Better the bitter life ...

What do you do,

When you once again feel the world's turning its back to you?

You know you've got to be brave -

Remember?, you've preached that life will pave.

But now? It's so hard to face.

So broken. So hard to braze.

'Why does it happen only to me?', you say ...

Forgetting that No one has it their merry way.

The moment is so weak, it kills all your past zeal

If you could just gain some strength to gather

What you'd say to a friend trying to break similar waters,

You could make yourself feel better.

And remind yourself how Life is less sweet,

More bitter ...

The Childhood of the 70's :)

It’s very intriguing to hear how your parent’s childhood was. I have in fact, heard it all through my childhood years -The house my mom lived in Jayanagar, the one green rose that bloomed every year in their garden, the fights with her sister and cousins, how every Diwali was celebrated … It was very unlike my childhood, it was a different world, it was the early 70’s.

I discover an old Bangalore as I go around with my mom to visit relatives. Today the same stories I’ve heard earlier seem to arrest my attention more grippingly. Living in Bangalore since the last 3 years is probably the reason for this. I am taken by pleasant surprise when I hear stories that describe an era and city that I will only be able to imagine but never be able to relate to - A time that seemed to have been so much more beautiful than what the present is.

My mom, aunt and granddad continue to discuss the ‘golden days’ of their lives and though I am aware that it’s getting late to get back home, I decide to forget the present and enjoy the short living of memories from my mom’s childhood. I am listening to stories of a time when buns of a small pizza size were sold at the rate of 10paise; when kids played around in road; times when they had to use the trunk call facility for phoning out station numbers. They had to ‘book’ a call to an out station number and wait infinitely to receive a call back from the operator who’d connect them to the other end. Every 3 minutes a lady would interrupt and utter ‘3 minutes over’ and you would have to hurriedly ask her to extend it if you needed to continue and she’d connect back to the other end. There was also the ‘lightning call’ facility which was a luxury. You could get connected to your call immediately but it was much more expensive; it was a time when you had to have a ‘license’ to listen to the radio. The ‘license’ was essentially like a registration, but you had to stand in queue to get it renewed every year. My aunt points to an old wooden stool and describes how she used to fight to sit on it when all the cousins ganged up to eat. My mom tells me about the 5paise pink bubble gum they used to pick up from a jar. You’d rarely find a white color bubble gum and if you did, you could claim for another free bubble gum. It was a lucky draw! I listen on …

The shade of the film running in my head is exactly like those in the flashback scenes in movies :) - My mom wearing a sweater and cycling to school, My grandmother screaming at my aunt and mom who are fighting, My granddads playing carom as my grandma makes hot bajjis in the kitchen, the kids (my aunts) playing on the road … It’s the scene from an old Bangalore, where a bus from Malleshwaram to Jayanagar traveled a long time because it was an old rickety bus, not because it was an ac Volvo that was mostly stationary from waiting at the traffic signals; It was a city where the famous eat outs wereWarrior Bakery and V.B Bakery, not chains of Coffee Day and Mast Kalander; A city that was truly the garden city not one which is just tagged so from its past glory.

It really was very refreshing to listen to the exchange of memories between the three. To rightly sum up, their childhood years were a very content time. There is a lot more convenience in today's life, but they never missed the conveniences then. They enjoyed leading that life and have more etched and fond memories of it than probably people of my age have of their childhood. I am glad I got to live some of that awesome age through this conversation :)

The pessimist in me ...

There is a part of me that I am not,

Its a place inside, I feel I don't belong.

I go back in thoughts

And remember myself from the past.

I try to bring myself back,

The efforts are not good enough.

It happens time and again

This vicious circle is a pain.

I fear my motivating memory will not remain,

If I continue to work only in vain

I want to be strong, I don't want to yield

But easier said than to believe