Chapter 2
My sunday school teacher Mrs Esther Fiol ,wife of .Rev Frank Fiol american presybterian missionary to Kanpur I was very regular to Sunday school she loved me as I was only seven years old and fluent in English always chatting comfortably with her. The Fiols spent their entire life in India ,Woodstock school Mussorie,Faith academy in Delhi and bible seminary in Dehradun were under their administration.
In the 1970-80 era , My parents were both teachers ,we were poor but well respected.In the Indian society teachers are highly respected as they considered role model for the society , the torch bearers and fountain of knowledge.
I’m the only child which is highly unusual for hindu and muslim both give more importance to sons ,daughters are generally a burden because they have to be married off and a dowry has to be arranged for them. Hindu parents give birth as many as six daughters in their hope of a son who will give them moksha[salvation] after their death because he will set fire to their funeral byre. Inspite of that my parents have only one child “me’,they were my first and best teachers.I was fluent in English as they use to talk to me only in English and they would bring English storybooks from their school libraries for me to read, as time progressed I became a bookworm ,almost setting the house on fire one day since I was so engrossed in reading a storybook. Hindu mythology always confused me , my class three hindi teacher Mrs Maya Ariel wife of Pastor Ariel read out my hindi essay , I written on the bonfire of Holi festival, Holika the demoness sat with baby God Krishna in her lap . It was Prahlad another god, so many Gods so much confusion.
Early in life , I became aware of the meaning of rich and poor , I was studing in St Mary’s convent a expensive private school where only the rich people sent their children. The teachers often played favourite whereas Aunty Esther Fiol loved me for my talents.
At an early age , my parents discovered my drawng and painting talent. I won the first prize in an art competition , but my principal Sister Eugenia did not announce it in the morning assembly as the common practice , she simply said she forgot.
Realizing I’m a girl child but I decided I will step forward and do what is best for my family.I decided to become the bread earner and support my parents in their old age like a son , I honour and salute my parents who are simple teachers.
Aunty Esther Fiol died at the grand age of hundred in USA, I had a proud moment when I spoke about my relationship with her during her memorial service in August 2013 in the presence of her son Dr David Fiol.
Another incident which I can never forget , my roll number was 10 when I was in senior school [class XII], every morning ,one of my classfellows would write ten with chalk on my desk ,sometimes there would be a sticker of numer of ten.I was nicknamed ‘Dus numberi” means number ten in hindi alias naughty fellow.
I was an avid reader of Horoscopes based on numerology. The sum of ten is 1+0=1 . I was actually number one and in my heart I had decided to become number one.
I learnt to ride a bicycle when I was only ten years old ,along with the little boys of my neighbourhood. I was regular tomboy , clmbing trees and walls ,hanging on the monkey ladder.
One thing I’m mortally afraid of is drivng a two wheeler even though I drive my car in the fast lane. As a teenager somehow driving a scooter never appealed to me. In the ninties ,India had yet to see the economic boom , cars were still a rare commodity. Whenever someone would suggest that I should learn to drive Dad’s scooter I would loftly proclaim that I will drive a four wheeler nothing less . I never missed the sarcastic smiles and looks, which goaded me on to become a high achiever.
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As a child I use to see a peacock sitting on a tree outside my window.It is not an uncommon sight , they were as numerous ,as the trees here on the campus.Yet when I saw one , I paused in what ever I was doing whether rushing to catch a bus or simply taking a walk .The rich display of colours in its plumage brought out the artist in me .I always gazed asounded at the handiwork of god the mighty and awesome artist .The combination of colours , how they complement each other .The gorgeous blues and greens on the male peacock’s back seem to be determined to out do each-other in their brilliant hues .The peacock has the elegant neck of a swan , on th top of its head is a tiara giving it an regal air.It is undoubtly the prince of the indian fields and forest glades . On the campus , it still roams like a proud lord in his domains. John Ruskin wrote ,Remember that the most beautiful things in the are most useless ; Peacocks and Lilies for example .If it were not for flowers and birds, the world would have been a deary place and hungry one too.From the flowers come fruits and seeds .Birds play a play an important role in this process of pollination .Well everyone is entitled to his opinion even John Ruskin ,but in response to his words ,I would quote another writer Edward Gibbon who says ,Beauty is an outward gift seldom despised ,except by those to whom it has been refused .On the other side of our flat was a groove of sheesham trees , a favourite haunt of several male peacocks and their peahens .The male peacock has a brilliant plumage and its call is both raucous and sweet while the peahens colours are drab and its voice makes one often wonder how can a sound so ugly come out of so slender a throat . A male peacock in dance looks like a blooming daisy ,with its tail opening out like a circular fan around it,when the peacock shakes its tail the swinshing sound to me like tiny bells .A dancing peacock is a common sight on a summer evening yet he always gets a second glance maybe that makes him vain .Many a times ,two males can be seen dancing opposite one another .Haughty competitors for the appulause. A full grown peacock frequently danced on our terrace ,he was quite happy to dance alone.A peacock doe not need the presence of a peahen to incite him to dance .I saw some young males not yet full grown about the sight of a large rooster following the suit of their senior.This promted me to think ,that like all accomplished dancers peacocks also needed to practice their steps in private .They stopped dancing ,when I went on the terrace and waited for me to move off before they started practicing again. For me it was a common sight on summer evenings. The male peacock who has inspired me to write about its beauty would fly down from the tree to sit on the terace of the our flat. Its plummage glinting in the setting,the greens and mauves catching the rays more vividly .The blue feathers of the neck have taken a darker hue unlike when seen in full Sunlight. The peacock was beautiful as well as friendly ,he gracefully pecked at the bread crumbs ,biscuits and Cake left overs offered by me. He waited for me each evening on the terrace on the way to his night Perch the sheesham groove .I think ,I would love to paint a peacock’s plummage in its varying shades and colours ,the brilliance of blues and greens.Where can I find a peacock patient enough to poise for its portrait . Incidently the peacock is Indian national bird.All those who are voracious readers have always aspired to follow and imitate their favourite authors ,sometime in their lives have also nutured secret ambitions to become writers .I guess it is a important part of growing up to pen ones thoughts ; with it comes the realization that what cannot be put on paper and what cannot be read and shared with others is often worthless and immature . On a visit down the memory lane ,when one turns the leaves of tattered diaries ,reads faded ,old scrilblings ,often pave the path to healthy and mature thinking. Yet the longing of seeing ones’s name in print never lessens with age . My joy knew no bounds when I saw my published research papers ,These were papers were based on the work I done for my Ph.D thesis.Creativity is god’s gift to man and places him apart from other living creatures . It is a way of praising the master in encouraging the creative instinct in the younger generation.I went to youth camp held in Stanley Jones Ashram in the pictureque Sathtal of Kumaon foothills of Himalayas .
I enjoyed immensely ,working and reading ,hiking and exploring the surrounding hills sometimes getting involved in group activities like collecting wood for campfire . We had a few competitions too I won a prize for for best essay topic was ‘Hoping against Hope’
Sheila was inside what used to be the public library before war ,now it was another bomb shattered building in town,She was in the part where the roof had fallen in shifting the damp newspaper files. Her name was Sheila but he called her Sheeba his queen, she worked as a mannequin in a fashion store . She was among the many in the crowd, who had kissed love goodbye and watched him get into the army truck and drive away in a cloud of dust.
War spread over the seven seas ,coloring their waters red ,filling the skies with aircrat and bullets Newspapers were full of war talk ,so terrifying Soon news of severe defeats began to come ,the lists of those killed in action began to trickle in ,his name was not in them lt was a small consolation ,filling the heart with apprehension
War took a new turn , newspaper were now full of victorious battle and crushing defeats.On the enemy forces .And then suddenly they won the war .The streets were filled with rejoicing people .
War heroes began coming home The war office began publishing lists of those missing in action. His names was not among them either She wrote repeatedly to the war ministry,but they could not trace him.
Today ,she sat searching the lists of men killed or lost in action in the old newspapers ,reading accounts of the war . Frantically looking for his name .He was nowhere .He was lost !just lost !
The light had lessened ,she got up and flexed the muscles of her neck and the back ,quietly collected her things and walked out of the door
Dusk was falling she walked down the street towards the railway station ,joined the crowd on the platform ,to wait for the troops train coming from the border.
She will be brave and wait for him like the ancient queen Sheba Surrounded by deserts ,ancient Egypt was the world's first nation state.
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When I was Ph.D student [ 1990] , I knew that a window was a square hole in a room ...an application was something written on a paper...a mouse was an animal ...the keyboard was a piano....File was a important office folder ...hard drive was a uncomfortable road trip...cut was done with a knife and paste was done with glue...web was a spider's home...virus was flu....apple and blackberry were just fruits.Then I took a Computer Diploma course and discovered that a mouse was not a mouse. Let me tell you an anecdote
The Windows operating system arrived had just arrived .
Bill Gates : Namaskar! you must have heard of Windows.
Student : Oh yes! most Govt. offices we have the single window clearance concept.
Bill Gates : Have you installed Windows at home?
Student : I have removed all windows due to increased burgalaries in our house.
Bill Gates(Confused): Then what is the system you operate on ?
Student : OPERATION ? Yes, I had a Hernia operation last month.
Bill Gates(Sweating) : Hope the internet is being used a lot in India.
Student: Oh Yes! Due to increased mosquito problems many people are sleeping under the net.
Bill Gates: By the year 2002 India should export computer chips.
Student : We are already exporting Uncle Chips [ potato chips].
Bill Gates :(Feeling very Uneasy): Do you regularly use LapTops?
Student: My brother’s child sleeps on the top of my lap.
Bill Gates(Sweating Heavily): The Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh knows a lot about RAM and ROM.
Student : RUM? Prohibition is being lifted and it will be shortly available in A.P.
Bill Gates(Feeling Dizzy): I would like to take your leave before my system crashes.
Student: I have exhausted all my leave.
Bill Gates: I have no energy left, let us go out and have a bite.
Student: BITE? I believe in non-violence. I will not bite.
Bill Gates: (System Crashes and Found Missing). "Windows is
restarting.Please wait............."