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LOVE
I am painting a love story based on the backdrop of a memory lane say of 1961-62. Mom inspite of her rural background was always fascinated to urban life. I remember one day she was saying her parents and she originally belongs to some kalyana area of erstwhile west Punjab of British India I have not uttered its new name as I have already derecognised its existence as a separate entity and have used my sciences that its a part of India only. Dad charted a plan to visit haridwar. We started on a fine early morning with a little rustic baggage I know kiran is very sophisticated but sophistication s of those eventful day s were not less defined. ( I will continue. ) Love kiran is a biologist too if I can remember. Just ask her draw a TS LS of mitochondria and tell the physiological functions of lysomes. She has forgotten that sanjeev mom was also a kiran too at one eventful day of the life. Any how I will continue. Sirsa was a sleepy town as life appeared as if nothing moves without a real wait. Dad knew it will take hell time for his i ternary so he took a long route via saharanpur of the yore. Railway was a shook shook aaja chali aaja chali ja. Now I am shifting the scenario to haridwar itself. Harkipauri was a desolate place at that time and hardly anybody was visible. Dad stayed in sarai that was a makeshift of private house. Dad was not a religious crank so he avoided any bloody panda type chap over there. I remember we were inside the waters at harkipauri with Dad mom and me. it was just like your any five star hotel hardly anybody to bother you. Dad was not a ritualistic either. We stayed at that place for a day and then proceeded to other areas. Laxman jhula was only a make shift bridge hardly significant to eyes. Mom told a little bit of the environment but Dad was always a silent and calm person to reckon with. I remember we visited the down stair waters too just to feel the space you can feel like. There was hardly any person to disturb about . Dad took us to the bhimgoda I feel if I am not failing at memory lane. Sometime I confuse it with bhimtal of nainetal but that is a separate place. It was a river and I could hardly cross it as water was coming to my nose itself. The scenario was too mystic as it could leave a searching engine in my software system. I remember Dad me and mom were standing along the river of some other name and waters were that speedy that there was no scope to interfere in its majestic might but the stream was profusely short in width. I could remember water was as fresh as say any filtered waters of the present day machine. Mom was telling a story line of that place but my brain is unable to recall those eventful days in complete some.
One day I noticed that I was going back to my school at mirzapur.
Love
I am painting a life of say 68-69 . I used to go to school not much earlier but in time most of the time as there was a prayer at the very inception stage and a teacher who was well versed in Hindi and Sanskrit used to say some words after every prayer. I will write a little later on in a more detailed manner. I used to wonder at a teacher whose name was sher singh, I believe he used to come to school from kalawali a nearby town and the rail time made him to reach probably at 7.30 AM or so. He used to sit in the lawn of the school and was often busy at some book and the like. He was an English teacher if I am not failing at my memory lane. English subject used to be a daunting task to speak like on the rustic background which I happened to be. Speaking English was as if doing some biggest possible wonder and a wishful thing only. I remember our Principal whose name could not make a place in my hard disc some time took a few classes as a special occasion to increase the result oriented value of the school. One fine day he gave us a task : write a story in English , class was 8th standard and topic was thirsty crow.
I remember I was having a small booklet in my hand strolling on the roof top of our dhobia wala mohala old house at sirsa. Next morning was the D hrs to speak like. I started my pencil but could not remember even a single bullshit word what I crammed whilst negotiating my steps and nerves put together at the roof top. Bhapi was a beautiful girl at that time but I do not remember I have ever fantasized her beauty . Some how I gathered my strength and could write a few lines only. The principal used to check the task immediately and evaluate too. I can remember he was saying its nice that you have done an original work but since its too short and skeptic you should do a little more.
I have never been a promising or bright student under any reckoning probably I told you. May be my brain was searching you to come.
Love
I am sketching a love of yours some where around Kanpur. I have taken many trains to go there and come back. Generally it was a summer season. But I remember I have been there during winter too. Train journey reminded me of anu and you as I knew kiran will definitely call me at her phone and your and anu nose will never look sane enough. Food was good in Train and I enjoyed it but magazines part I have hardly anything to read about. Hotel was probably of not your standard so my heart told me darling Deepika may not come with you at all, I used to go outside and have some tea and desi bread. It was good. I was thinking to take this desi bread called ban in colloquial language with you at Kanpur. Probably this will serve many purposes one is you will come to me another is peoples may learn how to dispose of the plastics and the wastage at that place I have heard a word in chaste punjabi dheedh but love people of kanpur I feel they are literally beyond that. I was in my middle school when mom used to get early as usual but making roti everyday was a big thing for mom too as school timing were too strict. Sometimes she tasked me to bring bread, I remember a sikh gentle man used to sell bread butter and such items whilst roaming in front of morning facilitated homes/houses so to speak like. I could not understand much at that time.
Now when I see kumar vihwas and kejriwal and team I have some how understood the efforts and patience that sikh gentleman was having. I do not know where is that person as there was no connection to me with that great boy with me at that time too. But love these some advocates who literally suck the blood of the peoples I dont understand how they digest so much blood and with no diseases at all and everyday a bloody seema gulati is born to increase her pond of the flesh.
Anyhow love I wanted to convey you are not behaving well.
Love
probably I wrote you in my love letters that I am not capable to paint what those colours are that can describe my Dad persona. Dad knew at his heart the fine nuances of ground realities and ephemeral quotient that has to be worked upon consistently to make a fit out of the misfit what we probably are made of. He never indulged in any non sense of visiting the peoples like now days people called as socialite behaviorism probably the shallowness of non sense was too crystal clear to him. He never asked me to be of any colour minded as he knew his version of life may not be complete as its a something ever changing scenario, I know Salman khan said in press that he has one problem why he is so wrong and why his father is so right any how its never late he can choose a path which he presumes to be the right one but love he probably does not know that Darwin laws are something which need a hell research to understand a bit and its not bloody kumar vishwas way of know how of Darwin that can work even to please the gullible masses as they happen to stand apart or say together or say shattered; Any how one day I was tasked upon by my own behavioral trait s to be a part of the marriage ceremony of my Dad brother in 1964 that was held in Fazilka of Punjab India, way back I was travelling in public transport so called bus and could not take ticket that was amounting to Rs.2/ as the crowd did not budge. I asked to myself let it be a while matter will cool down but by that time Dabwali but stand was already there and conductor deliberately took a smart chance where is my ticket I politely said to the major goel here is the money I could not take earlier. He gave me the ticket and said take the balance afterwords. I feel it was not Dabwali it was some earlier station/ stop may be malot etc at Dabwali I remember I was requesting the conductor kindly give my balance at a dhaba where they were eating free food served to them on regular basis but he did not oblige as I was a faultier in his eyes. I could remember what a bloody free change is worth of.
I was posted at CAO office from 91 to 98 and salary was paid in cash drawn from RBI by ourselves only. It resulted in making us conductors so to speak like but we could keep the money but could do that with the old notes and give the new ones in a little what you feel like you can come to my flat but you have not done so far. Generally there was sufficient supply whereby I could oblige the people with fresh notes and say some old notes taken from some other s . Fresh notes hardly serve any purpose but a bullshit psychological purpose what I feel like. But it leads to a pooling system whereby that bloody change is available with practically every one who so ever asks for.
I was a socialite from the very beginning. Probably contrary to my Dad version of life ( I do not mean that Dad was not socialite - his socialite version was profusely innovative sharp practical glamorous and fit to the precision ) and may be some salman khan grudge may be right as he happens to be a son and so called son has a bullshit right to kick a father as Darwin laws say so. Any how, I used to oblige rather I should say give some fresh notes of the denomination of Rs.10. say worth Rs. 1k to 2k some times even much more to 5k sometimes to 10k depending upon the supply side from RBI and the incidence of local demand that was within our reach of activity to my cousin as she happens to be a doctor by profession and change was a practical necessity to her.
One such fine day , I remember I was having a small gunny bag to be delivered to her and was waiting in the patient list / Que ( I am amending so that noses of those who are stopping you may it be your bullshit physiological system can be mended or say politely tasked upon to better mind their/its own bullshit business and learn to locate the spelling of aukat in some good punjabiat dictionary may it be written in any language ) so that I can go inside to hand over my version of socialite ism a salman khan happened to be there but that salman khan could never know that bloody his bloody khul ja sim sim speaks a language which no body really understands that what could be its real impact and the like.
and kejriwal say s bandeimatram
Love
I am sketching a life of 1958-59. Mom was a beauty to reckon with, my dad obsession of her beauty was derided by his peers and relatives particularly the bloody fazilka abohar bastards and all the cranks of sirsa too; she probably was not sophisticated like you to negotiate the fine nuances of life. Kiran was telling me a good story but I believe if Navita comes in this house whether married or unmarried or in any bloody live in relation ship s if a bastard or a bitch even ever dared to think against her I tell you I will throw that filth out of my balcony. Mom used to make good food but no body ever allowed a slightest praise of her s as it was construed as if the bloody hegemony of the cranks may not get swayed away. I remember mom asked me to carry some sweets -home made and a cottage candle plus some match box and some burnable materials including a cotton based litting material. We walked our way to the river basin which was in lean period. I remember I could touch the smart flowing water as if your lips.
I saw mom was praying to the almighty so that her fields can be spared of the onslaughts of floods which were expected very soon within a few days so to say.
Love
I was telling you of some hybrid concepts of say infinite in connotations , when I was enthusiastic to see how the work was going on to build earthen
dams on river gaghar. I remember the efforts but probably I could not notice the fine nuances how the life went by across that scenario. Dad never
accompanied me to any of the sites that was visible in a broad spectrum or say bird's eye view spreading across a say thousand of hectares put together. I remember work was almost complete on the wee sides whilst the opposite side could not be made in one go. Next season saw flooding every where except our village side. Next onset of work was a little more interest evoking as I wanted to know how they could do on the other side which could face another onslaught s of Nature bounty. The donkeys were again too systemic even in muddy soils I could see the narrow pathways that were strewn away with their continuous impact and load carrying exercise. The expanse was so diverse far flung that I needed very extra efforts to focus and see the beautiful scenario in active life. I only remember the donkeys.
Love
Sometimes I do ponder what could have been if you were not say what should I say loved me. Dad was extremely sound and touch or say vibration sensitive in his life time. He used to tighten up his village cot himself with a dexterous way of upkeep probably checking every week end whether the cots are properly stretched. I do not know if you have understood this simple English so I am explaining , the village cot in punjabi is called manji that has a last say a quarter or so portion where flax ropes are tied to the wooden frame the other areas are either of coconut coir base or some raw cotton based surface generally rough in texture but these cots are good in health point of view, in that you may not need a doctor if you use these cots. The secret behind is the natural flexibility no electric charge natural optimum thermal cushion or say heat and a natural messaging of your whole body parts or say a natural physiotherapy whilst you spend literally nothing except that you have to tie them quite often to keep an optimum tensile strength of the surface to speak like and keep them away from direct sun light and moisture as the natural fib re gets extra worked rendering it a little less worthy of keeping the requisite characteristic as mentioned ibid. Later on I could understand his natural way to cope with the evolving aspects of work and time schedule without any help of gadgets were the key factors for his extra receptors to get developed over a short period. Dad was using his cots as if for all routine purposes even he generally had his meals on these master craftsmanship and the meetings were generally held on these very furniture as the concept of murrah or chair was of a comparatively recent in nature. Later on he used some extra clothes to cover the striven areas to give it a little more sophisticated look.
I remember it was super air conditioned environment under all climates
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