BLOG OF FAME...

One morning after the regular morning prayer assembly, Rev. Fr. Paul came with this wierd idea of re-sizing sections. Shahul and I were unfavorably placed as this unexpected displacement would bring new changes in our daily routine of trading trinkets and choclates with MADE IN FRANCE embossed on it. Our inability to penetrate the new market filled with studious kids, made me allergic to trade and concentrate on my studies. Soon, I was moving to the top ranks and it was not until then I earned friends and one among them was a fragile, pale, thin kid - Pari aka Rangan. We grew together like brothers and shared similair interests and passion. Pari unlike me is a great "Kalaakari". I always urge him to pursue his passion - art and paintings and what you would find below is a small collection of Pari's in my BLOG OF FAME....

The Street of Peter Nagar

Tall houses queued up in a neat row on either side of the street; Peter Nagar had its old memories hidden beneath its thick tar roads. Puddles of water would ornate the moist red sand road with crisscrossed and rutted gutters making the street adventurous for any rider. Deciding to dress the red naked road with black tar, the municipality authorities would rob the street of its sheen burying the natural look it adorned. It should have witnessed every phase in the lives of Peter Nagar inhabitants – birth, death, failure, success, grief, hate, passion, anger ……it had managed to conceal their secrets under its dark tar coated mask. It remained a silent spectator when we witnessed Paapa-akka’s life taking a twist; it chose to remain still when her husband tumbled down gasping for his last breath. It was still, when the incorrigible alcoholic Albert kicked the bucket; it did not react when Allwyn, the state topper, adopting priesthood frustrated with materialistic life. It remained calm reacting to none.

To me, the street of Peter Nagar is more than just a street, it was my arena where I exhibited my cricketing prowess, it was my favorite rendezvous where I made friends for life with whom I shared moments which I would carry to my deathbed and even beyond. It is where we held our clandestine meets to decide and host our “Group Study” and we would vote the absolute choice as Appu’s place, as he was the only privileged one to possess a VCR then. Appu & I would stroll up and down this street sharing lighter moments, trying to impress the Patrick’s girls who managed to ignore our superior stunts. With no four walls around, it is where we disclosed our dark open secrets, debating on trivia, thumping on accomplishments, expressing our love, friendship and envy.

Appu & I, befriended Hemchand with the strategic intent of leveraging his cricket kit, since then, cricket was even more fun with keeping gloves, BDM stumps and a fresh SS willow. Hemchand, I should say, gave a new fillip to our street cricket. His long run ups to bowl the most expected wide balls demanded him to take long strides like a bulky monster rummaging the already dent road. The blue TVS champ (had been the most coveted to make fun trips after winning matches) wearing his constipated smile and self proclaimed “I, me, myself” stories were his Unique Propositions. After Class X, Appu & I drifted away from his company and I would occasionally meet him up to exchange pleasantries. Otherwise, he was almost a forgotten entity.
Few days back, Dr. Hemchand fell as a prey to the ebb tide of his ruthless life which left him crippled and his legs amputated. When Ramesh apprised me on Hemchand’s ill fate, my heart was drowned in pain as I sympathized with a young lad dreaming to make big in life. As a kid he dreamt of marrying the actress Meena, riding a Tata Safari, starting his own hospital. The street of Peter Nagar would no more feel the real legs of Hemchand denting it; the fate made the street devoid of the rummaging that Hemchand would make on it, the road would no more be privileged to see him running mad after he picks up a wicket in a wide ball. I walked the street with a heavy heart unable to digest the fact and wishing it was a nightmare, while the street lay silent trying to offer me solace. The street should have seen many good times and bad yet it remained calm trying to empathize with my thoughts hiding its own sadness it should have felt for Hemachand. It hid its sadness beneath the dust laid tar road as I walked down the street searching the past.