This happened many summers before. The schools had closed and it was vacation time. To beat the heat and to enjoy a cool excursion away from the hustles and bustles of city life, me and my cousins along with our Aunt and Uncle went to spent some beautiful days amidst the picturesque Nilgiri hill station.
Dense foggy mist used to envelope the whole area in the cold mornings, slowing melting as the day progressed to give way to mild sunshine and the cool dark evenings. The hills stood majestic surrounding the little cottage we had rented for our stay. The forests and the gurgling stream below gave us the feeling of being in the lap of Mother Nature. It was natural beauty personified. We used soak in this beauty during our many walks through the rounding hill roads. Occasionally the trumpeting of an elephant or the cries of a deer or bear could be heard.
Our cottage was a two bedroom building with a small living cum dining room and a little kitchen. The most fascinating thing I found in the cottage was the hearth place, used by its earlier occupant for warming the rooms. The floor was made of wood to provide more warmth. We were to stay here for a week or so.
The days passed lazily as we lived leisurely and at our own pace. It was soon time to leave. It was our last day of stay in this beautiful hill station. We were to leave the next day. My Aunt, Uncle and cousins had gone out to visit a botanical garden, some distance away. I was not taken as a punishment for playing in the waterfalls yesterday even though Aunt had forbade it and was therefore left with Kittunni Chetan, the caretaker of the cottage. I was angry at that and wanted to go out and enjoy.
I looked for the opportune moment and as soon as Kittunni Chetan had gone to collect firewood, I went out riding the bicycle that we had rented out. It was freedom unknown as I cycled through the winding roads, crossed narrow wood made bridges with the stream rushing below it and went cycling along the small pathways, generally used by people for walking.
I was speeding down a slope when the brakes failed and I skidded down. I got hurt and was lying on the roadside, moaning softy because of the pain. I couldn’t get up. It was after about ten minutes that a youth, probably 19 or 20 years old, came that way on his bicycle. He saw me hurt and pulled me up. There was blood coming from the wounds in my knees and elbow. He told his house was nearby and took me there and bandaged my wounds. He also came me glass of tea to drink.
“What’s your name?”
“Divya”, I replied.
“Where do you stay?”
I told him the name of my city.
“Oh! So you don’t live here. You are a tourist. Where are your parents?”
I narrated to him the story of my escape.
He smiled at me and said, “So, you are a prisoner out of the jail. Come, I’ll leave you at your cottage.”
I told him that my relatives would return only in the evening and that Kittunni Chetan being old and nearly blind, won’t miss me; so I had time till evening to roam this lovely place. He agreed to take me around and both of us went cycling.
I liked him very much. He was tall and with a kind and handsome face. He was very nice and entertaining. He helped me forget my pains caused due to the accident by cracking jokes and singing songs. He took me into the forest, showed me the many birds and monkeys and let me play in the waters of the stream. He took me into the tea estates and showed me how tea leaves are plucked. He showed me the tea factory for which he worked. I enjoyed the beauty of the place with this new companion of mine. I was going to be evening and we reluctantly started to return to the cottage.
“Did you enjoy?”
I nodded vigorously to show that I had enjoyed so very much.
“What will you give me for taking you to all these places?”
I said I didn’t have anything to give. And suddenly stopped my bicycle, plucked a wild flower by the roadside and gave it to him. He was pleased.
“I don’t have anyone. Will you be my little friend?”
I smiled.
“You will come again, won’t you?”
I nodded.
“Will you come to see me?”
Yes. I nodded again.
We had come to the gate of the cottage. We said ‘bye, meet you again’, and I went inside. After a while my cousins and Aunt and Uncle came. They told me their tales of sightseeing and adventure. I didn’t speak about my day but just lied that I was watching T.V the whole day.
We left for the city next day early morning. I didn’t see my friend again.
I have come back to this place many times during the past but have never been able to spot him. I have walked along the paths we walked and cycled, have enquired about the tall, fair, handsome young man; but could never find out anything about him. But in my heart he will remain eternally my friend, a dear compassionate companion who had given me a wonderful day to treasure among the hills and the streams and birds.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
A Sunset & Another Sunrise
The winding road took me to greater heights. The scene turned more spectacular and breath taking with every hairpin bend I covered. The gurgling river gushing past below, the pine and cedar trees standing tall on the sides and the mist slowing covering the light blue sky, everything added up to my joy and wonderment at the pleasures of life and the beauty of earth and the marvellous architecture and planning of the Supreme one.
I was on a week long holiday to the quiet hills to refresh and rejuvenate my mind from the hustle and bustle of my daily office routine. As soon as I got the opportunity I had escaped into the the arms of the tranquility of nature and the serne and cool woods and mountains. There was a quiet and unspoken plesaure in living admist nature, in lying still in the lap of Mother Nature. How blessed are the people who live here 365 days of the year, I thought, as I continued my climb up.
There was a small temple located at one of the hairpin bends and completely surrounded by trees. I wouldn’t have noticed had it been for the bells clanging in the peaceful environment. I decided to stop by and pay respects.
There was old man sitting there at the feet of the deity. He wore ragged clothes, had long untidy hair and looked like a beggar. But there was a twinkle in his eyes. He continued with his prayers. I roamed around the temple. When I came back to the entrance, the old man had finished his prayers and was watching me keenly. I didn’t know what to make of him. He came upto me asked,
“Sir, You a tourist?”
I nodded my head. The people here didn’t speak much English, I knew, and my grasp of the local language was elementary.
“Sir, I take you around, show you things you can’t see for yourself. You pay me some money... very nominal sir... please sir.”
I didn’t want anybody bossing me around as I went exploring the place. But from his words and gestures I had a feeling that he knew things about the place that no tourist guide manual could tell me. But to take a man who looked as if he was madman, along with me in a wild and lonely place like this seemed a presposterous idea.
Finally I gave in, my heart wanting to unravel all the secrets of the place I had fallen in love with. And my choice didn’t seem wrong. The guy knew some English and, yeah, he had a clear idea of the layout and topography of the place. He took me through ravines and caves, muddy paths along the woods, steep climbs and cliffs; but all the while I enjoyed. I was mesmerized by the simple beauty of the place, the multitude of geographical features and the loveliness of the whole place.
Every time a bird chirped or an animal growled in the distance, the oldman could quickly and easily tell me which creature was it. He taught me ways and means to spot animals and also how to keep safe from wild animals and beasts. We met spotted deers, wild sparrows and naughty monkey during our trail. Along our walk he enlightened me to his life. He introduced himself as the person who was once the landlord off this whole hill town, the proud headsman of this beautiful heaven and how he had been ousted and forced to be in exile. He spoke of how he longed to come back, how poverty and starvation during the years of his exile had given him a ragged appearance and how good knowledge of every nook and corner of his home town and its woods had enabled him to return to his beloved place.
I didn’t know how much to belive of all these. I had serious doubts of his mental stability. I remained quite for the rest of our walk and let him do the talking. He spoke at lenght about the mysteries and beliefs of the place, of the people and his own life entwined with the wiledrness of the place.
We watched the sun go down from the best view point in the whole locality. The sky turned orange-red and the sun bid us adieu till the next dawn. We walked back down to the village. We reached the place I met the old man.
I pulled out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and placed it in his outstretched palms. They were wrinkled and dirty.
“Thankyou sir... You good and kind. May God bless you and give you long years. He calling me now. You come back here again and again... It is a nice place. I no there next time you come, but you still enjoy. Your money will cover expense of my funeral. Thankyou... bye,bye sir. Have a good night.” He went back to the abode of God just as I had met him there, at the same place.
As I walked back to my hotel room I still pondered on the words of the old man. He had spoken wildly, maybe out of jest or sorrow, but from his talks I had learned that he was neither dumb nor could he be completely mad. But what was it about my hundred rupees covering his final rite expenses,I wondered.
Dinner was a quiet affair and there was a bonfire afterwards. I went to sleep late, but it was not easy to come by. The old man’s voice kept ringing in my ears. I woke up at the crack of dawn and decided to go to find him and may be go too see the sunrise with him.
I put on my jacket and started my climb uphill. At the temple premises I met him, there was no trace of him. There was a woman quitely sweeping the temple compound. I enquired about the old man.
She told me he had died at midnight last day and that some youth had taken his body to cremate it somewhere in the woods. His body was found in the ravine nearby. Nobody knew how he died. Some said he committed suicide, some put it to accidental fall. There were wild rumours about him.
It was as if something my sub conscious mind feared would happen had happened. The woman further informed me that the old beggar had managed to get a 100 rupee note ,which was found in his pocket,and that it had helped them to cover for his final journey, as he had no relations here.
I thanked her and continued my walk alone. My previos day’s companion eternally lost from the face of the Earth, removed from the place he loved so much. But I continued my walks, mind heavy with thoughts, uncomprehensible feelings at the loss of some one whom I hardly knew. But somewhere it struck, the brevity of life and spontainety of the end as I continued my walk to catch a glimpse of yet another time, the sun rising in my life.
I was on a week long holiday to the quiet hills to refresh and rejuvenate my mind from the hustle and bustle of my daily office routine. As soon as I got the opportunity I had escaped into the the arms of the tranquility of nature and the serne and cool woods and mountains. There was a quiet and unspoken plesaure in living admist nature, in lying still in the lap of Mother Nature. How blessed are the people who live here 365 days of the year, I thought, as I continued my climb up.
There was a small temple located at one of the hairpin bends and completely surrounded by trees. I wouldn’t have noticed had it been for the bells clanging in the peaceful environment. I decided to stop by and pay respects.
There was old man sitting there at the feet of the deity. He wore ragged clothes, had long untidy hair and looked like a beggar. But there was a twinkle in his eyes. He continued with his prayers. I roamed around the temple. When I came back to the entrance, the old man had finished his prayers and was watching me keenly. I didn’t know what to make of him. He came upto me asked,
“Sir, You a tourist?”
I nodded my head. The people here didn’t speak much English, I knew, and my grasp of the local language was elementary.
“Sir, I take you around, show you things you can’t see for yourself. You pay me some money... very nominal sir... please sir.”
I didn’t want anybody bossing me around as I went exploring the place. But from his words and gestures I had a feeling that he knew things about the place that no tourist guide manual could tell me. But to take a man who looked as if he was madman, along with me in a wild and lonely place like this seemed a presposterous idea.
Finally I gave in, my heart wanting to unravel all the secrets of the place I had fallen in love with. And my choice didn’t seem wrong. The guy knew some English and, yeah, he had a clear idea of the layout and topography of the place. He took me through ravines and caves, muddy paths along the woods, steep climbs and cliffs; but all the while I enjoyed. I was mesmerized by the simple beauty of the place, the multitude of geographical features and the loveliness of the whole place.
Every time a bird chirped or an animal growled in the distance, the oldman could quickly and easily tell me which creature was it. He taught me ways and means to spot animals and also how to keep safe from wild animals and beasts. We met spotted deers, wild sparrows and naughty monkey during our trail. Along our walk he enlightened me to his life. He introduced himself as the person who was once the landlord off this whole hill town, the proud headsman of this beautiful heaven and how he had been ousted and forced to be in exile. He spoke of how he longed to come back, how poverty and starvation during the years of his exile had given him a ragged appearance and how good knowledge of every nook and corner of his home town and its woods had enabled him to return to his beloved place.
I didn’t know how much to belive of all these. I had serious doubts of his mental stability. I remained quite for the rest of our walk and let him do the talking. He spoke at lenght about the mysteries and beliefs of the place, of the people and his own life entwined with the wiledrness of the place.
We watched the sun go down from the best view point in the whole locality. The sky turned orange-red and the sun bid us adieu till the next dawn. We walked back down to the village. We reached the place I met the old man.
I pulled out a hundred rupee note from my pocket and placed it in his outstretched palms. They were wrinkled and dirty.
“Thankyou sir... You good and kind. May God bless you and give you long years. He calling me now. You come back here again and again... It is a nice place. I no there next time you come, but you still enjoy. Your money will cover expense of my funeral. Thankyou... bye,bye sir. Have a good night.” He went back to the abode of God just as I had met him there, at the same place.
As I walked back to my hotel room I still pondered on the words of the old man. He had spoken wildly, maybe out of jest or sorrow, but from his talks I had learned that he was neither dumb nor could he be completely mad. But what was it about my hundred rupees covering his final rite expenses,I wondered.
Dinner was a quiet affair and there was a bonfire afterwards. I went to sleep late, but it was not easy to come by. The old man’s voice kept ringing in my ears. I woke up at the crack of dawn and decided to go to find him and may be go too see the sunrise with him.
I put on my jacket and started my climb uphill. At the temple premises I met him, there was no trace of him. There was a woman quitely sweeping the temple compound. I enquired about the old man.
She told me he had died at midnight last day and that some youth had taken his body to cremate it somewhere in the woods. His body was found in the ravine nearby. Nobody knew how he died. Some said he committed suicide, some put it to accidental fall. There were wild rumours about him.
It was as if something my sub conscious mind feared would happen had happened. The woman further informed me that the old beggar had managed to get a 100 rupee note ,which was found in his pocket,and that it had helped them to cover for his final journey, as he had no relations here.
I thanked her and continued my walk alone. My previos day’s companion eternally lost from the face of the Earth, removed from the place he loved so much. But I continued my walks, mind heavy with thoughts, uncomprehensible feelings at the loss of some one whom I hardly knew. But somewhere it struck, the brevity of life and spontainety of the end as I continued my walk to catch a glimpse of yet another time, the sun rising in my life.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wordspeak
The pen is mightier than
the sword,
The tongue sharper
than the blade,
Like the might of Lord Balram
is the power of the word.
Use them but never misuse,
Empower them, Enrich them.
Let they be gentle but firm,
Kind but tough.
Give life to your emoticons.
For words speak what you think
And what you think reflects You.
the sword,
The tongue sharper
than the blade,
Like the might of Lord Balram
is the power of the word.
Use them but never misuse,
Empower them, Enrich them.
Let they be gentle but firm,
Kind but tough.
Give life to your emoticons.
For words speak what you think
And what you think reflects You.
Monday, October 26, 2009
CHAMPANER - PAVAGADH
A weekend adventure
We had been bored and frustrated having had to spend the weekends in the hostel itself or just roaming round in the city. It was then we hit upon the idea to go for a short and less expensive but very enjoyable weekend trip. Many places of interest were discussed but finally we zeroed in on Champaner – Pavagadh as our weekend destination. The 14th century town of Champaner, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the Kalikamata temple atop Pavagadh hill situated in the Panchmahal district of Gujarat, were to be our weekend adventure. With a lust for history and a thirst for adventure, we eagerly awaited for the week’s classes to end.
We, a group of 14 enthusiastic girls, hit the roads early in the morning. The drive was smooth and nonchalant. We stopped enroute at Bharuch at a friend’s home to be welcomed by steaming cups of coffee to beat the morning cold. The journey was comfortable thanks to the good infrastructure in the state.
We entered the fortifications of this old city by around 11a.m. The sights of the towering Minars and Minarets and domes of sandstone gave us the feeling of being transported back in centuries. The base city, where we parked our vehicle was the ancient town of Champaner. From there, looking skywards we could see the Pavagadh hill rising vertically and the Temple of Goddess Kali perched atop it. The whole location can be divided into three regions; the fortifications at the base (Champaner), the top (Pavagadh) and the area connecting both of them (Marchi).
Before our climb to the top, we decided to fill our tummies with energy giving and healthy food. We girls set about preparing sandwiches – peeling cucumbers, slicing tomatoes, spreading butter and finally biting our teeth into the freshly prepared delicious sandwiches. After this small brunch party and posing for photographs, we took the local jeeps to get us to the foot of Pavagadh, from where we would have to climb up the steep ascend. A ropeway exists between Marchi and the top but we had decided to climb by foot, to test our stamina and to be more adventurous.
We enthusiastically started our climb. The path was narrow with steps to help in the climb. Along both sides of the path were lined small shops selling ‘neebu – pani’, ‘chaas’, biscuits, other eateries, small handicrafts and many other myriad things. We didn’t know the number of the steps that we would have to climb but from estimates from other friends and put it around 250; but even after 400 steps when we found ourselves miles from the peak, we for a brief time repented that we should have taken the ropeway. (If one is going by ropeway, the one has to only climb 250 steps).
With huge bottles of water that we had brought with us, fearing the hepatitis outbreak in north and middle Gujarat, we continued our ascend, stopping after every 100 steps to take
deep breaths. We had kept 100 steps in one –go as a target to minimize our resting periods. The view of the surrounding region from different angles along our climb us awesome and our cameras clicked away. Finally after nearly two hours of climb, sweat drenching our shirts we reached the holy shrine. There was a long queue of devotees waiting to get a ‘darshan’ of the goddess. We too joined them.
The Kalikamata Temple is considered to be of the 10th-11th century and is one of the most sacred centers of Hindu pilgrimage for devotees of Goddess Kali. It has some beautiful sculptures depicting various forms of Shiva-Dakshinamurti, Ardhanarishvara and Kalyanasundaramurti. After a brief ‘darshan’ and rest for a few minutes we started our descend down.
All the 8 bottles of water we had brought had been emptied during the ascend itself and thirsty to the last drop, we didn’t bother about any epidemic and bought glasses of cool lemon juice and buttermilk from the wayside shops. On the way down, we also paid a visit to the Jain shrine just below the Kalikamata temple. One of the wayside vendors explained to us that the many huge dome shaped structures we see on our way up are the granaries built by Maharaja’s of yesteryears to store grains. We looked at those structures with awe. The scenery from atop was picturesque and the man made lake made the scenery complete. On our way back we wetted our feet in those waters and took photographs posing on the many huge rocks that dot the lake.
The descend was easier and we needed fewer breaks in between. Catching a Jeep at the foothill we reached back to Champaner, the base town. We then proceeded to the Champaner fort. It can be said to be a small village with huge fortifications around it and ruins of old palaces and imposing mosques to give it a glam of the past centurieshis site is the only complete and unchanged Islamic pre-Mughal city. The major mosques in this area are Shehar ki Masjid, Jami Masjid, Kewada Masjid and Nagina Masjid.
The first mosque we visited was the Jami Masjid, one of the finest examples of Sultanate architecture of Gujarat. It is an imposing structure on a high plinth with two tall minarets of 30 meter height, 172 pillars and seven mihrabs. The central dome, the placement of balconies and carved entrance gates with fine stone jalis and rich decoration make the visit a delightful aesthetic experience. We went around the mosque taking in its rich history and marvelous architecture.
Then we went to the Shehar ki Masjid. Though smaller than the Jami Masjid, it was also built along the same lines and had tall minarets and a beautiful central dome. We then settled ourselves in the lush green lawn in front of the mosque. Here we prepared Bhel Puri, which was to be our evening snack. We rested here for a while, lying down and talking about the good old days of Rajas and Maharajas and the splendour and glory those days had. The sky slowly turned orangish-red and the sun kissed us goodbye.
We too packed our things and bid goodbye to this historic city with it Indo-Muslim architecture and sacred temple. It was time for us to go back, to return back to our city of high rise skyscrapers, flourishing malls and illuminated roadways, so different from these majestic pieces of history, that tower the landscape.
We had been bored and frustrated having had to spend the weekends in the hostel itself or just roaming round in the city. It was then we hit upon the idea to go for a short and less expensive but very enjoyable weekend trip. Many places of interest were discussed but finally we zeroed in on Champaner – Pavagadh as our weekend destination. The 14th century town of Champaner, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the Kalikamata temple atop Pavagadh hill situated in the Panchmahal district of Gujarat, were to be our weekend adventure. With a lust for history and a thirst for adventure, we eagerly awaited for the week’s classes to end.
We, a group of 14 enthusiastic girls, hit the roads early in the morning. The drive was smooth and nonchalant. We stopped enroute at Bharuch at a friend’s home to be welcomed by steaming cups of coffee to beat the morning cold. The journey was comfortable thanks to the good infrastructure in the state.
We entered the fortifications of this old city by around 11a.m. The sights of the towering Minars and Minarets and domes of sandstone gave us the feeling of being transported back in centuries. The base city, where we parked our vehicle was the ancient town of Champaner. From there, looking skywards we could see the Pavagadh hill rising vertically and the Temple of Goddess Kali perched atop it. The whole location can be divided into three regions; the fortifications at the base (Champaner), the top (Pavagadh) and the area connecting both of them (Marchi).
Before our climb to the top, we decided to fill our tummies with energy giving and healthy food. We girls set about preparing sandwiches – peeling cucumbers, slicing tomatoes, spreading butter and finally biting our teeth into the freshly prepared delicious sandwiches. After this small brunch party and posing for photographs, we took the local jeeps to get us to the foot of Pavagadh, from where we would have to climb up the steep ascend. A ropeway exists between Marchi and the top but we had decided to climb by foot, to test our stamina and to be more adventurous.
We enthusiastically started our climb. The path was narrow with steps to help in the climb. Along both sides of the path were lined small shops selling ‘neebu – pani’, ‘chaas’, biscuits, other eateries, small handicrafts and many other myriad things. We didn’t know the number of the steps that we would have to climb but from estimates from other friends and put it around 250; but even after 400 steps when we found ourselves miles from the peak, we for a brief time repented that we should have taken the ropeway. (If one is going by ropeway, the one has to only climb 250 steps).
With huge bottles of water that we had brought with us, fearing the hepatitis outbreak in north and middle Gujarat, we continued our ascend, stopping after every 100 steps to take
deep breaths. We had kept 100 steps in one –go as a target to minimize our resting periods. The view of the surrounding region from different angles along our climb us awesome and our cameras clicked away. Finally after nearly two hours of climb, sweat drenching our shirts we reached the holy shrine. There was a long queue of devotees waiting to get a ‘darshan’ of the goddess. We too joined them.
The Kalikamata Temple is considered to be of the 10th-11th century and is one of the most sacred centers of Hindu pilgrimage for devotees of Goddess Kali. It has some beautiful sculptures depicting various forms of Shiva-Dakshinamurti, Ardhanarishvara and Kalyanasundaramurti. After a brief ‘darshan’ and rest for a few minutes we started our descend down.
All the 8 bottles of water we had brought had been emptied during the ascend itself and thirsty to the last drop, we didn’t bother about any epidemic and bought glasses of cool lemon juice and buttermilk from the wayside shops. On the way down, we also paid a visit to the Jain shrine just below the Kalikamata temple. One of the wayside vendors explained to us that the many huge dome shaped structures we see on our way up are the granaries built by Maharaja’s of yesteryears to store grains. We looked at those structures with awe. The scenery from atop was picturesque and the man made lake made the scenery complete. On our way back we wetted our feet in those waters and took photographs posing on the many huge rocks that dot the lake.
The descend was easier and we needed fewer breaks in between. Catching a Jeep at the foothill we reached back to Champaner, the base town. We then proceeded to the Champaner fort. It can be said to be a small village with huge fortifications around it and ruins of old palaces and imposing mosques to give it a glam of the past centurieshis site is the only complete and unchanged Islamic pre-Mughal city. The major mosques in this area are Shehar ki Masjid, Jami Masjid, Kewada Masjid and Nagina Masjid.
The first mosque we visited was the Jami Masjid, one of the finest examples of Sultanate architecture of Gujarat. It is an imposing structure on a high plinth with two tall minarets of 30 meter height, 172 pillars and seven mihrabs. The central dome, the placement of balconies and carved entrance gates with fine stone jalis and rich decoration make the visit a delightful aesthetic experience. We went around the mosque taking in its rich history and marvelous architecture.
Then we went to the Shehar ki Masjid. Though smaller than the Jami Masjid, it was also built along the same lines and had tall minarets and a beautiful central dome. We then settled ourselves in the lush green lawn in front of the mosque. Here we prepared Bhel Puri, which was to be our evening snack. We rested here for a while, lying down and talking about the good old days of Rajas and Maharajas and the splendour and glory those days had. The sky slowly turned orangish-red and the sun kissed us goodbye.
We too packed our things and bid goodbye to this historic city with it Indo-Muslim architecture and sacred temple. It was time for us to go back, to return back to our city of high rise skyscrapers, flourishing malls and illuminated roadways, so different from these majestic pieces of history, that tower the landscape.
WORDS OF INSPIRATION
It is said that success is ninety nine percent perspiration and one percent inspiration. Even that one percent is very important if you wish to touch the heights of perfection, if you want to be a complete man. Inspiration not only helps you to achieve success but also motivates you to put in more efforts in your perspiration or hard work.
In this world of a hectic lifestyles and cut throat competition it is difficult to find a motivator and even if do many a times we fail to recognize their words of encouragement and motivation. But I can never forget a teacher who helped me realize myself and helped me carve a new life for myself.
Till my primary classes I was just an average student, managing a couple of A’s, many B’s and sometimes a C or two in my grade sheets. Mathematics was my weak subject while social studies and English were my favourite ones, where I scored well. Because of the same reason, I felt more inclined to study these subjects and never bothered to work upon my weaknesses so that I could convert them also to strong ones.
It was when I was in Class six that this new teacher came to teach us. He was known for his strictness and in setting really tough papers. He was also good at poking fun at students who couldn’t do well. In the first test paper of that year, I like all other students (except a very few), did despondently. But I was surprised when the teacher picked me up as one of those students who could do better, maybe very well. I was really astounded at these comments but felt good because I felt that if this teacher, who was known for his sadistic remarks, could say that I have some potential in me, he must have seen something in me that I haven’t spotted till now.
I worked a bit harder and in the next test my marks improved. But in my next test, my marks dipped once again and I was once again on square one. This time my teacher’s remark was something like this, ‘I expected more from some students, but if even they perform dismally like this, I don’t know what I’ll do’. I felt that this remark was aimed at me and promised myself that I’ll work hard, try harder till I do well, up to my teacher’s expectations, so that I could see the happiness in his face. I tried but didn’t succeed that year.
It was only in the next year that I could manage an ‘A’ grade in mathematics. I felt really good. The fear that I had of numbers left me completely and I was thankful to my teacher. His remarks may not have made drastic impact on any other student, it may not have been taken as a challenge to do better, it may not have been seen as a teacher’s expectations from a student, it may even have had a discouraging influence on some; but I took it as a source of inspiration, a chance to do better and make his words come true. I took it as teacher’s inner eye seeing the potential in me and asking me to improve on it.
In many cases it is how you see things that matter – The glass may be half full or half empty. If you can spot the silver lining in the dark cloud, then it will help you grow and be a self-made man. But in the end, it is you who will have to spot the rainbow among the clouds and aspire to get to the moon.
In this world of a hectic lifestyles and cut throat competition it is difficult to find a motivator and even if do many a times we fail to recognize their words of encouragement and motivation. But I can never forget a teacher who helped me realize myself and helped me carve a new life for myself.
Till my primary classes I was just an average student, managing a couple of A’s, many B’s and sometimes a C or two in my grade sheets. Mathematics was my weak subject while social studies and English were my favourite ones, where I scored well. Because of the same reason, I felt more inclined to study these subjects and never bothered to work upon my weaknesses so that I could convert them also to strong ones.
It was when I was in Class six that this new teacher came to teach us. He was known for his strictness and in setting really tough papers. He was also good at poking fun at students who couldn’t do well. In the first test paper of that year, I like all other students (except a very few), did despondently. But I was surprised when the teacher picked me up as one of those students who could do better, maybe very well. I was really astounded at these comments but felt good because I felt that if this teacher, who was known for his sadistic remarks, could say that I have some potential in me, he must have seen something in me that I haven’t spotted till now.
I worked a bit harder and in the next test my marks improved. But in my next test, my marks dipped once again and I was once again on square one. This time my teacher’s remark was something like this, ‘I expected more from some students, but if even they perform dismally like this, I don’t know what I’ll do’. I felt that this remark was aimed at me and promised myself that I’ll work hard, try harder till I do well, up to my teacher’s expectations, so that I could see the happiness in his face. I tried but didn’t succeed that year.
It was only in the next year that I could manage an ‘A’ grade in mathematics. I felt really good. The fear that I had of numbers left me completely and I was thankful to my teacher. His remarks may not have made drastic impact on any other student, it may not have been taken as a challenge to do better, it may not have been seen as a teacher’s expectations from a student, it may even have had a discouraging influence on some; but I took it as a source of inspiration, a chance to do better and make his words come true. I took it as teacher’s inner eye seeing the potential in me and asking me to improve on it.
In many cases it is how you see things that matter – The glass may be half full or half empty. If you can spot the silver lining in the dark cloud, then it will help you grow and be a self-made man. But in the end, it is you who will have to spot the rainbow among the clouds and aspire to get to the moon.
THE FAMILIAR STRANGER
The face was familiar but not quite the face I remembered. I was not sure whether it was the same person or someone else. Even in the sea of people thronging the Sunday Bazaar I couldn’t but help gaze at this countenance and muse on its familiarity and unfamiliarity.
Suddenly he looked around and his eyes met mine. Conflicting thoughts of identity still racing through my mind, I was not sure whether I should have smiled at him or waved a ‘hi’. But the long span of years that stretched like a mighty sea between my last meeting and this one seemed to lessen my courage to go and seek him and say, ‘Hello! How do you do?’
A young boy of three or four years came running upto him and clung to his hand. He walked forward with the child still clinging onto his finger. I hurriedly turned my attention to the vegetables I was buying. The huge gulf of time that persisted without contacts would never permit me to say ‘hello’. What if he says he doesn’t know me? Why can’t he come and meet me if he recognizes me? Never did I think that he too may be thinking along the same lines.
My mind raced back in years when I was a young, shy, teenage girl. It was during a picnic with a local club that I first came across this face. It was my first trip with the group and I hardly knew anyone.
“You seem to be a silent type. Why? What happened? Are you not enjoying?”
I just smiled back; embarrassed that someone had noticed me.
“It’s O.K. I’m alone too. You can give me company.” And he took the seat beside mine.
With his gentleness, wit, humour, joviality and kindness he made me feel comfortable and made my journey memorable. He was always there beside me like a caring elder brother whether it be in the restaurant where we stopped for lunch or in the beaches where we splashed water or in the king’s palaces and government museums which were there on our itinerary. For one whole day he was my sole companion, my best friend and the loving elder brother I have never had.
The trip ended and so did the relation. I didn’t see him for a long time and when I did glimpse him in the locality, I never escaped my shyness to go upto him and greet him. He too never greeted me. As time passed and memories like paintings began to fade, he too receded from the front of my mind. Studies and higher studies occupied those spaces and took me to different places. Success in career and achievement in life became prima faria and these small relations lost their place. But occasionally when some one mentions an elder brother or when I watch movies or read stories of brother – sister relationships, memories of him once again re-surface; but only to get buried deeper as other things occupied my time and mind’s space. Maybe in accordance with the saying ‘All Indians are my brothers and sisters’, he would eternally remain my brother.
As years ran backward in my mind’s picture frame, I had the sudden urge to turn back and see if he too had felt the need to turn back and look once again for any recognizing lines in my face. I turned and my heart leaped to see his face turned too. Our eyes met once again. Was there recognition in them?
He carried on forward. Time had done its job.
Suddenly he looked around and his eyes met mine. Conflicting thoughts of identity still racing through my mind, I was not sure whether I should have smiled at him or waved a ‘hi’. But the long span of years that stretched like a mighty sea between my last meeting and this one seemed to lessen my courage to go and seek him and say, ‘Hello! How do you do?’
A young boy of three or four years came running upto him and clung to his hand. He walked forward with the child still clinging onto his finger. I hurriedly turned my attention to the vegetables I was buying. The huge gulf of time that persisted without contacts would never permit me to say ‘hello’. What if he says he doesn’t know me? Why can’t he come and meet me if he recognizes me? Never did I think that he too may be thinking along the same lines.
My mind raced back in years when I was a young, shy, teenage girl. It was during a picnic with a local club that I first came across this face. It was my first trip with the group and I hardly knew anyone.
“You seem to be a silent type. Why? What happened? Are you not enjoying?”
I just smiled back; embarrassed that someone had noticed me.
“It’s O.K. I’m alone too. You can give me company.” And he took the seat beside mine.
With his gentleness, wit, humour, joviality and kindness he made me feel comfortable and made my journey memorable. He was always there beside me like a caring elder brother whether it be in the restaurant where we stopped for lunch or in the beaches where we splashed water or in the king’s palaces and government museums which were there on our itinerary. For one whole day he was my sole companion, my best friend and the loving elder brother I have never had.
The trip ended and so did the relation. I didn’t see him for a long time and when I did glimpse him in the locality, I never escaped my shyness to go upto him and greet him. He too never greeted me. As time passed and memories like paintings began to fade, he too receded from the front of my mind. Studies and higher studies occupied those spaces and took me to different places. Success in career and achievement in life became prima faria and these small relations lost their place. But occasionally when some one mentions an elder brother or when I watch movies or read stories of brother – sister relationships, memories of him once again re-surface; but only to get buried deeper as other things occupied my time and mind’s space. Maybe in accordance with the saying ‘All Indians are my brothers and sisters’, he would eternally remain my brother.
As years ran backward in my mind’s picture frame, I had the sudden urge to turn back and see if he too had felt the need to turn back and look once again for any recognizing lines in my face. I turned and my heart leaped to see his face turned too. Our eyes met once again. Was there recognition in them?
He carried on forward. Time had done its job.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
