A little History

It was a different era, we were in school then, an Italian convent, for mere konkani speaking boys like us the times were dark, as we toiled day and night to provide our tyrannical teachers with homework, but their demands never ceased, and we were often left scratching our oily heads wondering whether we would ever be free from this misery that our parents had subjected us to. We couldnt understand why we had to study about the boring Tagore, Tilak and Vivekananda who seemed to have nothing to do with the India's freedom struggle.

The "English" boys were a different race altogether, clad in their spotless uniforms and polished shoes, with neatly parted hair and impeccable command of English, they represented the latest version of the British saheb in 1994, they were mostly Christians and often had relatives coming down from the U.S and Europe, their sentences were full of words like damn, bugger, bash you, buddy, pal, and other unmentionable expletives, they talked about Michael Jackson, and other singers we hadn't heard about, and worse they sniggered at anything Indian, so all our attempts to converse about Indian films and music was watered down by their tales of Jackie Chan, Arnold, Sylvester Stallone, and Metallica. Apache Indian had already betrayed us by claiming to be Canadian. Ancestral superiority hung in the air and we accepted our Indian lowliness as fate. Then one day everything changed.

Savio the leader of them all marched into the class early morning stared at us and shook his head slowly in wonder, "deadly dance man, shit!!! too good" for a second we were shocked that he was actually addressing us in the first place, then someone recovered and asked what it was about, "deadly dance man, yesterday on Tv, that guy with the beard, he was too damn good man!!! just too good, he was Indian" we were puzzled, the only bearded men who danced in the movies then were anonymous extras. "whats his name?" Savio inquired, but we had no idea.Then slowly the news started trickling in, about a Tamil song that had been aired for the very first time in a countdown show, the tension was evident as their community got divided into for and against factions, some started violent controversies by claiming the bearded guy to be better than Michael Jackson, steadily the unrest grew and attained uncontrollable proportions ...

By Recess, the English bastion had fallen, all the europhiles were talking about the bearded guy, and the "deadly dance", some even tried to imitate it but failed. A few evenings later the bearded guy and his dance was all over the small screens, and the English guys hummed the catchy tune of the Tamil song, and were interested about more such films and dances especially after knowing that the dancer was an expert in Bharatnatyam, the earlier feudal atmosphere sublimated to one of mutual cultural respect. That bearded guy had single-handedly raised our self esteem, and in that small classroom, in a very small way we experienced first hand what the great Tagore, Tilak and Swami Vivekananda had done in their time.

See the bearded guys song here : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rIwuDzToLcg

 

An obituary

I am standing in my room alone, trying to figure out a way to arrange all my books on the bookshelves so they can be traced easily. My problem is that if i arrange the books as per author then the genres will get mixed and i want to have the non fiction books on a separate shelf. Pluto, sitting next to my bed gives yet another sigh and lies down he cannot understand why i cant play with him.
 
Since the time between my last post and now, a lot many things have happened. I have landed a job in Goa in a shipyard and now am living at home with family, but the days in Pune are and will always remain special, that city gave/taught me a lot in the three years.


Lying on my clean bed I think sometimes of the cold november evenings sitting at a roadside restaurant chatting with Marathi colleagues and sipping at masala tea, the glimpse of all the usual shops and ancient buildings as the company bus took us round the city in the 2 hour ride to the office whilst we listened to old songs on cell phones.

Prefixing Chaaaaila!!! before every sentence, and discussing the favorite marathi topic of Biharis taking over Mumbai. I even miss all the bedbugs and the fun of living, sitting, lying, resting, eating, sleeping, reading, surfing on a single cot. In summer the antics of my room mates to cool the room by washing the floor will be great anecdotes, while visualising my room mate clad only in a loose, well ventillated VIP underwear and a frown on his face searching for bedbugs at 3:00am will be intensely funny, he adamantly believed that the bedbugs were responsible for his bachelorhood, i.e. bedbugs=no sleep=low eficiency=no promotion=no raise=no proposals, that was the sexiest root cause analysis i've heard.

Then there is also to be mentioned the perpetual smile on the owner of the tea shop when i met him every tired evening, and his interest in mobile phones will always be a sweet memory. In contrast i will never forget my landlord and his fanatical belief that my late night computer usage was responsible for everything from global warming to snowfall in minnesota, least of all the electricity bill that i paid anyways.

Besides this i will always yearn for those quiet long walks, and the trips to the crossword bookstore on holidays and the thunderous chicken at the kolhapuri restaurants, so also the crowded Rajasthani mess. Yes there are many more but then this isn't exactly my autobiography.

As for the room mate, well i heard that he left the place and finally got married. God bless his soul.

 I think I will arrange all the books as per author, that way it will be easy to find the book i want.