UNTITLED

I write when I stop being at peace with my thoughts. When I can no longer revel in solitude, writing randomly becomes a diversion. But the point is thoughts require space and when I cage thought in words, it unfolds its wings , certainly does, but cannot fly…its very evident from indiscriminate stuff I have written here.

I have deliberately not named this piece of writing. Its either “all’s in the name” / or its “what’s in the name” depending on the perception of the reader. Frankly, since there is a fundamental conflict of the relevance of / in the name, I have chosen not to title this piece at all. Thus, I , absolve myself and others from prejudicing the piece on basis of ‘name’.

This writing has got more to do with discovering the colours that etched my mindscape, as a kid and as an adolescent. I was a below average cadet in terms of performance in Academics at NDA, but imbibed what the Academy set out to teach us to its fullest. I still practice what the NDA Prayer taught us. This drove me to deal with my loss of vision in one eye and gave me strength to battle a bigger adversity of seizures and tuberculosis. but I often wonder, why the same mind cannot get rid of my love of alcohol and addiction to cigarettes.

This is my trek into the labyrinths of my mind, where the ying and yan sometimes are distinctly distant as spurned lovers or are almost inseperable as a couple in coitus. It may not have a conclusion, or then it may have……..i do not know. I only know that the journey will be worth my while.

My earliest memories of my childhood were those of a huge stone house, with red brick inlays on the exterior and an even bigger garden in the front. A wide variety of flora and fauna blossomed. My favourite amongst the trees was the “Sonchafyacha zaad”, a towering giant of a tree, with beautiful yellow fragrant flowers giving a cool shade to one entire portion of the garden. The fragrance and the shade made this giant seemed gentle and caring. There was an ancient “zopala” (swing) right below and a guava tree right behind this gentle giant. The house was built by my great grandfather, a doctor (Captain) in the Royal Army. This is in so far as memories of inanimate (so called) surroundings go…..idyllic, charming almost Utopian.

My aai (mother) was just 20 (nineteen years and seven months) when she delivered me. She was at that time studying for her final year Micro-Biology and I was born just a month before her exams. Aai was a beautiful vivacious lady, who suffered all the trappings of a middle class konkanstha brahmin family. A very dominating mother — in-law, a helpless father — in — law and I daresay a somewhat distant husband, unwilling to take a stand against his mother. She wasn’t allowed to join medical school because my grandmother refused to look after the house, forcing her to opt for her next choice, MicroBiology. This is a grudge she will always have against my father and his mother, from my view then and now, a grudge rightfully so. As to why my father was like he was, I don’t know, he has never (as usual) openly communicative. So to be fair to him, I will not judge him for I do not / did not know his compulsions. The only thing aai was whole heartedly allowed to indulge in was acting in Marathi theatre. It kind of ran in the family. At home I was closest to Aai, confided everything in her, listened to everything she said, truly appreciated all her efforts in bringing us up almost single handedly.

Dada,(father) was always doing his own thing (even then), be it background music for plays, or going off to work on weekends to learn the amazing world of computers he discovered during his days as a post graduate student in Holland. I do not know whether no interference in household matters from him was a sign allowing independence or giving precedence to his priorities.

But I can say with great assurance that he deeply cared for us, just that he never displayed his emotions. I realized this so many years later in the most unfortunate of times….at Shankar Netralaya, where he almost collapsed (physically) on being informed that my eye operation was unsuccessful……..so deep were his feelings. I am not sure I have this intensity………..Well we do learn some things from adversities and these make them worth the while……..i would have gone to my grave thinking dada never cared……….it would have been so criminally unfair……….to dada!!

Aji, my mother’s mother………..she was my soulmate. She took care of me since I was a day old and I can never forget her tears, lying helpless with illness in the bed when she saw me with the damn broken eye……..i believe that if aji was fit and fine, her sheer grit of aashirwaad would have given me my eyesight back………she was a colossal ……….the most venerated person in my life……..extremely dignified in living and even more dignified in death.

Writing about these three people does not mean that I had no other influences from other family members……Aaba Mami, Mama, Rohini Atya……..they all have their special place.

Aaba was an extremely composed and just patriarch, always at peace with him and consequently everyone around him. Aji used to obey him without questions (and indulge me the same way too)…need I say more, after all she was Durgakka!! Till Aaba passed away, we never knew his extremely strong RSS connections and I was surprised (in a most pleasant manner) and extraordinarily proud of him, that he was Plan B if Nathuram Godse failed and that he had a price of Rs 10,000/- on his head in 1948. Unbelievable…knowing Aaba for 21 years, for I was 21 when he passed away, that he could be a revolutionary, having always seen his mild mannered disposition. From him I learnt that revolutionary doesn’t necessarily mean aggressive….

Mama, was a classic take away from PU LA’s Narayan. Ever present to help others everytime, in the bargain, not earning much for a living. I always felt that in an ideal world, he was the richest man, in terms of ‘ Loka Jodne’. (For one, I am the most indebted to him, for on a lazy Sunday afternoon after lunch, he brain washed or rather motivated me to join the NDA, a decision I shall never regret.) But that had its practical ills in a more real world. Mami, the ever loving person, silently suffered the scruples of a ‘barely earning husband’. Much against her own wishes, she had to seek employment to make ends meet. Of course, Aji Aaba had earned enough to support the household, but how much can a school principals’ pension yield? Her love for Mama is truly everlasting, haven’t seen anyone who can love the spouse with so much intensity even after a decade of his passing away. These are my takeaways from Mama Mami.

Rohini Atya, the most famous of our family, the first Indian to win a British Academy Award for the Best Supporting Role in Gandhi. Sole supporter of her family, regrettably even now. For, how an immensely talented lady and a Man of the House , for the past 26 years, remained / remains submissive to the most important gentlemen in her Life, is completely unfathomable. She is aloof, neither does she expect anything from anyone nor does she go out of the way to do something for someone…

I guess, what runs my mind is to an equal measure a consequence of my perception of all my family elders. I can individually classify my myriad thoughts as attributed to each one of them……independently…its inexplicable..

A great friend of mine once asked me, sometime after I joined the NDA that how many new friends I have made. I replied…..plenty. He said I am asking about Friends…not Acquaintances. I found that immensely understated and hugely profound…The guy who asked me that, is my FRIEND.

Having perceived the definition of FRIEND as such, I can say my first, true and interminable friend is Nikhil…..well, I beg your pardon, Friendship is everlasting….so one may consider that adjective as redundant or just pleonasm. Nikhil and I were together since our nursery school. We were and remain inseparable. He was always the topper in school, an excellent sportsman, an avid reader, great handwriting…all the things that matter to children…..he was the best at school and hence my default icon. We had a wonderful childhood as friends and to this date we still enjoy like children!!

He wore specs, so I insisted I need them too; got myself the same frame as his; I vividly remember, it was a simple black square frame and had costed us Rs 25/-….of course I discarded them soon……..so much for ‘imitation is flattery’ !!

Post 12th class, we got geographically separated since he went on to Pravara to study medicine and I went to NDA. After that, I met him six months later in December in the most unfortunate circumstances. Seeing him in hospital with a long beard, unable to even laugh without pain disturbed me immensely, so much so that I never went back to visit him and lost touch with him for almost 7 years. Ironically, the same infection that affected his spine, affected my brain years later….We are whimsical in equal measure and he is an immeasurable part of my life and I am extremely proud that he is top of the line in his chosen field of ophthalmology.

Characterization of the superstars in my stories in frames, has given me the benefit of diving deeper into this complex mind of mine which seeks redemption from many of my indiscretions of youth and thank my limited acquisitions of age.

I guess this ‘un’titled slice of my writing is going to stay ‘un’complete…….primarily because I don’t exactly know what I am searching for. My mind is like a combat zone where reason and judgment are battling passion to do something new. However, I feel that reason and passion are the rudder that steers my boat and sails that power it, so why are they at war? I am either standstill or drifting, or being tossed in turmoil…….i know, that reason, can be restraining and unbridled passion, can be destructive. So why is reason not guiding my passion…………Do I need to rest in reason and move in passion???? (what the hell am I writing anyway..i am just going to let my thoughts flow…perspectives can be sought later))

Is my pain self-chosen, but then doesn’t pain heal the diseased mind and raises its immunity? My soul is walking on numerous paths, unfolding itself like the giant himalayas do, where once you reach a perceived peak, you know, its still a long way to the top…