With the imminence of the Lok Sabha election it’s time to take out the voter ID cards and make sure everything is in order.

Thankfully these days, courtesy improved technology,the photograph and information on it are correct for the person in question.

But these used to be the cause of much hilarity in the past..

The names on the voter’s card often would be completely erroneous ..sometimes even the gender would be changed or long departed souls would miraculously reappear on the list of names!So a Bengali Guha family’s entire brood became the Bihari Gupta or Madhav became Madhavi and so on..

The pictures on the card resembled mug shots of hardened criminals!(The grim expressions could be because of standing in queue for long hours to get photographed.)

The photograph in some cases could have given a completely new meaning to ‘Black and white’ pic.It was either completely black or totally white with no facial features whatsoever !..Would have definitely defeated today’s face recognition technology!

Taking official pictures on the other hand was a solemn affair those days,done always in a photo studio.One would be properly dressed,hair oiled and combed neatly and face powdered..nothing less would satisfy the photographer.After repeated minor adjustments of the angle of the chin the shutter would finally be pressed.

Thus one would get a passport photo clicked,even though one didn’t have a passport.

Once abundant copies of these passport photos were made,they could be used for years together.

My ‘latest picture’,till I was in college,was in pigtails ,aged six!!

Today we are living in the Science fiction of our childhood ..everyone has a camera his pocket and each person is his/her own muse!

“Bhabhiji!” the unmistakable booming voice and the clanging of the gate had me running to open the main door.Being a winter afternoon,it could mean only one thing…Yusuf chacha and his dad had arrived.

Their visits were much awaited and they came unfailingly every winter…The burly gentlemen with roses on their cheeks and eyes the colour of the lakes from where they came.A cycle rickshaw tagged along carrying their precious cargo.

A ripple of excitement would run through the household and the women hastily wrapped up the tasks at hand and hurried into the living room wiping their hands on their saree pallus.We the kids had already parked ourselves firmly not willing to miss a single interesting moment.

We watched awestruck as the portly gentlemen spoke softly in a delicately accented voice,polite to a fault as they opened the carefully wrapped parcels to bring out exquisite sarees,shawls and bedspreads.

The colourful mound on the floor rose as one by one the items passed hands,the fabric caressed between fingers and the intricate embroidery examined minutely.The Chinar leaves and flowers and vines of the Kashmir valley came alive in all their glory on the colourful shawls.Ma and aunts pored over them,murmuring appreciatively,sometimes emitting gasps of wonder.

A few purchases would be made,sometimes impulsively,sometimes after much cajoling..but even if there wasn’t,there would be no love lost as Yusuf chacha would patiently and meticulously pack everything again and bid us goodbye with a promise to come back the next year.

I still remember their joy when I secured a seat in a Medical college,their pride when I passed out and their bountiful blessings when I got married.

Today I draped a pure silk saree with Kashmiri sozni embroidery which was a purchase made from them for my wedding trousseau as I take refuge in fond memories while the news channels compete with each other to sensationalise an unfortunate situation.

Physics,Chemistry,Biology,Maths,

Languages,History,Geography

You need to excel in all subjects

Or be deemed a mediocrity.

A near perfect score is your aim…

Every decimal counts,

A fraction less can deny admission

Such stories abound.

Marching on from dawn till dusk

In a strict military regime..

Off to school,tuitions and classes

With hurried meals in between.

You must take some time out

For Sports and Arts too..

These carry valuable marks

And will help you sail through.

Slog on my child,study hard

There will be enough time to play,

I lie to you with a heavy heart

Knowing well,you’ll lose your childhood on the way!

Today is Basant Panchami or Saraswati Puja,the most important Puja for all the students of Eastern India.

Saraswati being the Godess of learning ,it is of utmost importance to keep her appeased,in order to charter successfully the turbulent waters of a tough exam paper.

With the Puja strategically timed right before the final examination of the academic year by some divine providence,this was the last resort to pull up one’s performance,thanks to the Goddess’s benevolence..

Throughout childhood ,we would wait eagerly the whole year for this day,staying awake late into the previous night to decorate the Puja room with colourful paper flags and streamers.The day itself would find us excited,freshly bathed,clothed in white or yellow ,our empty stomachs rumbling ,ready for Pushpanjali.Our text books,specially of the subjects we found tough,jostled for space at the deity’s feet..We had also dutifully abstained from eating the seasonal fruit ‘ber’ or ‘bor’ which was a must among the offerings to the Goddess,for the fear of incurring her wrath,which could easily wreak havoc on the exam results!!

After relishing the prasad comprising fruits and sweet meat made of popped rice(lai) and jaggery,it was time to visit and admire the other deities in the neighbourhood..

I don’t think we have prayed to any God so sincerely and religiously ever since..

The slightest hint of a nip in the air and childhood memories come flooding back…

The terrace of our house was a world in itself…a parallel universe just a few flight of stairs away…

Come winter,and the afternoons would be spent there…soaking the warm sun while being engrossed in a book.

Time stood still and the whole neighbourhood seemed to be in a state of suspended animation ..even the birds seemed to be taking a siesta.

The narrow lane in front would be deserted save for an occasional clanging bicycle or a gaggle of noisy schoolchildren kicking pebbles as they walked home.

The languid murmur of mothers and aunts could be heard from the courtyard below as their knitting needles click-clacked in their own staccato language..They chatted away,occasionally pulling their shawls tighter at a sudden breeze..

A laziness enveloped the whole world as the eyes turned heavy with sleep and the shadows imperceptibly lengthened…the slumber broken by calls for the evening tea from below and we would clamber down the stairs,our arms laden with the sun warmed woollens smelling of moth balls,that had been laid out for airing…

Starting with something close to my heart and something that shook the world in a good way in the past year.Hoping this is just the beginning…

To every predator on the street who waits to grope the unsuspecting breast..

..To every male in the crowded local train who tries to brush his hardened manhood against the female bottom..

..To every elbow in the share auto rickshaw or the airborne flight that looks to trespass the boundary of decency..

..To every boss who expects a sexual favour in return for a professional achievement of a female subordinate..

..To every friend,uncle,neighbour,grandpa who unleashes his lust on the little girl with pigtails..

..To every Principal who calls a student to his office on the pretext of some work and touches her inappropriately..

..To every so called Godman who takes advantage of the blind faith of his disciples..

..To every film producer or director who promises easy stardom to the newbie in lieu of her modesty..

..To every priest who gazes lustfully at the nun in the house of God..

..To every colleague who makes advances under the guise of being drunk..

..To every man who abuses his position of power..and thinks he will get away with it..

“YOUR TIME IS UP!!!”

Time’s up

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton