Country Road Take me Home
Year 1986 Morning 8AM. Chamlekhi - A picturesque backward village in lower Himalayan range - Uttarakhand ( then UP). My Birth place !
'..
Tik-Tik-Tik..Ye akashwaani hai ab aap Ramanuj Prasad Singh se samachar suniye. Panjab ke amritsar mein aaj tadke kuchh aatangwadiyon ne ek bus mein....'
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Home I lived my childhood: The PIC taken much later ...in 2010. |
The oscillating audio from radio blends nicely with nature's melody. The "chrip-chrip" from sparrows, the "kaun-kaun"from crow, "cuckoo-cuckoo" from cuckoo bird and "ghuguti-ghuguti" from kumauni dove. The beautiful SARGAM by nature opens the morning saga.
Fresh morning breeze flows through the tree leaves. The misty whitish fog swing up and down, left and right. The angel straight from heaven is down to show her moves. It's sunrise. The stunning sun rays join the party one by one walking up from behind the mountain. At their chivalrous best they show up in style through the tall pine trees and make their presence felt. It's the nature in to the dance floor.
What follows next is the fashion show. Our beautiful cream color caw along with her cutest light grey color calf walks out in open . The plus size buffalo walks the ramp in slow motion. The country-yard is packed with models.They make some noise 'srapak srpak ... moo moo'. A rhyming sound effect is created. They flap their long ears, wave their tail and demonstrate their good morning gesture. The butterflies rush from their favorite zinnia flower and join the chorus. At their teasing best they get playful with these models. On the back, on the tail and sometime on their hanging ears. Our big black dog , Mr protector takes a watchful look around says "
bhauw" once. It's his way of saying " hay folks good morning". He then rests at the corner of the terrace.
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| Summer vacation Nainital : 1985-86 |
It's our sweet home with mom, dad and we two brothers. A regular morning life at the terrace with nature. Radio news, geetmala, study, sun bath and bro-fighting.
'
zzz..grzz..shaaaii..shaaaii'
The audio starts trailing off
'Guddu keep the radio in the corner and change the band from shortwave to medium wave 31.2 Khz"
Dad shouts from nearby field. He is busy in early morning routine farming.
Guddu is my childhood name.
'Soviat sangh ke rastrapati mikhail garvachok ne Afganistan ke Visay mein....'
a perfectly tuned radio news broadcasting in full volume. Entire village could hear it.
'
Paschimi Germeny ki rajdhani berlin mein aaj..blah blah' wiping sweat Dad takes a deep breath and tunes to radio
'
Melbourne mein kal teesare din ka khel khatm hone tak Australia ke caption Allen Border ne 123 run bana liye hein .Chauthe din ka khel bharteeay samayanusar kal subah 4:30 baze shuru hoga. Aaj aram ka din hai'
me and brother stick our ears to the radio for this part.
'Da who is gonna ask dad tomorrow about the 4:30 AM match commentary, it's at Perth' I request brother.
'you ask' he declares.
I would call my brother "Da or Dadda" when not in fighting mode otherwise we had our choicest names for each other.
We'd fluently converse in Kumauni. That's the only language we were fluent at. We'd aspire to speak Hindi , that would at best bring a thick Kumauni accented Hindi. English was at untouchable heights.
News is over on radio. Those radio ads still resonate my head
'Mugli ghutti 555..tding tding'.
And that pharmayisi filmi geeton ka program
"saharanpur se pappu chintu, munnu , pintu ...bol likhe hein aanand bakshi ne, swarbadhha kiya hai Lakshmikant pyare laal ne... ek baras ke mausam char , mausam char panchawan mausam pyaar ka"
How I wanted to be 16
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| Somewhere from our way to GIC Bankote : Picture taken in 2017 by a cousin |
'Bro lets get ready fast. We shall reach 10 minutes before the first bell (of school)'
'Need to play some good cricket before school assembly starts'
'I am always getting out at zero these days'
'The damm ball just sneaks through'
I said with a gentle shoulder push to brother while we wrap up morning study
'Where is my ink coin ?'
He stares at me.
'Why did you take my pen holder yesterday ? '
I retaliate back and check if dad is around in case I am pouched by big brother.
Younger ones are weaker but mostly win the battle through the victim card.
Those days we use to buy a square shaped ink coin from shop. 1 gitti ( coin) costed 5 paisa. Dissolve them in water and use. Holder ( a pen kind of stuff) from nearby shop was a new thing we just had started using. Dip the holder in the ink pot and start writing. The page would often spoil if the ink hadn't dried before turning to new page for writing.
Before this Holder pen's entry in to our life, the pen was home made with fine trunk of bambo kinda plant called natthur in Kumauni. Both of us were studying in a GIC (govt inter college).I was recently promoted to GIC- Bankote from Primary Pathashala-Rugree which was till 5th grade. Beyond 5th grade you wear an attitude of "I go to college". I was no different to flaunt that attitude. In GIC I particularly remember having crush on 9th grade girls and had a wow for 12th grade girls.They were neater, fuller and feminine. On the other side my embarrassing bed-wetting days hadn't over yet ! I must disclose it now. Head and body had developed huge offset. I was 9 wanted to feel 16 . To make it worse sometimes few 12th grade girls who knew my mom better would hold me in their lap during half-time break. Of course they'd consider me their kid/young brother. How I wished they had spared me in front of boys. Once I sobbed and complained to mom and she laughed it off "They find you cute baby". That was rubbing salt in the wound.
How much I wanted to be 16 back then. I was in 6th grade , brother in 7th grade. GIC was 3 km from home. Of course only option available was walking through the jungle. Just a 20 min uphill-downhill run everyday followed by a quick cricket before the assembly. 9:30AM first bell , 9:45 AM second bell for assembly at school and 10AM first period of school. The school bell system seem to have disappeared now. Return back home was 3Km run from school. An exhaustive cricket session would follow after school followed by dad's regular scolding 'This cricket has ruined the kids'. We were mostly on running feet the entire day. Guess the Pahadi fitness are rooted since then.
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| Cricket at GIC : ( some other college) |
At GIC it was a break-time we use to call it half-time. I was graduated from child to boy , from primary to GIC and now I was sharing college with 12th graders. The big boyish feeling kept rolling over my ahead. The myth was to be broken that day.
'
Oye tumhare gawn waalon ko knockout mein haraya humne iss cricket tournament mein'
the boy from another village on to bulling me.
The recently garnered courage of a big boy in me picks up the fight quickly and 2 minutes later
'Hath laga ke dekh , zameen mein ghusa donga'
The dialog was completely out of sync with my physique.
The less than 4 fit and 30 kg me warn him with aggressive best
Punch straight on my face " dhoooom....". I skid on the sand with that heavy punch and hit flat on a tree and fell down. I was swept away 15 fit far. That powerful punch is still alive in my memory. For few seconds it was blackout. I attack back running 15 fit in fury with all possible punches and kicks. Hardly anything touched him. I was dusted down multiple times. The boy was 2-3 years elder and bigger. By that time big bro comes in rescue. Fight stops. But it was more of my prestige
" Dadda nothing happened, see no pain no blood, just dont inform anything to mom-dad'
I almost pleaded.
You see that pressure of being a nice son was at stake. Body pain was less of a pain. Half-time over 5th period starts. Teacher calls me to explain a problem to class. In full pain from head to tow , tumbling and fumbling I try explaining the class. In disguise thoughts cross my head "
Shitt yaar I am still tiny-miny".
How I wanted to be 16.
The Adamant Boy
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| Place : Singali ( different than my village) where I lived and played cricket in 1988-89-90-91. Pic taken 2016 by a friend |
It's winter of 1986. Dad is out on a travel to Allahabad for his office work. Me, my brother and my Mom are at home. Our house is in the middle of a jungle. Nearest neighbor is about 300 meters away and others would be in the range of 700 mtrs.
It's 6 PM. Boys r back from cricket ground.
'Son put Vasleen properly. You have got so many cracks. It's windy dry and cold these days. Can you not stop playing cricket in the dust'
'Take the hot water in the container outside and wash your feet properly' Mom comes closer and checks my legs.
'See how many blue injury spots in your legs. Can you not play with the heavy cork ball. I heard one boy died when the ball hit his head. I am so worried' She tries her luck to stop us playing cricket.
'No worry mom. It doesn't pain' I start washing my legs
'Da wicket keeping is tough in winters, it pains badly when the ball hit the tip of the finger'
me and brother in some cricket analysis.
We'd play with the home made bat and a heavy cork ball. No protection at all.
'We have math test tomorrow. What is your' I ask bro
'Ours is Krishi Vigyan' bro responds with a sigh of relief. Exams are over tomorrow.
' Deepu-Guddu do prayers and start your studies' Mom shouts from inside while cooking
'And put some water in the hearth and come inside. Bring some more dry pipe flower tomorrow'
'Bhai tomorrow we'll go deep in jungle and pick a lot of dry pine flowers. Will be fun'
'Ok we should be back by 4 PM for cricket' brother nodes his head.
During winters the pine tree would be dry. Pine tree has resin in everything. We would pluck and collect them for fire. Especially used for heating the water in open. Not used for cooking inside as it'd throw a lot more smoke than normal wood. Back then none of us had even seen a Gas stove. Kerosin oil based stove were trending but that too in smaller towns. For village it'd be too much of a luxury.
We start our studies after payer. Someone knocks the door. It was our eldest Bua. She was on a visit to her Mayake so Dadi had sent her to our house as a security measures. Dad was travelling.
Some feelings are so natural, deep and profound. God cant be everywhere so he created mother .
After diner Bro was asleep. Mom and Bua in post dinner conversation. I try to focus on studies. I use to revise the entire book before exam day. And it so happened that I could not solve 2-3 sums. Bar was set high. No sum can be left unsolved. I was petrified and I start howling.
'What happened' Mom rushes from kitchen.
'Deepu why u troubling him.'
'These kids have made my life hell. Their father has to go on travel leaving all problems to me'
'What happened ?' Bua shows up behind mom.
'What have I done. I m sleeping. sleeping is important'
Brother quips and slips back inside the thick white blanket (Razai).
I continue sobbing
'Ma I cant solve 2 sums. These 2 will show in the paper tomorrow'
'Bhoo Bhoo' I keep crying
'Arre leave them solve others'
'No'
I continue sobbing
'Ok beta I'll sit with you in 10 mins and then you'll solve them'
Bua was unable to comprehend my fuss. Then she starts telling stories to Mom about how such studies kinds of kids loose their mental balance later. She advises to ask me study less. That was so sweet of a concerned Bua.
It's 10 am. Mom is dead-tired after completing umpteen things since 4 am. But Mom is mom. She brings some hot oil, massages my head. Then she make juice in such winter.
11 PM to 1 AM, entire math book is solved. Mom retires to bed after me only to wake up at 4AM again !
I was adamant for certain things in certain ways than being studious. My childhood adamant stories were very popular. The most popular that is narrated to me is this.
I must have been 4-5 years old. Daadi takes buffaloes to "Naula" to feed them water , I tag myself along with her. It must be around 700m down hill. The "Naulas" are particular to Uttarakhand villages. A very beautiful water point mostly originates near the roots of a tree with dense vegitation around it. Clean and cool drinking water. And a sacred one. Daadi collects water in a container called "Gagar". The buffaloes take bath in a small pond near the "Naula" and drink water. In one hand Daadi holds a stick to direct Buffaloes. I hold her another hand. Gagar filled with about 20L water in her head is very well balanced.
'Amma I need water' I ask daadi 50m before reaching home.
'We are reaching home I'll put the Gagar down then give you'
'No I want now'
'I cant "poutha( darling)" these buffaloes will run away. Just wait 2 mins'
'No I want now'
She lifts me in her lap with the Gagar in her head and we reach home. Before tying buffaloes she puts the Gagar down and pour the water in a glass.
'Darling relax and drink now'
'No I don't want water' I start crying
'you wanted water isn't it ? '
'No I don't want now' I start howling
'Darling drink water now. Whats the problem don't cry'
'I wanted water at that place where I asked you' I point my finger
'Oh God' Daadi shakes her head in shock and frustration. But there is no unreasonable demands in the world for grandparents.
She takes me to the same place with Gagar to fulfil my demand. Now she is angry
'Drink water now. You made me run here. So ziddi you are. So finicky kid you are. I will tell your father' She wipes my tears and gives me the glass of water. She bends, puts her hand at her waist and take a deep breath.
'I wont drink'
'Now what !!!'
I keep my head stiff and eyes down
'I wanted the water at that time only and at that place only now I wont drink '
She almost faints . And I don't drink water for next 2-3 hours until my Mom comes back from field.
Story ends here. I must have been rightly beaten up after that which is never revealed. Daadi must have told this story to everyone in village a hundred times. Some village Aunty remembered the story as told by my daadi . She inferred the story again to me in one of my recent visit to Village. I was 35!.
Next morning Mom explains about my head massage story to Bua and again my water story get's repeated. Dadi who had passed away a year back is remembered.
Life in a Jungle Home: Ghost , Tiger & The thief
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| The Pine tree Jungle close to my Home. ( Pic taken in 2017) |
After exam. I am seemingly happy. Cracked all sums.
'Mamma 50/50'
'Dadda lets go collect "
Syoontha Thith" the dry pine tree flower. Lets carry 2 big bags'
'Deepu don't go deeper in the jungle and come back before 5PM' Mom warns
Its a beautiful jungle with mostly Pine trees. Pine forests are not very dense. It's winter so it's less green. Few small water streams. Ideal place for wild animals. We keep talking, keep exploring, keep collecting dry pine flowers that are fallen down. We encounter few harmless animals and birds.
5PM it starts getting dark in the jungle. A heard of Jackal starts making some strange sound.
'Guddu danger'
'What da?'
'There could be some leopard around. The jackal make such noise when there is danger'
brother whispers
'chhad chhad chhad'
I get scared and hold brother's hand. We look down to the bush.
'Oh it's a rabbit' I shout with a sigh of relief
It starts getting darker our steps back home get faster. The birds are returning back to their nest . They create a noisy ambiance with chirpy chorus. It's typical sunset time in a Jungle. The wind that flows in pine jungle makes a scary "shai shai" sound. Dadda further rakes up scary stories. No houses no humans are seen around.
'are u scared of ghost'
'Not at all bro. Hey ghost where are you come fight with me if you have guts'
I had this thing in my head. Boys cant be scared
'You see this branch of tree' Brother pokes
'Yeah'
'Few years back someone committed suicide hanging with this branch and I heard his sole is seen roaming around at night'
I try not to look at things around as every image appears like some ghost.
'You see that hill top. A lady slipped down and died. Her sole is also roaming around'
I hold the bag full of pine tree flowers tight and start walking closer to brother. There was a strange feeling of enjoyment with fear.
'The lady keep searching for water'
'Why da ?'
'Before dying she was thirsty and was screaming for water'
'She search for people in the jungle and shuck their blood and quench her thrust'
'You are just scaring me da' I pause and look in to his eyes
'You are a man Guddu'
'Guddu you know that man who did suicide at that tree branch. His ghost is seen and he has his eyes popping out at the for-head. and his legs are in opposite direction'
Brother paused. There was silence for minutes. We kept walking faster.
'Paani ...Paani' a thick and frail voice
Worst thing was approaching me. I look up , a little far some orange shade saari is moving left and right.
I look in to my brother
He doesn't react. On the left side I see a big scary skeleton of a dead animal looking at me.
'Jai Hanuman Gyan gun Sagar' I close my eyes and start chanting in my mind
I open my eyes and see some creature hanging in the tree.
' Dadda' I scream.
'What ?'
I point toward the tree
I was deep in to my imagination.
'Dhadam'
a huge sound just in front of us breaks my chain of thought
I huddle myself with brother. God's grace my chain of thought were broken. I was hallucinating.
'oye Guddu that's just tree and the branch is half broken and hanging'
Then I look back towards the orange shade thing. It was fire.
There was no "paani paani" sound. It was wind that was making some sound.
House was appearing very far that day. I hear some sound of dog barking
'We will reach in 10 mins right' I ask bro
We reach home after an exciting evening. Cricket was skipped
'It's so dark. Why so late. I told you to come home by 5'
Mom was relived seeing us.
Evening 7:30 PM. Mom is cooking food. Brother and me sit at the corner of our balcony with our Dog. We continue our stories where we left in the jungle. The jackal's howling noise could be heard.
'Come inside. It's dark' Mom shouts
We sit inside and close the door.
We hear the sound of our neighbor's dog barking.
'There dog is barking very loud n crazy today' Brother tell me
'Our dog is silent... interesting. He is behaving differently this evening' I ask brother.
'He is scared of our stories' Brother laughs
Suddenly there is sound of a Dog's Screaming and it fell silent
Me and brother both look at each other and open the window.
Our dog comes near the door and looked very timid. makes no noise.
There was a silence.
'Looks like there is a tiger around he attacked our neighbor's dog' my brother whispers
We look at the door and get the Dog inside and lock it.
Slice again
'Dhadaam'
Huge noise just in-front of our courtyard
We come near window
We see some huge animal walking off. It disappears in the dark.
It was tiger who prayed our neighbor's dog and carried away through our house.
Next day our neighbor confirmed the Dog is taken away by a Tiger!
From that day onward We lock ourselves inside home before getting dark. Dad still not arrived back..
It's winter. Dark and cold nights. Mom and we 2 boys are deep in sleep.
'Thuk- Thuk' some sound at the rare corner of our Baranda.
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| My Village where I grew up |
Mom wakes up checks the time with torch. It's 1AM.
Silence again. Mom slips inside blanket thinking it could be our cow.
"Thuk-Thuk" some pause then "Thuk-Thuk"
Someone tapping the wall with a stick.
Mom is dead scared. She gets up. Checks if the door is locked. She puts another lock.
'Tak-tak-tak' some more steps are approaching the door.
Mom finds some heavy stick and stands next to the door.She is palpitating out of fear. She closes her eye think of God and tries to gather some courage.
Silence again
After 5 minutes. someone walks closer to door.
Mom was clear. It's some thief out there to kill us this night.
It's about 1:15 AM. Chilly winters, moonless dark night and pin drop silence. Someone is standing outside the door. Mom is guarding the door from inside with the heavy stick. Kids are in deep sleep. The house is almost in the jungle. It's a Mom and her 2 small kids alone.
She leans closer to the door and feels some breathing sound from outside.
Her imaginations goes from worst to worst
She gathers courage
A women turns in to Durga when she sees a threat to her kids life
She holds the huge thick wooden stick tighter.
She plans
'I will hit straight to thief's head and then shout for help. Hope someone will here me and save my kids'
Few more minutes pass.
No movement.
After a brief pause that person speeds away with fast-fast steps.
Nothing happens.
Mom dint sleep that night in fear.
The story never be concluded what was it. A thief, A Ghost or an Animal. But it was real.
A full time farming, a full time govt job for both and a full time parenting. No helper: Life of a Super Mom and A superb Dad
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| At our Chamlekhi Home 1985 |
Another day another regular morning
'Deepu beta go to kitchen and check daal, it must have got boiled'
Mom shouts from nearby field.
'Move the wood sticks away and pour some water droplets carefully on them'
'It's already 8:30, I am late to school today' She returns back from field holding a big basket of fresh grass for Buffalo, caw and calf
Deepu is my elder brother.
'Oye Guddu you go and check' Dadda commands me.
Guddu my childhood name.
With hardly any clue what has to be checked, I walk up to kitchen and respond back
'
Oo eee ( oh mom) daaw mein chimad padanaan' That was some response in kumawani language expressing something (actually cant be translated in English or Hindi). I run back from kitchen. Couldn't stand the smoke.
'You cant do anything guddu beta, Deepu I asked you to check it. Why can't you move a bit. Guddu is still a kid'
Mom- Dad return back from nearby fields. Boys start getting ready for school.
Dad helps her putting the Daliya of grass down.
'uff my neck is aching get some water please'
 |
| Paddy Fields near my house. (Pic taken in 20017). |
'I'll get you water' Dad goes to fetch water for mom while she rests at the courtyard
'I have sowed Arhar daal in that bigger field. Growing wheat is getting tough. Our soil is not suitable for paddy and wheat corps. I will grow pulses everywhere next year. Too much effort otherwise' Dad express frustration and relief and give glass of water to mom.
'We are getting late to office' he asks mom to speed up
'Oh Ram Singh let these Oxes graze some grass. Then take them to our Koli home'
Dad had just finished some plowing work. We had 2 beautiful Oxes in another home where our Dadi and Uncles were staying.
'I am late for my school. Need to feed you all. Do the dish washing. Got to get ready and need to walk 2.5 km. Life is hell here' Mom keeps blabbering and rush to kitchen.
She continues
'My life has become hell in this village after marriage. I was born in Delhi, schooled in Pune, graduated from Nainital, lived freely in university girls hostel Nanital. Whats the point !! destiny finally brought me here.
A trailing, tired and worn out sound from kitchen could be heard outside.
Dad keeps doing his job without reacting. He obviously was used to such outburst.
 |
Dad in the center. His trip to Kashmir during his college days in Nainital
around 1973 |
'Deepu -Guddu give me your cloths I'll quickly wash them while I take bath and you guys ensure you wash your plates and fetch some water home afterwords.
He makes a careful move and handles the situation beautifully. Seeing Dad and sons quietly in action, Mom calms down.
And I learn my first lesson of what it takes to be a good husband. It's a cocktail of aptitude , attitude and timing.
We all finish everything in next 30mins. 8:30AM is regular lunch time!
Off to school. Everyday we brothers are told to go together and we'd always ensure we go separately.
The family at Chamlekhi was Super Mom, Superb Dad, Deepu, Guddu, Cow, Calf , Beffolo and a big dog Kaalu. Mom-Dad was full time working and full time farmers. Dad a Biology lecturer, Mom a school teacher.
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Mom extreme right. Her college hostel days in Nainital
around 1974 |
Mom's day would start at 4AM. She'd first go to cattle's pen. Collect the dung put it at it's defined place in some field. Give them grass. Milk them. Make tea. There was no gas or stove. Cook brunch before going to field for daily farming and cutting grass. Feed brunch, dish wash, get ready and walk 2.5km to work at 9AM. Dad's day too would go hand in hand with mom.
Today's Urban women , having everything outsourced and having all the luxuries at their disposal with just touch of a screen are applauded as super women. They are expected to be pampered by one and all - That's current rule of decency in the society at large. The middle class women ( especially working) of that era never looked for any recognition. They never had time to think about self. The word pamper for women never existed in that era. It was only sacrifice. That made them super-duper tough! Wish they could get their dues back.
Chamlekhi was a pretty isolated village with less then 6-7 houses, separated by about 500 meter each in the hilly and forest kinda landscape. And 2-3 basic shops. I would call them a tribal farm houses.The huge Himalayan range , a scenic white mountains with grey fog on top, kissing the blue sky was visible round the year while running on the way to GIC ( not from my house though). We the brothers had ball of a time living in the middle of the forest. Mom-dad had a hell of a life in doing everything at their own with loads of responsibilities. Dad's quote I hear since childhood "
Maine 21 saal ki umra mein 375 rupaye maheene se naukri shuru kari tab se ye sir jimmedariyon se jhhuka hi hai aur jhhuka hi rahega. Meri zimmedari mere sath hi khatm hogi"
Nainital , My English and The Girl
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| Nainital : Pic source - Internet |
'Son listen to me carefully; always wear this warm sweater it's pretty cold here in Nanital'
'And listen do not be adventurous okie'
'No boating'
'It rains anytime here and these boats are notorious for toppling. r u paying heed to me?'
holding my palm mom expresses her concerns in terse Hindi.
Being a Hindi school teacher she had the least Kumauni accent. Rest all of us would carry a thick Kumauni accent. She looks in to dad, but no respite she continue packing her saari in the VIP Atechi ( a suitcase).
"
aap worry not ki goli khawo mummy"
I take my hands off and react in confidence.
I was thrilled with the idea of exploring Nainital without parent
"
sir durd ho ya daant durd analjin lo..analjin lo"
I humm the ad which I had recently learnt and try a few dribbling with the hockey stick. Hockey hadn't faded back then.
"
D chao dhen takein ..tum ke kauna kine ( Transl - look at this freak out why dont u say anything)" An emotional mom blabbers looking at dad again. Dad ignores
'Maami ji you dont worry I'll take care of him'
Cousin brother relaxes mom.
That was my eldest cousin Harish. A sober office going chap and my guardian for next few weeks. He was living at our Tauji's place in Nainital where we too had put up during our stay.
June first week use to be our yearly summer vacation time at Nanital. Meeting relatives, walking mall road, thandi sadak, tallital-to-mallital-to-tallital, watching movies, ice-cream, budiya ke baal, ghanti waali dahi-jalebi , nanda-devi temple, hanuman gadhi , boating, horse ride, and rope way ride to snow view etc .And that black and white shutter wala TV. Watching TV at someone's place (usually a well off person) would be a big deal. Huge gathering for Chitrahar, and cricket match. Even the krishi-darshan and movie in regional language use to be a treat to eyes. These were all quite happening and up-class things for me. Basically a sneak-peak in to a glamorous city life. More than enjoyment it was observation, exploration and adoption for me to upkeep with the city life.
Naintal, a beautiful town blessed by nature. In terms of class its a few step behind any metro city. And Chamlekhi my home was a lot more steps behind it. Nainital use to be a schooling hub with many boarding schools. Amitab Bachan schooled from Sherwood convent Nainital. This explains the rest.
The streets would be filled with students from kinda-garden to high-school during morning and afternoon hours. There was no concept of school bus or cab. It's all by walk. Their typical attire would be dark blue coat, grey trousers, grey sweater, tie and big bag. Mostly fair looking kids with pink cheeks and red lips. The impact of chilly windy weather round the year would be visible on their face. During fall the cheeks would turn darker and lips would spot cracks. That's the impact of sun tanning and dry wind.
Nanital inherited a lot from Britishers from culture to architecture. Obviously the town was nurtured by Britishers during colonial time. The tall church buildings, the pyramid structured schools, the saltbox roof architecture of the govt building and the wooden interior with carpeted floor make the town resemble a lot with any town in England.
I had a de-javu moment when I was strolling in South-Hampton's street filled with students about 1.5 decade later.
Those days there were 2 classes in Nainital clearly demarcated by English language. The English medium and the Hindi medium. Interestingly class division was not really in the lines of economic status. Many lower middle class too could afford English medium convent schools. It was clear - future is bleak if you are not studying English medium. At max you could become a clerk. English medium means officer class, Hindi medium means worker class. As if English medium kids are descendant of Britishers and Hindi medium kids are descendant of slave Indians. And my class was Kumauni class a step further behind Hindi medium class.
Back then Nainital was the oxford, Nainital was the Cambridge street to me.
This must have been 1986. Mom-dad-bro packs back to village after a lot of emotional mono-log from mom
'I know you wont eat properly , u'd keep wearing same dirty cloths, u'd run on the road. Unlike ur gaawn here u have many vehicles speeding around and you'll go boating. What is this zidd of staying back beta bla bla'
.
Yet I stay back. Felt responsible at 9.
"Dadda I need to watch the match today. It's fifth day Kapil and Vangsarkaer are at crease. Kapil will score a ton today"
I request my cousin Harish da in my thick Kumauni accented Hindi.
'You know Hemu right ? go there I will talk to Bhabi ji'
Harish da replies while getting ready to office.
He tries to fix the shoes sole which he had recently repaired 5th time. And the shocks had turned antique, it had more holes than cloth left in it. This must have been his only pair since few years.
'Give me umbrella' he asks
'But it's not raining' I am confused.
'Come near window I will show you. Look down; half the lake has sun and rest half is covered with cloud. It's raining in Mallital and sunny here. This is Nainital Guddu dear'
'Ok da' I give him umbrella.
I again check with him for match.
'Dadda... that Hemu who is from Sherwood convent and stays a few houses above ours ?'
I ask in intimidated voice.
Houses in Hills are not left side or right side. They are above or below first then left and right later.
'He is a smart boy. He is in 6th grade in Sherwood. You see how fluently he speaks in English'
He replies.
The underline message from him was wish I and you, the village school chap, could also speak English. The complex for English would always be in the air.
I wanted to say 'Da me too in 6th grade but I only know "a" for apple "b" for boy. Cant even talk clean Hindi forget English in this life time'
Back then in GIC english was introduced in 6th grade starting with alphabet. Though I had my parents got me in to a few know hows about English in a little advance. Speaking English back then was like "oh I drive Ferrari" today. So I had mugged up a few English phrases.
I asked again 'dadda can I go to Sharma aunty's house instead. They too have the TV?'.
'Yeah but their house is a little down side. The antenna doesn't catch that well. And they are finicky' he kind of takes the decision for me to go and watch at Hemu's house.
I must have been cool chilled out smart and pampered boy in village but here I was "
gaawn ka chhokra naintal city dekhne aaya hai" category boy.
It's afternoon. I gather courage and bump in to Hemu's house. A small, cozy drawing room, black and white TV. Table and sofa are neatly covered with white clothing. All are hand woven and meticulously designed with cotton thread material. Walls decorated with various hand made wall hanging items.
'Come come . Come inside beta. You are Diwan da's Bhatija right?'
Aunty welcomes with smile and curiosity.
'The other day I saw u with ur mom in Mall road. She left to gawn beta'
she asks with apathy. I node in affirmation.
Those days everyone in a society use to know everyone to the last details. Her fingers run faster than machine while weaving the woolen sweater. Those sights of sweater weaving aunties have become history now with monte carlo taking over.
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| Pic source : Internet |
'Monty yaar this Vangsarkar is just doing tuk-tuk and not giving strike to Kapil'
'ohh beta in last match Kapil hit 4 sixes in 4 balls and saved follow-on that was amazing'
One boy taps on to other boy's back.
It's Hemu and his neighbor Monty busy watching talking cricket. Short hair, fair, cute and chubby-chubby boys neatly covered inside thick hand made sweaters. A test match on TV India 6 down, second inning. Kapil and Vangsarkar in crease. Chubby boys hardly bother the tiny thin boy's presence.
'Hemu.. ask bhayya to sit with you guys' Aunty seemingly suggesting to show some respect to stranger. They look at me shift a bit on sofa and then look at themselves, they smile and continue watching match.
'u wanna eat chwingum buddy' Hemu opens conversation after some 5 minutes.
'No' I reply in nervous tone.
'Ok just open it and check the sticker' he insists. I open and give the sticker to him. . Hemu would accumulate these and show to his friends.
'you dont know this guy? ' Hemu ask me in excitement than smiles at Monty. I keep straight face.
Tea time in cricket.
'Whats your name' Monty asks me
'Guddu.. and Bhupesh in school' I slowly get in to the conversation. I try controlling my thick kumauni accent while speaking in Hindi.
'Do u have electricity in ur village ?' He pokes further
'No but commentary on radio is a lot fun too' I respond with some confidence this time
'do you guys play cricket or just watch' I take my turn to interrogate
Hemu looks piercing in to my eyes and points to a nice bat and sponge ball kept below the cot at the corner
'oh this is a sponge ball, you still play with it ? Where do you.. ' I try finish my sentence
Hemu rebuts "Hey" points towards the window and shows me a small gali between the densely placed houses.
'you guys in Gaawn play in the peddy fields right?' Monty jumps over
'Yeas we play with heavy cork ball. We have 22 yard pitch, huge fields, no pads , no gard , no helmet. Yeah...I played with sponge ball only until class 3 may be' I kept explaining how tough we play showed them my swollen blue injury marks on both the legs and recently broken finger.
'What bat do u have' Hemu wanted detail
'Oh beta this bat of your will be broken in one shot' I shot a bouncer on them. My feet starts tapping on the floor faster and body start turning relaxed in some confidence.
'Then?' both look at me
'We make it from huge tree truk. Pine wood bats get broken faster. We look for Sheesham wood. But it's hard to find one'
I get a rebuttal
'Hey dont tell me u can make a bat from tree' Monty shakes his head
'No we have Big bhayyas 12 graders in village, they make it we watch and sometime we also try our hands with axe' I clarify
'Ball also get lost. Sometimes inside the bushes sometime it rolls over behind the hill with longer shots. Then we use plastic and polythene'
'Plastic & polythene?'
'Yeah melt them and then roll them between the steel plates so it forms a solid ball. But it's more dangerous'
Ohh really' both look at each other.
Then I show them my finger and explain them how it was cut and a piece of flash pealed off when I was trying to hit my brother's beamer ball.
'Tere ko basketball ata hai' Hemu eagerly asks and looks at Monty without requiring my response.
Some reaction of awe and envy and then silence fill the room for sometime. Thought crossed my head that I survived. Dint get brutally beaten up much in the alien's territory of English, latest TV shows, ads and other city kinda conversations.
Match begins. Some transmission problem
'Monty could you go n check the antenna at the roof top' Hemu asks Monty in fluent English with some added flavor of accent this time.
They fix the antenna and both go out to play without bothering about me. I thought to continue to watch for some more time.
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| Nainital at Night : Picture source - Internet |
The Girl :Was it the first crush?
Room was less tensed now. Aunty is focused on weaving sweater. I am glued to cricket.
Atmosphere is serene and tranquil. 'Just English would land you to a front-office. You hear a lot less English if you go to the corner office'
He just nailed it. Wish there was a time machine and I could go back pep up the boy.
In the Name Of God : Living like Tribal
"Kalika Mata ki jai, Kalika Mata ki jai!"
a chorus from a crowd of over 200 people.
The bull (Huge male buffalo) is tied with multiple thick ropes all over. There are dozens of people holding the rope. One person beating the
Nagada and one person beating the Dhol. People in their heightened emotions get more excited with the beats of Dhol and Nagada, they keep chanting "Kalika Mata ki jai" louder and louder. There are few teenage enthusiast boys who are blowing special kind of pipes, it's slightly cone shaped pipe. It's about 6 fit long pipe, 1 inch diameter on blowing end and 4 inch on the other end. It is called "
Bhaukar". Particularly used during Pooja. It doesn't sound melodious, it has thick bass kind of sound. "
Bhaun , poomp, poomp poom poomp' Strange and energetic sound. These instruments are unique to Uttarakhand and has their own history.
It's morning 8 am. The entire ambiance is noisy and scary. Kids below 5 years feel uneasy, they are frightened and howling, The cattle all over are terrified to the hell. Dogs are unable to bark beyond a point, they timidly wrap their mouth under their tail. Some aged women are about to weep, the men especially older ones are in a state of hyper emotions, they loose their nerves and start spiraling arbitrarily. They call it "
Devi ka awtar'. The scientific reasoning is hallucination. My assessment is these men and women are deep in to their thoughts about their pain in life and they think of the Goddess so intensely that they start hallucinating about the story they build within.
One person holding a Red flag is the front and other one is holding the White flag is at the back. Red is symbol of invasion and White is symbol of peace. It also has it's own story inherited from history of Kshyatriyas.
The Bull is flustered. Along with the bull there are 7 Goats tied with the rope. 6 male and 1 female goat. All of them are extremely petrified. They are starting the journey with about 300 people to the Kalika Tample. It's about 40 Km walkway. The track is a tough terrain. It has uphills, down hills, thick forest, narrow roads, small villages, tea stalls, some falls, some natural water streams and a river to cross.
The Bull ( male buffalo) and the 6 goats are to be sacrificed at Ma Kali temple the next day! this is called "Athwar" - Sacrificing 8 animals ! A very popular rituals among Rajpoots in Uttarakhand back then. It was summers of 1985.
'son you stay home with me' mom holds my hands and and gives a disquiet gaze to dad.
'he is 8' she confronts
'Nothing will happen , Kali will bless' Dad holding a plate of flowers walks away. He is too busy in managing the show
Athwar.
'But 40 km is too much for you to walk baby' mom keeps talking to herself.
Daadi come from back and comforts mom
'Dont worry I will take care, he'll be with me. 40 Km in 2 days he'll be able to cover. He has Kshytriya's blood in him. Ma Kali will bless my pota'
'Deepu you take care of Guddu' Mom tells big bro.
He was about 10 years, so 40 Km for 10 Year old is not considered a Big deal.
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| Walk way through water stream |
Journey starts in full excitement through the tough yet beautiful track. Excitement is heightened in the beginning. It dampens after 10 km . Me and my brother wear our school shoes. The white one with thin green sole. Goats are tired after 10 km. The bull settles. The noise settles. People keep drinking water from the small falls and from various water sources in the jungle on the way. They rest for tea wherever they find those small hut kinda tea stalls on the way. Some uncle find a way to booze despite a pilgrimage kind of journey. After all they have had a huge responsibility of justifying the saying " Sooraj astt toh Pahadi mastt"
My brother was more kind towards animal. My youngest uncle had bought those 7 Goats few weeks back. The biggest one was white color, he was the boss with straight grey horns and the second big one was black color, he had twisted kinda horns.Those two would keep fighting. We'd enjoy it. Goats fight is like slow motion head hugging. Dude let's play some head football shots kind. They'd be in no hurry in fighting nothing else is used. During those few weeks we kids would be asked to keep a dekho on them so that they don't fight. We'd enjoy feeding them, holding their horns and teasing the smaller ones. Sometimes hold them in lap.
The youngest one was a female goat. The poor one was really tired after 10 km. We'd hold her in our lap one by one sometimes. She would then again get charged up and run/walk.
'Guddu this poor one will also be chopped off tomorrow' Brother tells me while caressing the goat in his lap
'hmmm'
'what hmm you relish the meat' he stares at me
' I have left meat since that last pooja' he further pokes me
'But yaar da I dont want to eat this poor goat's meat' I confess
'What r u guys discussing beta'
One uncle join our conversation from behind
'Dont talk like this. You have to eat their meat. There is Devi Kali Ma's blessings in their meat'
We keep walking with the confused state of mind. We use to adore those pets. We had spend some lovely time with them in last few weeks. We were destined to loose them the very next day. Damn these feeling are a weird things in life.
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| Direct Drinkable water |
We had covered about 20Km and reached my dad's maternal village. We were to camp in that village that night. The entire village was at our hospitality. After all my Dadi's reputation was at stake. She had informed (her dad's ) village well in advance. (I learned she was the man between my Dada ji and Dadi ji). Dada ji had passed away few years back. So Dadi ji was the family Supremo. The "
Athwar"
was the main item in her wishlist. So entire family was on to it.
Certain things were definitely more beautiful those days. The sense of community living and community support was much higher back then. Guesting 300 people for a night must have been a nightmarish, but not at all, people would just adjust with no qualm with no complain. Two village people were meeting. They would wish each other, chat, crack jokes, ask about how many buffalo you have, how much milk the buffalo gives, about the paddy farming and how far you need to walk to fetch water. The core of their life back then. Men would smoke hukka and would try establish the link of his various relatives with others and then figure out 'ohh then by that relation I should call you my phoopha' . In khusar-busar Bahus would complain about Saas and Saas would complain about Bahus. Everyone came together, cooked food outside in the courtyard in huge vessels. There was special pooja called "Naurta" that night with huge firework in the center of the courtyard and people sitting around it. Beats of Nagara and dhool, shankh-dhwani, blowing pipes etc. The tiny room I was sleeping that night must have had about another 10 kids sleeping.
Next day journey begins early morning 7am. We reach Kali temple by around 12:30PM.
Everyone was completely exhausted. But as soon as we reached near temple, again the emotions ran higher and higher with
" kalika mata ki jai" chanting , Dhool beats with pipe blowing. Few men again start spiraling. '
Devi Avtar at Devi's Door' .
'Uncle I wont come there'
'I wont come too'
me and brother tell an uncle.
'Both are scared' he tells another one
'Let see how many strokes he takes to chop the bull's head off. lets go fast' ' He tells another uncle.
'I heard the sward is heavier and bigger, the bull will be off his head in maximum two hit' Another uncle tells.
The bull is tied to a Dewdaar tree a little far from the temple. That's where he was supposed to be sacrificed. Me and brother wanted to ensure we don't hear the sound when the bull is chopped off. It'd would be too scary for tiny minds. So we run little far.
Bull's meat is not suppose to be eaten by we Rajpoots. The place where the bull was sacrificed was a hill top near the temple. He would be chopped off and would then be rolled down. At the bottom of that hill, there was a small village of lower cast community. They would consume it. Such a pathetic cast system it was. Apparently those people refused to consume it in early 2000 and the upper caste mainly Rajpoots built a story that they will be cursed by Kali ma.
We could not stop ourselves from watching the slaughtering of those 7 goats in front of our eyes. I was standing over the pool of goats blood. In front of me one guy was holding them by their horn and other would chopping them off like cucumber. The third one would pour the blood from their neck in a big vessel. I stood their numb watching them crumbling before dying. Goats head would be kept in the temple for sometime and then taken away. Those 7 goats who we cuddled for a moth got slaughtered in a couple of minutes in-front of our eyes. I still remember those dying eyes.
We returned back home that evening by bus. Apart from week long leg pain both me and my brother lost the nail of our Toe.
That was the last time we had the "
Athwar". With God's grace other kind of pooja involving animal sacrifices in the name of God is stopped completely in the family now.
The Disgraceful Caste system
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| A Dalit community Dholi at the corner of the our (Rajpoot's) Tample |
'You people are out there to disgrace our Rajpoot culture. I am not going to eat in your kitchen' Dadi ji shouts furiously at my Dad
'Is there some Gaumootra ? If not then get it fast and put on me. I need to cleanse myself' she orders dad
'Ma what happened ? Why so much of fuss. He is a human too' Dad tries to protest
'Thakur dont preach me your education. Keep it with you'
Thakur is my Dad's name. It's not adjective. It's actually the first given name!
'This Harijan had the audacity to sit in your drawing room and sit in that chair. In my house they all sit down without carpet close to the door' She further describes how these Harijan should be treated.
We had a Harijan person visited us. He was a school teacher. In fact he happened to be my Mom's senior colleague. He left just when Dadi ji entered. The Dalits are called Harijans.
We had 2 houses in this village. Dadi ji was in original house with her other 2 Bahus which was in the heart of the village. This place is called Koli. We four , mom-dad-bro-me had recently shifted in this new house, which was at the outskirt of the village. This Place is called Chamlekhi. In fact we had another house in another village where our Taw Ji's family was put up. It is about 10km far from this village. This village is called Sheraghat. It is located at the bank of river Saryu. A very fertile land and full of Mango farming. Dadi ji would visit us on a daily basis and bring fresh milk from our Big Buffalo. 45 minutes walk for her. Mainly to shower her love to the two Potaas. Me and my brother. Mom had kept the cow who's milk wouldn't be sufficient. The cow would usually give milk for 10 to 11 months from when she'd have delivered the calf. After that it's mostly dry. Buffaloes at Koli were main source of Milk.
'Bahu where is his glass. He cleaned or kept it for you to clean' She asks mom
'He has cleaned it. I have kept it out. I will clean it and cleanse with Gaumootra drops and then put it inside ma' My mom tries to mend the situation. Mom lied. The Dailt was not treated as dalit by mom. He was treated by his profession -a teacher.
Dadi ji in some relief
'Ok keep this milk container. Our Kali is not giving enough milk these days. I am fed up with this Buffalo. All you Bahus are so lethargic, You dont bring enough green grass for Kali'
Kali was our big buffalo. She would give about 10 liters milk daily.
'I am sure our enemies in village have done some black magic to our Kali'
'They are jealous that she gives so much milk'
She shoots her suspicion in the air.
Enviousness and suspicion around it has always been part of society in some or the other form.
'Bahu I churned this fresh butter today morning for Guddu. I know he relishes fresh butter. See how week he has become with you' She hands over a box to mom.
After a pause she again turns her fury on the Dalits.
'These Harijans I tell you. They have started flying in the sky due to this Sarkar. Olden days were good. We Kshatriya had some reputation. Soon we will be sitting on the floor and they will be sitting in the chair. Maintain some distance with them Bahu. If village people gets to know that you people are mingling with them like this, they'll curse me only. After all I am answerable to the family reputation, you are outsider. You don't know how I have to fight for family's name'
Dadi ji keeps blabbering and ordering mom. Such affectionate rant of Dadi ji is usual for Mom and other Bahus.
'He is a teacher ma. He is more educated and wealthy than many people in our Rajpoot's village' Dad pokes in again
'In my staff there are many Dalits and we all drink tea together. I have shared room with a Dalit in Nainital Hostel during college'
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| Close to my house . Played lots of cricket in these fields during non-harvesting months |
'Chhi! Thakur beta dont show off your education to me. What you do in staff is not my business. In my house we can not spoil the culture' She gives a final look to dad and ends the debate.
'Ma I am planning a new Ghaghara and shirt for you and I need to fix your silver neck less' Dad change the topic and try put some water in the fire.
Dadi would typically wear a blue color Ghaghara and cream color shirt. She'd occasionally wear a big Silver necklace. On regular basis she'd wear golden tops and Guluband necklace. It was typical Rajasthani attire. That attire extincted with Dadi ji. Next gen started Saari. My Dadi Ji was a Beautiful women. Early and mid 1980s was the peak of her reputation in village. Especially after the
Athwar. Not everyone could afford it. All her sons were in Jobs and our farming wealth was among top. It took decades of long tough journey for Dada-Dadi to reach this stage. Dada ji was among most meek and poor people in the village. But he was a gentlemen, Dadi was street smart. Dada ji had passed away a few years back when I was 4.
'Oh Vishthyani Jyun when did you arrive here' someone calls from the gate.
It was another Harijan. The Lohar Dilip Ram. Dadi ji would be called Vishthyani Jyun by Dalits. A salutation of respect.
'Vishthyani Jyun I have fixed all items and got them here. Check these Spades, and these sickle'
Dadi ji checks them one by one
'Good but why so late. I would reduce paddy if you delay from next time'
'Bahu keep them inside. And give him one bag of Paddy ' She orders Mom
Dilip ram drank tea sitting at the corner near the door of the room. He cleans the glass and keeps it outside, takes the paddy and leaves. Back then a good amount of economy would still run on barter system.
Dilip Ram was a talented Lohar. He was no less than a Machanical Engineer. He had an excellent blacksmith workshop in the village. He would take care of all blacksmith work of all the agriculture related tools for entire village. In returns the Rajpoots i.e the farmers would take care of his food needs.
But in his head and everyone's head it was deeply imprinted that he belonged to a lower human race and we belonged to a upper human race- decided by God. Such was the systematic oppression of human dignity from centuries.
' Tomorrow is Katha and Bhandara in the temple. Bahu reach on time and help in making Pooris else these villagers would say Khimuli Devi does not let her Bahus work in social events'
Dadi ji leaves.
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| Poori making for Bhandara/Katha : Pic taken in 2010. |
'Deepu and Guddu you guys also help is fetching water. You are big boys now'
her voice trails off as she walks.
Khimuli Devi is my Dadi Ji's name. She had 4 sons and 3 daughters! apart from few more who could not survive. Thinking of Dadi makes me believe women is always a superior race than men.
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| Community cooking : Pic taken 2010 |
Next day at Harr-Dev temple. Harr Dev is one among 33 cr Gods across India. He'd be one of Shiva's clone probably.
'Da I had a full glass tea today'
'Arre yaar I had 2 glass tea' Dont tell mummy or papa. Brother warns
We would get a chance to exhibit some indiscipline in village's social gathering otherwise tea is no for kids.
'Oye Deepu-Gudd come we'll play cricket.There is still time to lunch' asks a boy named Suresh from Dalit community
' Hey Suresh stay little far, someone will find out that you have entered to temple premise' I warn him
'Ok Halwa at our temple is almost ready. I will go' he walks off.
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| Bhandara Cooking : Pic taken 2010 |
Dalits were not allowed inside the premises of our temple. But without them we wont be able to complete our Pooja. Dalits would have a small temple just outside the main temple premises of Rajpoot's. They'd also do all pooja along with Rajpoot but in their tiny temple. They'd cook separately , they'd eat separately. There would be one Dholi from Dalit community. Beating Dhol was Dalit's task. He'll be used for beating the Dhol for Pooja rituals but would stay at the corner of the temple premises.
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| Serving Bhandara in Temple: Pic taken 2010 |
Our Dholi had excellent knowledge of beats. He'd be as competent as any formal Carnatic musician expert in Talls. During onset of Basant Ritu he'd come along with his group and sing some pleasant Raga of Basant Ritu and take the paddy and wheat from us to feed his family. There was Saraswati in him. He was a scholar in his field. Unfortunately he was Dalit and never received the deserved respect from non-scholars.
All Rajpoot village would have a small Dalit village associated with it. They would hardly have any land for agriculture they'd be dependent upon Rajpoot/Kshyatria. And in return they'd do various kinds of jobs for Rajpoots. However by 80s things were in transition. Many Dalits were attaining education, getting jobs, they were in to farming, their wealth started coming at par. Thanks to reservation. One should think of reservation from the mindset of oppressed people.
As per written History of Kumaun we Dasilas originally hail from the Chittorgarh-Rajastan. Our ancestor might have migrated few centuries ago. I doubt if they were Rajpoot Kings. No even of smaller Riyasats. There was no trace of any wealth in my Village.They may have been farmer solders. Our ancestor may have been thrown out by Mughals during various wars.
30 years later ..
This is Year 2016 when the super Mom retired from work. And the idea to pen down some memories struck. The girl in the center was born after this story ! She is Bhanu.
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| May God be with the Happy Family as always : 2016 |
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| Me (left) , My son Aryan ( right) - At our similar age. Hope the 3rd generation find interest in this blog and figure out their roots: Main objective to capture the memories before they fade away with me |
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