I have never been ashamed of being a "mother's boy"; taken pride in what she instilled in me, and invariably turned to her in times of distress. I am a believer of roots, rather than religion. I prefer worshiping the womb, rather than a Goddess. I believe in the fundamental, rather than the ethereal.
Last night while i was watching a documentary on TV about an African elephant mother and her calf wandering the deserts of Kalahari, i remembered the Autumn of 2001.
I was still in my teens, headed towards an unknown land, of different language, culture and habits. None of which scared me more than leaving ma. I was glad she was sitting in front of me, as we looked out at the arid lands passing by, through the four iron bars of the train's window. It was the first of many eventful trips i have made with the Corromandel Express. Like packets bouncing through the routers in the Internet(I always like this analogy between Indian Railways and the Internet ), we bounced at Chennai, Bangalore and eventually reached Shimoga.
The train from Bangalore to Shimoga was diesel-operated; and those seven hours of 'soot-clad' wind on our face made us look like baboons by the time we set our foot on the hallowed lands of Shimoga. Shimoga, I feel is the Sicily of India, with "Dons" everywhere, present in all sizes, shapes, features and levels of eccentricity. Nonetheless, this was the beginning of a long cherished bond that I have shared with this place.
We lodged at Mathura Residency that night, and took an 'auto' next morning to JNNCE, my home for the next 4 years. This was 9 years ago, and Shimoga was still in the medieval ages. The city had two 'circles'(Gopi Circle, Mahavir Circle) and a main Bus stand. Between these, and the Engineering college there was Area 51(i.e. no man's land). I grew up in Calcutta, but somehow, never got steeped in the urban lifestyle. Surprisingly, I was feeling quite comfortable in this rural ambiance. We passed the 3rd, 2nd and 1st Stops (terminologies for the college bus travelers), the arid lands, the ladies' hostel (at that time i did not know this was this), the winding road through Navule (a name which always reminds me of the movie "The Godfather") and eventually stopped at the gates of the oasis, JNNCE.
There were three stalls with thatched roofs across the street. Each one of them was a food stall and was occupied by groups of ferocious looking human beings (who i presume were senior students). We got down at the college gate and slowly walked with ma towards the orientation hall.
In those days, heightwise i measured 6feet 2inches, weight-wise i read 64kgs, and look-wise i was extremely timid, shy and all the adjectives that are not associated with being chivalric, spartan or stoic. My mind though always remained calm and phlegmatic. We were late and therefore, had to stand outside the hall and listen to the lectures of a certain Mr. Girimaji who happened to be a member of the Board of Trustees of JNNCE. Ma complained of the heat outside and insisted that we go inside and find a place to sit. She always has this aggressive streak, which makes me feel uneasy, especially when i am amidst a plethora of unknown faces. She could afford to pick up a fight and leave in two days. I would have to survive with the consequences throughout the forthcoming semester. To make matters worse, Swarnadeep Da (I did not know him then) with someone else walked past where we stood, making a comment in Bengali about new chicken arriving in a chicken farm. While I was trying to focus my eyes on them (to make a visual note to stay away from them) we heard a massive blast reverberate across the hall. Apparently, right at the time when Mr.Girimaji was assuring the new students and their parents that their wards were perfectly safe in the hands of the college authorities, some senior student had set off a diwali bomb in one of the empty classes in the 2nd floor, overlooking the hall. We could hear panic-stricken voices in the hall. I pointed out to Ma that it was a prudent decision not to have entered the hall. Behind us there was a group of students laughing away. I made a mental note of each one of those faces. This was going to be a tough battle, or so i thought.
The next day we went to the warden's office. Here I met the first few of a long line of characters I was going to come across during my stay here. Rahul(Rajput), Prem, and Ara. Rahul and I moved to a room in the third floor of Sharavati Hostel. We placed our belongings in this small room and embarked on the journey of becoming an adult.
What ensued in the days to come for the next four years is the tale of a lifetime. But, this is not where it all gets penned. Ma and i sat quietly in the room. I think she felt the severing of the umbilical cord, for the second time. She never broke down, like a million other mothers I have seen (at the school auditorium, train station, airport, hostel gates etc). She made sure all my belongings were in order, made sure she reiterated the importance of studies (to my ever-wandering mind), brushed her palm over my head, and left.
For a long time I sat alone in that room. I looked out of the window. I have seen a lot of Shimoga in four years. A lot of good and a few bad memories are etched in my mind. But foremost of them is the image of the sun just before it drowned in the western horizon on the day ma left me alone. In her presence everything looked easy, In her absence every little belief became a struggle. I believe every mother feels the pain when it is time to let go of her fledgling, but she endures, knowing that it is inevitable. Only the fledgling does not know the enormity of the pain, because it is too occupied by the wonders the future beholds.
If I had not broken free from my nest, I would not have met the collage of characters whom i call friends; I would not have been part of those terrible adventures(misadventures); those crazy fights; those desperate night-outs; those humongous wastages of time (worrying about 'internals' and 'externals') that eventually made me what I am today. I do not regret any of it. The only regret I have is I stayed away from Ma, all the while.
Last night while i was watching a documentary on TV about an African elephant mother and her calf wandering the deserts of Kalahari, i remembered the Autumn of 2001.
I was still in my teens, headed towards an unknown land, of different language, culture and habits. None of which scared me more than leaving ma. I was glad she was sitting in front of me, as we looked out at the arid lands passing by, through the four iron bars of the train's window. It was the first of many eventful trips i have made with the Corromandel Express. Like packets bouncing through the routers in the Internet(I always like this analogy between Indian Railways and the Internet ), we bounced at Chennai, Bangalore and eventually reached Shimoga.
The train from Bangalore to Shimoga was diesel-operated; and those seven hours of 'soot-clad' wind on our face made us look like baboons by the time we set our foot on the hallowed lands of Shimoga. Shimoga, I feel is the Sicily of India, with "Dons" everywhere, present in all sizes, shapes, features and levels of eccentricity. Nonetheless, this was the beginning of a long cherished bond that I have shared with this place.
We lodged at Mathura Residency that night, and took an 'auto' next morning to JNNCE, my home for the next 4 years. This was 9 years ago, and Shimoga was still in the medieval ages. The city had two 'circles'(Gopi Circle, Mahavir Circle) and a main Bus stand. Between these, and the Engineering college there was Area 51(i.e. no man's land). I grew up in Calcutta, but somehow, never got steeped in the urban lifestyle. Surprisingly, I was feeling quite comfortable in this rural ambiance. We passed the 3rd, 2nd and 1st Stops (terminologies for the college bus travelers), the arid lands, the ladies' hostel (at that time i did not know this was this), the winding road through Navule (a name which always reminds me of the movie "The Godfather") and eventually stopped at the gates of the oasis, JNNCE.
There were three stalls with thatched roofs across the street. Each one of them was a food stall and was occupied by groups of ferocious looking human beings (who i presume were senior students). We got down at the college gate and slowly walked with ma towards the orientation hall.
In those days, heightwise i measured 6feet 2inches, weight-wise i read 64kgs, and look-wise i was extremely timid, shy and all the adjectives that are not associated with being chivalric, spartan or stoic. My mind though always remained calm and phlegmatic. We were late and therefore, had to stand outside the hall and listen to the lectures of a certain Mr. Girimaji who happened to be a member of the Board of Trustees of JNNCE. Ma complained of the heat outside and insisted that we go inside and find a place to sit. She always has this aggressive streak, which makes me feel uneasy, especially when i am amidst a plethora of unknown faces. She could afford to pick up a fight and leave in two days. I would have to survive with the consequences throughout the forthcoming semester. To make matters worse, Swarnadeep Da (I did not know him then) with someone else walked past where we stood, making a comment in Bengali about new chicken arriving in a chicken farm. While I was trying to focus my eyes on them (to make a visual note to stay away from them) we heard a massive blast reverberate across the hall. Apparently, right at the time when Mr.Girimaji was assuring the new students and their parents that their wards were perfectly safe in the hands of the college authorities, some senior student had set off a diwali bomb in one of the empty classes in the 2nd floor, overlooking the hall. We could hear panic-stricken voices in the hall. I pointed out to Ma that it was a prudent decision not to have entered the hall. Behind us there was a group of students laughing away. I made a mental note of each one of those faces. This was going to be a tough battle, or so i thought.
The next day we went to the warden's office. Here I met the first few of a long line of characters I was going to come across during my stay here. Rahul(Rajput), Prem, and Ara. Rahul and I moved to a room in the third floor of Sharavati Hostel. We placed our belongings in this small room and embarked on the journey of becoming an adult.
What ensued in the days to come for the next four years is the tale of a lifetime. But, this is not where it all gets penned. Ma and i sat quietly in the room. I think she felt the severing of the umbilical cord, for the second time. She never broke down, like a million other mothers I have seen (at the school auditorium, train station, airport, hostel gates etc). She made sure all my belongings were in order, made sure she reiterated the importance of studies (to my ever-wandering mind), brushed her palm over my head, and left.
For a long time I sat alone in that room. I looked out of the window. I have seen a lot of Shimoga in four years. A lot of good and a few bad memories are etched in my mind. But foremost of them is the image of the sun just before it drowned in the western horizon on the day ma left me alone. In her presence everything looked easy, In her absence every little belief became a struggle. I believe every mother feels the pain when it is time to let go of her fledgling, but she endures, knowing that it is inevitable. Only the fledgling does not know the enormity of the pain, because it is too occupied by the wonders the future beholds.
If I had not broken free from my nest, I would not have met the collage of characters whom i call friends; I would not have been part of those terrible adventures(misadventures); those crazy fights; those desperate night-outs; those humongous wastages of time (worrying about 'internals' and 'externals') that eventually made me what I am today. I do not regret any of it. The only regret I have is I stayed away from Ma, all the while.
6 comments:
Words are less to appreciate the way you have put your thoughts. Good job. Keep writing.
This article brought back my memories of first day at Jnnce.Truly you have put in your emotions so well.. well written dear..
beautifully written... brought back a lot of memories..
Good 'tiny' tribute to Mum.
Here 'Sicily' is nail in head.
Another pair of Nilovena and Pavel,on a different mission and at a different era.Well written but keep on writing because the 'nib' of your pen has already started gathering 'dust' an 'rust'and it requires regular 'tending'before it gets 'dry' and 'blunt'.
Hey nice blog....U made me to remember my college days back...I know we localities had a different group in class...and we missed many of the things that could have been enjoyed with you people by being a single group and single class right.....Hmm and about my "shimoga"...dont tell it as city of medieval age...I am bit possessive about my city ..You had been here for four years here..but I have seen it from my childhood days, It has developed as city along with me, my village,tunga bhadra river,and sahyadri hills...each and everything of my city i loved a lot...(I think you also loved your a city lot)...
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