DOWN THE MEMORY LANE

Down The Memory Lane

I am rather fortunate. I could go down the memory lane not once or twice but trice in a span of four months or so. What a nostalgic feeling! All the three occasions covered three different phases  or periods of my life and all three occasions were in chronological order but in a reverse order. And all of them were like the flash backs you see in movies.

The first one happened while (in September – October, 2012) I was passing by the construction site at Hughes Road, where my maternal Aunt’s building – Ajinkya Mansion once stood. We, my cousins our nephews and our children, would play our ‘Gacchi Cricket’ on its terrace. I wrote in my blog about it in the article:

WE THE PIONEERS OF TWENTY 20

- GACHHI CRICKET - THE TERRACE CRICKET

I took some of my nephews and cousins along with me into this fabulous and sweet journey and this is how some of them responded:

thanks vinay mama for sharing those quite awesome times...i am replying to this with a smile on my lips but a tear in my eye...as Ajinkya was the place i was born...grew up ...shared awesome memories...Yes 35yrs of my life...i lived there...played there...and sunday cricket was our religion...thanks again for keeping the spirit alive

 Salil Dhurandhar

Vinay Mama,
Stumbled upon your blog by accident. Your memory is amazing. It brought back many moments that had quite faded away. Though I distinctly remember the Sunday matches, your details of the gang and their eccentricities was great fun to read. I remember trying my hand at the game, but don't remember my altercation with Kiran mama. I remember it being too hot on the terrace for me to play but remember all the dinners that I so looked forward to as a little boy. 
My whole childhood too was spent on both the Ajinkya terraces, and it used to break my heart, as I'd drive past Hughes Road and to see the mansion being pulled down bit by bit. 
Its all gone now. But you've brought it alive once again with your blog. Keep it going and god bless! 
Kunal

I am happy that I have revived their sweet memories. It certainly made me feel nostalgic and very pleased to make others happy as well.

Then thanks to my friend Francis – who was my colleague in Chowgules, where we worked some thirty years back, I could take another nostalgic trip. It so happened that an outing at a farm house of Sontakkes in Wangani was arranged by him. Some six or seven of us, all ex – colleagues from Chowgules with our families decided to meet there and have blast. We went there on 2nd January, 2013. Some of us were meeting only after 30 years or so. His farm house is big enough to accommodate many more than all of us put together, with 5 bed huge bed rooms, each having two double beds in them. But Baban, Pramod, Dilip and I decided to occupy one of the bedrooms on the first floor, as we wanted to 'exchange notes', as they say. So we talked, talked and talked practically through the whole night about our bitter and sweet days at Chowgules. After Chowgules all of us had moved out in all our separate ways, but we realised that the bonding among us was as firm as ever. We all remembered all the significant as well as small instances that took place at Chowgules. Baban was and still is a very industrious person. To put it in his own words, " I've come in Mumbai from Belgaon on a lungi, but made a lot here." Indeed he has that 'Midas touch'. Both he and Gaja are quite modest. Dilip Bhosle is the youngest among us. He hasn't aged at all. He must be in his early 50's but looks looks ten to fifteen years younger. He has also done well for himself. He is very informative, good listener and an excellent negotiator and that too despite having no academic and formal qualifications. Pramod Pore was always a person of less words, a silent guy. And he still is.
  Thirty years is a long time and it is but natural that many of us now  look different. Most of us, or rather everyone has put on weight, except for Gaja, our host. His appearance hasn't changed much but for his grey beard. But his love for the old Hindi film songs hasn't diminished one bit. He knows every thing about a song - the lyricist, playback singer, music director and the name of the movie, the actor for whom the play back was given - a human encyclopedia on songs, you may call.. For my benefit he played on his music systems all these grand oldies from 5 o'clock in the morning it the time we left the place. It was indeed  treat to my ears.

This is how we looked then - some 30 years back:

   

Then time took its toll. Now at Wangani:

Then the last and the best. it was my the Re-Uniuon Day of my school. It was on Sunday, the 20th January, 2013.
Here are some moments captured on the lens:

" LIFE, LIKE MONEY IS MEANT FOR SPENDING. YOU SIMPLY CAN NOT HOARD IT. BUT THE AMOUNT OF TIME YOU SPEND IN EDUCATION IS LIKE MONEY YOU PUT IN A BANK. AND WHEN YOU HAVE INVESTED IN INSTITUTION LIKE OURS - ST.SEBASTIAN GOAN HIGH SCHOOL - THE DIVIDEND IS VERY VERY HIGH! WHEN THE MOST OF  YOU, WHO HAVE GATHERED HERE FOR THE EX - STUDENTS REUNION, MUST HAVE BEEN IN THIS INSTITUTION FOR TEN OR ELEVEN YEARS. AM I RIGHT? BUT WITH ME IT IS DIFFERENT - I HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF SPENDING 21 YEARS, 11 YEARS AS THE STUDENT AND ANOTHER 10 YEARS AS THE PARENT - MY SON ALSO PASSED OUT FROM THIS SCHOOL----"  thus I spoke. 

[Mrs. Kusum Desai & Mrs. Sushma Kashalkar,( both were 'Hindi - Marathi' teacher,but one was my teacher while the other was my son's teacher), being welcomed  by the current Principal of the School.]

Mrs. Kusum Shridhar Desai – She came, we saw (her) and she conquered (us)!
Yes teacher, that’s exactly what you did! Your 90 years have not changed you. You are still the same. You are the epitome of enthusiasm just as you were back then. When I saw you yesterday my mind raced some 50 years back, when you must have been in your 40’s. I visualised myself sitting in the last row (I always enjoyed being a back bencher, which has given me better prospective of what unfolded before me) in the    class V A and the whole class listening to you in rapt attention ( whether it was a Hindi poem or a lesson in Marathi), just the way we did yesterday. Nothing has changed. ‘Hats off’ to you, my dear teacher! Your book ‘Sukhshanti’, a collection of your poems, is the most precious gift that I have received from you on 20th January,2013. The ‘prastavna’ by your grand – daughter is very good. Thank you so much. 

I know that your husband, late Mr. Shridhar as well his brother were good Marathi poets, but I was not aware you too penned such beautiful poems. This reminds of other modest personalities, who worked in our school, who had achieved a lot (including fame) much before joining St.Sebastian and yet they never ever spoke about it, not a word and most of us, as students were not aware about their greatness.

Mr. Godbole was our 'Drawing Master' - from VIII to X and he even coached us for the 'Elementary' and the 'Intermediate' Govt. Examinations. The school conducted special classes for these Govt. exams, charging us nominal fees for the course. There was this boy, Francis Fernandes, who was very good in drawing. Mr.Godbole was surprised to know that he had not joined the special class and when he came to learn from us the reason - being an orphan, could not pay the class fees, Mr Godbole not only paid for entire fees (class as well as Govt. exam fees) but also took care of all the other costs - pains, brushes, pencils, sketch books,etc. Thanks to him Francis secured 'A' grades at both the exams. I distinctly remember. It was some years after I had passed out of the school that I read an article in 'TOI' which was some what like this: 

Mr. Godbole, the famous artist passes away---He was the pioneer in Indian Water colours.His research work in water  colour at the J J School of Arts, enabled the use of Indian made water colours for the first time.-------- During his last days he was working as a drawing teacher in St,Sebastian Goan High School.

The article on him accompanying his photograph, covered almost a quarter page. But it was the last line that captured my heart. How fortunate we all had been to have  been taught by him! He never bragged or mentioned about this even once to us. Such a modest man

Rev. Father H. O. Mascarenhas was my first Principal. Yes, the same one, about whom, you can easily get the following information.

Hubert Olympus Mascarenhas, who was born in Porvorim, Goa, in 1905, died at Mumbai, on 9 February 1973, and who was a Catholic priest belonging to the Archdiocese of Bombay, indologist of repute, and nationalist.

He did his early ecclesiastical studies at the Pontifical Seminary in Kandy, Sri Lanka In Rome, at the University of the Propaganda Fide, he took a licentiate in Canon Law as well as PhD. He was ordained in Rome in 1934, at the age of 29. Returning to Mumbai, he obtained an M.A. in English, an M.A. in Sanskrit, and a PhD in History at the University of Bombay^.
  He was a scholar.He was appointed post-graduate teacher of Ancient Indian History and Culture at the University of Bombay, and Professor of Indian Philosophy for M.A. students at the St Xavier's College, Mumbai. His The Quintessence of Hinduism: The Key to Indian Culture and Philosophy was widely acclaimed. He is one of Richard De Smet predecessors in a 'realist' interpretation of Sankara. For almost 12 years (late 1940s and early 1950s) he also served as Principal of St Sebastian Goan High School, Dabul. He proposed a theory of pre-Portuguese Christianity in Goa Jose Cosme Costa reports that Mascarenhas even proposed that there were Christian temples dedicated to the persons of the Trinity: Abanath / Bhutnath (Father Lord), Ravalnath (from Rabboni - Rabulna - Rabulnath) / Bhai rav (Brother Lord), and Atman / Bhavka Devta, Santeri, Ajadevi (Spirit).  A recent archaeological discovery of a "Thomas Cross" hidden in a smallish monument, surmounted by a Latin Cross, near the old Goa harbour lends support to this thesis. The Cross bears an inscription in Pahlavi, which, Costa reports, was the liturgical language of the church associated with the Metropolitan of Fars.
He also participated in the Konkani movement in Mumbai, and did work for the Konkani Bhasha Mandal.

   He was nationalist to the core. As an indologist and a linguist ( He was expert, both spoken as well as written, in many foreign languages- Portuguese, German , French , Spanish, English and many Indian languages- Marathi, Konkani, Hindi, Bengali, Sanskrit.)  he attracted the attention of nationalist leaders such as Jawaharlal Nehru, Kaka Kalelkar and S.S. Mulgaonkar. His patriotism and espousal of Indian nationalism brought him into conflict with the ecclesiastical authorities

 It was father's  last wish that I should be enrolled in an English medium school. But my mother found it extremely hard to do so owing to financial constrains - supporting four daughters and a son- all not even in their teens. So I was put in  a vernacular ( Marathi medium) school. For two years I struggled there - I could not master the Marathi or Devnagri script - my teacher- she was called 'Tai bai' would often shout at me and throw my note book, saying, " What is this? Chicken legs? Your अ,आ, इ,ई are nothing but dancing insects."  Mr. Vagal, -( father of Lalita, a friend of my eldest sister) knew Rev. Fasther Mascarenhas and it was through him that I got admission in St. Sebastian. Right from the day one, the Principal sort of took me under his wings. There were a few other weak students like me coming from poor families, who were benefited in this manner. Learning the English alphabets wasn't easy either. He assigned Miss Narohna, the class teacher of II standard to teach me after / before the regular school class hours. He too monitored my progress as well as of the others on regular basis. He would give the feed back to our parents / guardian in the the language they could understand. He would speak to my classmate Ashok Pal's mother in fluent Bengali and to my mother in Marathi. I do not whether it was a tittle given to him, but the the sign board on his office door read : Sacchidanand (Always Truthful & Happy) Rev. Father Hubert Olympus Mascarenhas.  Just He was so kind, loving and caring. He was very kind to a fault perhaps. A story goes that he would readily accept drop outs and discarded students from other schools. And for this gesture Jokim, who was dismissed from St.Theresa, would always indebted to him - so he would often tell me.

 Just like Rev. Father Mascrenhas, Miss Narohna was also very kind and loving teacher.She would often call me at her residence and would teach me at her residence along with some other children .  She had taught me how to study on my own. I was often invited by her to celebrate Christmas with her family. She coached me thus up to the IV classes. But I continued to visit her house even afterwards, to seek her blessings and guidance, until she left for England after her marriage. 

When I was in the V class Rev. Father Mascrenhas was  transferred to other school and Rev. Father F.X. Fernandes became our new Principal, about whom I shall write at a later date.   

 I was fortunate to have very good teachers in school ( by and large I mean). At this stage I shall not write about them. I have already written about Mr. Tiwari, our science teacher, in one of my blogs.

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            [A BIG THANK YOU, CARL! — with MR.CARL DANTAS at 20th January, 2013.]

      [THE FIRST DOOR USED TO BE THE DOOR OF MY STD.XI B (S.S.C. CLASS)]

[When the old and the young meet. With Benedict Lemos (1964 batch), JoeAlbuquere (1948 batch), Maneesh Adavade (thank you Maneesh, for making it possible) and Miss Vivian, Ex - teacher.]

 

WE ARE SOME FAMILY - A SEQUEL TO 'OUR GACHI CRICKET'

FOREWORD

I am a party animal. The parties I attend are usually quite entertaining, especially the ones thrown by our family and extended family. Eats and drinks are but secondary, the main thing being the lovely get-together. We are some family. But to all of us the family matters.I shall try to bring out the essence of all these parties, by way the following picture presentation, the chief ingredient,which is the baggage we carry along with us to these parties:

                                                                                                      VINAY TRILOKEKAR

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MANESH - THE INCOMPLETE STORY!

MANESH  -  THE INCOMPLETE STORY!

After my retirement, I got a chance to work in an NGO working towards betterment of underprivileged children and thus was fortunate to get a chance to give something back to the society in my own small way. I have worked there for a period of over 7 yrs. in various capacities, starting as a teacher, then as Education Manager, Manager – Accounts, Resource Generation Manager, Authorized Signatory, heading the Finance department. But it was during my initial tenure itself that I came across several instances that churned my heart and made me put in my extra bit. I have just left  the place in beginning of this November.

The stories, be it of success, failures or tragedies, are often told through cold statistics and numbers. But transpires behind the actual scene is hardly ever told. I still remember how we were all traumatized by what had happened to one of our child beneficiaries. Ganesh was his name. He was a studious and clever child. When his mother passed away his father remarried. The step mother started ill treating him. When her own child was born she neglected Ganesh. This affected him both emotionally as well as physically. He became seriously ill. He had to be hospitalized. He was suffering from leukemia. His father and his step mother continued to ignore him. The step mother left with her new born baby boy and went to her mother’s house in village. Even the father left him in the hospital to fend for himself. However, our community workers, teachers, Managers and our Managing Trustee lavished on him all the LOVE, CARE and ATTENTION. Help poured in from different quarters. The doctors, the nurses, ward boys and the other hospital staff put in their best efforts to save him. But he was dying. He wished to see his step mother and hug his step brother. One of our community workers, some how manage to get both of them. Finally he died hugging his tiny brother and his last wish being fulfilled, he must have died peacefully. I had thus started here on a very sad note.

 Manesh, who studied in B.M.C.School (his formal school) was not attending our classes as well as those of his formal school for a number of days. He was a clever, punctual and regular student, who hardly ever remained absent. We were worried. One of our community workers informed that she had learnt that he was not well and she also told where he lived. I decided to visit him the next day. The next day I set forth to unfold the following story.

It is Sunday. It is dark and gloomy outside. The thick cloud cover is threatening to break free and pour down any minute. So I hail a taxi. Steering past heavily loaded hand carts and avoiding the careless pedestrians the taxi speeds past the lanes and by – lanes and we reach the main Kalbadevi Main road. I spot the sign board – Vasant Wadi. I signal the driver to halt. Manesh stays in the very first building, I was told. I climb the stairs. All the doors are closed and locked from outside. I notice that all of them are commercial establishments. I move to the next building – Number 413 E. Thank God there are some people living on the ground floor! I enquire. “ No, we do not have any Manesh staying here, not at least in this building,” the lady of the house informs me. “Poore gali me kohi Manesh nahi!” ( There is no Manesh in the whole  lane), shout the street kids in unison. I do not what to do. Just as I about to leave I hear a voice from the room, “Manesh! Apne Kamwale bai ka ladka yaar. Apne upper hi to rehata hai” (Manesh, the son of our maid. Stays right above us.)I need no further confirmation. I climb the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Some times I go overboard in my enthusiasm. I slow down suddenly. Is it the age or the darkness inside the building? I do not know.I have reached the first floor and here too I find only locked doors of commercial firms. I take the steps up – the second floor. To my left is the wide open door of a posh flat.  “Kaun,” a man, standing in the door way, enquires.  As I am about to tell, I hear, ”It’s Sir” I pivot on my toes and see a face of a young boy staring at me from the collapsible door on my right. Why it is Akshay, Manesh’s younger brother. I am relieved. I have reached the right place.

On seeing me Manesh hurriedly spreads a gunny bag and invites me to sit on it. I find the sit offered to me more comfortable than the softest leather sofas that I had ever sat on. I glance around. A feet or less in front of me is the steel cup board and I am certain that if stretch my legs I will bang them against the cup board. ”We keep our clothes in there,” Manesh feeds me with information. On the left a closed door, in the front of which are stacked four or five stainless steel and Aluminum vessels and brass kerosene stove. As my eyes move to the right past the cupboard Manesh’s eyes follow mine. The name plate reads ‘Tec – Med – Devices’ “They are all doctors”  “No they make things which are used by doctors,” Manesh corrects his brother. My eyes move, another foot or so on the right – the journey of eyes abruptly and rudely stopped by another collapsible door, closed and locked. Beyond that door I see piles of drums and barrels, corrugated boxes, box files and what not blocking my view as well as any air that could come inside from the window across. From the half hidden window I see --- It’s raining outside, as though reflecting the melancholy inside. Behind me on the right my eyes settle on the nameplate  

on the closed and locked door. It reads – RAJESH CHEMICAL COMPANY. “It’s Sunday, so the company is closed. You will not get any obnoxious and foul odour today.” Manesh is continuously feeding me with the information. On the left behind me there is another closed door of the office of Mr.Suresh Jain, C.A. I realize that this very corridor of   3 Ft. X 8 Ft., in which I am sitting, is their home and that too just from 10 pm to 10 am on week days – roughly a 12 hour home. Perhaps was a bonus on Sundays for them to have leisurely hours.

Manesh’s mother is back home after completing her morning domestic chores of washing clothes, their own and those of the neighbourhood.I am aware that she works as a maid washing clothes, cleaning utensils, sweeping and cleaning of many homes in the neighbourhood. After a brief introduction, I ask her. How did they come here, to live in this place? And she narrates.

They were happily living in a chawl at Malad. Every thing was just fine then. Her eldest son, Manesh, was doing extremely well in a private ‘Balwadi’ (Kindergarten) school and the youngest, Akshay, had just begun to say ‘Ma’ and ‘Ba’. All was well, until one fine (or dark) morning BMC demolished their unauthorised building and along with it they bulldozed their happy and smooth life. They were made to run from pillar to post. But never got what was promised to them and to others like them - the promised alternate accommodation. There after they were forced to live for a year or two out in the open – out in the wilderness. Manesh became a school drop out. In search of a roof they came here by chance some time in the late 90’s. Now they are allowed to reside here only from late night to the early next morning. They have to vacate the place in the early morning, with their bag and baggage, as soon as the shops / offices on their floor open in the morning around 10 am or sometimes even earlier. They are allowed to return only after the offices close down for the day, around 13.30pm at the earliest. Dinner is cooked after the mother returns from her work and by the time they go to bed it is well past midnight.

“Even when any one of us is ill, there is no place where one can rest”, adds Manesh’s father, who has just come back for lunch. He works as a labourer in a Saree Shop, where he has to display the sarees to the customers and rearrange them and put them back in the respective shelves after the customer has left. “My father is asked by his sheth to clean the toilets,” Akshay informs.  From the tone of his voice it is quite obvious he doesn’t like his father doing such work. “Manesh’s father is asked to do a lot of running around as well, to fetch something or make bill payments,” there is a lump in her voice when the mother says this, “ both my children will study hard and will earn well”. I assure them that they certainly would. I tell them how getting complete education is important, how it would improve the life of their children as well as their life style. They listen to me very intently. I tell them that I was aware about their struggle and what pains they took to get their children admitted in the BMC School. They acknowledge the assistance that they got from our NGO for getting them admitted in the BMC school as well as the benefits the children were enjoying by being with us. Mother says, “ Thanks to you people, Manesh always comes first in his class, all three divisions put together. He is very clever.”  Father says, “Our Akshay is also clever.” “Yes our Akshat too is clever – Clever but mischievous, aren’t you Akshay?” “Yes mother!” The parents tell me how Manesh has been selected the school for the Govt. Scholarship Examination.” “Does the school help him in any other way? Do they provide him with required books for the purpose or give him extra coaching?”, I ask. “No.” Mother adds, “Manesh will manage on his own as he has always done, by taking help from his class mates, borrowing books from them and even seeking help from your teachers.” It is good that not only the parents but also Manesh has realized quite early in his life that obstacles are placed in one's path not to be boggled at but to be surmounted. Manesh tells me that he is fine now and will attend our classes as well as those of his school from tomorrow. I am happy. It's already 2pm. I leave the place. Outside their neighbours, some Mr. & Mrs. Shah (names changed) tell me how they were the ones who helped the family to acquire this place despite objections from others, how they fought ‘tooth and nail’ and assured me they will take care of the family, and allow them to live here as long as they wanted. The family is lucky to have such good helpful people around. I climb down the step as fast as I can, almost running down, skipping a step or two. I am out on the road. it has stopped raining. it is no longer dark and gloomy. The sun is shinning brightly, perhaps significantly assuring me that all is well and that there is always a ray of hope for children like Manesh.. My day is done. I realize I am hungry and have to rush back home for lunch.

Manesh did well at the Govt. Scholarship Examination as well as in his school exams. He had passed his Std.VII. The BMC School was only up to VII. He had to seek admission in some other school. We knew it would not be difficult. His other class mates, who were with us came to us and we got them admitted to some school or the other. We waited for him to approach us. We waited, waited and waited. But he did not come. We came to know that his parents had collected his school leaving certificate as well as that of his brother from the school and had gone away to some distant suburb.

The last year one of the schools in our area, Prabhu Seminary High School, had invited me to a function to felicitate their S.C.C. students as the school results of March. 2012 were 100 %. There I met some of our students (who had completed their VII from BMC School), who were the class mates of Manesh. What has happened to Manesh? Where are you Manesh? Your batch mates - Imran, Azar, Sabia (all non -Maharashrians, who completed their schooling in Marathi Medium) have passed S.S.C in March,2012. Hope you too must have completed your S.S.C. and are continuing with your further studies and hope so does your brother Akshay. Is any other NGO helping you and your brother?

The story goes that it was the Shahs, who used all their influence to have the family evicted from that building. Since I do not know for sure I have changed their names. When and if I come to know that they were responsible I tell them myself how they have been hypocrites all their life.

                                                                                           - VINAY TRILOKEKAR

N.B.
 Should anyone want to send donations to our NGO you can get in touch with me. 
Again if anyone knows about Manesh and he needs any help in his further studies do contact me.