were magical times for me. The restaurant would be decorated for the festive season on the evening of 22 December, the eve of my birthday. I would go there on the 23rd and be delighted to see all the decorations which I thought had been done specially for me! Imagine my delight at seeing a sparkly, brightly festooned Connaught Place done up just to wish me a happy birthday.
Besides our establishment, there were two other restaurants in CP by then, both owned and run by foreigners – Davico’s, the present Standard Restaurant in Regal Building and Wengers. In the ’40s and ’50s many more restaurants opened – Kwality, Gaylord, Volga, Alps, United Coffee House, York, and more.

Post 1947, my family realized that with the British leaving, market requirements had changed. They closed down the existing restaurant and in 1950 started three new restaurants in the same space.
The first one was a 150-seat modern cafeteria which catered to the large new middle class, and soon became very popular. It introduced into India – what is now commonplace – clean hygienic food cooked to order in front of the customer, with payment at the end of the cafeteria line. It also introduced the long milk shake spoon which would often be in short supply as it became a great souvenir item!
The second restaurant was a ‘brasserie’ modelled on the ones in France, but the concept was 50 years before its time and not very successful. The third restaurant, the Chinese Room, was the first de luxe Chinese restaurant in India owned by non-Chinese people. It ran successfully for over 55 years.
The Chinese Room’s first chef, Li Wo Po, was introduced to us by the interior designer, Edwin Chan. Li Wo Po had come to India in ’42 with Chiang Kai Shek and decided to stay on. He was very happily married to a South Indian lady. They had an ideal relationship , as he did not speak English or any Indian language and she only spoke her mother tongue! How they communicated remains a mystery.
He came to work wearing a suit, but without a tie and was a great chef in the classical sense of the word. While communicating with him was difficult without an interpreter, he did manage to get his requirements across. I remember being in the office when he arrived all upset about something and started going red in the face as he tried explaining something he wanted and which my father was not able to understand. He then rushed off and returned with an egg which he placed on a chair, half sat on it and then said ‘no no’! It subsequently transpired that for his soup stock, he was getting hens while he wanted old male chickens.

In the ’40s and early ’50s, it was quite common for the well-off to go out for dinner and dance as all restaurants had a live band, many with crooners. As the ’50s and ’60s progressed, this became more and more expensive and by the early ’70s few restaurants had a band.

In 1958, we had opened the first modern fully air conditioned 3-star hotel in India at L-Block, above the restaurant complex. By the late ’50s, my family had seen the trend and in 1960, shut down the cafeteria and brasserie and opened two speciality restaurants without any live music. One was for Indian food and was called Gufa, with the interiors done by a close family friend, the artist, M.R. Acharekar, who had won Filmfare’s best art director award three times. He got his team of set designers from Bombay to do the work, and the restaurant was unique in its presentation. Created like the Ajanta Ellora caves, the entire service was silver and the waiters were dressed in white and red with high pugdees. The restaurant had three different chefs – one for vegetarian cuisine, one for meat, chicken and fish curries, and one for tandoori dishes.
I had by then started working part-time in the restaurants and was present in the office when the meat chef was being interviewed. He was a burly Sikh who had worked with the Maharaja of Patiala and when asked what his food was like, his reply was that it was of such good quality that our customers would taste it in their burp’s 24 hours later! He was hired but his rich food was toned down substantially to meet the digestive requirements of mere mortals.

The second restaurant was called ‘La Boheme’ and was designed by Luc Durant, a Swiss architect based in Delhi. La Boheme was avant garde and set a trend in food, concept and design. It had a wood beamed ceiling with the beams set at different heights. Jute fabric runners in black and white ran over and under these beams and lights in cylindrical lampshades with a switch, hung low over every table. Specializing in Austro-Hungarian cuisine, La Boheme served continental food. It was the first restaurant to serve a large variety of coffee and boasted of the second espresso machine in India, a chrome beauty by Gaggia. Heading the kitchen was the Hungarian Mrs. Messinger, a professional chef who made the best apple strudel I have ever eaten.

The restaurant was a novel concept and became popular with artists and writers and the regular business and shopping crowd who visited CP. It also became a favourite haunt of young couples as at that time there was a dearth of places for the young to hang out. After a few months we had to remove the light switches from the lamps that hung on top of the tables, so that the lights were always on, particularly in the quiet corners that had become very popular with them!
In the ’50s and ’60s, Sunday noon saw the college going trendsetters at jam sessions hosted by restaurants. These sessions served two purposes; first, the crowd got to hang out and meet new people and second, the dancing was considered quite trendy. These were times that saw the birth of the chacha cha and the twist.

Most of the corporate offices in Delhi in the ’50s and ’60s were located either at CP or Asaf Ali Road. It was the done thing among the managerial class, the shop owners and the local politicians to go to a restaurant for a mid-morning and early evening break. In the early 1960s, a very popular large India Coffee House was started by the Coffee Board in the area where the underground Palika parking is today, opening onto the inner circle. It soon became a favourite among politicians, the press and the ‘intellectuals’. When Palika Bazaar was planned in the late ’70s, it was removed to an upper floor of a building on Baba Kharak Singh Marg where it currently languishes.

By the time my generation reached college, we started visiting restaurants to listen to the music, and there were some good bands playing jazz. Of course, we could not afford to eat anything and had to make do with a coffee or a cold drink. As we wanted to spend the maximum time possible in the restaurant, and there were free coffee refills, this was not an issue. However, if one did not like coffee, bottles of coke were ordered and drunk with a paper straw pinched in the middle to reduce the flow of the cola to make it last for at least an hour.

Nirulas Corner House, L-Block, Connaught Circus.

By the mid ’60s, restaurants in CP wised-up to our money saving techniques and put a limit of two cups of coffee per person. They had discovered that even with a full house in the evenings, their sales were minimal and constituted primarily of coke and coffee.
In the early ’70s, with maximum income tax levels being 97.5 per cent along with managerial salary restrictions, the CP restaurants, including ours, found business dwindling. This prompted our experiment in ’71 with a new style of restaurant in CP, where food offered was very reasonably priced, cooked to order and picked up from counters. It had a variety of Indian and Anglo-Indian food items as well as soft drinks, soft ice cream and selected bakery products. It became very popular, with both maharajah’s and taxi drivers visiting it and even ending up sharing tables, where they ate the food standing.

In ’48, our residence moved to D-Block in the inner circle of buildings from Gokul Niwas in M-Block where we had lived for a couple of years. It was one of the few upper floors in CP which had an entrance from the inner circle verandah while most others had their entrance from the back of the building. As our building had only one upper floor, the ceilings were almost 18 feet high and we had internal courtyards for air and light besides a huge 12 foot wide verandah running the full length of the building and facing the park. We slept in it during the summer or on the roof with mosquito netting and it was magical in summer at night watching the stars and seeing the clouds move over the moon. Of course, any rain would cause much scrambling to remove the beds to safety. One of summer’s compensations was the fragrant motia (jasmine) strung into a small mala (necklace), available from the vendors roaming the corridors. Women would wear these malas in their hair or on their wrists. The men would buy them for the women and I would wrap one in a wet handkerchief to keep it fresh, and go to sleep with it next to my pillow.

The road on which D-Block was located abutted the building with a narrow pavement and cars (the few that were there) parked perpendicular to the building. The central park was much larger in those days as it included the area which is now the road, whilst the road was where today’s parking lots are located. During summer, a water tanker with a spray at the back would make a round of the CP roads in the morning, spraying water to keep the dust down. This continued until the ’60s.
The Central Park was divided into four parts with a small circular raised section in the middle like a bandstand where the Police Band would play every Friday. In the ’60s, a fountain was unsuccessfully installed in its place and the pavement surrounding it sometimes had impromptu art shows and other such happenings. This area now houses the metro station.
The park primarily had gulmohar trees and beds of canna lilies while the circumference was lined with jamun trees. As children we would throw stones at the trees to bring the fruit down, albeit unsuccessfully! And during the jamun season, fruit contractors would lay down large sheets onto which they harvested the ripe fruit by vigorously shaking the branches. We played cricket in the park in the 1950s using a gulmohar tree as the wicket. Its end came only recently when the Metro station was built.

I distinctly remember August 1947. We were not allowed to go outside after sundown. Late evenings were pitch dark, the shops were closed and one could clearly hear the sound of sirens. Sleeping on the roof, I remember looking towards Old Delhi and seeing a reddish glow in the sky and being told that there were fires burning in that area.
What I remember most distinctly after that was probably the second half of ’47 and ’48 when the inner circle was more crowded than it had ever been. The verandahs were full of people and walking space was limited as the refugees had opened little stalls with gas lanterns on the covered corridor floor. These people were initially shifted to Irwin Road (Baba Kharak Singh Marg) and Panchkuian Road where they opened kiosks and then some were later shifted to what became Mohan Singh Market. Many other pavement vendors were also shifted to Queensway (Janpath), as well as across the outer circle near Shankar Market, and are still there. Though Oriental Fruit Mart in E-Block was supposed to be the best fruit shop in New Delhi, the new Irwin Road fruit shops, opposite Rivoli cinema, soon became popular as they sold the best in terms of quality and price.

One of the most frequented dhabas in New Delhi in the ’50s and ’60s, Kake da Hotel, opened across the road from our restaurants and continues to be popular. It was then run by two brothers, each one doing either lunch or dinner with their own raw material and freshly cooked meals. Hence the food served was always freshly cooked and not leftover from the previous meal.
We were also taken for dinner to Moti Mahal in Daryaganj by the parents for tandoori food which was still a rare treat in the Delhi of that era. Kundan Lal, the owner of Moti Mahal, introduced Delhi to the delights of tandoori chicken as normally meats were cooked on horizontal skewers on a charcoal grill and the tandoor was used for cooking rotis and naans. I remember him as a large, smiling man with a large moustache, wearing a pathan suit with a pathani topi, who always greeted his regular customers at the entrance. I think he was also the inventor of ‘butter chicken’ which I was told came about when his chicken curry finished and to provide a gravy chicken dish, he took a half-done tandoori chicken, added butter, tomatoes and spices and cooked it in a frying pan. It has now become so popular that it has replaced the traditional chicken curry in popularity and is synonymous with Delhi cuisine!
CP was a very quiet place at night in the ’40s and early ’50s and I remember going for a family picnic in the inner park as it was absolutely deserted by 8 pm. I learned to cycle in the Central Park in the solitude of the early mornings. We often went for picnics to Qutab Minar and Okhla, which really seemed to be in the countryside, a long way away from CP. And the long distance made a visit to them into day trips. The area around Qutab Minar, including Mehrauli, had mango orchards and had some bungalows, and I remember hearing that the ‘Dilliwala Seth’s’ who lived in the walled city, had country homes here to house their mistresses! India Gate lawns with King George V at one end and Rashtrapati Bhavan at the other was also a favourite place in the summer evenings and for lunch during winter months up to the early ’60s as there were few people there. A favourite activity for us kids was rowing at the Boat Club.

I think most people in Delhi do not realize how the city has grown and that too, relatively recently. One day in 1962, my father and chacha brought me to an area full of fields, just beyond Moti Bagh, and showed a hillock they had bought. From the top of the hillock we could see people farming. This entire area now comprises R.K. Puram, Vasant Vihar, Anand Niketan, Shanti Niketan and West End!
Going for a picnic with college friends to Hauz Khas in ’61 is vivid in my memory and the monuments were then surrounded by a forest! I also remember a small village there, with no other habitation.
Very few cars were seen in the late ’40s and ’50s. The public transport system was not able to cope with the population growth post-1947. With the spread of Delhi, most people resorted to travel by bicycle. At 9.30 am, we could see hordes of bicycles interspersed with a few cars in CP. The most unusual bicyclist I saw from our first floor wore a dressing gown and was armed with a toothbrush in one hand. I have still not been able to fathom what this person was up to!
As we lived in D-Block, the Republic Day Parade would pass by on the street in front of us every other year and next to us on alternate years. As a matter of routine, this event would see many people visiting us who discovered that they had not met us for a long time and would, coincidentally, lean over the verandah railings to watch the parade pass by!

My schooling started at the age of four in a tent at Delhi Public School (DPS), a new school started by Reverend J.D. Tytler, a big (to me as a little child), smiling and very red-faced bearded man. It was located in the grounds of Cathedral Church of the Redemption in Church Lane near Rashtrapati Bhavan. DPS then moved to its present Mathura Road location and still operated from tents till I left the school in January 1954 to join a boarding school. Tents made for interesting classrooms and, as children, we did not find them unusual at all. In fact, whenever it rained, I had dreams of using my table as a raft and floating home on it!
Rains were a delightful and exciting time as CP roads were sure to get flooded at least once, with sometimes even the shops getting flooded. The flooding at Minto Bridge was a yearly event. I would look forward to going with someone older after the rain stopped to walk around CP, as water on the roads would be thigh deep for a 11 year old child. Minto Bridge would always be a great place to visit as normally there would be a bus or two roof deep in water! Ah, the excitement of those days!
Connaught Place in the evenings was exotic. There were peacock feather sellers, and people selling caged parrots which were also seen flying around CP in large numbers. Many times the bhaluwallah, the sapera with his ‘been’ and the bandarwallah would be seen on the open pavements and in the park.

The one person I have never forgotten was a dignified elderly white turbaned man who probably moved to Delhi after partition and who would walk with his bicycle in the verandahs of CP selling chooran of two varieties – ‘lakkad hazam’ and ‘patthar hazam’. He would ring his cycle bell to advertise his presence as he walked the corridors. As a child, I did not appreciate the the digestive properties of the choorans, but they were delicious and I would buy a small ‘purria’ for two annas or if we had more money, a small glass vial of chooran.
Edwin Chan lived in CP and was an interior designer who specialized in wood furniture and interiors and as a very young man had worked with his father on the woodwork of the Viceroy’s House (Rashtrapati Bhavan). His passion was to invent and develop a perpetual motion machine and till he died sometime in the early ’90s, when asked how the project was going, he would optimistically proclaim that it was just a step away from completion.
Another interesting and talented individual was Nishi Nakra, whom I got to know in 1960 when he did the music system for our new restaurant, La Boheme. He was a good engineer and passionate about sound. He developed speakers and amplifiers under the brand name, Enbee, in an era when such items could not be imported. Besides being an inventive engineer, he was also a very talented singer and I would often visit him at his shop in Shankar Market which was just a few minutes from my home and office. There one would often meet or see many of the people who were to become well-known in public life and business.
Looking at it today, it may be difficult to believe that CP was a great place to grow up. For a child and a teenager, it had everything. As children, we were sent to the central park every evening where we had a lot of space to run around and play games. There were vendors selling balloons, toys and sweets, ice-lolly chuskis which were made of shaved ice particles fixed on a stick with a choice of lovely coloured syrups poured onto them! Despite the scolding we knew we would get (the water was not ‘safe’), we loved them.

There was also the seller of buddi mai ke baal (candyfloss) who would sell his goods from a glassed in trolley. Delicious aam papad (beaten and dried mango) and soft imli (tamarind) was available at a bania’s shop in the middle circle behind M-Block and was another favourite. The aam papad was sour and leathery in feel but was utterly delicious, especially with a sprinkling of kala namak (black salt). The imli was soft, gooey and sour and much appreciated. When we had saved some money, we would go to J.B. Mangaram on the side of F-Block, facing E-Block, which had a great collection of sweets in glass jars on top of the counters which were the same height as we were.
D-Block, Connaught Place, located in the inner circle was a fascinating place to grow up in. Our neighbours included Odeon cinema, Snowhite dry cleaners, S.M.G. Beaty, Ramchander & Sons and Bata, among other well-known shops of the time.
One of our favourite treats was to go to Bengali Market to Bhim Sain’s shop and stand next to a opening on the side to eat gol gappa’s, except during the monsoon when we were forbidden to have any street food. After Shankar Market came up, the best alu tikki’s were available from a vendor who made them fresh, sitting in the verandah.

From a very young age, Hanuman Mandir was a popular place to go on Tuesdays when there was also a weekly bazaar there. My elder sister would buy bangles and parandis and I would look at the interesting shops and people, including the fortune-teller who used sparrows to select cards which answered your questions. The market had no electric lighting and all the luminescence came from smoky kerosene lamps. It was a magical place with hustle and bustle, lot of colour and textures and glittering products. Another popular place to visit was Jantar Mantar with its astronomy instruments made out of large brick structures set in a park which provided great places for playing hide and seek!
My elder sister and I would visit ‘Panditji’s’ bookshop on Irwin Road in the early ’50s to borrow books. Later on the shop moved to Shankar Market where it still operates from. The rate was four annas a book, returnable in a week! Panditji’s real name was Ram Gopal Sharma and he was a short rotund man who wore a Gandhi topi. He had a quick turn of phrase and would suffer no fools! I continued borrowing books from him till the early ’60s and my younger siblings followed the tradition.
The three main bookshops in CP that I visited were B.D. Galgotia, Rama Krishna and Sons and New Book Depot, located next to each other in B-Block. Rama Krishna had books not only on shelves but in stacks on the floor. It dealt with more serious stuff which at the time I was not interested in. I had little money and preferred the other two shops as I could read their hard bound comics till I was shooed away by the staff. In my college days, I started visiting another interesting bookshop in Shankar Market called Piccadilly which had fascinating books on sociology, religion and spiritual subjects and was, in the late ’60s and ’70s, frequented by hippies who were looking to give a new meaning to their lives.

The best movie halls in Delhi were in CP and the favourite recreational activity of many at a time when there was no TV and very few options for entertainment. There were four movie halls – Odeon (right around the corner from my home), Plaza, Regal and Rivoli. As a teenager, my desired quota was one movie a week and that depended on my pocket money. Tickets ranged from a low 12 annas to a high of three rupees and 12 annas. One of the earliest movies I remember seeing was ‘Bud Abbot and Lou Costello meet Frankenstein’. All I remember of it is that I spent half the time (which was whenever Frankenstein appeared on the screen) hiding my face on the seat!

The best dance schools in New Delhi were in the CP area, including one for ballroom dancing. As a little child, I would reluctantly accompany my sister to her school, Sangeet Bharati on the first floor of G-Block, where she learned kathak and I vividly remember the sound of bells on the anklets of the girls.
There were three well-known shops for haircare in the CP area – Roy and James, Tawar and Susan, and A.N. John & Co. where people got their hair cut in individual cubicles. Tawar, known as ‘Chuttan’ to us, came to our home once a fortnight since the late ’30s. It was only after he died in the 1960s that I started going to a haircutting salon.

The best shops in Delhi were located in the CP area, such as Empire Stores, Hamiltons, Trevelyan and Clark, Enid’s (for western dresses), Cooke and Kelvey, Kanji Mull & Sons, and the two large sports goods shops – Uberoi and Pioneer Sports. Harnarain Gopinath on the side of B-Block sold a large variety of good quality achars (pickles) and morabba’s (preserves). Next to it was Keventer’s which sold sweet bottled milk and other dairy products, including butter. M.R. Stores on the corner of G-Block was an unusual shop as it sold two very different items – hardware and knitting wool.

Shops selling musical instruments were located on the outer circle on G-Block below Marina Hotel as well as on Parliament Street (Godin & Co). The Cottage Industries Emporium opened in a temporary barracks sort of building on Queensway (Janpath) in the early ’50s and became very popular because of its large variety of well-designed and crafted handicrafts and handloom clothing available under one roof for the first time in India. Bata at D-Block and Baluja’s at B-Block were there even when I was a child and that’s where we went to buy shoes almost every year for school. The biggest toy shop in New Delhi, Ram Chander & Sons, was just about 40 feet away from Bata.

By the time the ’50s and ’60s came around, CP was the best commercial and retail centre of Delhi with all the new offices of the multinationals and airlines. Later on, when the new high-rise buildings on the connecting roads like Barakhamba Road and Curzon Road (now Kasturba Gandhi Marg) came up, its position as the commercial centre strengthened. In those days, most senior managers working in the CP area who had personal transport, would generally go back home for lunch and a quick siesta and CP would be empty with no one walking around as all shops closed for lunch.

Walking in Connaught Place recently was a strange feeling as I have rarely visited it after I stopped working there just over five years ago. CP now is so changed from the magical world of my childhood and youth, it is like stepping into unknown territory. Instead of the relaxed shopping centre it was until the ’70s, it has changed as has Delhi. By the 1980s, a large number of multistorey office buildings had come up both on Barakhamba Road and Curzon Road (K.G. Marg) and as life had got more competitive, all shops now remain open in the afternoons. The state emporiums have been given their own section on Baba Kharak Singh Marg (Irwin Road) and are popular with tourists. With the coming of the metro, CP is now charged with a very different energy and like the city of Delhi, not very sure of what the future holds.

Many old restaurants have disappeared, even as more new ones have opened. Most of the movie houses have long gone and the best shops are no longer in CP. The traffic is horrendous as it has become a transit point for people travelling to different parts of Delhi. The metro has also contributed to the crowds and eventually I see CP becoming the biggest and best market for the growing middle class in India, compared to my childhood years when it was the exclusive shopping ground

The article above is written by a person who used to live in CP years ago and describes the life then. Brings back memories. His father owned Nirulas .

Varsha' Travelogue of Purani Dilli

2019-07-16T18:25:00.000+05:30

Tomb of Ghazi-Ud-Din (Circa 1710)

I love traveling and in the course of my travels if I can go across centuries then my travel is fructified. Recently I did just that, I boarded a Metro train to New Delhi in the 21st century and when I got out from gate no 3 facing Kamla Market, I found that I was in the 17th century. Well, as I sat under a tree at 7 in the morning, I felt the cool breeze of the tree and felt that I had somehow got transported back to the times when Aurangzeb was the Badshah of Shahjahanabad. He had been entrusted with conquest of the South by his father Shahjehan and therefore even after becoming Badshah himself, he spent most of his time in the Deccan-Dakhin-Dakshin.

I was taking part in a walk where I met unknown people from Delhi as well as from different countries who had got together to learn something about Old Delhi and the crafts and businesses that flourished there in olden times.

AJMERI GATE

Our first stop was the Anglo Arabic School which is situated bang opposite the Ajmeri Gate. Shahjahanabad was established by Shah Jehan the Mughal emperor in 1648 AD. The Red Fort which is at the centre of this new city had a surrounding wall which had 14 gates. Ajmeri Gate is one of the gates that still stands. At one time it stood tall but now looks dwarfed by the many multi storied buildings which have come up around it. This school was located outside the walls of Shahjahanabad.

ANGLO ARABIC COLLEGE

This School was established by Ghazi-ud-din Khan, Feroze Jung I(1649- 1710), who was Commander and Chief of the Mughal army at the siege of Golconda Fort in 1686 when Aurangzeb conquered the fort and took the last Sultan Abul Hasan Qutab Shah of Golconda prisoner. Ghazi-ud-din was later made Subahdar of Gujarat Province by Bahadur Shah I the next Mughal Emperor after Aurangzeb. When he died in 1710 in Gujarat, his body was brought back to Delhi and buried in the tomb that he had built for himself in the premises of this School.

TOMB OF GHAZI UD DIN

Ghaziuddin was the father of Asaf Jah who went on to become the First Nizam of Hyderabad and began the Asaf-jahi dynasty of Hyderabad.

In 1790 the school closed down but the affluent people of Shahjahanabad funded the system and in 1792 the Delhi College was started at the same premises teaching literature, science and art. The East India Company became virtual rulers of India in 1757. After establishing themselves politically, in 1828, they turned their attention towards education and in this magnificent building they reorganised it as the Anglo Arabic College. For the first time English language and Literature were introduced in the curriculum of this educational institution. At that time Rev.Jennings started secret Bible classes at this secular College and in July 1852, Dr. Chamanlal who was a personal physician of Bahadur Shah Zafar and his friend Master Ramchandra a Lecturer of Mathematics at Delhi College converted and became Christians. Master Ramchandra was the author of "Treatise on problems of Maxima and Minima" which was published at his own cost at Calcutta but later on Augustus De Morgan the famous Mathematician got it re-published in London. Prof Ramchandra taught at Delhi College and then at Thomson Civil Engineering College, Roorkee(IIT Roorkee).

THE COLLEGE

The premises of this college are quite large, there are many rooms on two floors, there is a mosque and the tomb of Ghazi-ud-din on the west of the compound. The tomb is open to the sky but all along it, there are very intricately carved screens.

From this quiet, clean and magnificent educational premises, we stepped out into the crowded area of Ajmeri Gate. This area houses the whole sale market of sanitary ware. From behind GB Road now called Swami Shraddhanand Marg we entered a small gali which was the place where the gwalas or people who supplied milk to Shahjahanabad resided. Today no cattle can be found here as they were removed from the city and re established in Gazipur on the outskirts of Delhi.

As we moved further on, we entered a street full of small eateries where fresh poories were being fried and served with aloo ki sabzi. The halwa was very sweet but was needed to compensate for the teekhi potato curry. A cup of tea which we got for Rs. 10 was very delicious. This area was basically a Muslim area but the aloo pooriewala was a sole Hindu in that area and his sales were quite good. Further on there was a person frying kachories. One could get 4 kachories for Rs. 10.

FAST FOOD-FRESH FOOD

Further on there was a little corner shop selling chicken biryani and another one selling Nihari. In old Delhi traditionally people would eat aloo poori and jalebi with milk or halwa with small sooji poories. Fast food, street food, fresh food, you have it all here.

As we moved on we found a tonga stand on the main Hauz Qazi road. There were a few dilapidated tongas with a very thin horse standing in the shed. Once upon a time tongas were the main means of transport for the local people. The tonga would be clean, comfortable and a delight to travel on. The trot of the horse, the fast moving wheels and the tongawalla calling out to the pedestrians to make way, made the journey quite pleasant, comfortable and fast. Till about twenty years back tongas used to ply on the State Entry Road going to the Railway station from Connaught Place. There are any number of beautiful songs picturised on the tonga in Hindi movies.

In earlier days there used to be an annual Tonga race held between Ajmeri Gate and Mehrauli. That used to be a very colourful event, now with too much traffic on the roads and the extremely fast paced life these tonga races do not take place with much fanfare. As I told you earlier, I felt I had reached the 17th century, because when you walk on the streets and alleys of Old Delhi, one can see life going by at a leisurely pace, one does not feel any rush or anxiety.

THE METRO STATION

On Hauz Qazi road is a monstrosity of modernity. The Metro station stands out like a sore thumb. They could have maintained the outside facade to gel with the kind of shops that exist on that road to maintain a continuity.

Behind the Chawdi bazar Metro station stands a huge building. In its hey day it must have been magnificent. Some portions of it are maintained well and some portions are absolutely dilapidated. Obviously the property must have been split between inheritors. Those who could, have maintained it while some others have allowed it to disintegrate.

Moving on from observing food business and transport business, we moved further on to see a gate which led into the area where people who dealt in salt lived. In fact it is interesting to note that Delhi was the hub of the spice trade in North India. Khari Baoli is the market near Fatehpuri Mosque at the end of Chandni Chowk where all the wholesalers of spices and dry fruits are located.

We then walked down Sitaram Bazaar which is the area where aristocrats of yore lived. They have palatial houses in huge compounds. On the facade would be a beautiful door, beyond which one entered a world of peace, old world charm, style and space. The walls were thick, there were many open spaces called dalaan and aangan. At the entrance usually one would find space for people to sit on both sides of the door. There would be ornate work on top of the door. Often the name of the owner would be written in Hindi, English and in Persian. Persian was the official language of the Mughal empire and even after the end of the Mughal rule it continued to be used by the aristocrats.

HOUSE OF KAMLA NEHRU

As we walked down Sitaram Bazaar, I observed that we reached a lane which was inhabited mainly by Kashmiris. One prominent house was of the Kaul family which was called "Atal House". The daughter of this house Kamla was married to Jawaharlal Nehru the son of Motilal Nehru a prominent Barrister of Allahabad High Court. Almost the entire who's who of Allahabad had been invited to this wedding so the Kauls requested Mr. Haksar who lived close by and had a huge mansion to accommodate the baraat. The wedding therefore took place in this sophisticated and aristocratic area of Purani Dilli on 08.02.1916. Mr. Sapru of Sapru House fame also lived on the same lane. Most probably affluent and educated Kashmiris even then left Kashmir for the purpose of employment with the Mughal rulers. The Kaul haveli is now in the hands of some other owners who have Dhiman Market written at the gate. The Haksar Haveli has only a gate standing there. The Sapru property now has flats.

KALAN MASJID

We went past the 84(Chaurasi) ghanta temple and walked towards Turkman Gate, where we saw the 13th century Kalan Mosque built by the Prime Minister of Feroze Shah Tughlaq. The name of the prime minister was Khan-e-Jehan Junan Shah Telangi who was from present day Telangana. This gentleman got seven mosques constructed across Dilli. Kalan mosque is still in use and therefore maintained up to date. It has been painted green outside although at one time it was also called Kali masjid. The steps leading to the mosque are original-seven hundred years old and are quite uneven. If one looks at old time pictures of the mosque one can see how majestic it must have once looked.

COOKS AND FOOD

Mughals were connoisseurs of good food. Their legacy continues to this day and we find that there are some cooks occupying an area near Turkman gate within a compound. They have huge cauldrons, and chulhas(stoves) where they cook food on order. One can take raw mutton to them and they will cook it with their secret ingredients and spices and give you the delicious finished product. Their secret ingredients remain secret and secure.

There is something about Purani Dilli that is fascinating. One does not get put off by all the filth lying around. There is some sort of community living, togetherness and a feeling of belonging to the place. The chaiwalla, the pooriewalla serve you as if you are their guest and not a customer.

Purani Dilli makes me want to return again to see what was and how magnificent times were one hundred years ago, actually even fifty years ago. Times are changing, landscape is changing and what was once standing majestically may just remain so only in pictures.

B.I.T - Bit by Bit

2017-04-20T01:39:00.002+05:30

After a long effort and wait - my memoirs of BIT Mesra are finally converted and published as a paperback as well an ebook (KINDLE edition).

An introductory preview is also available and the same can be also seen on http://trilokinagpal.wixsite.com/triloki

To order the book:

1. For Readers in India (for edition printed in the US) - please Click here

For Indian Published edition - Paperback - pothi.com/pothi/node/188501

2. Readers in UK - please click here

3. Readers in rest of Europe - please click here

4. Readers in USA/Canada - please click here

5. Readers in Australia/New Zealand - please click here.

6. Order the ebook - KINDLE edition - by a click here

Thank you for your interest. Please leave a review on the web-site from where you order your copy.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN AUTOGRAPHED COPY, please send mail to triloki.nagpal@gmail.com

must you forward

2016-11-05T22:40:00.001+05:30

Lumbini to Kushinara

2016-05-11T00:13:00.002+05:30

WEEKEND GETAWAY - CITY OF JOY

2014-08-18T09:51:00.001+05:30

Victoria Memorial

WEEKEND GETAWAY - CITY OF JOY

Ranchi University's students' issues and strikes often gave us plenty of opportunity for unplanned vacations, Calcutta became one of my favorite weekend getaways. It was just an overnight journey by train. It was easy on the pocket. I had a place to stay that was almost like home and yet with the freedom that I would not have if it were home. My first cousin - a family man - had a flat in Alipore, one of the posh areas of the city. He would give me a spare key during my stay there, allowing me the freedom to come and go at any odd time.

I had also spent four years of my schooling in Calcutta during childhood and was perfectly at home with the local Bengali language as well as the city. As I loved the city, it would be in order to tell my readers a bit about my background and that of the city. Even our college had a sizable Bengali speaking population and Calcutta was as important to us as Ranchi or Ramgarh towns.

My father was in the Central Government. In the year 1955 – when I was just 10 – we moved to Calcutta from Delhi. We found a decent rented accommodation in Lake Place – which was close to the famous Dhakuria Lake in south Calcutta. It was a quiet neighborhood, predominantly a Bengali dominated area. All the youngsters around spoke only in Bengali, and I was totally unfamiliar with the language. It was then I discovered that “bone” means ‘sister’ and not the rigid organs that form our skeletal system. A young Bengali boy almost fainted with shock when I told him I have 32 bones – as I had only studied about the vertebra of the human body till the time. In spite of the language barrier, I found the young Bengalis quite friendly and acceptable, especially after I defeated another youngster of my size, in a freestyle friendly wrestling match. They slowly accepted me in the fold and I was a boy belonging to the “pada” (neighborhood).

Calcutta – now Kolkata – is likened to a mysterious lady, with many colors and hues. One either loves Calcutta or just finds it deplorable. There is no middle path. Any person who has lived in the city for at least a few months or a year would invariably fall in love with it, a strange love that remains for life; whereas a visitor finds it a terrible place. Sweaty in the summer, slushy in the rains, no winter as such. Filth, stench, urchins, traffic jams, rallies are what is the essence of the soul of Calcutta. Calcutta is the only Indian city where the tram service – a legacy of the British – is still operational.

The aura of Calcutta is evidenced from a book - "City of Joy" a novel written by Dominique Lapierre (1985) and in a 1992 film directed by Roland Joffe has been made based on the book. A very popular song “The Ladies of Calcutta” had hit the top of the charts in the early sixties. Cliff Richard has made a notch for himself in the western world. He was an Anglo-Indian born in Lucknow, spent some childhood years in Dehradun, was in Calcutta (Howrah) before his family moved to England after the Independence of India. Mother Teresa, Sourav Ganguly, Satyajit Ray have all been associated with this strange love.

Bengalis have a passion for football – not just cheering for Mohan Bagan or East Bengal – but also playing the game from childhood in the nearest patch of open land they would find. Rain, sun or clouds – whatever be the weather – football was a regular game with the young “pada” crowd. There was no park nearby. An empty plot of a house was enough for us and it was transformed into a football field. Every Bengali in Kolkata was a supporter of either of the two teams mentioned above (excluding the Muslims – who supported Mohammedan Sporting). They would not ask which team you support or root for; merely ask “Mohan Bagan or East Bengal?” I became a supporter of Mohan Bagan right away – before even knowing the name of a single player in the team. It sounded more palatable to me than East Bengal – and one cannot feign ignorance unless you want to be banished from the pada forever.

Every Bengali household has at least one singer or a person learning Rabindra Sangeet. One could find a harmonium in every middle-class household and could listen to strains of songs and music wafting across in the evenings. Around dusk, you could also hear the conch shells being blown – puja time. The shops would burn a sweet-smelling incense – the smell and smoke would permeate in the atmosphere – and this scent was as much a part of Calcutta as anything else.

Fish. That is another thing found everywhere in Calcutta. Every pada market will have a section for fish. You will find an abundance of freshwater fish like Rohu and Ilish. Smaller variety like Bata. And of course, Bengalis are also fond of the shelled varieties of seafood, viz., prawns, crabs, and lobsters. Sea fish are less popular however these days they have also invaded Kolkata, especially Bombay Duck and Pomfret. So it goes without saying that the smell of the fish market is also much a part of Calcutta. If you are in a Bengali neighborhood – the smell of cooking of fish will be pervading the atmosphere between 10.30 and 11.00 in the night. The Bengali bhadralok (gentlemen) or the elite of Calcutta generally return home to the family quite late, after midnight. Calcutta has a very colorful nightlife. Bars, night clubs are in abundance. In fact even today its one of the best places in India of nightlife for the young. Pubs and discotheques remain alive till early hours – 4 a.m. is not considered late. The old rich lot – the landlord type – had huge palatial houses with their own natural pond – called “pukur” in Bengali. Having your own pukur on your property, along with your supply of fish from it, was a status symbol in Calcutta.

It would be in order to mention the famous jhalmuri, non-veg. rolls of Nizam's near New Market, and the sweet shops selling rossogolas and sandesh - without which the Bengali folks cannot survive. The New Market itself with its famous pâtisserie shops - referred as bakeries. These are as much the soul of the city as other features. The New Market was established as an architecturally Gothic market-complex crystallized in 1873 and was formally opened on Jan 1st, 1884. Was christened Sir Stuart Hogg Market in 1903. Its a landmark and historically one could buy anything there. Centrally located between Chowringhee and Dharamtala, it is still a must for any visitor.

Duga Puja (courtesy Wikipedia)

Durga Puja. The most important and biggest Hindu festival of the state of Bengal. The entire city has a totally festive look for the 10 day period when the idols Durga, Lakshmi, Ganesha, Saraswati, and Kartikeya are placed all over the pandals in the city. Its festive time. Pandals are set up in every small colony or area with the statues (idols) of the gods in all their finery and vying attention. The city is adorned with lights and people flock to the city from all over the country. The evenings are filled with the sound of drums and conch shells and the strong incense smell. Traffic comes to a standstill as people do pandal hopping to visit as many as possible. Stalls for clothes and eating are set up everywhere. Durga Puja in Calcutta is often referred to as the Rio Carnival of the Eastern Hemisphere. After 10 days the idols are consigned to the river - and that is another festival, you will see truckloads of idols and people - with beating drums - going all over the padas before the idols are taken to the banks of Hooghly river for the final destination, its called visarjan.

After staying for a couple of years in Lake Place – my father got government accommodation in Belvedere Area, a very upmarket colony for Central Government Officers – newly built, in the heart of the city, in the very compound of the famous National Library. So I moved out of the pada life to the sophisticated English speaking crowd. The library used to be the house of the Lieutenant Governor of Bengal during the British Raj. After the independence of the country – it was converted into a Government Library, in 1953 when it was shifted from its location at Metcalfe House, to the present location at Belvedere. It is the biggest and the best library in the country containing about 2 million books and half a million documents. It is also the second-largest public library in Asia.

According to popular belief, this building was not built by the British. Azim-Us-Shaan is believed to have constructed it in 1700 A.D. After the Battle of Plassey, Vanceytart got charge of this Bhawan. He was an Italian who named this mammoth building 'Belvedierre', giving the present-day name of Belvedere to the colony. The word connotes 'the queen of beauty'. Lady Hastings was also the owner of this house for a short while. It was sold to Major Tulley in 1780. The modern-day 'Tollygunge' in Calcutta bears memoirs of Major Tulley. However, this building was put to auction after the demise of Major Tulley in 1802. In 1850, the Govt. took charge of this palatial house. Some believe that Nawab Meer Zaffar had once stayed in Belvedierre Bhawan. Tollygunge has become synonymous with Tollywood – like Bollywood – Kolkata was home for the Bengali theatre and films (Tollywood).

Once I moved to Belvedere – it was another culture. The Senior Government Officials were nowhere near the Bengali culture that I was exposed to at Lake Place – it was more of the Raj Culture. All children would speak in fluent English – studying in English medium schools or convents. The Bengalis were in a minority. We were from all over – Punjab, Delhi, Bombay, Pune, Karnataka, Madras (now Tamilnadu), Andhra, Rajasthan, U.P., Himachal, etc etc, there were quite a few Anglo-Indians also in the officers’ lot. Football took a back seat, the youngsters played cricket, hockey, and rugby (with a football). It was a complete transition to British culture. In fact, Calcutta was so British even otherwise that at that time there still existed few clubs where Indians (dark-skinned persons) were not permitted. Royal Calcutta Golf Club is the oldest golf club in India and the first one outside Great Britain, it was established in 1829. Calcutta Rowing Club too was the first of its kind outside Great Britain – it was established in 1858. There is a 9-hole Calcutta Ladies Golf Club, established in 1891, the only ladies’ golf club in the world.

In Belvedere there was a club for the Central Govt. Officers – having facilities for tennis, swimming, table tennis, squash, badminton, etc, and of course card tables. One could see young lasses dressed in western attires, skirts, shorts, and the like.

The name Kolkata and the anglicized name Calcutta have their root in Kalikata, the name of one of the three villages (Kalikata, Sutanuti, Govindapur) in the area before the arrival of the British. "Kalikata", in turn, is believed to be a version of Kalikshetra ("Land of the goddess Kali"). Alternatively, the name may have been derived from the Bengali term kilkila ("flat area"). Again, the name may have its origin in the indigenous term for a natural canal, Khal, followed by Katta (which may mean dug). While the city's name was always pronounced "Kolkata" in the local Bengali language, its official English name was only changed from "Calcutta" to "Kolkata" in 2001, reflecting the Bengali pronunciation. Some view this as a move to erase the legacy of British rule. This change has not always been reflected by overseas media. While news sources like the BBC have opted to call Bombay Mumbai, Kolkata remains Calcutta. Many Indians also refer to the city by its British name.

Calcutta is one of the few cities which has a sizable population of Muslims, Chinese, Anglo-Indians, Marwaris apart from the majority of the local Bengali Babu or bhadralok. You have a China Town within the city. It was the only city in India that boasted of original Chinese cuisine till the mid-seventies before it started becoming popular in other places. It was a town where you could buy Chinese hand made leather shoes at prices cheaper than that of Bata and which would literally last you a lifetime. These were made to order to the size of your feet from the designs in the window. You could see the traditional Chinese dentists in Calcutta.

Calcutta also became the hub of the cottage industry in leather. On way to the Dum-Dum Airport, at Tangra – one could see hutments with leather sheets spread on their thatched roofs after tanning, and giving an awful smell to the entire area. Calcutta’s leather goods are still considered good and cheap although the bulk of the tanning industry has had to wind up or shift due to pollution control. Here the bulk of the tanneries were owned by people of Haka Chinese origin. "47 South Tangra Road", maybe the most confusing postal address, as it used to cover the whole of Chinatown Tangra with over 350 tanneries. Most of the standing structures have been built, over many years, by the industrious Hakka Chinese, upon marshy and reclaimed low lying land. Over the past several decades, it has served as the location of Calcutta's Chinatown. Food from Tangra is a distinct variety of traditional Hakka Chinese cuisine adapted to Indian ingredients and the Bengali palate. This has spread to the rest of India, along with the recipes earlier unique to Tangra. Tangra is now the most popular destination for Chinese food. Chinese food sold in Tangra restaurants is now known all over the world as "Hakka Style" Chinese food.

Calcutta served as the capital of India during the British Raj until 1911. Once the center of modern education, industry, science, culture, and politics in India, Calcutta has witnessed intense political violence, clashes, and economic stagnation since 1954. Since the year 2000, an economic rejuvenation has spurred in the city's growth. Like other metropolitan cities in India, Calcutta continues to struggle with the problems of urbanization: poverty, pollution, and traffic congestion. Because of the British legacy – we can see massive buildings with beautiful colonial architecture. One walk of 3 km along Chowringhee, will leave you thirsting for more. As a matter of fact – any of the older areas of the city will reveal to you the ancient beauty of the colonial and Victorian architecture. The famous Victoria Memorial is a marvel of architecture by itself.

Now Kolkata is the capital of the Indian state of West Bengal. It is located in eastern India on the east bank of the River Hooghly. When referred to as "Kolkata", it usually includes the suburbs, and thus its population exceeds 15 million, making it India's third-largest city and urban agglomeration.This also makes it the world's 14th largest metropolitan area.

Bengal is noted for its revolutionary history, ranging from the Indian struggle for independence to the leftist and trade union movements. We have names like Subhash Chandra Bose, Bipin Chandra Pal, Chittaranjan Das, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, Khudi Ram Bose, Sarojini Naidu, etc. Also, there were well known social reformers who shaped the history of our country - most notable being Rajaram Mohan Roy (He is best known for his efforts to abolish the practice of sati, the Hindu funeral practice in which the widow was compelled to sacrifice herself on her husband’s funeral pyre) and Swami Vivekananda (considered to be a major force in the revival of Hinduism in modern India).

Calcutta is also known worldwide for its many bridges that link the city to its sister city of Howrah. The Calcutta Bridges include Rabindra Setu (Howrah Bridge), Vidyasagar Setu, Vivekananda Setu, Nivedita Setu, and Jubilee Bridge (India). The railway station that served the city was on the west bank of Hooghly river and the only connecting bridge - the iconic Howrah Bridge was the only link. It was known for its traffic jams and one had to add a couple of hours for the journey for that stretch of just half a mile of Howrah Bridge. The invention is the mother of necessity if you are going to catch a train and are stuck in a traffic jam - no worry - you could get coolies anywhere on the entire span of the jam to carry your luggage to the railway station.

Calcutta has also been the hub of culture. With Rabindranath Thakur having won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, he became a household word. Theatre had strong roots in the city too and the famous CLT (Children's Little Theatre) had world-class histrionics. Bengali movies were also a class apart, most Bengali movies were art and not commercial – with doyens like Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, and Utpal Dutt who have achieved international fame for art cinema. I never met the former two, but Utpal Dutt used to teach the English language in my school (South Point School) and I had the privilege of learning the language from him. We had quite a lot of teachers who were associated with the CLT and our school used to be a showcase of talent in the theatre world.

The sea is not too far either. If you like beaches move to the nearest one - the Digha Beach and en route catch a glimpse of the Diamond Harbour as well.

The famous Botanical Gardens on the west bank of the Hoogly at Sibpur in Howrah. Known for its famous Banyan Tree more than 330 meters in circumference, the largest of its kind in Asia, it is considered more than 250 years old. The Gardens have a large variety of plants - more than 12000 - spread over about 130 hectares.

The place has a history in its churches & temples also. Of the better-known places, we have, on the banks of Hooghly river that snakes through the city – the Dakshineswar Temple. It was built in 1847 by Rani Rasmoni the place where Ramakrishna attained spiritual vision while working as a priest of Kali temple. On the banks of Ganges, north of Belur Math (the headquarters of Rama Krishna Mission), Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa lived and offered his prayers here.

The mall culture has pervaded the city and the old traditional shopping and the soul of the city is disappearing. I left Calcutta in 1959 when my dad moved back to Delhi, but the magic of the place had gone into my blood & I am still in love with the old lady. At present, one can see a reasonable blend of the old and the new. The Metro is another feather in the cap.

Calcutta is now being often referred to as a 'dying city' – more than the earlier popular name of the City of Joy. However – in spite of it, my love for the city remains and I still always want to go there.

My Sixtieth Birthday - Gretna Green - Memories # 1

2012-06-25T05:11:00.000+05:30

(It would be nice to read this post as a sequel my Chapters 1 to 4 of the series "Episode" - clicking here would take you the first chapter)

Although it has been over 6 years that I celebrated the day when I completed 60 years of age, I still remember it as if it was yesterday.

It was December 2005 that we decided to spend the Christmas and New Year with our children and grand-children in London. Chaitali & Raja had two young children, Anurag & Jharna had yet to start their family. The children had planned a 3-4 day holiday in UK, starting from London and going north to Scotland and staying over at St. Andrews - the home of golf, where the game has nurtured for over 600 years. Anurag and Raja were both golf buffs - so that was the destination organized for my birthday bash and ringing in the New Year.

(Click here if you wish to know more about St Andrews)

Being a group of 6 adults and 2 growing up children and the thought of being cramped in Chaitali's Honda CRV for 5 days in travel was not very attractive - and it was decided to hire a bigger vehicle, even a 7-seater would be cramped, so Raja and I set out to get a bigger vehicle and we ended up hiring a 9-seater SUV for the trip. The route and halts were planned. On the 29th - we were driving through Gretna Green, that is a small village on the border of Scotland and England (click here for location map - zoom in or out), just within the Scottish side. Historically - it had been a village of blacksmiths; but its vantage position made it ideally suited for runaway marriages of the youngsters from the conservative English society.

Gretna's famous "runaway marriages" began in 1753 when Lord Hardwicke's Marriage Act was passed in England; it stated that if both parties to a marriage were not at least 21 years old, then parents had to consent to the marriage. The Act did not apply in Scotland, where it was possible for boys to marry at 14 and girls at 12 years old with or without parental consent (see Marriage in Scotland). Many elopers fled England, and the first Scottish village they encountered was Gretna Green. The Old Blacksmith's Shop, built around 1712, and Gretna Hall Blacksmith's Shop (1710) became, in popular folklore at least, the focal tourist points for the marriage trade. The Old Blacksmith's opened to the public as a visitor attraction as early as 1887. (courtesy Wikipedia).

In South India - there is custom where the couple performs a marriage ceremony when the man reaches 60 years of age. So that clinched it - we decided to get married (once again). What a perfect and romantic choice of the venue - Gretna Green. and the historic Blacksmith Shop with the historic anvil which had witnessed millions of marriages performed by the blacksmith priests.

The "priest" put my hand on the anvil, the asked my wife Varsha to put hers on top of mine. He picked up the sledge-hammer, looked at Varsha and said, "It will just hurt a wee-bit ..." - literally draining the color from our faces. Then he gently tapped the anvil with the sledge-hammer making a resounding sound and said, "May the bond of this marriage be as strong as this steel." And thus the ceremony was over. We got a certificate of our marriage duly signed by the priest and witnessed by a couple that had come visiting from the U.S.A. He told to click the photos and it was over. Short and sweet.

After the marriage ceremony, we drove on - lunching and snacking on the way. We had a halt at a beautiful way side hotel along the highway. We checked into our respective rooms and then Raja dropped in, "Lets go for a drink."- he chirped. It was a most agreeable suggestion and we headed for the bar. I was expecting our whole gang to be there but we were the only ones from the group. They will be just joining, he said - must be freshening up after the drive. Anyway, we settled down with our beers and peanuts. It must have been another hour so so - and none of the others showed up. We went up to our room and what do we see - all the others were there. The room was decorated with balloons and a happy birthday sign. The bed was strewn with many gifts - all for me. Some tiny and interesting knick-knacks, some odd gadgets, chocolates etc etc., and in the middle was a laptop - an IBM Thinkpad. It had always been my desire to own a laptop. How well the family knows you, you cannot just fathom. I was overwhelmed and my eyes became moist. This was the best birthday I had had in my entire life. This was not the end of the party - we moved on next day.

Our next halt was at St. Andrews Bay - a hotel and a 5-star resort. St Andrews is also known worldwide as the "home of golf". This is in part because the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, founded in 1754, exercises legislative authority over the game worldwide (except in the United States and Mexico), and also because the famous links is the most frequent venue for The Open Championship, the oldest of golf's four major championships. Visitors travel to St Andrews in great numbers for several courses ranked amongst the finest in the world, as well as for the sandy beaches. Raja and Anurag are both great golf buffs - so this destination was a dream come true for both of them.

The resort was decorated beautifully for Christmas and the New Year with an indoor X'mas tree that must have been over 40 feet high. The dining area was impeccable, the service was beyond compare. Kunaal and Aaliya were yet to see their 5th and 2nd birthdays respectively - and they were treated like royalty by the staff of the resort. Had some of the best dishes and wines over here. In the evening there was a show which was again just out of the world. We retired to our rooms quite late in the early hours of the morning, next morning was bright and sunny although the temperature was below freezing.

After a sumptuous and a lazy breakfast - we set out to see the historic golf course and the local sights of St Andrews. The golf course was fully covered with at least 5"-6" of snow - yet we went on to the course to click the photographs near the flag of the 1st hole. There were few other areas of interest - including a golf museum. We spent some time there. There was a small practice golf course for toddlers and kids there and we ended up buying a whole lot of mementos from the museum shop.

We then drove on to our next stop which was Edinburgh. An Scottish couple - the Aldyth and Theo's house - were our destination and we had the evening tea at their place. Lovely people and with a zest for life and knowledge. they were both retired and well past their prime and yet so full of energy. It was always a pleasure to meet them. Click here to know them better.

We halted overnight at their place, and we enjoyed a bit of sight-seeing of Edinburgh the next day. Visited the castle, the local market and the high grounds from where we could get an the birds' eye view of the town. In the evening we left for London. Chatali also bought 2 electronic SUDOKU puzzles for Varsha and me from a cafe joint at an exit on the motorway. We reached my daughter's house well past midnight and were asleep after the long and hectic journey.

It was the best celebrated and the most memorable birthday of my life.

The Terrorists Have Succeeded - Random Thoughts # 13

2012-02-07T17:35:00.001+05:30

It was past 8 pm, I wanted to see a movie with my wife at one of the malls in Saket - which is less than a couple of kilometers from the gate of our colony.

First I encountered a road block as soon as I got out of the colony gate in my car. There were armed cops at the road block and the traffic had to trickle through because of the bottle neck created by them. One vehicle at a time - the tail of the traffic must have been about a kilometer long. The cops had detained a couple of motorbikes on the side and were apparently checking their papers, and maybe pocketing some small denomination currency notes.

After considerable delay we reached the approach road behind the malls. Right in the middle of the road, there was a structure like a pill box, apparently made of sand bags and covered with a green sheet of camouflage fabric. Propped up in the 'pill box' I could see a cop or or an army jawan who had his automatic rifle trained towards the traffic. Two more khaki uniformed men were checking the vehicles - getting the boot and the bonnet opened. Am not sure what they hoped to find.

Finally reached the entrance of the mall's underground parking. I had to open the bonnet and the boot again. One guard with a flashlight asked my wife to open the glove compartment, he shone his flashlight in that. He also scanned the rest of the car interior with his flashlight. Then we were asked to move on.

After getting off the car we had to enter the mall by an elevator - before entering the elevator we were made to pass through a metal sensor doorway, we were scanned by a metal detector (body scan). That too did not seem enough. We were frisked bodily by the private security agents at this point. My wife was asked to open her handbag and the female security guard peeped in rummaged the contents with her bare hands.

We went to the 2nd floor which had the ticket counter to the movie theater, got our tickets and we were once again frisked by metal detectors and body search by frisking. The security guard could feel a container in my coat pocket - which was the case for my spectacles. He asked me to take it out and show it him.

This is the life of a citizen in this free country in its capital city. You can imagine what it might be for a less privileged citizen.

The extremists/terrorists have succeeded in holding the entire country to ransom - just think about it.

Note: This was a normal day - no high alerts. If a guard does notice a bomb or a gun and does face an actual terrorist. What will be his reaction? He either gets some greenbacks OR a bullet through him....

The IITF 2011 - through my eyes

2011-11-28T01:32:00.028+05:30

As the curtain rises on the India International Trade Fair - popularly known as IITF - this year, I present the reader a few facts, figures and fiction about it.

The IITF is an annual feature that has been taking place at the Pragati Maidan every year. The literal meaning is "progress grounds"; and that is exactly what it stands for. The IITF is not just a major tourist attraction which is visited by lakhs of people very year. Over the years it has also become a venue of an outing for the entire family like a picnic ground. It is also a showcase of the produce of our country for the purpose of trade within the country as well as trade with foreign nations.

Turkey

The start of the IITF dates back to 1980. The 31st India International Trade Fair started this year on the 14th of November and ended on the 27th of November - as always. These 14 days literally change the face of Delhi as far as traffic and commuting is concerned. The metro also played an important role in the traffic manangement by helping millions to visit the fair from distant places like Rohini, Dwarka, Gurgaon and the like, so much so that even tickets for the fair were being sold at all metro stations. The Pragati Maidan metro station had over a dozen counters selling the IITF tickets and a direct entry point from the station into the trade fair was really a convenience that was not there in the previous IITFs. As per the reports - Delhi metro had sold about 7 lakh tickets - the number had to be curtailed and stopped on the weekends in both weeks of the fair and the crowed would have become unmanageable in case the sale of the tickets was not curtailed.

The ITPO authorities say that the total footfall this year was of only 11 lakhs this year as against the estimate of 15 lakhs. Invariably the tickets earmarked for the day got fully sold off on the week ends. The weekdays were relatively deserted especially in the morning hours. Possibly that fact that the fare is open for public for full days after the first four "business days" was never advertised well enough to reach the masses.

The sea of humanity - weekday afternoon

The last day of the fare was a mess. the crowds kept swelling, enough to drive anyone berserk - including the cops on duty - who were not trained enough to handle such situations. They started wielding their lathis on the hapless citizens.

The pattern of the trade fair had changed this year. Earlier the morning hours - up to 2 pm were business hours, after that the fair was open to the masses every day except on weekends when it was open to the general public for the whole day. This year the first 4 days were marked aside for business visitors - ticket value Rs 400/- (unless of course you had an invite from a stall holder) for the full opening hours (09.30 to 20.30 hrs.) and the next 10 days were kept for the general public - ticket value Rs 40/- . I could not utilize the free pass I had got during the business days and I went for the fair after it had bee declared open to the general public. However, I did take a wise decision and went early on a Monday morning. The crowd was still quite less around 9.45 am; the parking spot was a breeze - got it on Purana Quila Marg - just about 100 yards from the Gate No, 5 of the grounds.

Maharashtra

The security was tight, the queue appeared quite long, but I have to admit that the waiting was not too long and within 7-8 minutes I was inside the fair. I have to admire the efficiency of the security arrangements. I do not think that they would have successfully been able to prevent a person carrying - let us say - plastic explosives, however, they kept the queues moving at a reasonably good pace yet carrying out their duties with reasonable alacrity.

The Pragati Maidan is the largest exhibition ground in the country and it covers about 150 acres (approximately 0.6 square km). it is managed by ITPO (Indian Trade Promotion Organisation) which is the premier trade promotion body of the Ministry of Commerce and Industry of the Indian government. Being spread on large grounds one needs to come day for a full day even if the ntention is to just see the stall of your interest. The stalls could be devided into the following broad categories:

1. State or Union Territory Pavilions.

2. Foreign stalls.
3. Government of India or Public Sector Corporations like Railways, Defence, Ministry of Steel etc.
4. Food or eateries and restaurants.
5. Theatres etc.

The Ancient Caste System - displayed at Maharashtra

This annual event provides a common platform for the manufacturers, traders, exporters and importers. The fair displays comprises a wide range of products and services including Automobiles, Coir Products, Jute, Textiles, Garments, Household Appliances, Kitchen Appliances, Processed foods, Beverages, Confectionery, Drugs, Pharmaceuticals, Chemicals, Cosmetics, Bodycare & Health care products, Telecommunication, Power sector, Electronic Sector, Furniture, Home Furnishings, Sports Goods, Toys, Engineering Goods etc.

Apart from that, the masses throng the fair for the change. the ticket values in the multiplexes are high (Rs 250/300) where as a family of four could come to the fare and just spend about the entire day here in that much amount in which the kids could enjoy the chhola bhature plus a kulfi or some chaat etc. The film at the Shakuntalam theatre would be free. Thus the fair becomes an attraction for the middle class and the lower middle class. You not only get to see the entire Panorama of the entire country and a bit of the show window of the other countries, you could also pick up a lot of trinkets and do some shopping of goods from any part of the world.

Award Winning Kerela Pavilion

Most of the state pavilions concentrated on their handicrafts, clothes, costume jewellery and other innovative home gadgets like face steamers, heater packs for the back and the knees, magic slates and the like. The individual food stalls of most pavilions were missing but you could get all the different varieties of the cuisines of the entire country at the food court. Prices were reasonable and in about Rs 300/- the family of 4 could indulge in this luxury. Maharashtra stole a march over other state foods and a full food bay was organised for Maharashtrian food.facing the Hall no 1. The best state pavilion award this year was bagged by Kerala.

Another notable feature this year was huge hoardings at the state pavilions depicting the respective chief ministers. Mayawati looking down upon you and from the opposite side you get the massive Jaylalitha. Mahrashtra pavilion had the hoarding of the twelve caste categories at its entrance titled "The Bara Balutedars", this was not only informative but was also unique in its own way. The Best International Stall Award was bagged by South Africa.

Birds eye view - Foreign Stalls

Most of the foreign stalls were nothing great. Burma had a good display of precious and semi-precious stones - set into 18K gold. The prices of some items were as high as 3 to 6 lakh rupees. AND can you beat it, you had to pay cash. no credit cards. These stalls had a good array of jewellery for semi-precious stones. there was costume jewellery, dry fruits, and of course lots of textiles and clothes. Most of these stalls were housed in Hall 18.

Hall 12A, was a show case of consumer goods, electronics, gadgets, consumer durables and the like - nothing very impressive though - was as if you are walking through a mall. You could see a lot of LED and LCD TVs, Fridges, Washing Machines, GPS systems, Furniture, Storage equipment etc etc. Hall 1 was a smaller and a down market version of Hall 12A.

Ahhh - the food options. The entire ground is dotted with various food joints. You have kiosks for cold drinks, tea, coffee etc all over. There is sprinkling of restaurants too. However, the most sought after and crowded was the food court. It had cuisines from almost all Indian states plus a few other choices. There was a stall of Pakistan's curries and the kebabs too. The prices were reasonable along with a minimum acceptable quality level.

Delhi - exterior

The Pavilions of the Government Corporation, Defence etc were mostly quite colorless and of not much of interest to the common man. These pavilions, of course, had a wealth of information and knowledge for the discerning eye. The Defence pavilion had a redeeming feature - a dog show. There was an interesting poster that read, "You can be a dog's best friend!"

South Africa

The fair has reached such a gigantic size that it requires a few days of hard work to cover it fully - and unless I was being paid to do it ... no way. So dear readers - feel free to fill in all that I have missed in the comments columns.

Swadesh - the modern way - Random Thoughts # 10

2011-10-18T22:43:00.003+05:30

The other day I received a forward from a friend which read "SAVE THE INDIAN RUPEE" in the subject line. It was really one of those forwards that stink of being created for the sake of propaganda or cults without giving much thought to the nature and implications of the contents. The types that would be created to protect vested interests.

The mail advocates buying products and services from only companies that are wholly Indian, and shunning the multinationals. The same multinationals that were invited by the Indian Government to set up Industrial and manufacturing units here. It was done to give a boost to the Indian economy, to provide opportunity to the immense labor force that is available here, and thus improve the standard and the life style of Indians.

We indulge in such "swadeshi" rhetoric without any thought of the consequences of the actions that we most patriotically advocate.

The mail read -

1. Buy only products manufactured by WHOLLY INDIAN COMPANIES.

2. ENROLL as many people as possible for this cause.....

(click here if you wish to read the actual forward)

Let us for a moment consider that by our Swadeshi movement , we do succeed in managing to drive out the multinationals and they close shop.

What would be the consequence?

Let us imagine that Unilever (formerly HLL) is closed down - just because people stop buying its products. It will be bulk of our own countrymen that shall be thrown out of employment. The author of the forward has rightly stated that we loose foreign exchange when we do buy a product of a multinational, but to what extent? He does not question or elaborate on that. He does not question the immense negetive fallout such a movement could have on our economy and employment scenario. AND we - like of flock of sheep - fall prey to the rhetoric and blindly forward such mails.

Pictured is a bonfire of British clothing, a real and
symbolic destruction of the British control of India,
and the precursor to spinning for independence.

Most of us that use the net are a fairly educated lot, it is our moral duty to stop such forwards and even educate the non-thinking people who fall prey to the gamut.

The pre-independence movement may have been right for its time and helped us gain freedom from the British, but we need to take care and not let our economy slide backwards.

Why do we need to protect our industry and coerce our countrymen to buy from them? In this world of global economy - Indian industry needs to become competitive and not remain protected in the garb of a swadeshi gimmick

Saturday 9: Reason to Believe.

2010-12-11T01:36:00.005+05:30

Reason to Believe

Welcome to Saturday: 9. What we've committed to our readers is that we will post 9 questions every Saturday. Sometimes the post will have a theme, and at other times the questions will be totally unrelated. Those weeks we do "random questions," so-to-speak. We encourage you to visit other participants posts and leave a comment. Because we don't have any rules, it is your choice. We hate rules. We love memes, however, and here is today's meme!

Saturday 9: Reason to Believe
1. Has anyone asked you to believe in something that called for a huge leap of faith on your part?

Being an atheist - I always get suggestions to be a believer.

2. When is the last time you moved? Why did you move?

Almost 20 years ago (if you mean move house) - moved into my dream home.

3. Malls? ..or one Internet? Are you doing more online shopping this year? The polls say we are, but I'm curious about what the real people are doing.

More online - especially when I am abroad.

4. Do you remember the first meme you participated in and if so, what was it?

Saturday 9.

5. If you could invent something, what would it be?

Anything is fine - as long as it gets me the Nobel Prize.

6. Are you finished with your shopping? Do you still a few things to go? What? Not even a game plan? ...or is there just one person you're having trouble finding something for?

I have all I wanted... shall have to tell folks to lay off conventional gifts of clothes, accessories and after-shaves for my birthday -- maybe a smart mod gadget would be more appropriate...

7. What's left to do at your place (or where you are going)? Is the tree up? ...or maybe you're just happy you found the Christmas coffee mug and are calling that good?

The tree only goes up when the grand children come down - not likely this Christmas.

8. Is your life turning out the way you thought it would when you were a kid? If not, is it better or worse?

Never dreamt so far ahead as a child - however, I seem to be content with what life has handed out to me.

9. Tell us about something you'll miss about 2010.

I shall miss being younger... am becoming a Senior Citizen :)

Thanks so much for joining us again at Saturday: 9. As always, feel free to come back, see who has participated and comment on their posts. In fact sometimes, if you want to read & comment on everyone's responses, you might want to check back again tomorrow. But it is not a rule. We haven’t any rules here. Join us on next Saturday for another version of Saturday: 9, "Just A Silly Meme on a Saturday!" Enjoy your weekend!

Saturday 9: Dark Lady

2010-11-27T11:43:00.005+05:30

Dark Lady

Saturday 9: Dark Lady

1. Have you ever been to a fortune teller? If yes, what happened?

Yes - he predicted a job for me - which was highly unlikely in my circumstances (less than 1% chance); it materialized within a month.

2. How do you cope in an uncomfortable social situation?

Try to remain cool.

3. A genie appears (of course). She asks, “If you had 3 wishes but each took 3 years off your life, what would you wish for and why?”

Happiness for me(1), family(2) and humanity(3) - same order of preference. Do not need to live very long...

4. Would you rather lose your soul mate or never meet them at all?

Rather lose ....

5. What is the hardest thing that you have ever had to do?
Keeping my mouth shut...

6. Have you ever had a miracle happen to you or your loved ones?

No - I am too rational for that.

7. Tell us about a quote that you can relate to. Why can you relate with it?:
...the moving finger writes..., (Omar Khayyam). Its the truth.

8. What personality trait has gotten you into the most trouble?

My belief that I am a 'king'.

9. For those in The States, how was your Turkey Day? If not from the US, do you celebrate a day like Thanksgiving?

No.

Thanks so much for joining us again at Saturday: 9. As always, feel free to come back, see who has participated and comment on their posts. In fact sometimes, if you want to read & comment on everyone's responses, you might want to check back again tomorrow. But it is not a rule. We haven’t any rules here. Join us on next Saturday for another version of Saturday: 9, "Just A Silly Meme on a Saturday!" Enjoy your weekend!

Thank you for your mail - Forwards # 9

2010-11-24T10:59:00.007+05:30

(Thanks to Basant Nagdev for sharing)

As we approach the end of another year - I want to thank all of you for your educational e-mails over the past year. I am totally screwed up now and have little chance of recovery.

I no longer open a bathroom door without using a paper towel, or have the waitress put lemon slices in my ice water without worrying about the bacteria on the lemon peel.

I can't use the remote in a hotel room because I don't know what the last person was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels.

I can't sit down on the hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed....hmmmm

I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the number one pastime while driving alone is picking one's nose.

Eating a little snack sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how many gallons of trans fats I have consumed over the years.

I can't touch any woman's purse for fear she has placed it on the floor of a public bathroom.

I MUST ALSO SEND MY SPECIAL THANKS to whoever sent me the one about rat shit in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing.

ALSO, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's Novena has granted my every wish.

I can't have a drink in a bar because I'll wake up in a bathtub full of ice with my kidneys gone.

I can't eat at KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes, feet or feathers.

I can't use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

BECAUSE OF YOUR CONCERN, I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer buy gas without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer doesn't crawl in my back seat when I'm filling up.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Fanta since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put 'Under God' on their cans.

I no longer use Cling Wrap in the microwave because it causes seven different types of cancer.

AND THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face... Disfiguring me for life.

I no longer go to the movies because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS when I sit down

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or Fedex since they are actually Al Qaeda agents in disguise. And I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer buy cookies from Neiman-Marcus since I now have their recipe.

THANKS TO YOU I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big black snake could be lurking under the seat and cause me instant death when it bites my ass.

AND THANKS TO YOUR GREAT ADVICE I can't ever pick up a Toonie dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting to grab me as I bend over...

I no longer drive my car because buying gas from some companies supports Al Qaeda, and buying gas from all the others supports South American dictators.

I can't do any gardening because I'm afraid I'll get bitten by the Violin Spider and my hand will fall off.

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow afternoon, and the fleas from 120 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's best friend's beautician ...

Oh, by the way.....

A German scientist from Argentina , after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with their hand on the mouse.

Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.

PS: I now keep my toothbrush in the living room, because I was told by e-mail that water splashes over 6 ft. out of the toilet.

INFORMATION EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW... Forwards # 8

2010-11-20T22:25:00.003+05:30

INFORMATION EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW.........................
Blood Clots / Stroke - They Now Have a Fourth Indicator, the Tongue

STROKE: Remember the 1st Three Letters.... S . T. R.

STROKE IDENTIFICATION:

During a BBQ, a friend stumbled and took a little fall - she assured everyone that she was fine (they offered to call paramedics). She said she had just tripped over a brick because of her new shoes.

They got her cleaned up and got her a new plate of food. While she appeared a bit shaken up, Ingrid went about enjoying herself the rest of the evening

Ingrid's husband called later telling everyone that his wife had been taken to the hospital - (at 6:00 pm Ingrid passed away.) She had suffered a stroke at the BBQ. Had they known how to identify the signs of a stroke, perhaps Ingrid would be with us today. Some don't die. They end up in a helpless, hopeless condition instead.

It only takes a minute to read this...
A neurologist says that if he can get to a stroke victim within 3 hours he can totally reverse the effects of a stroke...totally. He said the trick was getting a stroke recognized, diagnosed, and then getting the patient medically cared for within 3 hours, which is tough.

RECOGNIZING A STROKE

The sense to remember the '3' steps, S T R.

Read and Learn!

Sometimes symptoms of a stroke are difficult to identify. Unfortunately, the lack of awareness spells disaster. The stroke victim may suffer severe brain damage when people nearby fail to recognize the symptoms of a stroke.

Now doctors say a bystander can recognize a stroke by asking three simple questions:

S *Ask the individual to SMILE.
T *Ask the person to TALK and SPEAK A SIMPLE SENTENCE (Coherently - i.e. It is sunny out today.)
R *Ask him or her to RAISE BOTH ARMS.

If he or she has trouble with ANY ONE of these tasks, call emergency number immediately and describe the symptoms to the dispatcher.

New Sign of a Stroke -------- Stick out Your Tongue
NOTE: Another 'sign' of a stroke is this: Ask the person to 'stick' out his tongue.. If the tongue is 'crooked', if it goes to one side or the other, that is also an indication of a stroke.
A cardiologist says if everyone who gets this e-mail sends it to 10 people; you can bet that at least one life will be saved.

(Contributed by: Basantlal Nagdev - basantlal2001@gmail.com)

Please give me feedback if you like such informative posts...