Tackling the language and how I made friends in class 6

People almost always have an affinity towards their own language. Not many can detach themselves from their own mother tongue and carry on with their cosmopolitan existence. Somewhere down the line, the “apanapan” in them “jaag he jaata hai...”!! Even, when students leave their home, one of the first things that come to their parents’ mind is that it would be better if their daughter/son finds a roommate/classmate/friend/colleague that belongs to the same region or speaks the same language.

“Ideas ka exchange aasani se ho jata hai, you see”
And / Or
“woh tumhe zyada behtar samajh sakenge..”

I remember how I used to make it a point to speak in the same language to my fellow ‘same-language’ classmates in Delhi. Sometimes it was forced but I carried on, maybe the language had a wonderful “sugar-syrup” quality attached to it. Remember, that interesting episode in the Akbar-Birbal story, about a man knowing every language, so well that nobody could decipher his mother tongue. But then, Birbal always had different ideas.

Ok, so cut to July, 1993 -

Our family was transferred from Mumbai to Baroda. I had just completed my class 5 then. Marathi was a part of my course in Mumbai and I was just getting a hang of it, when the transfer order came, my tryst with the Marathi language came to an abrupt end.

(Flash forward to July, 2008, the forgotten language came back like a long-lost boomerang in the Australian desert carrying Pandit Nehru’s famous words “tryst with destiny”. Enter the local train. Anyways that’s for later.)

Back to July, 1993.

So, when I reached Baroda, and entered my new class 6 - I saw this guy with a lanky frame, long face, and trying to be the hero of the class types (a few months forward again: I too would become of the same type - cutting out the lanky part, of course).

Enter class 6 classroom. Watching this “trying-to-be-hero” guy and his tall structure near the blackboard, I instantly started to have a dislike for him. Maybe it’s with the tall guys or maybe it’s with the idea of intimidating the class with your overbearing persona and ya maybe coz I m “not-so-tall”. To add to my “new-classroom blues” - the teacher hadn’t come and as a result it was time for monitors to mind the class. So, you see this lanky guy is a “monitor” aah...

As soon as he was near the blackboard (green board in our case) he selected a chalk-piece from the lifeless chalk box and started drawing something. No, it was not the drawing, but what he used to draw that irritated me. The drawing would consist of just one face - the side-view of a macho guy with a cigar on his lips and long hair that would extend till his shoulders. (Oh the other day I saw Nirmal Pandey at Lokhandwala market buying Naturals ice-cream. Same pinch. Even I love Naturals)

So now you know what that chalky figure on the board looked like. But Nirmal Pandey hadn’t graced our screen then. So, classmates felt that the lanky guy was trying to sketch someone like Sanjay Dutt in Khalnayak. Back in 1993, it was one of the super hit films, combining Dutt's real and reel life. Remember the 1993 Bomb Blasts case.

But wait, after the drawing came the most irritating part. Mr. Lanky would stand back and admire his sketch and would turn to the class and shout the most absurd thing that you would have heard.

"Ye waqt hamara hai.."!!!

Reference: even "Waqt Hamara hai" - a Akshay Kumar, Sunil Shetty film (then he was Sunil and not Suniel) was released in 1993. Thus getting clearly inspired from the movie, he used to do this stupid act. Oh, so maybe that chalky figure was of Akshay Kumar!

"ye waqt hamara hai,
ye waqt hamara hai"

Day 2 - Class 6.

The teacher enters the classroom and announces that since this is a free lecture, she will take Gujarati subject. She asked us to open our Gujarati textbooks. Now having studied in Mumbai, I never had Gujarati as a subject - but the irony is that my mother tongue happens to be Gujarati. But I was never taught to write.

I could speak, yes, very well.
Read: well, very slowly.
Write: A big No.

Although once my mother came to know that we are going to get transferred to Gujarat, she instantly told me that you will have to learn Gujarati now. She taught me for two or three days before I lost patience. Writing Marathi is much simpler due to its proximity to Hindi. But Gujarati, well I was never ready for it.

But here I was, the teacher had asked now to take out our notebooks and she started dictating. Mr. Lanky was sitting besides me. The class started writing. I was clueless. Words from her mouth came like the arrows in a Zhang Yimou film. They shot my head like a rocket. I could only match her speed of dictation for one or two sentences. Eventually, in the web of familiar words but unfamiliar territory of writing, I lost her. I thought I will look into Mr. Lanky’s book and start copying, but as soon as I tried to do this - Mr. Lanky turned the page. Now I was helpless. I choked. I couldn’t comply.

To everyone's amazement in the class, the 12-year old inside me started crying. The teacher stopped dictating and came to me. On knowing the reason she smiled. She told me to take Mr. Lanky’s notebook for copying at home. She said "practice". In a few days I would catch up - she promised.

The guy gave me his notebook. His mother tongue happened to be Hindi. Amazing irony!

Since that day onwards I started taking his notebook to home. During all the exchanges, I started seeing Mr. Lanky in a different light. I came to know his name: Shailesh Gupta.

The moment I made friends with him - school was never school. From then on, I so enjoyed coming to school. Sitting on last benches, we always had our comments reserved for every classmate, teacher, and peon of the school. We used to cycle together to the railway tracks to watch the brand new Shatabdi Express pass at 3 45pm in afternoon. We made sure that we go as far as possible from the station, so that we see the train in its maximum speed. One fine day, oh sorry, one fine night we were also caught by a police constable. Memories, I tell you.


Post-script:
In class 8, the Gujarati teacher was so impressed with my essay in the exam that not only she gave me the maximum numbers, but she brought my answer sheet from the junk and handed it to me saying: “please read this essay for the class”

The essay was called “shaak-bhaaji na market ma ek kalak” (An hour at the Vegetable Market) I remember describing the vegetable market (Kadak Bazaar near Baroda station) as a melting pot for people, vegetables, voices, noises, cows, cowdung, cow horns, car horns. (in Gujarati - it read - “Jo aam chaale bai, ne vach ma chaale gai... toh kya jaai aapda bhai...?)

Quite an achievement that was from the guy who once cried for not knowing how to write the language. Sorry for this last self-appraisal post script. But I loved that few seconds of celebrityhood.



© Copyrights 2009 www.bhaandgroup.blogspot.com. All Rights Reserved. Hardik Mehta

Growing up with the Game and the 1992 World Cup

Back in 1992, when i was in class 5 - cricket was still considered a menace for kids. but worse, the school authorities didnt allow to play cricket in school. I mean not allowing cricket to kids who used to get up at 4 in the mornings to watch New Zealand beat Australia in the opening match of 1992 World Cup. Infact, let it be any damn match – since the World Cup was being played in Australia, setting the alarm for 4 in morning was a norm. To top it all - there were the new colourful uniforms, the wonderful white ball, those lazy flamingoes on the Australian grounds and the lush green outfields. My parents discouraged me from getting up at four in the morning. But when you are a kid, nothing comes between you and your interests.

Imagine a father's plight who had to get up at 4 to wake his kid to watch Zimbabwe play Pakistan and then a couple of hours later wake up again to start for the day that included traveling in those sweaty local trains from one corner of the city to the other extreme.


Back to the school - Radios were not allowed in the premises. And most of my classmates would just get up, get ready and come to school by 8 am without knowing what match or what score it is. And by the time they reached home, the match was over and Star Sports was showing a random Rugby match. As a result not many of them could follow the World Cup matches. So, when someone in the morning in our class would want to know the score, they would turn to me and all of my fathers and my efforts to get up at 4 would come to help –


Classmate: “South-Africa Vs. West-Indies ka kya hua?”


Me: “Meryck Pringle took 4/19. All four batsmen including the great Ritchie Richardson, Brian Lara were caught in slips.


Aah, the joy of it! Heads would turn. Faces that looked at me asking for more info on the match.


I know 1992 world cup like no one else does. I can bet. From Jadeja’s historic catch of Allan Border to the flying Johnty Rhodes to run out Inzamam. From Mark Greatbatch’s power stroke play to Ian Botham’s famous gesture.

Javed Miadad scored 40 of 110 balls against India at SCG. John Traicos of Zimbabwe was 44, the oldest cricketer to play for any country then. Ravi Shashtri was the slowest batsmen that we saw then. (25 off 75 balls). Facts, figures, trivia, scores, statistics – all were a part of a great brainwave – called Star Sports – yes the television had come home.


The one memory or that one match of 1992 World Cup that i can never forget is Sanjay Manjrekar scoring that brisk 47 off 42 deliveries against Australia. His knock took India till the doors of victory untill a cool Steve Waugh, a clueless Tom Moody and the substitute wicket keeper David Boon snatched it away on that last ball.

Last ball, 4 runs required and Javagal Srinath is on the crease. As usual, when Tom moody bowled, he took a wild swing. The ball went high, high and was almost on the edge of boundary when a running Steve "red-handkerchief" Waugh appeared - but hey !! he dropped the catch ( Gibbs, you can laugh on him. - even he did this at some point of time)

But hey, we need 4 runs - Indian batsmen or should i say bowlers were running hard. I remember Bill Lawry, the commentator shouting to Javagal Srinath and Raju - RUN, RUN, RUN. My uncle and my father who were watching the match, almost shouted when David Boon took off those bails, leaving India high and dry. I was more tensed than them, but on seeing their reactions and their utter disappointment - I felt we should have won that day. I thought, if only Ravi Shastri, the slowest batsmen in the world could have not wasted 75 balls to score his 25.

These days, when every match ends on a last ball I can hardly remember scores, players and events. It doesnt feel special to witness or be a part of the hysteria. I cant recollect the last entire match that I saw. Gone are the days when i took that scolding from my parents to get up for a random cricket match. But I still love the game.

Its been 3 years now, since i took the Bat in my hand. But legend has it that on the grounds of Agricultural Campus, Anand, there was a left-handed batsmen who almost reached to his century - the first ever to happen on that ground. But alas, short by three runs - 97* not out!

Much like that India-Australia match. But as wise men say there are somethings that are better left unconquered.

Of Brown paper covers and School days

Those unique Brown Paper Covers with which we used to cover our school notebooks. And the Sticker labels - ah!

Once the brown covers were put over the books… edges neatly folded – then was the turn of the various sticker labels that had to be pasted on top… to tell the world who does this Book belong to! The stickers had different characters drawn on them - from colourful cartoons to He-Man to Tom & Jerry etc.

First was the choice – involving very careful selection of which sticker label should best suit which notebook. Once that decision was reached, then with great precision… you were to get the placement of the label right on the cover. Sometimes the non-conformist streak in few would prompt rather edgy/angular placement of the label… Sometimes using the lower left corner… Anything little innovative… thoda different… we thought to ourselves.

After that came the part where you were to fill all the details… (some of us blessed with elder siblings, who had or at least thought they had neater hand writings…were deprived of this pleasure, in my case… with my scribbles… I took great pride in passing the honours to my father…)

Name: Hardik Mehta
Std: III Div: A
Subject: History
School: Students Academy

Last night, I happened to read one of the finest books of Rohinton Mistry and it took me to that world of mine - when my Parents used to take me to buy the books for the new academic session. I precisely remember that come first week of June and we used to head to this shop outside Malad station, East side - The shop was called Bipin Stores.

I happened to check a few days back and it still stands tall… with all its stationeries and various books… Actually now it seems to be oozing stationary actually – its loaded itself with so much stuff in the same dimensions of fifteen years ago Bipin stores - like it could explode of stationary!

Once the New Books were brought - the storewallah used to promote the new Brown Paper covers and the Cartoon stickers - saying:

"These days, it is compulsory for students to cover the notebooks with Brown paper cover, just yesterday two students from your same school bought it"

Thus we had no choice but to buy them. But my parents always had a different idea for things. That day, my parents told me that there is no need to cover the books with the special Brown Paper, we can always use the old Calendar sheets - especially those Bank Calendars which were of no use once the Year had gone by. Those Calendar sheets were huge and every Month, if torn out carefully, they could be used to cover at least 2 notebooks.

Amazing it was - they showed it to me: November covered my Science & History and December covered my Geography & Mathematics.

But in a fast changing world, covering your books with Calendar sheets was looked down upon… esp. when there was this beautiful Brown paper made available exclusively for covering the books.

Now in the middle of the academic session starting from June - the brown paper would breath its last, somewhere near December and then till April, the front few pages of the Book too would come out - thus giving both the book and the user the assurance – it was used often and served its term well!

Actually the condition of the book would determine how much the student has used/spend time with it (playing cricket with the rolled up book was a way too ☺)
I still laugh at this memory.

Back to the story, so when I saw my classmates with all their fresh Brown Paper covers on the first day in third standard, I immediately summoned for the Brown Papers… I spelled out the clearly the demand to my Parents.

Infact my classmates even knew how to cover a book by cutting the exact size of Paper from the huge Brown Cover Sheet. I never knew how to do that. (There are a few things I still don't know: eg: tying a tie, ironing clothes, Folding my full sleeves collared shirts etc)

My Parents had to help me in covering the notebooks with Brown covers. I didn’t even fill the sticker labels. I thought my father's handwriting was beautiful –each alphabet formed like a pearl and he obliged by writing on the labels.

One fine day my bench partner saw the label on the Brown cover of my Book and asked me:

"That handwriting on the label is not yours, whose is it?"

Without much ado, I said - "Its my Fathers"

The next thing he asked: "From which place did you get this brown covers ?"

I said: "Bipin Stores"

He said: "Same pinch"

:)

Same Pinch I tell you - June is coming in a few days. Time for children to buy those books and those Brown Paper covers. Am sure the labels will have IPL players on it. And now am told the huge brown paper sheets are eating dust in the back stores of the book shops –fancy water proof sheets custom sized for notebooks have come in…
This note… in memory of those unique Brown Covers with which we used to cover our school notebooks. And the Sticker labels - ah!

virtual re-union

"when u get a really understanding person to share ur life with u will know that u don’t have to bully the other, it is a thought- the feeling the other person catches up and tries to make that feeling pass through..." - Karishma Shah.

This is one of my friends responding to other, when the other allegedly said that you bully your husband. a simple but profound line she wrote to him. I was touched. Am sure now, marriages change people for good. One starts learning so many things. patience, sharing, tolerance and creative excuses. :) hmm...

Today morning as i opened my mail box, Bhargav had mailed to all of us who were friends since class 6 in Baroda. As a kid i was not much into friends i guess. like one of my friends started crying when our taxi left the Mumbai apartment - At that point of time - it struck me - man i will never come back here again, hardik!! does that strike you anything? yet I never cried. Nothing affected me

Although i remember each and every incident and each and every person of that phase in Mumbai, yet am emotionally disconnected to them. But somehow I was always emotionally connected to the city of Bombay (then).