Month: September 2013

 

Yes! I’m a 90s Kid

Just the other day, we were being taught about the economic reforms in India since 1991, and the brilliant teacher that Professor Upinder sawhney is, lectures for contemporary issues in Indian economy is never a drab affair! Most of us remember 90s as the kick-off to the post-liberalization era. Indians, for the first time, understood the meaning of the word “globalization”.

I’m a 90s kid, and a proud one at that! Today, as I deliberate with my fellow mates over a cuppa tea about the 90s era, every single person delves into nostalgia and remembers every single important thing that put mark on our lives, be it TV serials, cartoons, movies, cricket, snacks, video games et all. It was a time when we knew the words to ‘In-pin-safety-pin’ and ‘akkad-bakkad’ by heart; the time when playing hide-and-seek was an obsession; the time when “cool” was the coolest word.

If I were to define the 90s, one of the two things that would definitely appear in my list would be the ubiquitous Maggi noodles. It’s been ruling the market ever since and has wiped out international competition. While Maggi was undoubtedly the quintessential morning breakfast for most of us, add to that Jungle Book on Doordarshan at 9AM on a Sunday mornings! The wonderful characters of bhageera, mowgli, chil, sher khan-remain etched in the memories, don’t they?  How can we forget the thirst quenchers of the 90s-‘I love you rasna’, and the ruby red fragrant roohafza , convincingly pinned down colas and juices, which dominated the kitchen shelves every single middle class household. Summer vacations were largely dominated by mushrooms, bullets, bypass, one-up, flags, turtles and finally the Dragon-Super mario! probably the first encounter as an Indian kid to the world of video games. Singles like “Made in India” and “Dekho Dekho, Yeh Hai Jalwa- Remix” were at the top of the charts. Who can forget endless strips on ‘Chacha Chaudhury’ & ‘Twinkle’ comics we read, mostly in school sneaked in between the text books! India probably consumed more Frootis than oil in Iraq and owning a car meant either a Maruti 800 or an Ambassador.

Change, they say, is inevitable. Slowly and steadily, as India lost its virginity to the global economy the 90s came to an abrupt end. At the end of the decade came a plethora of satellite channels,the convergence of TV ,the PC and the internet. There was a dynamic shift in consumer tastes and preferences. Today, we talk of fashionable economic jargon like FDI in multi-brand retail and what not! It’s all a part of the larger economic and political debate. But, memories of the 90s are undoubtedly the most amazing, pleasant and beautiful ones.  They were defining moments that had huge bearings on our life. It was as exciting a time as present day India still is. If you’ve experienced it you’ll know what I am talking about. If not, it’s very hard to explain what you missed!

Flowers- Of love and hate!

The impressively beautiful, flame orange and sun-kissed Canna flower , epitomizes simplicity and grace. It’s foliage variegated and inflorescence unpretentious. And growing them is no calculus! Just plant a couple of cuttings in your green patch, tick a few days off the calendar and there they are- En masse- in all their splendor, doing the foxtrot in the mellow sunshine. And then there’s the petite rose begonia and the splendidly simple periwinkle, selflessly flowering almost all year round. What more can I ask for?

But, unfortunately not everyone adores the periwinkle or the canna flower. My mother, for instance, a psychologist turned bonsai enthusiast, very often argues with me that the periwinkle is an obstinate and fussy plant and uses this as an excuse to root out all the periwinkles growing in our backyard! I presume she’s being a little snooty.

I have encountered the same arrogance towards the Indian marigold, growing wild in little nooks and crannies in our backyards, found in lively orange and red hues. Why this unwarranted hate, I wonder? Is it because they are woven into garlands to adorn the necks of our sassy politicians? or because they don’t effuse that delicate fragrance?

Sometimes, wild flowers convincingly pin down their more spectacular ‘pedigreed’ garden siblings to shame. Wild button roses, for instance,  intoxicate my soul, while the more sophisticated hybrid ones fail to do so.  I am reminded of my maternal Great grandmother, Biji, we called her fondly  and her passion for flowers and untamed wilderness. Her old palatial bungalow, ‘petlands’ in the garrison town of Dagshai is a testimony to this fact. The front garden was a zig-zag maze of flower beds-iris, impatience, cosmos, petunias, masses of sweet peas, lavender, plox et all. This civilized wilderness was analogous to a zen garden-transported you to a state of trance.

The image of this garden is perfectly etched in my memory so that today, when my troubled soul hits the trench, I just shut my eyes and find myself in the midst of the mighty deodars, sitting in the company of  rambling buttercups and cosmos. it just soothes my agitated mind.

At the end of the day, I am no floral connoisseur. I am just another bumbling bee, buzzing from one flower to the next, in search of luscious nectar.

On this Teachers Day

As I clean my desk, I stumble upon my class 10 scrapbook, filled days before I passed out of my beloved Alma mater, St.Johns High school. Unable to contain my excitement I flip through a couple of pages and smile and laugh . As I reach the last page, my eyes dart to a message scribbled in red ink, it reads “May God be with you in every test (math’s!) of your life… best wishes, Grover Ma’am! “. I let out a little laugh and my eyes feel moist.

The calendar approaches the 5th of September, indeed a very special day in the lives of our dear teachers and beloved mentors. Formally celebrated as ‘teachers day’ across the nation in honour of the birthday of the second President of India, academic philosopher Dr. sarvepalli Radhakrishnan.

As far as my memory takes me, for this special day we’d all visit the local florist a day before to pick and choose beautiful flowers ranging from the pretty crimson and sun-kissed yellow roses to the sweet scented tuberose. How can we forget picking up those greeting cards from the local bookshop and then filling them up withpleasing yet meaningful messages. On the T-day itself, going from class to class and handing over those magnificent bouquets and cards and seeking blessings from our teachers. And then again for good grades and ‘peaceful’ PTMs wishing the dreaded teachers was customary! The entire atmosphere was full of fun and frolic where all teachers and students reported to school as usual but the mundane activities and classes were replaced by activities of celebration, thanks and remembrance. The responsibility of teaching was taken up by the senior students to show appreciation for their teachers.  A special drama was staged in the school auditorium where the students dressed up as teachers and enacted them, leaving everyone in splits of laughter!

My paternal grandfather, a retired physics professor, feels grieved at fast depleting teacher-student relations. As time has wound its way through the cosmic clock, the quintessential relationship between teachers and students has undergone a metamorphosis. The personal touch is missing, where crucial ingredients like respect and awe seem to be fading away. Students have become casual and disrespectful towards the ones who not only impart mere knowledge of numbers or letters or facts but inspired hope in us when we felt dejected, ignited our imaginations and instilled in us the golden virtues of patience, humility , et all. We must never forget, if it were not for our dear teachers we would have never been what we are today.

For this teachers day, I am reminded of these awe-inspiring lines by Dan Rather, “ The dream begins with a teacher  who believes in you, who tugs and pushes you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called ‘thruth’” . For you dear teacher, a thousand times over .