Life at the banks...II (The Television Generation)

When asked today about “the invention of the century” people try to come up with unique and intelligent sounding answers. But everyone, no matter what age or generation has to begrudgingly admit that good, bad or ugly the invention that has affected the generations over various eras in various ways good, bad or ugly IS the Television. Though commercialized in the late 1930s when India was still under the tyrannical rule of the British aka the goraz, finally the tube reached India. The first television channel came to India in September 1959; 12 years after India gained it’s independence and 24 years before I was born. However it was no great shakes at that time. Indians were still struggling to rise from the ruins that the British beautifully made out of the country that was termed as the golden bird. Hence there was not much use of television in a country where people did not actually understand the concept of electricity in totality, let alone imagining that you can watch something on TV in a remote village in Madhya Pradesh, which is actually happening in Nai Dilli.

But like all evils, miseries and natural disasters, TV caught up fast with the people in this third world country. The Government controlled channel went colored in 1982, a year before my birth. It was an amazing experience when we got a TV at home. In those days the TVs were nowhere as sleek and button oriented. They were heavy things which children were not allowed to touch or fiddle with. Televisions had wooden body with hot rears, a speaker on the right corner of the front profile with a knob that I believe were purposely made so tight that only the elders could twist it to change channels. However no channel changing was needed, as essentially there was only one channel that was telecasted for few hours, showing news in few languages, parliament news and news for the dumb and deaf, all preceded by and ending with a symbol resembling the Chinese yin-yang sign, only divided and distanced at the center with a circle in between. The footnote in the same color as the design read ‘satyamev jayte’ meaning victory of the truth or something on those lines. However we as kids loved watching the full commotion over the three parts of the symbols coming from a distance and assembling themselves while a soothingly sedative tune played in the background. Rest of the day it was immense fun watching colored stripes all over the screen or small mosquitoes buzzing in black and white with an irritatingly crackling sound, even louder than what we kids in the building made.

Watching TV in those days was a family ritual in every home. It is so today too, but the fun has gone out of it, the organized celebration of TVhood has been replaced by an act that has been taken for granted and hence not enjoyed. Philosophy apart, I, just like all my other counterparts of that generation remember a list of programs with the timings that we used to watch without fail, brushing, bathing, shitting can just wait as there were no reruns like today.
Starting chronologically, ‘Ramayan’ (1986), started with a fabulous tune and then the maker Ramanand Sagar could be seen sitting inside or outside some hut talking about what has already happened and what is going to happen in the episode. He used to speak with such a singsong voice that you could imagine Lord Ram standing right in front of him behind the camera and the rest of the demigods floating up in the sky dropping flowers like rain drops. The music of the series was composed by India’s very own Stevie Wonder, Ravindra Jain and you could hear one of the elders every time during every telecast utter, “Oh!! how unfortunate this very talented guy was”.
Well I don’t know about the other kids, though I suspect, that I and all other boys, unlike our elders who used to watch Ramayan with utmost devotion ( I had heard there were various families where people used to leave their footwear outside the TV room to watch the episode with complete devotion as if they have had a real revelation), used to watch the thing for the tremendously horrible and long stretched special effects, which were few and far between initially but made the anticipation made the snail paced thing worth watching. Sometimes out of absolute frustration you could hear a grown up fume over how deliberately slow Ramanand Sagar was to show the key moment of the story. Well it was true. It took ages for Lord Ram to be born in the city of Ayodhya, almost a century to grow up to be of any use in freely showing us all the fireworks through his bow and arrow. But there is not a doubt that the series had mesmerized the whole audience. Over 100 million people used to watch Ramayan on Sunday 9:30 AM without fail. Televisions at that time were rare, in villages hundreds of people, or whatever may be the population of the village used to come and flock at the only TV set in the village to watch the episode, sometimes with joined hands and misty eyes. Religious services (even the non-Hindu ones) were postponed and the timings of trains and buses altered to cooperate with the people enjoying a mythologically fulfilling Sunday.
The main protagonist, Arun Govil, who played Ram was considered and esteemed as virtually the real hero, Deepika who played Sita and on television and later won the parliamentary elections (riding on the Sita image) was an ideal daughter-in-law that every mom with a son of marriageable age wanted and Lalita Pawar who played the all hated role of Manthara was abhorred to such an extent that the names, both the real and reel ones became a profanity. So in those days, if someone refers to you with either of those names, it was surely not pleasant.
For us the real fun started only when the good side from India reached Lanka to rescue the kidnapped Queen Sita and kill the supreme evil Ravan. You could see several extras dressed either as monkeys (vanaras), belonging to the good team or as the devils (Rakshasas) participating from the evil side. It was really funny watching scrawny semi human monkeys with unusually taught tails and famished bodies chanting ‘Jai Sri Ram’ and colliding head on with the counterparts of the other team who were equally famished and sported fake moustaches, made up loud laughs, charcoal painted black bodies and a pair of oversized canines sometimes accompanied by skull and bones neck accessory for the effect. All of them did a two move fight and fell, not because of the fight at hand but as a result of an arrow shot from the bow of some other more important and better paid actor from the chariot. Few things surprised me though and I’m clueless till now. How come the team members didn’t die of the arrows shot by the member of the same team, oh yes and not the normal arrow; An arrow shot which went as singular when ascending and fell as huge plural (neatly ordered in ascending order from front to rear) hitting the opposition members right in the heart causing instant collapse. Could the arrows see and avoid people dying of “friendly fire”? Next, why was the manpower wasted by making almost forty percent of the army carry flags and trademark symbols of the kingdom instead of weapons? I mean you could have increased your chances by handing them fancy, kingdom inscribed swords or other weapons. Why did the evil characters have to laugh even when it was evident that their best bow and arrow tricks were being rendered useless by the gifted reincarnation of God, and no sir, not once or twice they laughed all the way, till the end, unless one arrow came and either broke the chariot’s umbrella or took away the crown or came and pierced the beautifully upholstered chariot seat and then there was panic written on his face with fabulous piece of over acting; eyes wide, mouth open and neck so taut that it trembled, followed by death in the grossest way possible. An arrow beheading the villain and taking it right to the kingdom where it fell in the court right in front of the angry cum grieving king. Well the battle part was the most fun. You had arrows of all kinds, your usual pointed ones, which were used initially with the point of view probably that why waste the rare and higher powers. And when the opposing arrows were of equal power they will collide and then just disappear into thin air, with contrasting expressions. The egoistic, evil one will have a face that read “Huh!! How can he not die with that arrow of mine!!” and the ever calm good-team’s member will have a face that said with a serene smile “don’t jump bastard you’ll die soon, I’m just playing to pass time, I’ve paid a lot of army and travel money to come here so I might as well enjoy, smile smile.” The more important the villain was the longer it took for the arrow to travel and it was never shot at the same time from the bow, one guy will shoot once, the second man out there will wait, say some mantras to the bow and then shoot the matching arrow, now what I do not understood was, why was the arrow traveling with such flourish, wasn’t it designed to kill or was it just for the light effects? Sigh, but none of our questions could be answered as the grown ups were absolutely transfixed and were temporarily unavailable for any help and the older ones were scared that them trying to solve any divine mysteries might lead to some unpleasant incidents.
Once the episode was over, the pause on the lives ended and the people started moving again to do the Sunday chores, namely, fathers buying vegetables from the market for the whole week, mothers washing clothes and dusting the house and well children reenacting the recently watched episode with bows and arrows. It was apparently in the papers everyday that one or the other moronic kid lost an eye while shooting the deathly arrows, this proved that arrows, no matter how juvenile and made of broomstick material traveled a lot faster and did not disappear.

Life at the banks...I

Growing up in a developing country has it's own set of pros and cons that the kids of under developed and over developed nations can just not fathom.I was the kid of the nation that was (and is) growing as fast as me. It was the age of fascination when I was growing up. Though I agree that everyone who does not know about something looks at it as if the aliens left it in the balcony while he was busy tying up his pajamas, but in those days people had a knack of ogling at anything new, but then in those days everything was new. Every item, commodity, necessity, vice was new for the poor people belonging to the country of snake charmers ( some, rather many light skinned, smug men still carry the same picture, though the one word they add with certain wrinkeles on their forehead is outsourcing).
However let's not get into such complicated racistic debates so early. I am just a tiny toon born in the year 83, oh yes the 80s when the mighty west had already run away with several technological and inhuman achievements and we the people were still learning to pronounce words from the Englisss language, angrejji for the hopelessly bewildered countrymen. I however was born in the capital of the country which many of my classmates did not believe. I fail to understand what is so strange, somebody from my little town had to be born in the big city sooner or later; apart from this unbelievable fact my birth was almost human; more on the birth of Julius Caesar and his misadventures will follow later but I want to start with my home town as I ended up spending 17 precious years and then few months of my life on and off in this industrial village, vainly referred to as town from now on. Nagda Junction. is a small town in the central western region of Madhya Pradesh ( it was the biggest state of the country, atleast something that made the state worth mentioning in some general knowledge shows). It was an oxymoronic town. An significant junction on the western railway's map with a very insignificant station. A significant rayon manufacturing industry ( biggest in Asia) located in a very insignificant town with individually significant but globally insignificant people.Despite the lack of outstanding schools, absence of colleges, malls or anything big, I can not imagine being brought up at a better place than this. G.D. Birla the founder of the industry set up the unit here because of various reasons, tax saving, plenty of unambitious underpaid labor, but the fact that was primarily kept into consideration was that the town is located on the banks of the river Chambal. A long river with plenty of water, which was later trapped by as many as three dams set up at different locations. However all this can wait. Mickey had been picked up from Delhi and brought here as his dad worked in the good old industry like everyone else around did. I had a very safe childhood, barring the incidents that involved me doing certain fear factor adventures while not in a position to realize that I needed a nappy change (we didn't have huggies or any such sissily named diapers in those days). However that's OK, as all this was intentional. I was just checking if my parents could actually handle a child prodigy like me.Being the only kid (by chance), I actually never had to fight for my rights with any other obnoxious kid sharing the same second name as I did and I never had to fight with the kids of the neighborhood, they had found out somehow that you generally never get on the wrong side of people who can yell at high pitches covering all the octaves, scratch like a rabid dog and at times plot character assassinations while their moms are busy boiling the milk bottles, apart from that, I believe my bowling ball sized head carrying the same weight and appearing like a canon ball while I walked on my fore legs too was a written indication for them to be at their best behavior.
I and my friends, I just remember their runny nosed faces now, but if I think hard it's probably the face of the same kid who used to wear frocks sometimes in place of a male dress. Mothers making little boys wear frocks and making pony tails if the hair permitted was nothing new in those days. Somehow they thought that they can feel happy about a non existent future by having a coy, homely girl rather than a loud gobbed, irritating son. Yeah coming back to friends, I shared some best entertaining and learning times with the lot. Some very educational games were learnt as a kid and some very practical tricks too. "Langdi", named hopscotch by the firangz, the usual game of drawing a rough board on the road, irrespective of the laying down material, with chalks, slate chalks (pames in hindi, pronounced as short fro Pamela anderson lee/rock/silicone/hepatitis but with a bad villager's accent), you learn that no matter how confident you are a. always jump on your strong foot, b. don't overestimate or underestimate your power and accuracy in throwing a stone of miscellanious shapes because you are just not as good as you think you are and most importantly be ready to consider yourself a loser when playing with girls else they will surely take away the joy of your victory, ha lesson time, it's always nice to lose to people you care about. 'Sitoliya' was another game in which we spent a century to collect seven flat faced stones so that they can be placed over each other, only to be later broken down by a guy with a ball varying in material depending on how sadistic you can be. AS was the case, with touchy, fragile people around use a cloth ball made of black school socks (worn out or not) and if you think you are the strongest one in the neighborhood use various varieties of rubber balls, but in no case could you dream of using a leather ball in case you don't have any other option, well because you just strike out the option of playing this game, remembering the last time your head had an apple on it while playing john woo styled slo-mo cricket.Lessons learnt a. everything does not need exhibition of raw strength, harder you hit, more stones fall off, more time you take arranging the thing again while dodging hostile hits with the ball, the time when you wish it should have been a ping pong ball instead.So use the head, be gentle. b. It hurts real bad if you get hit in the area below the groin and perhaps you realize how closely misery and elation are related pre pissing and post pissing.Of the many more home made games played, I'd just like to mention the last one, 'King', well well a game that required a bigger lawn, a football and lots of people ready to scuttle around ready to make fists and make weird gestures avoiding the ball touiching their body while one particularly vicious guy is trying to hit all the van dam boxers on the body and who like people in horror movies turn to zombies, opening their fists, holding and passing balls and hitting the survivors, some mean ones targetting the face intentionally.There was nothing funnier then a kid collapsing on the ground with a runny nose and watery eyes finally revealing a bozo nose but ready to at brave stifling the wish to choke the hitter to death. Lesson learnt, it is very easy to hit and defeat weaklings, slow runners and naive kids but if oyu target to beat the best you need to be far better and more patient, depends on how conscientious are you. I never used to hit girls and little kids probably that's why used to tire myself and the rest of the players silly making them surrender on their own accord.
Little did I know the implicatoins of these learnings, trivial or not, then. More lessons, rejections, acceptances and undescribable feelings were in the offing. Gosh, what more do you want a 5 years old kid to know?