Beauty of Setting Full Moon

Last evening was full moon.  The bright and full moon at its pinnacle shone brightly around 11pm and made me compare it with a cool light in the room.   A clear sky and a full disc of moon is a treat to the eyes.

 It was quarter past 5 in the morning when the bladder woke me up.  The eyes opened and the sight of  the moon through the room window floored me.  I had not gone for my morning walk for the past 5-6 weeks.  The moon wanted me to get up and go NOW.  That was the moon's call, so was nature's. 

 Very soon, I was scootering my way to the University Athletic Ground, just a mile away.  When this ground is moonlit like this, it is idyllic, with the grand Crawford Hall as a backdrop.  We get the opportunity to enjoy such a setting esp. in the winter months between November and February/March due to generally clear skies.  Though there will be mist on many occasions, it can be a truly remarkable setting.  I took my little Lumix to capture it.  

Click on pictures to get a magnified view.  I have mentioned time at the bottom of each picture.

That was as soon as I began the 'morning walk'.  I used the backrest of a sitting bench for resting the camera on for shooting these.  Last year, sans the camera, I sat there on that bench and kept gazing at the moon for a long time till I remembered I had gone for a walk!  The moon was the Crawford Hall. 

Continuing my walk the athletic track, like tens of people do, I stopped again to use the fence to rest the camera for the next shot. For the University's Platinum Jubilee earlier this year, a fence and pavement was newly made replacing the old hedge. Now it adds beauty to this setting.  Sun was preparing to say 'good morning' behind me and sending its first beams to the sky. 

Can you spot a dog here in the following picture?  It is on the track too taking its walk as I stopped, shot and strolled.  I slightly brightened the picture just to show the dog.

One round of stroll later, the sun was saying hello behind me, with more beams but only the voice.  He would show his face a short while later.

One more shot zoomed from a different angle.  This time, a Police barricade with wheels kept aside became my 'tripod'.   It was just at the right place for me to align the moon right on top of the building's crown. I had to rest the camera on something for unshaky shots because of poor light [for shooting].

From the same place, one more normal shot. Now the skylight was brightening up.  I said enough for today.  The moon was being obscured by some thin clouds and the show was as good as over.  The moon will be waning from tomorrow and will be setting later than today.

I resumed the walk and joined a senior friend who usually arrives around 6 am.  He walks the track in the clock-wise direction, unlike many.  The next four rounds was with him.  It was time for me to return home.  I bade good bye to him.  The sun had just risen over the Mysorizon  [Mysore horizon]. 

It was a clear morning.  But as I post this, post dinner, there was a heavy shower at half past eight.   

Surprise visit by an old man...

I was sipping the evening tea and the sun was about to go down. I was in the side yard.   Clank, clank........ clank, clank...... I went to check who was clanking the latch on our metal gate.  An old man was peeping through the narrow rectangular peep-hole hoping someone heard his clanks.  The spacious open yard makes first time visitors guess the presence of a dog and hence they use the clank-wait-enter method.  Before he decided to enter, I was inquiring him after opening the gate.

"Is this K.M.Subba Rao's house?" he asked.  I was happy someone was remembering my grandfather who left us in 1976.  I said 'Yes' when he asked if I was Ramu's son.  The small-built man's face expressed a little delight.  I answered his next question with another 'yes' and he came up with a list of my relatives with whom I had lived but he had disconnected before I had arrived. 

I invited him in.  He introduced himself as a person who knew the family and who used to visit here in the 1940s and later in the 1950s when my grandfather had shifted to another house, before he moved to Bangalore for greener pastures - in the Courts at Bangalore.  He had retired 32 years ago serving a long time and had moved [back] to Mysore 4 years ago. 

Our house is 102 years old.   He was aware from other sources that Subba Rao's descendants were continuing to live here.  So he had decided to stop by, getting down from a bus in which he was traveling, just to relive some old memories. 

He appeared to be a man with a clear memory, even as ancient as 60-65 years.  Old memories of such antiquity seemed to flow freely, with a touch of emotion.   He had attended the wedding of my parents and recalled my grandmother presenting him with a small 'tiffin box' to carry lunch to his college [Sarada Vilas College where he was in the first batch when the college was started].  It took a long time to start drinking his tea because he was enjoying his time machine ride, backwards.  I was in it too and still sipping my tea and enjoying the nostalgia, even when I was not part of his memories.

He used to teach school lessons to my late paternal aunt.  This he reminisced quite emotionally saying that the fee was five rupees but it was not the amount that mattered to him, it was the affection and kindness that was all over the home that counted. "Those were such good days, such good people and such fine attitudes and atmospheres in homes." "What a fine lady your grandmother was!"   As more fond memories rolled by, he could not control his emotions.  An emotional lump had formed in his throat and tears had filled his eyes.  He could not speak for a few seconds.  He was feeling the "good old times" he had been part of, in this very house was coming up again.  He got up saying he would take leave.  

His name was Pattabhi which my mother recalled.  He had known the changes, developments and divisions that took place in the family in the past decade and there was an urge to visit this place. So he had got down from the bus in front of our house.  As he was leaving, he showed a place in the veranda where he used to sit with other members in those times.  

The active octogenarian blessed us and left refusing my offer to give a lift on my scooter back to his house, saying that he lived in far Srirampura and he would get plenty of buses here.   I hope he will accede to my offer to visit again more leisurely to share more memories of that beautiful bygone era so that I can 'nostalgiate'.   

He felt very happy to have met us even though we were new to him.  We felt honoured by this surprise visit of a humble teacher.

A Silly Walkathon on a Dilly Flyover!

The 'Dilly' in the title is the Hindi equivalent of Delhi.

I, Shiva and Venkatesh had reached Jangpura Metro Station after dilly dallying on what to do next. [This 'dilly' is different!]  The option of meeting my friend Girish at his Noida Studio where he worked was ruled out following a phone call to him.

Our 12-member cricket team had traveled to Dehra Dun for a tournament.  We had ample time for our next train back to Mysore from Hazrat Nizamuddin [HN] Station at Delhi. We threesome had deposited our luggage in the Cloak room at HN and set about roaming.  Shiva wanted to shop myriad items at Karol Bagh, famous for its street side shopping while I and Venkatesh had nothing much in particular.  First thing we needed badly was lunch because we did/could not have breakfast.  Our fuel tanks were filled at a south Indian restaurant. 

[Click on pictures to enlarge and view]

Shiva is seen here with the red-black sack, eyeing something for his kids while Venkatesh is disinterested and I caught such moments!  After two hours Shiva had his shopping sack full.  Over a cup of coffee at the same restaurant we decided to travel in the Metro to some place to be near HN where we were to board Rajdhani Express. Shiva was guided at the ticket counter at Karol Bagh Metro that Jangpura was closest to HN Station. 

We found ourselves resting a short while [marked B in picture below] outside the Jangpura Metro Station [marked A].  It was quarter past five.  The Sun was lowering. Our train was at ten to nine.  My call to Girish at this stage was decisive that we must reach HN and not loiter anywhere else. From Point B we walked a short distance to Lala Lajpatrai Road looking for some mode of transport to reach HN. 

A passing man with a wave of the hand told that HN was just "ten to fifteen minutes away" from there.  He pointed the flyover under which we were standing.  It was the 'Barapullah Elevated Road'. 

A battery trike came to us. This is a new 'green' silent thing in Delhi to reduce pollution.  Pictured left is one at Karol Bagh, the modern version of the Harley Taxi Trikes of yore that roamed Delhi [called Phut-phut] spewing smoke and making noise and they needed no horns!  On inquiry, the green-triker quoted seventy five rupees for three persons to take us to HN.  Wisdom did not prevail.  He went away disagreeing to our bargained fare of sixty.  There was one cycle rickshaw on the opposite side of Lala Lajpatrai Road [see sat-pic above].  Only cars and two-wheelers are allowed on flyovers.  The mention of our destination [HN], put him off, but he too showed the direction waving his hand "just walk on the flyover for ten - fifteen minutes and you will see at Nizamuddin Station on the left".   This "ten to fifteen minutes distance" tallied in our 3 inquiries and this is why we decided to give it a go on foot.  

Some Jane Austen had quoted "When an opinion is general, it is usually correct."

We began our walk in the direction marked in green from the point marked D in the satellite picture above. That is where the 'elevated road' descended to join Lala Lajpatrai Road and we were to walk opposite the traffic direction.  [The satellite images shown here show very very sparse traffic.] It was peak hour at half past five and one knows how 'peak hour traffic' can be.

The sun had set behind us.  But there was to be skylight for another 20 minutes or so. We found ourselves with traffic on our left walking in single file, inside the narrow gap between the yellow line and the parapet. 

This web-picture will give an idea. See the parapet and the yellow line and estimate the gap and imagine car tyres zooming close to the yellow line.  

Soon, we were high on the road and the one already running high when we started the ascent, was now side by side. We walked those 15 minutes indicated by the people, then 30 minutes.  By then it was dark.  The lamp posts were all lit and the solar road blinkers fixed at intervals along the yellow line had been activated.

The distinctive tombs of Isa Khan and Humayun which we used as some sort of index to our left had disappeared far behind us. 

The 30 minutes was now 45 and the Delhi skyline looked something like this.  The road we were walking on seemed to take us to oblivion. 

Actually, what is pictured above from the web search is the same road at the time of its inauguration.  In fact, I came to identify the names of roads during my web search for this post!

It was peak hour and with no respite cars were zooming past at great speed.  We would get run out [as in cricket] if we left the yellow line!  We had to keep our concentration tight because the sides of cars were so close to our elbows at times and the drivers never expect people to be walking on flyovers!  

Only nuts walk at such places! And we were three! 

Stench from the Barapullah Nala  which was flowing beneath kept us constant company even when we were at its pinnacle almost as high as Qutab Minar's 72.5 metres, or so I thought!  See this link:  http://sarsonkekhet.in/2010/08/19/barapullah-nala-in-spate/  -- The flyover is under construction. 

See the picture below. The Road we had taken seemed to be running in the wrong direction because we were definitely aware that HN was towards our left!  We noticed that the other road running side by side on our left had to be the right one.  It had been running close most of the while and we noticed the gap widening!  So we HAD to cross flyovers!!

We were on the outer side.  The road had to be crossed first to be able to evaluate the gap between the two flyovers.  It can be an illusion from across the road. We had to wait for a small respite in traffic that had been zooming all along.  Crossing the road was so risky, riskier than taking a run in front of Ricky Ponting!  We took the run safely waiting for the right moment.  

I remembered to take a picture before we crossed over, of traffic below us.  A portion of the parapet pipe support is visible at the left corner.

The gap between the two flyovers was about 2 feet and appeared 'crossable'.  One by one we did.  A helping hand was needed.  We had to pass on the back-sacks and had to climb the parapet empty handed for proper balance and no distractions.  There was the Nala beneath, watching us from the gap!  Crossing was another silly thing we had to do.  We had to grip-hold the thick safety pipe on the parapet and also slide down to land our feet.  At one point we had one leg each on the two flyovers.  The only thing we did not do was lift our hands there and say 'Hurray!' which could have been the last!! 

Our hands and pants were dirty from this, but this is what nuts doing such things will end up with!  It was okay!

Now our hopes of reaching HN sooner, brightened up with the cross over.  All the while we hoped none of 

us three nuts would get knocked over by speeding quads - hundreds of them had crossed us from as close as one foot or two feet. Now we were moving in the direction of traffic on this Elevated Road.  I tried to pencil the picture in cross-section.

At the 'jump-over', it appeared to be only at half way stage of the silly adventure!  This road too seemed to go far and taking us left, in the direction we had assumed.  We were right -- to our left!!   Hitch-hiking was not considered, because of prevailing distrust in public following 

Finally, after more than an hour, we found the Elevated Road losing elevation, quicker than we were losing our energies and patience!  Suddenly we felt a rejuvenation and found someone to inquire where HN is.  "There it is, just there to the left."  Yes, no more guesswork this time, it was just there to the left and we were soon at Hazrat Nizamuddin - Entry 2.  It was like winning a Delhi Marathon!  Phew!

I had decided during this Silly Walkathon itself that if I returned home safe, I would check on G-map to see how much this ridiculous adventure measured. It showed 4 kms, [blue line, Point A to B] but we felt it was 6. The 'estimated'15 minutes was actually 70-80 minutes long! 

There were feelings about 'next time we should not do such a thing' and the likes, but 'such things' occur blindfolding wisdom!  They just happen and by the time we realize the mistake, we are already wrong!  There wont be a repetition but there can be a new wrong!!  That was surely a once-in-a-lifetime silly thing that happened and hence this post!  I now want to link this post to Jane Austen!

Memories of Sitabai and Gopinath

At 86, Sitabai breathed her last on September 23rd. Husband Gopinath had predeceased her by 11 years.  In the mid 50s to early 60s, they were tenants in our house upstairs in what was for a long time, beautiful, Devaparthiva Road.  Gopinath built his own house just two houses away and moved there.  Sitabai's second daughter was my 'first friend' Latha, born when they were in that upstairs house.  Just a few months separate us in age.

We have known each other since that early time.  The earliest time I can recall Sitabai was when she used to feed curd-rice to Latha in a spoon while my mother did the same to me.  Latha was not fussy, but used to eat only curd rice, but I was fussy and disliked curd rice, eating only saaru-rice [rasam] which my mother tried to put in my mouth.  I would open the mouth if Latha ate one spoonful.  Either they would come down or we would go up for this big circus.

The landlord-tenant discrimination did not exist, but they were treated as one among the family.  Tenants fondly recall their time with us even decades after they left and progressed well.  Most of them have kept in touch with us, because they never got a feeling they were tenants.  My grandfather was never after money and by renting out, he never thought that he was the landlord.  Such was the simplicity.  The association with tenants and the friendly air that existed defies description.

But with the three following pictures I just make a poor attempt to describe it.

It was taken on the occasion of my grandfather's 60th birthday in 1956.  I have marked G and S [for Gopinath and Sitabai] as index.  Their daughter [Latha's elder sister, who carried a unique name of Priyamvada] is seen in black jumper in both pictures. To Sitabai's left is another tenant in the out house where the background screen is tied for this photo.  My father's hand rests on G's shoulder.

 [Click on all pictures to enlarge]

This was also taken on the same day as the group.  My grandmother is with her two grandchildren from her eldest daughter. And do not miss Priyamvada here. 

Now I was on the 'other side'.  Sitabai had become frail and weak . Her closest relatives were visiting from Bangalore to see her.  I felt privileged when they called me to be with them for a while before they returned to Bangalore.  So I left office early and rushed to meet them.  This happened to be the last we met Sitabai. It was exactly two months before she passed. It was an emotional moment for her closest relatives Thanks to my friend Srinivas [whose mother is Latha's cousin is at extreme right] for sending this memorable picture.   Priyamvada holds some spiritual book, seen extreme left.

Gopinath and Sitabai were a special and unique couple, personality-wise, with the lady taller than the man.  You can gauge their height in the group picture.  Gopinath worked at Mysore's reputed Krishnarajendra Mills [K.R.Mills] before moving to Davangere for a better job at DCM towards the late 60s.  I think he was an expert in textiles. I preserve a box from K.R.Mills which produced quality hosiery and textiles.

Gopinath and family returned to settle down in their Mysore house after he retired from DCM in the late 70s. The sick K.R. Mills had downed its shutters by then and his choice of going to DCM had proved to be a wise one.

In 1976, my late aunt and I visited them while they were at Davangere.  I remember the year because after a long gap, I was extremely shy to meet my first friend again!  More than that, I had the opportunity to listen to the radio commentary in Gopinath's radio when [Sir] Vivian Richards was hammering England at The Oval in the Test Match during his innings of 291.  We stayed for 2-3 days enjoying the wonderful hospitality of Gopinath and Sitabai. We had also visited the 13th century Harihareshwara Temple in nearby Harihara town.

There are many memorable pictures in our family album from the 50s and 60s, courtesy, Gopinath.  Photography was his passion at a time when possessing a camera itself was a big thing to many.  Our family did not have a camera and the pictures he took are the only ones available, taken outside a studio at that time!  I chose only a few relevant ones here.  Several others have fortified our family album. 

On a swing.  I am in whites, see hair. Earliest photo of us by Gopinath.

Above pictures:  Me and my first friend, when they were living upstairs. I'm in my terylene shirt.  Do not miss my favourite 'flip-flop' footwear.  They remain so, till date! 

This one was in front of their newly built house, some years later.  Terylene shirt again. I am very tense for this photo here probably because Gopinath had instructed me how to stand for the photo!  Notice the 'window box' for growing plants, which was in fashion at that time. 

My classmate Srinivas is Latha's nephew, seated extreme left. Picture from early 90s, taken by Gopinath from Srinivas' camera. All three of us used to go together to the same school.

My grandfather's four children - the only one on record - are in the same frame.  My father is at extreme left.  

Besides photography, Gopinath liked hockey and cricket. He used to recall his younger days on the hockey field and had many fond memories.  He was fond of comparing his own talent with that of other illustrious players in his time and how he enjoyed hockey.  He had owned a Vespa scooter in the early 60s from which he miraculously survived a bad accident.  Later he had bought a Jawa Motorbike which the family still preserves as a vintage model.  He was the only one in our street who owned a Jawa [manufactured in Mysore -Image from Wikipedia]

Obbattu [shown at left, from Wiki] is a South Indian sweet dish. Gopinath used to give us a few of those, but in his own recipe. It was tasteless, but full of affection.  It was known as 'Gopinath Obbattu'.  It was actually an affectionate hard tap on our butts!
Ob-butt-u!

 Gopinath's kindness and soft nature was evident in all his actions, so was his joviality.  A friendly tease was always expected from him when we met, usually he would start a conversation from one such.  Once I showed a chair I had made.  It was a large one.  So he had named it as 'Maharaja's Chair' because it would fit the Mysore Maharaja who was a fat man.  He was much like my father, also when it came to teasing and pulling legs.  In later years, I used to visit often to spend sometime with the old couple and they would recall the wonderful days while they were upstairs.

Many years ago when they thinned out their attic, I took some wooden pieces thinking they would be of some use.  See what I made with it here: [Click]. This post comes from there!

Sitabai had the ability to keep people warm, both with her hospitable nature and with the woolen materials she knit and gave away.  There are none who did not know Sitabai's fantastic knitting skills.  She was a knitter par excellence.  She could keep knitting while not looking at the needles.  The knits and purls went on like a machine! As youngsters, we were wonder struck watching her do this!  Just give the wool, size and pattern to her.  And presto, she would create what was wanted.  She has knit an enormous quantity of items to one and all, be they expectant mothers, tiny tots, kids, girls, boys and for anybody who asked, for free, for, it was her great passion.  I do not know if my late aunt Gowra had learnt to knit from Sitabai.  I have preserved one pullover knitted by her in the 1980s. [Pictured].  But I can recall clearly that Sitabai had made several sweaters when I was smaller, for my father and grandfather too.

Both Sitabai and Gopinath led full lives and left behind pleasant memories and deeds. If Gopinath's pictures stay in the album, the picture of the tall personality of Sitabai walking in to our house for an informal chat, her unique voice and the glittering nose stud that sparkled as she spoke, ever remain in memory.  

Train journey travails

Lucknow was the place chosen for our annual cricket tournament in 2002, organized by the employer HQ. We had a good team, a mix of players from the 'branches' located at several places.  In the 16-member contingent, three of us were from our branch. Prior to the 3-day tournament, there was a 3-day practice. I chose to skip the practice part while my two younger team mates went ahead of me by 3 days. Traveling alone, I was to join the team just a day ahead of the match.

Mysore to Lucknow is more than 2000 kms. Lucknow is not connected by direct trains from Mysore. It takes two full days and a change of trains at Bangalore and Jhansi.  Long time gap during change overs is a difficult time esp. when alone.  Running with heavy luggage to reach the train, changing platforms, crossing footbridges and traveling itself is a tense and tiresome experience.  In the past, I have traveled alone and have faced many tense moments. But this particular journey had in store something very unexpected and freaky.

In Bangalore there was a two hour time gap for the next train I had even gone to my relative's house for a meal in Malleswaram, just ten minutes [by autorickshaw] from the Bangalore Railway Station.

Karnataka Express chugged off on time at 7.20pm.   I was to alight at Jhansi 32 hours [1700 kms] later for the second train-change over.  Half past three in the morning was the expected arrival time, a very odd time to be alighting.

I had the lower berth in the middle of the compartment where its night light was just like night! Most of the passengers had also switched off the lights. Dark.  All was well till I tried to sleep for the second night in the same place.  My luggage was chained to a ring underneath the seat.  I had to be awake when the train would arrive at Jhansi, well ahead as there would be no one to wake us up in case sleep got sound!

The mind was very restless.  What if I sleep through Jhansi, if sleep 'happened'?  When exactly will Jhansi be reached?  Was our train running on time? Whom to ask?  The TTE [Train Ticket Examiner] was unseen. These constant worries kept haunting.  Every few minutes I tried to see my black dial watch but could not see time as it was dark. I would wait for the train to pass through some station which had lights to catch that light on my watch to see time.

Half past mid night, then one, half past one, then two.  I had tried to see the watch a hundred times. How far was Jhansi?  I have known Jhansi to be a busy junction.

It was about 2 a.m when the train came to a halt.  It was some station I could not know.  Many people were shouting in such a way it told the short duration of this train-stoppage. I lay on my tummy, jacking up on my elbows to see through the glass window.  There was a huge sea of people in great hurry.

All of them were barging into all the 'reserved' compartment, including ours.  The number of seats/berths was 72/bogey, but within a few minutes there were 200 people including the sleeping 72. The TTE had vanished. These people occupied every available inch of space in the bogey. I am not exaggerating 'inch'. There were two people sitting on my berth and one had already occupied the leg space on the floor, sleeping.

The huge group appeared to be part of some political movement. I am sure they were all ticket-less. The train started to move again and I lay back to wait to see which station would come next. There was no halt for the next 40-50 minutes.

When the train slowed down and halted alongside another station that had a long platform, I got panicky.   The station appeared to be a large one, with lots of lights. If it was Jhansi, I had to get down now!!  I had to squeeze my way out through the people somehow. I asked someone if this was Jhansi. There was a 'Yes'. I panicked further.  I did not know how long the train was stopping here. I could not get a clue about the station name, anywhere.

In this state of mind, I unlocked my luggage chain, pushing the sleeping fellow on the floor and pulled up my suitcase. There was no space for my feet to land on the floor!  Since I was in the middle portion of the bogey, I had to reach the end for the exit. But the aisle was completely jam-packed. Many were highly drowsy in standing position.  The snorers were not one bit affected by this hullabaloo.

I had left my seat/berth pushing my suitcase in between jam-packed people and I was feeling for my foot to land.  Where the suitcase went, I had to follow.  My kit bag tugged across my shoulder followed me.   It was inevitable that I had to land on one or two sleeping people, with just a mental excuse.

Some people had switched on the main lights of the compartments now.  As soon as I left my berth, three people squeezed in to occupy it, crouching because of the middle berth. If the train moved now I'm a goner, I thought.

I had squeezed my way through these people and with just a short distance from the exit, someone asked me which station I was to get down.  "Jhansi" I said.  "But Jhansi is still one hour away, this is ...x.... station!" Someone had misled me, probably to occupy my berth!

Now there was no way I could return to my berth, just a few feet behind me!!  People in the bogey were like a box full of worms.  At that spot I could see two people fully awake in their berths.  One of them was a young lady watching all this commotion and my confusion. She was in the middle berth nearest to where I was 'trapped'.

On the lower berth, there were two each sitting on opposite seats as the original berth-holder was sleeping. There was one sleeping on the floor.  My left leg was between two people sitting in the aisle and my right had found a place.  If I had slippers, they would have been lost. But I had shoes. The suitcase had found a few inches on the edge of the seat. My left hand trying to get a hold, kit bag hung in front of me.  They pack sheep in trucks more loosely.  Imagine the scene!!  There was no way I could stand one hour here with my luggage.

The only space available was on that young lady's berth. She was leaning her back to the window-side 'wall' and so there was half berth luckily unoccupied by anyone from that group.  There were people near the exit, in front of the toilet door and even in the vestibule.

The young lady readily and understandingly agreed to my request to occupy the half berth.  I thanked her. I now had space for my suitcase and the long legs which had to be kept on the opposite middle berth!  I had to manage sitting in a curved position.  The young lady was reading the Holy Bible and also seemed to be praying in between pauses. She did this for a long time.

A few minutes seemed like an hour. There were no further halts or stations for quite a while as the train hurtled fast as if to gain lost time.  I managed to get a few winks of sleep in the posture I was. The kit bag served as a resting aid for my arms.

"Jhansi".  I heard someone call out when the train slowed down.  The train came to a halt.  Since I was higher than the window I could not see anything.  And IT WAS Jhansi.  Announcing "Jhansi aa gaya, uthro" a few passengers were preparing to alight squeezing their way through those people. I thanked the young lady profusely and got down from the berth.  People near the door had got down to free their lungs and arms!  Finally, some 'space'!  What a relief it was to get out of this compartment!  At last, I set foot on the platform, as if I was landing on the moon!  I learnt that the train was indeed late by about 40 minutes.  It was now past 4 am.

How I wished I was like the Friendly Ghost Casper to walk through doors and walls and people!

Lucknow was still 4 hours and 300 kms away from here.  The next train was at 8 am which meant four more hours - of waiting, alone.  So I went to the resting lounge where many such 'waiters' were snoring, some on chairs and some on the floor, with luggage secured by chains.  I too occupied a chair and tied my luggage like a dog.  Luggage thieving is rampant and so the passengers have to be on the vigil.

When the sun rose and a telephone booth opened near the resting lounge, I called the organizing secretary at Lucknow that I would be arriving at about 12.30 pm and requested for transport for my pick up to join my team at the quarters. All was fine.

We lost our first match in a nail biting finish in the last over.  My personal contribution of 76 in 66 balls in a low scoring match seemed to have turned the game in our favour but not to be. Pitambar Dutt's 70 took the game from us. Since it was a knock-out tie, our team had no further role.

The purpose of our 40+ hours journey had ended in a mere four hours.  It was ridiculous!  But some of us made use of the free time to see the historical city.

Return journey was smooth and we threesome now traveled together with an unhappy feeling of having lost our first match.

Here are some images that float around the web. This is outside the train.  Expect the same inside!

The same year 2002, Indian Railways was 150 years old!

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Train boarding cliff-hanger

In 2007, our official biennial cricket tournament was in Chandigarh.  It was a long travel of 2 days from Mysore by train. Other team members had left a day before.  My team mate Shivu was to accompany me on the travel.  We were to board the train leaving at 9.10 pm to New Delhi at Yeshwanthpur, some way away from the main Bangalore Railway Station.  

Since there was no suitable train in the evening from here, we chose the road journey to reach Bangalore as buses were available every 5 minutes.  About three to three and half hours would be this journey. So we decided to start at 4 pm. If all went well, we would be there by 8 pm, more than one hour ahead of the departure.  

When I reached the bus station on time, Shivu was NOT around the spot we had agreed to meet.  Half past four, no Shivu.  Five, still no Shivu.  Now I started searching for him in all the moving bus windows as bus after bus were snailing out of the station.  Quarter past five, it was status quo.  My train tickets were also safely with him!!  

"I was here", waiting.  Buses were choc-a-bloc that evening and not as thin as it looks in this old Google image. [Click to enlarge].

Strange thoughts crossed the mind several times because this Shivu had a reputation of being careless. Suddenly there came the familiar voice from a bus window, Shivu calling my name in a tone of relief!  It had been almost 80 minutes since I stood there. He had a seat next to him.  I had to believe when he said he was searching for me all the while before he decided to board that bus!  

This was another instance where a mobile in my pocket would have solved the issue!  See my other blogpost where I have had to face yet another small confusion. [Click]. 

The bus was moving.  Half past five and now just three and half hours left for our train.  When the conductor came to issue us tickets we anxiously told our plight. He reassured us that we would reach by half past eight.

From Bangalore, Yeshwanthpur Rly.Stn was some distance away which meant some more precious minutes! Bangalore is notorious for its traffic jams.  It was half past eight and 'on time' and had "almost reached" the destination. 'Almost' because we had reached the deadliest, narrowest bottlenecks leading to the Bangalore Bus Station. 

Look for TCM Royan Rd. towards the left in this screen capture of the map. Look for 'Jam'.  This was about where we were jammed! 

Traffic in this dense jam was inching its way so slowly that it would have taken half an hour to get out past the traffic signal. We were at the half way point and we noticed that smaller vehicles were moving ahead more easily.  We now had 25 minutes left for the train departure.  Each second would count for us from now on.  Any delay meant we had to return home because it was a long distance travel and our team would have suffered a shortage of players. 

Just at that time, we saw an empty autorickshaw stop right next to the foot board.  Since traffic had stopped and there was some 'road space' to get down, we decided to hop on to the autorickshaw.  He had agreed to take us to Yeshwanthpur Rly. Station after we explained our urgency.  We soon agreed to his fare when he assured he would take us there in 15 minutes at the most, through a shortcut.  Luckily, the smaller vehicles were escaping quickly and more easily from the side and there were tens of them ahead of us.  Very soon, we were out of this jam.

I cannot count the number of times I looked at my watch that evening.  True to his words, he took us in 15 minutes flat.  Now, ten minutes left when he left us beside the station in a by lane. We thanked him profusely.  Every nano second would count now.  We had to cross the road and walk, nay run, some distance [with luggage] to get into the Station.  Eight minutes to go. We briskly crossed the road, already perspiring.  From where we crossed the road, we saw the tail of a train.  The station gate was many metres away to the left.

I tried to visualize that scene on paper now.  Remember it was 9 pm and dark. This is what we saw before we crossed the road:

There was a compound wall which was slightly taller than my shoulder that looked surmountable and the nearest route for us to be 'on some platform'!  Much younger Shivu climbed first after keeping the luggage on the wall.  We climbed the high wall like thieves escaping to safety.  I had to pull myself up, holding the edge of the wall, right leg first up, stomach scraping the top of the wall, sitting, jumping down, picking up luggage and running for the train.  Which train, where was our train?  Time, 3 minutes left.  

We dreaded the fact of searching and running to another platform or crossing tracks. But to our luck, the train we had seen was ours!   The board displayed on the bogey showed it!  This was about 40 feet from the compound wall we had just jump-crossed. To add to our luck, even our compartment was right there, in front of us, may be the third or fourth from the last!!  And we need not run anymore at all!  What a relief!  No sooner had we settled our luggage beneath our seats, we felt the jerk.  The train was moving. The time was 9.10.  We had made it!  Call what you may, cliff-hanger, filmy style. 

We had spilled all the 'cushion time' in Mysore itself.  This post need not have been written if I had a simple mobile phone and established contact with Shivu.  Ha, now suddenly I recall that I had attempted to contact him from the public booth nearby at half past four but "switched off" was the message.  What to do?

 The tournament from our team's perspective turned out to be one not to remember.

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Let me tell another 1994 story in brief.  

Our club cricket team had gone to Kumbakonam.  I was to join the team 3 days later for further matches.  Mohan Ram was accompanying me in the bus journey which was about 12 hours total time.  We expected to be well ahead early morning for our match at 8 am. We had started at 4pm. On the last stretch, the next morning as we closed in to the destination, some farmers' agitation had blocked traffic for 2 hours.  I remember we brushed our teeth during the blockage, beside the road. When we landed at our hotel, it was quarter to 8 and when we rushed to the ground after dumping the luggage and quickly changing to our cricket gear, our captain had made the toss and we were to take the field.  I played almost right off the bus...the engine sound still ringing after the overnight journey by ordinary seat.  We won the match and eventually after two more matches in the next two days, we ended runner-up.

****

Passport Photos

"Passport size photos" [35mm x 45mm] are asked by every office.  This is a 'must' when we need to obtain or renew a Driving License, an identity card, for opening bank accounts, PAN card, Ration card, registering for some course, not to mention obtaining Passport and several others.  As such, we need to keep copies handy for any sudden requirement.

In the days of yore a typical studio had one fixed camera behind the wooden board.  The diffuser light was also part of this. The rotation of a crank exposed the film, which the expert would do after asking the subject to look 'here' pointing to the lens.  The size of the print and number of copies needed were to be let known to the person attending.  He would index the photo as per his film and gave us the 'due date' [delivery of prints] when he collected a token advance money.  This was because the studios exposed film rolls and developed them only after the roll was over!  Once I was sent back on the due date which was one or two days later, saying that the 'roll is yet to complete'!  Those days are now gone.  This is the digital era. Why, since the last few years itself.  Electronics has made several things easy and in many ways.

Last week I happened to visit Roy Studio [Estd.1954] close to our house for my requirement. The copies made a couple of years ago have been spent.

"Passport photos." I told the proprietor.  "For 8, it will cost forty rupees".  I said "I need 16."  "For 16, seventy rupees. Comb your hair there."  He showed a lovely vintage dressing table, probably as old as the studio.  I had gone prepared with my pocket comb.  The helmet displaces the arrangement of hairs.  So the crop has to be rearranged.  I prefer my own comb to the one kept there. 

A green curtain was behind me. I sat on the plastic stool for posing and saw this view [pictured] while the photographer was still attending to the previous customer at the desk.   

A young girl-photographer employed by the proprietor soon arrived and sat in front of me with her camera after rearranging the diffuser lights.  She wanted me to keep the head a bit straighter. Our necks tend to take their 'original positions' involuntarily!  

Wait, let me record what I see from this end! 

I chose this one for printing, out of two she 'clicked', because of an inkling of a deliberate grin.

Advantage of digital technology - we can see from the camera monitor how the photo will be.  If we do not like any shot, they can take a few more to choose from!  We now have the option to decide.  Imagine the days when we were waiting eagerly to see the prints two days later, from the ONE exposure!

Immediately, she uploaded it to the computer and played with the keyboard and mouse.  Lo, the tiny printer was spitting out two sheets of 8 photos each.  The way this girl trimmed and separated the copies in the manual trimmer spoke of her skill. 

I paid the proprietor the seventy rupees which he accounted in his register. I was walking out with the copies in barely ten minutes!  Before that, I had taken a few shots from my camera.  Do not miss the vintage bellow model he has proudly displayed here. 

In its sixtieth year this studio had recently shifted [just about 50 metres away] to a first floor building right opposite 'Gayathri Coffee' where we buy our coffee powder.  

 Last year when I reorganized the family albums I created an "Evolution" page in the new album.  One of the 16 was immediately added there, becoming the 22nd Passport Photo and only the 7th color photo taken over 40 years!  Let me see how long the other 15 copies will last. The smaller ones are known as 'stamp size'.

The first one was taken in 1973.