Early encounter with the banking system

I was probably in the 5th standard when my parents decided I was old enough to be entrusted with bank transactions. More than anything it was a matter of convenience as my parents would leave home before 8am everyday while the banks raised their shutters leisurely at 9am. My school started at 9.30a and so I, just barely 10years old began to get a taste of the workings of the Indian banking system.
The transactions usually were to withdraw cash and my father would write a self check the previous night, constantly reminding me till he left the following morning that I needed to get cash for the home, always adding that its after all a self check so it should be quick.
It rarely was anything but quick. I would be there at 9a sharp & the only person at the bank would be the guard with his old dusty rifle (which was probably so rusted that it wouldn't have fired anything if the situation needed it), raising the shutters of the bank, opening the dusty, creaky windows. Slowly the clerks would trickle in, most of them were women dressed in their finest work ware and matching jewelery. I would be waiting impatiently for the clerk to take my cheque and process it but she would have her own agenda. First item was to walk around and greet everyone asking them how their day was. Next would be to complement each other on the saree or jewellery that they were wearing, if it turned out there was a new saree store in town, a lengthy discussion would ensue about what was available(silk, organza, cotton) and if the prices were reasonable or not.
By this time a boy would have brought steaming cups of coffee and handed it around. The conversation would slowly dwindle down and they would move towards their chairs with a reluctant sigh. Even after they made their way to their seat and pulled out one of those mammoth ledgers, conversation would continue with their neighbour as to what they had for breakfast and how their children were doing in school.
It finally would be time for her to look up to see the long line of customers with me in the fore front waiting for her to start her work. After handing over my cheque, I couldn't just heave a sigh of relief and wait. I now had to watch carefully as this cheque passed thru two other people's hands before it made its way to the teller. All the while my eyes would drift from the clock to the journey of the cheque. Once or twice I would nudge it along by telling the clerk that it was getting late for school and I really needed the cheque to get passed.
While I twiddled my fingers and waited nervously, if my stars were not aligned that day, a friend of the manager or one of the clerk's would stop by to deposit a cheque and that would pass with lightning speed to the teller and take precedence over all the poor souls like me who had been waiting from 9am. When the cheque finally reached the teller, that was it, I had to let go and wait till my token number was called. At this point I had no choice but to wait and peek thru the glass windows to see if the teller grabbed my cheque or not. There would be a lot of pushing and shoving around the teller window as people waited in anxiety.
At last my number would be called with perhaps 5 or 10mins left for the first bell at school. I would grab the money, run home and keep it in the godrej and rush to school. By nature I was of the sort that liked to be really early to school so you can imagine the tension and anxiety this sojourn with the dinosaur banking system caused me. I managed to avoid getting into the late line at school most of the time, and the couple of times when I didn't and got punished for being late, I would be hopping mad. Here I was being disciplined at school for being late, and there outside was a bank where adults came in as late as they wanted to with no repercussions whatsoever. Where was the justice in that?
Later as I grew up and started working, I began to fantasize going back and getting a job in the bank. A clerk's job now seemed golden with all its leisure, chit-chats, tea/coffee breaks and not much work at all and here I had studied hard to get a job in a fast paced world, with my boss assigning a task to me and telling me that it was due yesterday. It seemed foolish to me that I had worked so hard to get a job where I had to work even harder to keep pace, and out there were the banking clerks whose sole purpose for coming in to work seemed to be to socialize while the work itself was treated with scant disdain.

A boulder on the beach

Have you ever wondered what it must feel like to be a boulder on a beach? Every moment is different from the previous one. Fierce waves thrash at you, high tide drowns you and sometimes the gentle sea undulates over you.
I see myself in this boulder standing on the beach of life. People and events have sometimes shaken and thrashed at me like a tsunami, some have pushed me down hoping to drown me while some have lifted me up & others have given me a warm gentle hug. I remain where I was when I was born but it seems like life has come & touched me in waves & it still continues to do so. The one thing that remains constant is the glorious sunrise that greets me everyday, no matter what is happening to me. I have missed seeing it when the wrath of the sea is upon me but on the clear days when I behold the sun rising in all his glory in the fiery eastern sky, I know there is hope and beauty still and it will always be there as long as I last on the beach. Its upto me to enjoy it everyday and not forget that life is indeed beautiful just the way it is !

Fun childhood sans toys n gadgets

One of my earliest memories are of having oil bath early in the morning on Sundays and running outside to our compound even before my mother could towel my long hair dry. I couldn't wait to go outside to call out to my upstairs neighbour girl and then continue along to my 2 boy friends who stayed next door. I used to be scared of my boy friend's mom, so would stand at the foot of the stairs and shout his name, if I saw his mom approaching, I would run & hide inside my house. If there were no parental obstructions, we four would gang up and go collect a few more of our friends down the road.
Our playground was our common compound where we could run from 3rd main to 4th main full speed with no traffic to stop us. Playtime on Sun began early in the morning with usually something vigorous like I spy you, lagori or cricket ( we even had a french variation of this). Then followed cycling or pushing an old tire with a stick from one end to the other. By the time lunch came around, we each had to be literally dragged in to eat or be scolded repeatedly before we yielded. Having gobbled down our food in a jiffy all the while thinking of what we were going to play next, we would assemble outside within a matter of minutes.
Afternoons were usually a big headache, with adults wanting to take a nap and not tolerating all the yelling and screaming that we indulged in. Our games had to be restrained and at times confined to playing with marbles or cowrie shells or making our own wind mills, paper planes, kites or paper boats.
Evening brought with it total freedom as we were allowed to scream and yell to our hearts content. This usually reached a crescendo if there was a power cut and we were exempted homework time. Hop scotch, in the pond on the bank, crocodile crossing the river were some of our favorites as was I spy you. We never tired of this game in particular with all the narrow gulleys and nooks around the washing stone where we could hide. By the time it was dinner, we would be exhausted with barely enough energy to shovel some food in our mouths and collapse onto our bed.
None of us had any big collection of toys or gadgets to boast off, we all were happy coming up with new games and rules, chasing each other in the open air screaming our lungs out. The simplest of things gave us great joy, paper planes, paper kites, old tires, these were things which we found around the house, didn't cost much but gave us the most amount of satisfaction. More important we were outdoors and free, adults didn't interfere in our fights nor did we constantly stray in their paths and become a nuisance. It was a win win situation for all.
When I look at some of the children in this new land that I call home, it breaks my heart to see them cooped up in their home alone with their parents, an array of colorful toys surround them, but what I don't see is the free spirit shining through their eyes, the joy, fun and laughter that only comes when you share it with friends of the same age. It is sad that play dates are scheduled and group sports is so competitive. What an irony it is that we had no toys but had the most fun while kids now a days have the best toys and the least fun !

Soppu Soppu ... Soppu - (fresh greens seller's call)

This was the call that greeted us early in the morning. The sounds of the morning were usually like clock work as were the smells emanating from the kitchen. You could set your clock by the knock on the door by the milkman or from the smell of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen.
Among the numerous street sounds, the most entertaining were the ones from the vegetable and fruit sellers as they pushed their barrows laden with fresh seasonal produce. Each vied with the other in how creative they were at calling out their wares, a tomato was described to be as tasty as an apple and became "apple tomato", an orange was usually qualified with its place of origin ( Nagpur santra ), a mango by its variety ( raspuri, alphonso) and so on....
The humble fresh greens were somehow denied all the sing song. It usually arrived in front of our house in a big basket tied to the back of a cycle along with the cries of "Soppu Soppu bekaa ma Soppu". There was certainly variety in the greens but they did not merit being described or given any major importance.
My mom's preferred seller was "Hanmanthu" a young boy who she thought gave her the best deal among everyone else. She would be deep inside her kitchen preparing breakfast, lunch and the innumerable "doses" of coffee that was a morning ritual, but the mere sound of his call would wake her out of her routine. Immediately she would rush to the front door and call out to him. Hanmanthu would wheel his unsteady cycle over to our doorstep with great skill. Never once have I seen that basket fall, no matter how bumpy the streets are with its numerous potholes.
The usual banter would commence, with my mom asking him to add another bunch of coriander for the same price and he complaining about the cost of greens going up and how everything was expensive... It would be the same exchange day after day with neither tiring of it but rather enjoying it. My mom would inevitably feel that she gained the upperhand in this bargain and would return back to her cooking with a very satisfied look. We saw this same routine year after year, watched the kid Hanmanthu grow up from a young 12 year old boy to a man, all the while supplying my mom with fresh greens everyday.
I never once gave a second thought to the many varieties that he peddled ( dantina soppu, sapsige, ondelaga, palak, basale) . When I left home & wandered to another continent where there were no soppu sellers but huge supermarkets with shelf after shelf of stale greens that I had never seen or eaten, I realized that Hanmanthu's fresh greens were a luxury that I had taken for granted. He was someone I rarely gave a second thought to as I went thru my childhood. These sellers are becoming rare on the streets of my hometown as the large supermarkets are taking over. Probably the next generation will no longer wake up to the sounds of "tarkari ma tarkari" "Soppu beka ma Soppu". Atleast I hope they will continue to eat fresh greens everyday....

Introduction

This blog is a tool for me to record the lighter side of life as I watch it pass by me. It may turn out to be reflective many a times because you cannot wander the bazaar of life without pondering on the myriad offerings! Am grateful to the friends who encouraged me to write and who have more faith in my storytelling than I do.