Transition years...

After a gap of 1 weekend and 2 days I am back at it. My narration was around the 1973. Before I move to 1973 must mention the year 1972. A very important year of world history a nation is born. This year also reflected the departure of Indian approach to World politics. of course this all is influenced by the wisdom and information which was attained in following years. A boy that I was in 1972, just 10 years old. still living in Barabanki on the periphery of the town, as an abode in town was not affordable, as I would learn it much later.

This place though isolated, still amid scattered development, gave the children ample view of the landscape. We could even see the trains coming into and going out of Barabanki. A few of us would also form a group, notably during the war with Pakistan on it Eastern extension, and go as near the railway lines which were only about 2 kilometers of areal distance from our home. Thank GOD there were nothing in between our homes and the railway lines except a few large bushes a Nallah and marshy land full of mosquitoes, frog, snakes, foxes, wolves.  We were instructed from homes not to cross the main road, nevertheless we did and we did it again.

The fear of unknown was always there. Occasionally we would freeze in fear as we would see some dead bodies being burnt or abandoned.  We will swear not to come there again, yet will be there as soon as the group was ready again. The older ones would make up some stories to instill more fear into the younger ones, so that we dare not disobey them and always held together. I can freely assume this instilling of fear at that time was good to maintain discipline. The landscape was not very friendly. There were unending stories of criminals and kidnappings and murders in the area near by.

These were the same railway lines which carried soldiers an tanks from to the eastern Borders and bring back wounded soldiers from that front back into the hinterlands. We will the children would go near these railway lines and I still distinctly remember to have sung some patriotic songs like Vandematarm to the passing trains or just wave. For the children the sheer size / length of those trains was fascinating and the tanks and trucks on top of it was just mesmerizing. We were totally awestruck. I remember to have been waved back by some soldiers, that was the penultimate reward that we ever sought.

Running bare footed or in bath room sleepers to the railway lines was always a fun. Our ultimate tribute to the soldiers, as we tried to run as soon as we would hear the whistling steam engines an see coughing them black smoke all over the track rising from far beyond the horizons. In the process sometime we would get tired and  injured as we ran among marshy and bush lands. I must confess the feeling of reaching the railway lines just to feel the train wheezing wind as it would race past the small children with make shift flags, would wave with their small hands. The feeling was just amazing. Sometimes we would have coal entering our small eyes and for hours together we would be just rubbing our small eyes but still would not let go the greed to watch the Train as it went by.

I have not experienced such ecstasy ever since. May be the innocence or the joy arsing from an act of selflessness played the role. I can freely compare the excitement when I flew for the first time in 1975 or was it 1976.. do not remember exactly. Does that matter? May be, may be not.

In next I would also want the share the years of 1971 as the  rains played havoc.. in India's one of the largest zoo's in northern part.

My Life my way..

Before the readers must confess that professional writing is something very different than mine. Its my first attempt at actual descriptive writing which was stopped with advent and  ease of access to email somewhere around 1994. In fact it stopped even well before that as I was in love this time around.

I was actually, appreciated, by my educationist father. He had prior to that not seen many positive qualities in me. At the same time must share that he had actually never engaged with me the way we know the engagement of fathers with their children today. Except for the evenings when I will come back with an injured knee and he will recite some poem from his nationalist mind comparing my woulds with those of Rana Sanga or Rana Sangarm Singh of Mewar, making me feel as brave as  Lav and Kush, the sons of Sita-Rama who took on the epic army of Rama the king of Ayodhya. His recital of those poems and reproduction of the epic names and stories hence, associated with these gave my courage (I believe) as a child he mesmerized me with drama he put in reciting the great laurels of Indian culture and the pride I can still feel when I do the same with my children.

Must confess I have not tried to to make my children as attached to our inheritance as he consciously and continuously tried despite limited resources and continuous struggle for survival, his dedication was unique. I will refer to the line time and again during the course of my thought process. Now this would be year 1973-1974 as far I can remember.

1973 would be an interesting year. We had just moved to Kanpur from Barabanki, a real sleepy town. A town which produced Mohisina Kidwai and prior to that her father Rafi Ahmad Kidwai ( https://goo.gl/WbVgBk) first Minister for Communications of free India and only the second Muslim minister in Nehru cabinet and Maulana Azad. Later on this city Barabanki (https://goo.gl/LYjZGG) produced many socialist leaders including Anantram Jaiswal andof late Beni Prasad Verma (https://goo.gl/E8HIRq) incidentally also communication minister in UPA / congress government.
......
.
.
.
.
...

.

..
.
NOt removing the lines as I plan build upon the thoughts shared below
  Now this is interesting. Kanpur in late 70s was textile people will call it the Surat of North India as Surat was then known as Manchester of the east.

Share a thought..

Confusion prevails over do it or not to do it. Not sure of the fears and desires, however, adamant on doing this as the self belief getting over and challenge the limits. It will be simple read and real with a pinch of lie and agony. Just getting over the tabu of "what if" and "why not" , "even though".

Notwithstanding the fact that on the way to office. Wonder not, what all we do to win our breads. My bread comes from supporting the EU from India.

Classroom were never a place for me and things always done in my own lazy, faulty way. The only time I remember to love the classroom learning was in 1981 or is it 1979 do not remember exactly, when learning German language.

This was an start of a love story which has been lived through over past 35 years.

All along everyone has been asking why would a boy from a not so sleepy town back then in late 70s learn German language? So, with an embraced smile came the answer, "Never wanted, to learn it in the first place."

Personally, always wanted to study Hotel Management, as this the farthest that could have been imagined in good old Newspaper, Competition Success Review and Manorama Year Book days. As these were still the days where getting information was as tedious as beating a competition.

goes on..

Indigo-all natural hair care