Raju and I: Our Adventures in Childhood

Anecdotes from The Past - II

The 1980s were uniquely glorious times. Rajveer M. — affectionately known by his charming mama’s boy nickname Raju — my childhood friend and I were leisurely nature explorers in Trishul Park and the Sub Area in what was then a largely desolate cantonment region.

Raju and I would explore the expansive Sub Area, the great green grandeur of the defence area, like little musketeers (without the muskets) on a chief mission to see Army bases, roadways, grounds, Army barracks, bungalows, flora, and even fauna, if any. The Sub Area lay well beyond our residential campus. As we walked on the road, the familiar roadside, ancient-looking direction markers, or milestones glowing yellow in the sun would first come into our view: practical roadside sentinels engraved by the side of the roads alongside decades-old, luxuriantly big-leafed Tamarind, Banyan, Gulmohar, and majestic Neem trees nestling in the vast elegant sweep of surrounding nature. Apart from our much-loved residence in Trishul Park, the Sub Area was a nice place to take leisurely walks in the morning.

Tree creepers hugged the moss-covered trees like a verdant spread of a Kashmiri shawl — rambunctious bushes and lush bougainvillea vines glowed with a spectacular show of pink colour that’s nothing short of dazzling to the eye; thicket-forming flowering shrubs and shoulder-length grass growing by the side of the lonely, less trodden paths; picture postcard-like well-paved roads lined with perfectly manicured hedgerows and lawns of luscious grass laden quite heavy with pretty dew drops, and the vast expanses of green golf courses beyond against a serene blue sky veiled with the early morning haze. The whole Sub Area looked straight out of a classic fairy tale.

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Flower names like daisies, Rhododendrons, Petunias, Rajnigandha, Sunflowers, and Bougainvillea began to pique our curiosity. Many of these grew freely in Trishul Park and the distant Sub Area. We even devised witty jokes about how hilarious it would be to have them for human beings that were the names of florets, like Petunia Patel, Rhododendron Singh, Bougainvillea Chatterjee, Sunflower Choudhury, Hydrangea Sharma, Lavender Naidu, Marigold Sen, Hibiscus Rao, Calendula Das and so forth. When Rose, Lily, Daisy, and even Tulip were already creatively used for human benefit, why be biased against Rhododendron, Bougainvillea, Petunia, Daffodils, Chrysanthemums, and other adorable flower names?

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Wearing little white sneakers, we would walk or jog to the Krishna Mandir in the east or to the pristine green pastures of the well-maintained Army golf course that lay wholly beyond towards the north of the Sub Area, as they were our chosen hang-out spots in the summer vacations. Krishna Mandir was a perennial favourite for a darshan of the presiding deities Krishna and Radha in a standing avatar in the inner sanctum. Before entering, we would wash our hands properly and pour water over our feet after removing our shoes and stepping inside. Raju and I would be beaming with childlike delight as we waited attentively for the ample prasad that the temple pujari would surely hand out to regular guests like us. The pujari (priest) would place suji halwa or yogurt mixed with sugar, tulsi leaves, and ghee in our cupped hands before offering a camphor aarti to the graceful marble-sculpted deities upright in the loving posture as the statue of Lord Krishna played the bansuri flute to His beloved Radha. Afterwards, we would visit all the temple shrines on the premises and sit at ease on the sunlit manicured lawns for a while. Simple, as though unalloyed pleasures make your life worthwhile.

Whether we come to the Sub Area to jog or walk around in the cool shadows, we must first visit the gorgeous temple. Every summer and winter, we would get up around five in the morning and explore these places of wonder. The first necessary stop would be the Krishna Mandir, followed by going to the golf courses via the RSI Club and the Polo Ground, which was as picturesque as a glossy picture on a postcard: an open field of cropped grass — but not accessible to the public — used by the Army officials for playing the equestrian sport of Polo, Parachute Jump, and other military training. Golfers don't usually get up this early in the dewy morning to play golf, so we didn’t have to watch out for flying balls!

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Golfing was fortunately not our kind of sport; we would turn our noses up at such a fancifully lame game. Forget playing golf: we could scarcely bear watching it, whether live or on TV or anywhere. Even if, as decent kids, somebody wanted us to play golf, we would look the other way and get the hell out of there, for it was just as unappealing as a dumb thing that tests your patience the most.

Golfing was (is) a dull game that only grown-ups seemed to enjoy, and school-going kids would rather play cricket and football or watch, with sheer wonder, the energetic tennis matches on TV would not, for God's gracious sake, prefer golfing around for no logical reason. While the cardigan-wearing golfers and their caddies teed off, gently stroking the bouncy white balls into the landscaped ground, we would lounge under a tree and watch the goings-on pitifully. Every so often, we would wander upon the open grasslands after a light round of jogging around the vast area of Sub Area and relax while breathing in the minty fresh morning air sitting under a neem or tamarind tree.

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After our morning jog, we would return home to breakfast. I'd expect scrambled eggs with hot chapatis, whereas Raju preferred rajma or aloo dum with freshly baked super soft chapatis and tea. I'd then tune on the Vividh Bharati radio and smile as I listened to vintage Hindi ghazals and film songs while leafing through our academic books and having tea.

On Sunday mornings, we'd look forward to watching Ramayan or Mahabharat on TV. Often, I would join Raju, Mintu, Choti, and Meena at their house, eagerly waiting for the show to begin on his Uptron TV. 

The afternoons were a perfect time to indulge in some cricket with friends Rajesh, Murari, and Ganeshilal., while in the evenings, we loved singing and playing Antakshari with the girls, which was a different kind of thrill altogether: It would put our untrained vocal cords and our unabashed bathroom singing aptitude to the test. Even though a few of us often missed the right notes, we always had a great time belting out one melody after another.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick