AtrangiJitu

True Story

1998

Mera Job Interview

I graduated from a engineering college with a degree that felt more like a participation certificate. Clueless and without direction despite having a job, I decided to do an MBA. Since getting into an Indian MBA College felt tougher than booking a Tatkal ticket, I applied to US universities instead. And guess what? They actually let me in! Shocking, I know—I was too!.

2 years later, I was given a degree in what real businesspeople call MCS i.e. “Master’s in Common Sense”.

Today campus is buzzing with top companies conducting interviews to offer jobs.

I CON-jured up the perfect pitch, CON-vinced a CON-sulting firm, and marched CON-fidently to the final stage of interviews.

I get a call from HR—the call to CON-quer the final hurdle.

“Hi Jitu, your final interview is scheduled for tomorrow 7 PM. It will be held at the Ritz-Carlton, Downtown Atlanta with Partners of the firm. It will be over dinner. All the best”

Formal Dinner. 5-Star Ritz-Carlton. Senior Partners.

Maaa kasammm…lagg gayiii…. Meri fati!

The only 5-Star experience I have is eating the 5-Star Chocolate bar. Also, a fancy hotel means a struggle to find a vegetarian dish. Yes, I am vegetarian.

“Jitu, breathe. Tension Nahi leneka, Tension Deneka! You got this. Akkha din hai to prepare – haan, Tayyari Jeet ki!”.  

Preparation begins

I spend four hours debating between Traditional Formal Suit, Business Casual Suit, Modern Professional Suit, Tech-Consulting Suit. And then the color – Navy Blue Suit, Steel Grey Suit with a tie, the black one, Olive Green, Orange Suit.

… and finally, I pick the Steel Grey one – because that is only one I have.

Being an Athlete I use the visualization technique to prepare. I close my eyes to visualize – The Suit, The Drive, Madhuri Dixit (shh… No No. Jitu Focus) The confident entry into the hotel, meeting the partners, a nice bold hand shake, a confident smile, being guided to the table, Mia Malkova (C’mon Jitu Focus) pulling the chair, being seated, smiling and nodding, being asked to order, and me slowly lifting the menu, reading the Menu.. krrrrk Krrrrk… reading the Menu… Krrrrk Krrrrk…Reading the Menu…udharreacchh atak gaya re!

My success visualization is STUCK! 

I can’t find any veg food to order on the menu. My head is filled with “Ritz-Carlton – Pure Non-Veg Hotel”.

“I can’t be thinking about food while I am in an interview.” I asserted.

Right. So, I make a plan. I will reach a bit early and sort this out.  

Next day, the big interview day, I reach the hotel sharp at 10 AM for an interview in the evening at 7 PM.  I am glad to see that there is no signboard of “Pure Non-Veg” anywhere.

The hotel is intimidating. The kind of place where the chandeliers are probably worth more than GDP of a country.

I walk into the restaurant and checkout the menu card. The only word I can recognize is salad. Sala… Waat! Everything else reads like an exotic non-vegetarian dish!

Enter Lisa

While I am staring at the menu, Lisa, the waitress, comes over.

Lisa: “What can I get for you?”
No response.

Lisa: Sir.. ?

No response.

“Sir, I’m the waitress, but even I can’t wait this long.” says giggling Lisa.

I glance up, my lips pressed into a thin line and my eyebrows slightly raised.

Lisa: “You, okay? You look… tense.”

“You see, I have an interview in the evening over dinner at 7 PM. I am a vegetarian; and in this menu I can’t find anything that I can eat. Also, I am very messy on the dinner table.

I want something very simple. I don’t want to look like an idiot with a fork. Do you serve biscuits for dinner? “

Lisa smiles: “Okay, I understand. Don’t worry. Let me help you. (looking at the menu) hmm… Okay, let’s keep it simple.

“Start with this Ceaser Salad and then Order the Heritage Angus Beef Striploin…”

Maa Kasam… My eyes widen and I take a deep breath shaking my head in disbelief.

Me: “I- just-told-you-I-am-a-vegetarian!”

Lisa: “…without the Angus Beef Striploin.

My hands go flying into the air and I am thinking “WTF!?… Khali Heritage Thali ka kya karega?!”

Lisa (Laughing):” It comes with grilled asparagus, velvety avocado, and roasted potatoes. It is very easy to cut, pick and eat … and very low risk of being messy! “

Genius. Except…

Me: “What’s asparagus? And avocado?”

OK, wait. And she disappears. I nervously wonder why she left.

Lisa returns and places a plate on the table with a deliberate, almost triumphant motion, her eyes glinting with quiet confidence. And says “Taste them”

I am tasting them like a judge of the MASTER CHEF while Lisa crosses her arms lightly, leaning back just enough to radiate self-assured poise.

Verdict? Edible. Manageable. Perfect.

Lisa had satisfaction of knowing she’s nailed it and even promises to wait my table in the evening.

The Interview

“Suited, confidence boosted and seated—here I am at 5 PM for a 7 PM interview

I notice a man at the table next to mine, clearly trying to set a world record for whiskey consumption. It seemed like he wants to talk to me but every time he looks at me, I look the other way. I’m in no mood for small talk – I just want to stay focused.

At 7 PM, Mr. Oliver (The Partner) and Mr. David Walker (senior Manager) walk-in.

“Good evening, G2”

“Good evening Mr. Oliver, Good Evening Mr. Walker”

“Did I get the name right?”

“Yes, absolutely”

When did you arrive?

“Just 15 mins back” I answer without hesitation.

We settle down, exchange pleasantries and do some small talk about the weather and Clemson Football.

Let’s order some food, shall we? Mr. Oliver asks.

Sure. Lisa is strategically standing next to our table. She hands over the menu to us.

I pretend to look through the menu and with supreme confidence declare…

“I will have the Heritage Angus Beef Striploin with no beef”

While we wait for the food to arrive. Oliver asks me “So, tell us about your PeopleSoft project at Clemson?”

The interview begins and I put my Game Face on. This is it.

As I am about to answer, a man sitting next to us (Yes, the whiskey man) looks at me and..

“Hey, kid!” he howls. “You really gonna sell your soul to the corporate America?”

Oliver looked confused, David intrigued, and me?

I froze. But thanks to my VIVA (oral Exam) training during Engineering days, I quicky recovered

I ignore him and continue. “As I was saying, my PeopleSoft Project.. “

He now stares at Mr. Oliver and says “The promises of growth fade as targets looms. Overtime is expected, but rewards are never seen”

My heart is racing faster than a Virar Fast Mumbai local, and my brain is screaming, “Koi iska Mu Bundh karo!”

For a moment, Mr. Oliver looked like a fish out of water.

I once again try to ignore him. And continue with “My peopleSoft project… “

And he interrupts again

“Employees Health declines while profits soar.”

Ata Maajhi Satakli

“YOU DRUNKARD BASTARD!  I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO YOUR BULLSHIT FOR LONG. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW IMPORTANT THIS INTERVIEW IS FOR ME. YOU OLD FART – JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE FRUSTRATED WITH YOUR CORPORATE JOB AND LIFE, YOU WANT TO RUIN MY CHANCES. WHY DON’T YOU JUST SHUT UP AND MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS? “

Aisa Maine Socha, Bola Nahi.

David (the senior manager) was finding it difficult to control his laughter. Oliver gave me a look that said “Now, What?”

At this point, I had two choices: lose my cool and be Singham or remain calm like Bruce Lee and ease the situation. I opted for Jitu Lee.

So, I smiled and said, “Thank you, sir. I understand your concern. I am aware of the company culture and this company really values Employees. I know what I am getting into”  

While I am talking to him, Lisa comes to my rescue. She engages him in a conversation. Now he was lecturing her why Global Warming is a Big Scam!

With situation under control, Oliver smiled, David laughed, and I was warmed up!

The interview flowed well after that.

In some time, our food arrived. I cut, pick and eat my food – asparagus, avocado, and potatoes – no problem.

As we wrapped up, Mr. Oliver made an offer. My smile stretched so wide you could’ve fit a whole watermelon in it!   I thanked him and shook his hand so vigorously, we could’ve powered a small town if someone had hooked us up to a generator. (That PJ is a proof that four years of electrical engineering weren’t wasted after all!)

As I left, The Whiskey Man raised his glass to me and shouted, “Remember, kid—don’t let the job eat your soul!

 “Yes, Sir”

When I told this to my fellow classmates, they were CON-vinced I’d pulled off the ultimate CON-job! They meant CON-sulting Job re!

(PS. Lisa is now probably leading Greenpeace or IPCC)

True Story

Cricket Coaching to Develop Endurance Athlete

Recently, I was watching young boys playing Cricket and I was reminded of me playing for India U-15 Cricket team which I had dreamt of and remained a dream!

At 12, I was a tennis ball cricket Legend. I was my Ajanta building C-Team’s captain with real chance to be promoted to the B-Team.

One of the cool things about playing with a rubber ball especially in Ajanta ground is how it turned every kid into bowling prodigy. Experts talk about wrist positions or finger placements to master spin; you don’t need any of that nonsense. Here, the moment it hit the ground, it spins, cuts, bounces, leaving batsmen (and bowler) clueless.

But my legend status is more due to my achievements with the bat – off the Cricket field. My tennis ball bat is regularly oiled and I tape it around the edges and bottom. They remain intact because when our Team C bats, the ball hardly touched the bat. You know how these cricketers knock their bat with a wooden hammer (“bat mallet”) to keep it in good condition.

I want to do the same for my tennis ball bat. However, I do not have a wooden hammer, so I used the regular hammer.

KHATAAAACK …

I hit it so hard that it Cracks open into 2 – Now I have a mongoose bat and a piece of wood.

Ek din mai socha, Ye tennis ball cricket Career kahan tak jaa sakta hai?  You can go only so far!  At the most, I will be part of the Ajanta A-Team and play Inter-building bilateral matches. If I really want to do justice my extraordinary cricket talent, I must play with leather ball. It has a clear pathway to professional cricket!

I announce (just like Sachin announced years later) … “Mai Khelega. Mai Leather Ball Cricket Khelega”

I convince my dad to send me to a Leather Ball Professional cricket coaching Club.

Shockingly, he agrees.

“Dada, I want Cricket Whites” I demand.

He replies casually, barely looking up, “You already have it. Just wear the Saturday school uniform.”

My blood boils, and I can feel the steam rising from my ears.

I look straight into his eyes and ….

“WHITE HAI MANA… PAR WO HALF PANT HAI … DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW SERIOUS CRICKET IS? THIS ISN’T SOME GULLY CRICKET WITH OLD MEN LIKE YOU! YOU EXPECT ME TO STAND NEXT TO GUYS IN PROPER CRICKET WHITES, LOOKING LIKE I JUST ESCAPED A GULLY TENNIS GAME? THIS ISN’T A COSTUME PARTY, DAD! CRICKET WHITES ARE SACRED! IT’S ABOUT RESPECT FOR THE GAME.  {dramatic pause…}

NOTHING DOING. I WANT A CRICKETING WHITES”

Aisa maine socha , bola nahi.

I just shook my head and walk away. Dada ek baar bol diya.. Uske baad Khud ki bhi nahi sunte!

My sister giggles. And brother is grinning ear to ear.

I meet the coach, and he asks me to report an hour early, and naturally, I assume he wants to give me a special one-on-one session to unlock my hidden genius.

Brimming with excitement and visions of greatness, I show up at the lush green Cricket ground. We at Anushaktinagar are blessed with many grounds.

Groundsman is waiting with 2 other boys my age – Naushad and Baburaj.

“Set up the nets,” he barks.

What Nets? I ask innocently.

“He will explain you” pointing at Naushad.

OK. I murmur

I carry the Nets – bamboo poles and cloth net and place it next the concreate pitch.

Now Get the Mat. This Mat is a heavy coir monster that needs three of us to lift and drag it across the ground. We roll them on the concreate. The Khadus Groundsman instructed us on how to set it up.

By the time we were done (and exhausted), the seniors and the Coach arrive. Seeing the Coach, I have a surge of teen hormones kick in—I am suddenly extra ready to show off my talent.

Coach looks at me and points at the Stadium Gate “Go and stand near the boundary line”.

“Phew”

And then he continues “OBSERVE the batsman and Bowlers. And if ball is hit in your direction, get it back to the bowlers”

“BUSKYA SIR, I didn’t get my binoculars. How can I observe from that far ?!?”

 Aisa Maine Socha.. _________ (Correct!)

Anyway, I go and stand INSIDE the boundary line.

Very soon, the seniors started hitting the ball so hard and long, I am running all over. I felt like a human ball-fetching dog.

A senior strides towards me, and my heart starts racing. “Yes! Finally, my turn! Batting? Bowling?” The anticipation is electric—I’m ready to grab the spotlight!

“Go and get me a bottle of water from the cooler.” I sprint to the cooler like Usain Bolt, fill not one but two bottles (because, you know, overachiever), and run back. I hand them over with pride… only to be met with a casual, “Good. Aur do leke aa.”

“In 15 mins, Time for a game on the real pitch in the centre” Coach announces loudly.

The Groundsman – Yes, the khadus one! – looks at me and few others and orders us to get the Roller —a huge iron beast meant to flatten the pitch. And orders “Push it to the centre and roll it for 10 mins! Six of us pushed and strained like we were pulling an stubborn elephant uphill.

In 15 mins, we are all set.

I am desperately trying to make an eye contact with the coach. I want him to know I am here and he needs to send me to bat. And when finally, our eyes lock, the coach smiled and said,

“Boundary line fielding!”

He then says the most dreaded rule “1^st Misfield, Four rounds of the ground, 2^nd Misfield 8 rounds… 3^rd You get the point” . Now, I am really worried. Game begins. As if it was a planned thing – most of  the balls were hit in my direction. And given my extra-ordinary fielding skills, I was running the rounds all the time. And People today think I am a natural at long distance running.

Some batters hit the ball so hard and so long that it sails over the boundary rope and goes into the “Jhaadi” – it is a mini jungle. I kept searching and searching the ball. Over time, I became expert at fetching the ball. I was invited to search for the ball even when it was on the other end of where I was fielding.

Senior Vikas Singh joked “Jitu ke liye Boundary line fielding = Run-the-rounds-and-fetch-the-ball Training.”

This routine continued for weeks – few months actually but felt like few decades. Come early, set up nets, roll mats, Roll the Pitch, Get the water, field at the boundary, fetch the balls, misfield, run rounds, and finally pack everything back into the godown. Every single day, I was a Net-Boy, Mat-Boy, Ball-Boy, Fetch-Boy, Water-Boy, Runner-Boy!  

Meanwhile, my tennis ball cricket performance plummeted, and I am on the verge of being dropped from the C-Team of Ajanta.

I am faced with the ultimate choice—Tennis Ball Cricket or Leather Ball Cricket—I make a bold decision: I quit cricket and embrace my “punishment” – Endurance Running. After all, that is the only consistent skill I honed at Cricket coaching.

True Story

Classmates and Blessings!

As usual, being Thursday, My Father-in-law wanted to visit Raghvendra Swami Matha.

Dad and I go to the temple (Matha). Do the usual pradakshina, take the prasad (important hai bhai) … And then we decided to sit around for a few minutes.

As I’m sitting there, listening to Bhajans, soaking in the ambiance, I lock eyes with a lady across the way.

Suddenly, we both leap up like we just spotted a dancing peacock and nearly shout in unison, “Arey Tu… Idhar!” — and before I know it, we’re in a full-on bear hug!

She is my classmate Vaishali Joshi from Anushaktinagar. She lives in New Jersey. And we are meeting after 30 long years. We chat for a few minutes, catching up on life’s little adventures.

Then she introduces me to her father and I introduce Dad.. they get talking.

Out of nowhere, I casually drop, “He’s from Athani.”

She gasps like I just revealed that Rohit Sharma has been dropped in the 5th Test match. What!? My Dad is also from Athani.

Then i intervene both dad’s. So, I play matchmaker and say, “Dad, he’s from Athani!”

They look at each other like they just solved a Rubik’s Cube. Huh!? Hauda!.. surname exchanged, location in Athani exchanged, Teacher name exchanged…

Few other names exchanged .. then Vaishali’s Dad asks ” Bodhi, henge idddana!?” (How is Bodhraya?)

“Arey Nane Bodhi” (Arey I am Bodhraya)

The way they hugged was like they were reunited after a long war, complete with tears and laughter. Turns out, they were classmates who shared the same bench back in the day!

What followed was a glorious 20-minute trip down memory lane filled with tales of Athani days and friends — because, of course, nothing bonds people like reminiscing about childhood mischief.

Beautiful evening at the Matha.

I say “what a beautiful coincidence. I meet my classmate after 30 years. Dad meets his classmate after 70 years!

Dad quips “Id yalla… Devre madastan… ” (This is all planned by God)

True Story

Bhaag Subbu Bhaag

Subramaniam Uncle, one of the most loved Uncle, was the proud owner of a moped. Not luna not scooter, a Moped. Back then, there was no option of pressing the button to start the bike. One had to Kick! In its prime, a single swift kick would awaken the moped, and Uncle would be off to his office. But as it grew older, uske nakhre shuru, just like my teenage daughter. A single kick wouldn’t work. It required multiple kicks. This became the new normal.

One fine morning, Uncle approached his moped with his regular big smile. He delivered his signature kick. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. Glancing around sheepishly, Uncle began a series of frantic kicks, each one angrier and more desperate than the last. But the moped just didn’t start.

Enter The Tilt. Every scooter owner in India must have used this desperate move at least once in his lifetime! Pakka!

He placed the moped on its stand, leaned it dramatically at a 45-degree angle, and gave it a good shake – like the F1 winners do with the Champagne bottle. Satisfied, he kicked again with the Vigor of an angry bull. And voilà! The engine jaag utha. Yay! Tilt became the new normal every morning.

But one fateful morning, even The Tilt gave him kalti. Uncle kicked, tilted, shook, and coaxed (yes, he did that too – just like I do with my daughter) — multiple times. still nothing.

It was time for Plan B: The Moped Jog.

Uncle mounted the moped, grabbed the handlebars with determination, and broke into a jog, pushing it forward while fiddling with the clutch and accelerator. For 10 glorious meters, he ran staring at the road and roared to life. Uncle’s grin was brighter than the morning sun.

From that day on, this Moped Jog became Uncle’s new normal with the Moped.

At times, the kids from the balcony would shout “Sahi Hai Uncle…. Lage raho”. They were like the modern-day Cheerleaders of IPL. Uncle, being sporty, enjoyed in their applause.

Then came Pradakshina ! (Our building, Ajanta, had 4 buildings – A, B, C, D – with a road in front)

One morning, Uncle’s moped decided to be stubborn (Yes, just like my daughter). He kicked, tilted, shook, and Jogged … no this time he sprinted— but nothing. He reached the dead-end of D-Building. He turned left and sprinted down the 50-meter runway alongside C-Building. Nothing. He had to take another Left – along the B building.

By now, the number of spectators grew. Bhailog clapped, Auntylog paused their cooking, and unclelog put down their newspapers to join in THE RUN WITH MOPED SHOW.

As Uncle ran, sweat pouring down his face, frustration hit a new peak. In a moment of chaos, he accidentally pulled the brake instead of the clutch. The moped screeched to a halt, but Uncle couldn’t. In a split second, he found himself horizontal, perfectly parallel to the ground, flat on the moped. Thankfully because of his tight grip and strong legs due to all that kicking, he didn’t go flying, but everyone watching went “Ooh… Aah” before bursting into laughter knowing he was safe.

Bacchalog Cheered.. “Uncle, you can do it!”. Uncle, now in a state of pure adrenaline pushed onward. He completed a full lap of the building bole to complete Pradakshina…

Finally, at the end of his epic journey, the moped couldn’t see more of Uncle huffing and puffing roared to life.

As if India had just won the World Cup, crowd erupted and started clapping!

Uncle started laughing and raised his fist in triumph… and drove to Office.

No No.. This was not the new normal! Else we would have a movie Called “Bhaag Subbu Bhaag”…

True Story

Mai Khana Banaaega. And I don’t want any help

So, today wanting to impress my girls, I bravely declared, “I will do all the cooking!”. There was pin drop silence. Clearly, Omya and Bhairavi had a look “Fir to Swiggy karna padega” Priya’s body language “Oh No, I spend 30 minutes cleaning the kitchen after he makes one cup of tea! Here we are talking about cooking full meal! Even I wouldn’t allow that. But to my utter surprise Priya said “OK, but I will overlook and help where required”

Mera EGO aa gaya.

“Koi help ka jaroorat nahi hai. I don’t want you near the kitchen.

“Jitu, I don’t want an explosion in the Kitchen, I will just keep an eye and help you from here”

“OK. Just nudges.“ I say.

Little did I know, I was signing up for extraordinary lesson on kitchen cleanliness under Priya’s OCD eyes!

I opened the fridge.

“Jitu, please wash your hands first before you touch anything in the fridge!

Thus began the handwashing saga! You know how normal people just rinse their hands and get on with it? Not in Priya’s world! First, you wash your hands (and feet) thoroughly with soap and use a specific towel if you are going to use the kitchen. You cannot use any other 15 napkins, cloth, towels available for you… Not just any towel, mind you, but one that seems to have its own personality—pristine and fluffy.

Just imagine the pain for someone like me… F.O.R.G.E.T about using your PANTS! That’s a crime that could get you killed by Priya.

And the handwashing just didn’t stop there! After every single activity—cutting tomatoes? Wash hands. Slicing green chilies? Wash hands. Chopping coriander? You guessed it—wash those hands!

My daughters Omya and Bhairavi kept looking at me and burst into giggles.

I am merrily cutting the veggies. “No, no, no!” She Yelled…

“Mereko laga kitchen mein aag lag gaya”

Please dispose of the piece right after cutting each veggie!” she insists. I argue that this is inefficient; she argues that it’s basic cleanliness.

Priya’s says, “A clean kitchen is a happy kitchen.” And boy, does she take this seriously! When I picked up the oil, she instructs “Please keep a dish after you pour. I don’t want the oil on the Kitchen countertop (Google karna pada, we call it Ota). Also, please keep this tissue handy, so that you can wipe off the sides and the bottom of the container”.

But it doesn’t stop there! Even the floor must be cleaned regularly. As tiny bits of veggies drop to the floor, it has to picked up immediately, lest I stomp on it to make the entire kitchen floor messy. Priya has a special mat to keep the kitchen floor clean! Yes, folks, a mat.

And the gas stove? Oh, it has to be “super-duper clean.” I can’t even put a vessel directly on the burner without a layer of aluminium foil underneath. Felt like I am preparing for a science experiment in our kitchen.

And there is a special cloth/napkin/towel for each. And to make sure one uses the right one for right thing, she has them in different colors, texture and sizes.

Girls giggling continued. My ‘condition’ was apparently comedy gold!”

I will keep the actual cooking story for later. Haan abhi cleaning ka story baaki hai. We have a bai who comes for washing utensils. So, I just kept all the utensils in the sink.

Un Aaa… Nope. That is a crime of extraordinary proportion.

“Jitu, please rinse them and then keep them in the sink. No need to wash”.

To maintain the peace and harmony in the house, I just nodded and started rinsing it. In my world, rinsing means keeping the utensil under the water for few seconds, but not for Priya. Her definition of “rinsing” is a whole different level. Imagine a car wash for pots and pans—water jets, soap suds, the works! I half-expected her to ask me to pull out a wax and polish for the frying pan. “We need to deep rinse this,” she says

“I am done…. Not cooking again in this Janam”

Priya and my girls have a good laugh. I joined them in the laughter wondering “What is tougher – cooking a meal or maintaining the kitchen clean?”

True Story

The Candlelit Concert

I told Pramod, “Candle lit Dinner suna hoga… Candle lit Concert suna hai?! Aaj Priya and I are going to a candlelit concert.”

Pramod raised an eyebrow, “Bhai, sambhalke! Any program with you and fire is a recipe for disaster! Yaad hai na Ajanta Fireball?”

“Bus kya! Relax.. Aisa nahi hai re,” I reassured him. “I think it’s going to be more like a romantic moonlit concert or spa type setting… soothing music, dim lights. ”

Fast forward to the concert hall. We stepped inside, and the stage was absolutely covered in candles, more like a birthday cake of a Ten-Thousand-year-old! Itna saara candles!

As we took the seat, it felt like I was staring into the headlights of an oncoming car. I instinctively shielded my eyes… wondering if I should have got my sunglasses.

As we crept closer, I realized the candles were—thankfully—LED-lit! “Saala, pakya banaya!” Both Priya and I laughed, relieved but also slightly disappointed. Asli candle ka maza nahi hai ?

The concert featured the Indian Jam Group, with a mesmerizing mix of flute, keyboard, and tabla. They played some truly wonderful numbers. Mast Bajaya… it made me forget about the mini sun blaring from the stage. I spent most of the night with closed eyes shutting out the “candles,” and enjoying the music.

The audience was more interested in capturing the moment on their phones. It was less of a candlelit concert and more like a mobile-lit Party!

In the middle of the concert, the artist invited everyone to sing along. The lady next to me was incredibly enthusiastic. She took it as her personal cue to unleash her inner Lata Mangeshkar! Maa kasam, she sang so loud and so out of tune… I appreciate enthusiasm, but yaar we are here to enjoy the instrumental music!

Now the crowd got really into it and sang along with the musicians on stage.

After the artist finished a song, a guy in the front row shouted, “Superb!”

“Thank you!” the artist replied.

“I meant.. the audience sang really well.” Guy shouted back.

Roar of laughter followed.

As we left, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been part of something truly unique.

True Story

1984

I have a desperate desire to join NCC (National Cadet Corps). I want to join the armed forces, win a war for Mother India and impress girls. I think girls have a thing for boys in uniform. Clearly, I have plenty of time to indulge in these fantasies.

“Nitya, do you think I will be selected in NCC? what do they look for?” I probe.

“They look for fearlessness and guts. You have extraordinary skills in danger sport like War-War, Chor Police, Aba-Dubi, Lagori and Jhaad Bandar. Tereko pakka select karega re. Bindaas jaa” Nityanand responds with a tinge of a smile.

“Saala, ye mera sumdi le raha hai kya? I wonder.  

“You know what, he is right. I am awesome at Danger Sport. In a war-war game where you aim at the enemy by pointing fingers (max 2 fingers) and then shoot by shouting “Drrrr” (machine gun) or “Dishkyaawn” (Rifle shot), my hand moves faster than light and my howl is louder than thunder. In Jhaad Bandar, I am so fast that I earned the title ‘Jhaad Bandar ka Cheetah!

I have a huge competitive advantage. I am so thin so skinny that I can hide behind a stem of a tiny plant. In hazardous sport like Aba dubi and Lagori, it’s impossible to hit me with the ball. I just turn right angle to avoid the incoming ball. No wonder, Raghvendra gave me a nick name 2D (inspired by G2).” I reflect.

10^th July 1984, the NCC selection day is finally here.

84 students are present, and we are asked to stand in a line.   

Mr. Sharma Sir who is the head of AEC Schools, Mumbai – NCC for Boys – Mah-5 Battalion of Army wing will be selecting students. We were warned that he is a Despotic Tyrant.

As he walks in, there is an aura of fear. There is an eerie silence.

He inspects each student for exactly one minute, makes some notes and moves on to the next student. My heart thundered as he stood in front of me and stared at me for a minute.

“All of you can leave. The list will be put up on the notice board tomorrow.” He announced and walked away.

What!?! That’s it? No Obstacle course, No Monkey bar… nothing?!?

I am extremely disappointed and worried. “How will sir know that I totally deserve to be in NCC!”

All of us look at one another thinking “What just happened? How will he select?”

Bhaskar declares “If your two knees don’t touch while standing, you will be selected” All of us stand and start checking. Ashish is nervous as his knees touch each other.

Next day, the 40 selected students’ names are put up and my name is on the list. I am dizzy with delight and unable to contain my grin.

We are asked to collect the NCC uniform.

I am handed a shorts. It is heavily starched and feels like a cardboard in hand.

I hold it in front of me and blurt, “Kya hai ye? ye to Skirt hai. Ulta Umbrella jaisa”.

“Shut up and try it on. If it doesn’t fall off, take it and leave.” he replied curtly.

I wear and it feels like I am wearing a strap on my waist and naked below it.

Man’s uniform must make a powerful statement, so I go to my tailor and get it’s shape altered.

I proudly show my NCC uniform to Amma and Dad.

Amma (As usual): “So… Handsome”.

Dad (As usual): “Become worthy of the Wardi”.

On the NCC orientation day, sir lectured us on the Motto of NCC – Unity and Discipline, how NCC training will develop our personality by instilling qualities like patriotism, discipline, team spirit, leadership, and self-confidence.

I am really pumped.

Every Tuesday at 1500 Hrs, we – the recruits – report for the NCC class.

We learnt the fundamentals of parade. Saavdhan, Vishram, Daayen mud, Piche mud… so on. We did it wearing thick uniform, heavy shoes, and a weird cap. The march past was strenuous as it involved lifting our legs high up and swinging of hands! It was risky too. I learnt the hard way not to be behind or in front of a tall guy. I had blows on my nose and kicks on my butt.

The commander had to shout the order at the top of his voice. I could see his neck veins bursting with stress. Why not give orders in a normal voice? We are just12, we can hear.  

And all this under blazing hot sun. The cap generated so much heat that I was worried one day my hair will catch fire!

One month passed. Two months. Three months. Four months. We were still doing the same exhausting parade.  

No sign of any danger sports during NCC Class. I had envisioned commando training like the Navy Seals. I worship Arnold Schwarzenegger and want to be like him. But here we are focused on Left Right Left. Ek…. Ek…. Ek Do Ek.

And this is suppose to develop our personality? Leadership? Teamwork? patriotism?

How?

I felt patriotic in history class. I learn more about teamwork in a PT period.

While we are slogging, our non-NCC friends are chilling at home.

Every week, without fail, Jagga would come up to me and ask “NCC training kaisa tha? Kuch Adventure activities? Any obstacle course training?”.

I hid my exasperation with a big smile.

Bahut naa-insaafi hai.

The Camp

Finally, the day we were all waiting is here. Sir announced:

“We are going for a 10-Day NCC Annual Training Camp (ATC) on 17^th Dec.”  

A wave of excitement rippled throughout the classroom, followed by an explosion of cheers.

I can’t hide my happiness and talk about the upcoming camp with all my family and friends. My whole world knows about the NCC Camp now.

I dream of going far into a dense jungle, bathing under the waterfall, playing in the river, making friends with the wild animals just like Tarzan. I fantasize about all the fun stuff like putting up our own tents, campfire, Barbeque, plucking fruits…

Next day, Sir called to give us the details of the ATC Camp.

Entire class is buzzing with excitement. Everybody is chirpy and full of energy.

“The NCC camp in 6-days. It will be held in School#1.”

Pin-drop silence.

Anthony reluctantly asks “Sir, you mean our school#1 near sector market in Anushaktinagar?”

“Yes”

Our hearts sink. WTF!?!

“S.I.R, THIS-IS-NOT-ACCEPTABLE-TO-US. School#1 is just 500 meters away from home. After all that months of parading in the blistering hot sun, you have the audacity to choose the campsite that is closer than the place where we buy our daily vegetables? It is in middle of our colony surrounded by residential buildings. This is worse than my sister and her friends’ adventure picnic under a tree in our building. This is ridiculous. We will B.O.Y.C.O.T.T this camp.”.

Aisa maine Socha, Bola nahi.

Ashwin hesitantly got up and asked “Sir, is the NCC Camp compulsory?”

“Yes, you idiot. Shut up and sit down.”

Entire class is disappointed and sad. We were helpless.

Word spread about our campsite and there was no place to hide. We had become a butt of all the jokes that followed.

Nityanand hunted me down and asked “I heard, NCC Camp hai next week. Tumlog train se jaa raha hai ki plane se?”

I wanted to punch him in the face, but we were not trained in that. I just paraded away.

Day 1 |17^th December 1984.10:00 Hours

We report at the campsite – S.C.H.O.O.L # 1. Over 2000 Students from various 40 schools had come for the camp.

Our staying arrangement is quite simple and elegant. We are dumped in an empty classroom. 20 boys cramped in one room.

Our routine were getting set. We had to collect the Morning tea from a kitchen about 500m away – in a Steel bucket, for all the 40 students. I am just glad we didn’t have to get it for 2000!

The daytime ofcourse was all about parade. In the evening, we played games like football, Kho-Kho, sang a lot of songs and did shero-shayari.

Day 3 | Breakfast, Lunch and Birdshit

It’s beautiful winter morning, so Anthony, Partha, and I volunteer to get the tea. We collect and carry back the hot tea in the steel bucket.

As we cross under a tree, we hear “Plop”.

A crow decided to poop right into our hot tea.

Anthony and I look at each other.

He picks a leaf from the ground, dips it in the bucket and throws away the crow crap.  

“Jitu, chup chaap baith. No need to tell anyone. Kuch nahi hoega. The tea will Taste the same”.  

I just nod hesitatingly.

Partha was confused and blurts “Mai nahi piyega. I am a vegetarian”.

Tea is distributed with a poker face.

“Chai mast hai re” expressed Naushad.

Anto, Partha and I exchange a glance and smile. Ignorance is indeed bliss!

For lunch. we stood in a long line. Roti is thrown and Rice is dropped in the almost clean aluminium plate.  Sabji and Daal is poured all over it.

Remember the flapping of the wet shirt before you dry it on the rope?  I flap the huge roti to remove all the flour (aata) on it. No, No there is no risk of the roti tearing off due to all that flapping. It is so strong that we can play tug-of-war with it.

Day 5 | Weapon Training

“Tomorrow is the weapon training day. You will learn about the rifle and shooting. I expect each one of you to maintain the butt discipline.” Sir revealed.

Hoots of laughter filled the room.

“Firing range is called butt. The discipline on the firing range is called butt discipline.” Sir clarified with a stern face.

“Basically, it means stay disciplined, fire from the Gun, not from the Butt.” quipped Venkat.

At the butt, we learn how to use the .303 rifle, loading/unloading, bolt manipulation, how to fire with a lying position etc.

Exuberance bubbled inside me as the Army Jawan handed over the rifle to me. As soon he left his hand, I went down with the gun and the rifle-butt landed on my foot. “Aaah..” the burst of shooting pain was too much. It was so heavy. Jawan rolled his eyes and picked up the gun and moved on.

“Ok, recruits, it’s time to shoot for real” declared the Range Officer.

“You have 5 bullets to fire at the target. Those with maximum points will be given an award”. He discloses.

By now, you are aware that I have extraordinary skills in shooting due to war-war experience. “Medal to mujhe hi milega”

A batch of 5 is made to shoot at the target. Vinod is on my left and Sandeep is on my right. We get into Prone position (lying on the ground) to fire the bullets.

After shooting, we exchange excited glances. I feel good about my performance.

The Jawan hands us our respective “bulleted” target to be taken to Range Officer to record the points.

I hold my “bulleted” target sheet.

“Sir, my shooting is just done. I want MY-POST-FIRING-TARGET-SHEET, not a fresh one.” I assert.

“You, idiot. that is YOUR-POST-FIRING-TARGET-SHEET.”

“Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha…“ Vinod and Sandeep almost died laughing.

We look at Vinod’s sheet and are perplexed.

“How come I have more than 5 bullet marks?”

Then they have a big smile. They both look at me and shake their head in disbelief.     

I was gutted. All that training and hard work of war-war went down the drain. That very moment I took a decision.

“I am going to be a messenger of peace – No Guns. I ended my potentially great career in the sport of War-War.”  

Day 6 | Break-Dance at Midnight

Although I felt homesick at times, I started liking the camp. We started growing in confidence and few started getting into their elements.

At midnight (00:00 hrs), Sardar Bhupinder Singh decided to climb into one of the classrooms (where some other school kids were put up), let loose his long flowing tresses, put a lighted agarbatti in his mouth and did a break dance across the room.

He took special care to slap the sleeping cadets on their rump with a rubber slipper and tickle a few selected student’s face with his hair which was thrown over his own face.

The cadet woke up in jolt to see a scary face in his face, with a glowing mouth and long tresses. His heart clenched with dread, and he screamed “AAAIIIIIEEEEEAAAAAAAAAIIIEEEE”

A massive pandemonium erupted. Bhupinder escaped through the window. We ran back to our room.

One of the boys got so scared that he developed a fever instantly. Thankfully no heart-attacks.

They logged a complaint at 0200 hrs. Then at about 0300 hrs Army Jawans poured into our classroom (they had figured out only one of us could have done it) and started waking us up lovingly with their army boots. Since my mattress was nearest to the door, I was one of the first to receive their loving wakeup call.

The next hour was spent in the position of a cockerel (murga) and a healthy dose of the jawan’s vocabulary. That day I realised that a Jawan’s command over the Hindi language was far more than what our NCERT Hindi textbooks could ever teach us!

Day 8 | The Great Cross Country Race

I was part of the cross-country run team. We had worked hard training for the cross country. We won the team event – thanks to 1^st and 2^nd position performance by Anand and Ravindra respectively.

Post race, Ravindra had tears – tears of joy – as he finished the race as a runner-up among 300 runners.

The medal ceremony was immediately after the race. Post ceremony, Ravindra was in tears – again. This time because he was not given a medal. He was given silver cup, a silver colored steel ka glass! Yes, a lota a tumbler.  (as seen in the picture)

Ravi is visibly upset.

“Chal Ravi , team picture ke liye”

“I am not standing in the picture with this” He thunders.  

“If it was a medal, I would have been happy. A picture with this lota in hand? Feels like I am waiting for chaas to be poured in”.

“it’s OK yaar. You stood 2^nd among 300 runners. It’s a solid achievement” trying to console him.

Ravindra’s anger rises and he barks looking at me “Here… take it. You stand holding this. I don’t want it.”  

I am trying my best not to burst laughing.

Our sir walks up. “Jitu, Ravi, c’mon fast.”

He reluctantly joined and held the cup.

I got an opportunity to finally laugh when I was facing camera (= not facing Ravi)

Day 9 | Ting Ting

On the penultimate of the camp, we had had a very long and tiring day. We are totally exhausted and many including James went slept early.

Kadar – the notorious, mischievously says “Jitu, I have an idea.”

“Tereko idea aata hai to mujhe darr lagta hai”

“Arey nahi re. Tu dekh, Maza aaega. Get that rope we used to learn various knots. Let’s practice tying a knot.” He asserts.

By the time, I am back with the rope, he is sitting next to James who is in deep sleep.

Kadar looks around and with finger on his lips says “shhhhhh”

Then like a seasoned surgeon, leans forward to delicately unbutton his pants. Then unzips and slowly pulls the pants down.

6 are sleeping, rest 12 stare at Kadar and James. We watch Kadar in deep silence.

No one blinks or moves as he slowly pulls his underwear down…

WOAH! There it was.

“Jitu, rassi de”. Whispers Kadar. I hand over the rope.

“Baburaj, please be at the door and let me know if someone comes” says Kadar in hushed tone.

Kadar makes Square Knot with the rope and plants the rope knot on James’ di**. And slowly tightens it.

All of us squirm and then grin at the same time.

“With this knot, usko dukhega nahi and secure bhi rahega”. explains Kadar.

We Just nod together.

He throws the other end of the rope over a long rod on the ceiling. He catches it as it comes down from the other side of the rod.  The rod acts like a pulley.

Woah!! 7 of the boys groan.

“Shhhhh”

Kadar holds the other end of rope and pulls it gently.

All of us watch the rope movement.

Kadar stops. All of us look at Kadar.

Then with wicked smile, Kadar pulls the rope gently,

28 eyes watch James’s thing move up.

Kadar gives 2 gentle pulls and blurts “Ting Ting”. 

We are on the floor and laugh uncontrollably….

“Shhhh Shhhh Shhhh…” Kadar tries to Shhh us down.   

Kadar does ting ting a few times. We are unable to control our laugh.

“Mai bhi. Mai bhi.” Rajesh pleads Kadar

“Bhai, jor se nahi.” Warns Kadar.

No… No… not because it will hurt James. He didn’t want James to wake up. He wanted everyone to experience the joy of doing “Ting Ting”.

Our man James is sleeping in absolute bliss.

Suddenly, without any warning, Baburaj cries out “Sir is here” and switches the lights off.

We panic. Its dark, people bump into each other. Some stamp on the one’s sleeping… total commotion but no noise.

Sir opens the door. He switches the lights on and…

WOAH!  What a sight?  

Half-naked cadet. One end of the Rope tied to his di** and other end dangling via the rod on the ceiling!

In uncontrolled rage, he barks “Everyone get up”.

Get up fast and GET OUT. FALL IN LINE. E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E”

Finally, James wakes up. He looks totally disoriented. First, looks up and then looks down. His eyes widen in alarm and his jaw dropped open as he sees the rope tied to his pen**.

He slowly undoes the knot. And pulls his underwear and zips up his pants.

All of us get up and we fall in line on the corridor.

“Whoever did this, come forward. “

Silence.

“Tell me otherwise all of you will be sent back.” Sir threatens.

Still silence.

“All of you stand here all night.” And sir leaves.

James is furious. “Kaun kiya?” No one said a word. He tries a few more times but doesn’t work.

We stood on the corridor all night.

Among 100s of thoughts, the dominating thought was “Solid re. No one ratted out. All of them showed tremendous unity, cooperation, self-confidence, and teamwork.”

Day 10 | The Ultimate U-Turn

Sir came in the morning, smiled, and said,

“You boys are incorrigible; Go back to your room”.    

That’s it. He didn’t say anything more.

May be his dominating thought was same as mine. Maybe he thought he has one more year to fix us!

To me, Camp experience changed everything. I even started liking the parade!  

Today, when I look back, I believe 2 years in NCC definitely helped in shaping our minds. Sharma Sir, while strict, loved us and helped us grow. Small wonder he won the President’s medal for the Best Teacher. He is my Hero.

Given a chance to join NCC, would I do it all over again? Absolutely Yes.

I have been studying at my table for over 4 hours.

Amma’s expression, nodding her head in appreciation… – “Mera beta, soooo hard working.”  

Dad asks “What is wrong with him today?”

Varsha, my sister, blurts “I am sure there is some silly gully cricket match tomorrow.”

I  give an angry stare,clearly communicating: “That is ridiculous. How can you call our cricket matches “some silly gully cricket matches?!”  

My deadly stare always has an impact on people – she giggled.

Clearly, she was not appreciative of the fact that it is THE AJANTA VERSUS ELLORA CRICKET MATCH. The biggest derby match in the south-east corner of our colony.

Dad: Aah… Isiliye! Exams are coming up. No-Cricket-Match. 

“Appa, since kindergarten, I have been hearing STUDY HARD, PLAY HARD. I have been studying all day; I WILL Go and Play the match. You can’t stop me…”

Aisa maine sirf mann mein socha. Bola nahi. Else one HARD and TIGHT SLAP pakka.

With moist eyes and folded hands I plead…

“You saw… I have been studying all day. I promise I will study like this every day. I have committed my availability to my team Appa. It’s Ajanta vs Ellora cricket match. Nityanand and Amit bhi aarai“.

I pester dad for 20 mins and make all kinds of promises…

Fiii..na..llllly I am able to induce a flutter of guilt in my mom. She convinces my dad.

The 4 hours in the morning and next few hours at the study table were fruitfully spent in thinking and strategizing about the cricket match.

Devil is in the detail. Details like what if opposition bats first and don’t show up after lunch? What if they take ball and run away? Etc.

In the evening we have a solid practice session. All raapyas went through a catching drill. Oh! Raapya is one who drops catches. After the session, we conclude these raapyas must feign an injury and get substituted.

We have the team meeting to discuss the strategy for the BIG match.

There is so much anticipation and nervousness. “Will I make it in the team?”  Cricket careers are decided in these meetings.

The 1^st agenda item of the meeting is the final Playing XI. 

We discuss past performance of every player. Important parameters like – did he participate in the fist fight last time, Is he willing jump into the gutter to get the ball etc were considered before finalizing the team. 

Few players walked into the team right away….

1. Rajas (B)

2. Raju (B)

3. Ratish (S)

No, they weren’t the captain or the best players. They provide the bat, ball and stumps for the match.

B = Bat, B = Ball, S = Stumps

Once we have the showstoppers names in, others are filled in.

Kumar: “Arey mereko last batting kyon bheja hai? “

Raju (our captain): “Arey tu first bowling open kar raha hain na. toh batting last”.

Rajas: “Mai open karega. Nahi to mai bat nahi laaega”

Amit: “This time, I will not field behind the wicket – keeper. Poora time dhoop mein”.

Raju: Don’t bother. You will be substituted during fielding. Batting karke kulty.

Rakesh: “Toss jita to batting. Woh log batting chor hai”.

All: “Apna scorer Salim.”

Salim has mastered the art of “sumdi mein score badhaneka”. He increases the runs and has extra ordinary capability to argue and justify it.

We are just 2 hours away from match start.

Prashant prepares as he likes to call it ‘The Prashant Way’ for the match. A long run, multiple sprints, lift heavy weights and multiple sets of push ups, squats etc. Basically, fully body workout for ~60 mins.

One of our pre-match rituals is to visit the temple before the match. I am sure even the GOD is confused “How do I grant every player’s prayer? They all want to open the batting.”

Both the teams meet to negotiate rules of the match.

Salim opens the Rules Book and reads out the important rules:

3.1.3.3 – After lunch both teams must show up. The team batting 1^st must deposit their bat as a collateral during lunch time.

4.1.5.3 – No LBW.

5.2.1.5 – If Ball is lost in the bushes, then maximum 6 runs. But the batsmen must run those 6 runs. (In the last match when the ball was lost, Ellora team ran 76 runs.) That is not allowed.

6.1.3.7 – If the ball goes into the gutter. Batsman must get it and clean the ball.

6.1.4.9 – Scorer is not allowed the increase the score if no runs were scored. 

6.2.4.8 – If it hit any of the trees or the scooter, it’s a 2D. (2 declared).

8.4.7.6 – Umpires and Scorers will be from the batting team. Umpires’ decision is final. Score shall be announced after every over.

9.2.6.3 – Only overarm bowling is allowed. No feki / throw bowling.

9.4.7.3 – If any of the window breaks, batsman will be declared out and it is his responsibility to get the ball from the uncle /aunty.

9.4.7.3 – No mini over.

Just before the toss, Prashant announces “Pata nahi kyon, thak gaya re mai. I am very sore and exhausted. I can’t play the match”.

Kumar: “Saaala..Bola mai. Tu jo karta hai, wo warm up nahi hai, burn out hai . You be the leg umpire now.”

Toss time.

“Arey paisa hai? Coin?” Silence.

Raju bends down to pick up a pebble (chota fattar) from the ground and shows it the Ellora team captain. He puts his hands back and then brings it forward.

“In ki Out?”

“In “

Raju’s smile grows into in a grin as he opens his palm…. “No, it is Out. We win the toss”.

We will bat first.

 
Our entire team erupts in JOY. An onlooker would be excused for thinking we just won the Match.

Rajas and Nityanand open the batting.

The bowler, Charlie from Ellora building, rubs the MRI ball on his pant. He is convinced it helps him to get the ball to spin. Rajas taps the pitch with his bat. Both stare at each other – Basically communicating tera waat hai aaj!

The amount of clapping, cheering, and coaching from the sidelines is inexplicable.

Charlie to Rajas.

Pehla ball… zupppppp… kkhhattaaaakk!!! Maa kasam! Clean bowled.  Both off and middle stump are uprooted.

Unfazed, Rajas stares back at Charlie and declares-

“Not out, Trial ball tha.“

“This is cheating.” yells Charlie. A big quarrel ensues.

And finally, the umpire intervenes. He puts his hand out on the side and blurts “No Ball.”

Charlie is shocked. Yehh kya hai?? Why is it a no ball? My leg was behind the crease.

“You did not say ‘Left Arm Over the Wicket’.

Grumbling, he agreed. Wicket not given.

Match continues.

We are 35 for no loss.

Rajas and Nitya try to sneak a run…the fielder throws the ball and it hits the stumps…

“Howwwww issssss thattttttt!!!!” the entire team appeals at the top of their voice for a runout. The square leg umpire Prashant is caught napping. He seemed annoyed at the loud appeal that disturbed his nap. (Remember his warm up!?)

All of us (including the residents watching from their balconies) are staring at him.

“Not out” says Prashant.

Thank God! He remembered which team he belonged.

Match continues. Crazy batting, sliding fielding, chota mota raada etc…it continues.

We compile 143 runs in 20 overs.

Lunch time. As per the rules laid out, we deposit our bat with Ellora team.

After lunch, they are nervously waiting for us. Their happiness had no bounds as they see us walking in.

“Chalo, batting milega”.

They start well. 27 for no loss.

Kuldeep is batting. One ball keeps really low and hit the stumps.

Clean bowled. We start celebrating.

Kuldeep barks, “NOT OUT hai. Sarparti tha. Dead ball hai.”

Kumar said “Aisa koi rule nahi hai. OUT hai”

Kuldeep, a khatarnaak bully uproots the stumps…  it’s his weapon now.

Normally we are very courageous till we are safe. This situation is not safe. We run helter-skelter and stand behind Kaju. Kaju is very strong. He is our fight leader and our key negotiator in these situations.

Kuldeep comes roaring towards us holding the stump like a javelin.

We all are shitting bricks by now.

Kaju intervenes…the protector, our saviour shouts “You are right. It was a dead ball”. And then looks at us to say “show some sportsman spirit.”

Match Continues.

Kuldeep scores 53. After he was out thrice.  

Displaying extraordinary sportsman spirit, we keep taking wickets on the other end.

It is turning out to be a close match.

Last ball and they need 4 runs to win.

Prakash hits the ball high in the air and I am under the ball. I am waiting with my palms open…abhi aaega haath mein…ley, aaya…aaya… THUD! The ball hits my palm… and goes through the gap…  and hits the ground…  plock…and bounces away! …

Oh God! What have I done.

My heart sinks. I dropped the crucial catch.

“Ball Pheeeeek” shouts Rakesh.

By the time I collect and throw the ball, they complete 3 runs.

It’s a TIE. Wooaah!

There is a mixed emotion of happiness and sadness among all the players as we shake hands post-match.

One of the closest and unforgettable matches.

And yes, I earned the coveted title of The Ultimate RAAPYA. My friends make sure this part is highlighted in every get-together. Even today, I am lovingly called the Raapya Mama by the next generation.

I am watching a video of the legendary Buddy Green playing harmonica. I find myself staring at the screen abashedly. He is awesome and plays some very intricate numbers. Goosebumps stuff.

Watching him play with such ease and poise, I reckon playing a harmonica is super-duper easy. “isme kaunsi badi baat hai!? How hard can it be to learn to play such a chintukli (tiny) instrument?” I think dismissively. Breath in and out. Move the harmonica left and right. And tada… You are a harmonicaist! Easy Peasy.

The idea of playing harmonica is growing on me at the speed of hair growth on Anil Kapoor. It is so rapid that I have already started dreaming of becoming a rockstar harmonicaist performing at a packed stadium.

I act on it. I pick the evergreen song Hai Apna Dil to Awara to learn. Every generation since 70s love the song. The song is perfect for harmonica.

I share the idea of with my lovely daughters.

“Appa, Vedas recommend Vanaprastha for people of your age” blurts Omya.  

“Point hai.” I consider.

After a pause, she adds “But, YOLO. Go for it.”

“What’s YOLO?”

“Uff, Appa. You Only Live Once”

I commit to learn on my own – by trial and error. I start playing “Hai… Apna… Dil….” on the harmonica. Hemant Kumar is singing, ….  inside my head.  And I am perfectly following the notes on the harmonica.

But my harmonica at lower notes produces Hee Haw…  Croak Croak… Quack Quack…. At higher notes, it’s same as the annoying truck horns on the highway – Peeeeeennn, phoooooonnn – basically screeching and piercing.

Had I been in a zoo, these notes would have helped strike conversations with a few inmates…

Itna bessura! Maa kasam, One hundred percent disastrous!

Contrary to my (and my mother’s) belief, I quickly realize I am not a born musician.

But since I am committed Mai khud ka bhi nahi sunta, I practice daily.

Vivek, my roommate, politely asks me pointing at my harmonica “Does this thing connect to a headphone or change its volume?”. 

“Hmm… No. But brilliant idea. It will allow the harmonica player to clearly listen all the notes being played.” I say excitedly. However if electric harmonica is manufactured, it can be connected to a speaker and one can crank up the volume” I add enthusiastically.

I don’t think Vivek is amused by the idea.

And then suddenly goes down on his knees and begs with folded hands, “Jitu, in that case, can you please learn to play a modern electric guitar instead of this archaic H-A-R-M-A-N-I-A-C?”

That’s when I realize he does not like the sound of a harmonica.

Being a sensitive person, I start practicing in a park far away from home.

Interestingly, I find kids shift their playing area to the other side of the park. And the parents started taking a walk on the far end. How thoughtful of them to allow me to practice without disturbance. But I was puzzled when the cats, dogs and birds started disappearing.

I continue my practice.

But today, I am dumbfounded. My neighbour, Rajesh, is jamming with me. He is supplying the beat while I am practicing. He is pounding and tapping Dhag-Dhag-Dhag on the common wall we share.

The tempo of his pounding and the tempo at which I am playing the song is completely OUT OF SYNC… but we are in a zone.

“Rajesh, can you increase the tempo.” I shout out a request. 

No change. I try few more times. And I stop playing.

He continues to play the beat Dhag-Dhag-Dhag on the common wall.

Being a perfectionist, I can’t tolerate out of sync tempo. I must rectify the tempo. I get up and walk to his house. I walk right into his house.

And I am aghast at the sight.

He is banging his head against the wall – Dhag-Dhag-Dhag.

He gives me a death stare and barks “I am not jamming with you. Please stop playing the f*&^%$ harmonica. It is a 1000-degree torture. ”

My heart sinks. Totally embarrassed, I disappear.

With that feedback, I figure  enough of this trial and error method, I must take harmonica lessons online.

Experts say learning musical terminologies like rhythm, beat, tempo can help you grow your skill as a musician. A quick google search takes me to the website for Harmonica beginners.

The lessons start with terms Hole, Hole Position, Blow, Suck, Breath Control…

WTF!?!   What website am I on?

I re-check. It is indeed the website on Harmonica fundamentals.

Blow means breath air into a hole of the harmonica. And suck means breath air out of the harmonica. A different note is created at each Hole position.

Aah! Now I get it.

I start all over and learn the fundamental notes on the Harmonica.

Just so my neighbours don’t complain to police or strangle me to death, I have been practicing in the middle of the desert – no birds and animals here

or wait…. Gosh, have they have disappeared too?!

But hey shhhh…. please keep this a secret. I have been lying to my friends that I am on long cycle rides.

I put in hours and hours of practice. Now, when I play the harmonica, it does sounds like Hai-Apna- Dil-to-Awara. I am very excited and impatient to show off to my family. I record it and send it to my family WhatsApp group.

“Hey, guess the song.” I announce.

And wait for the answer. My heart is pounding and I am checking and re-checking.

Silence.

6 hours and still no response.

Is it too easy to be quiz question, I wonder.

12 Hours.  And still no response.

“CAN YOU PLEEAASE GUESS THE SONG?” I am unable to stay still.

Finally, I see Bhairavi typing…  I’ve a big smile.

“We heard it several times. TBH, we are not sure of the song. Is it “Bekarar karke Humein….?”

Gulp! What!? My big smiles gone.

“Bhairavi is a Generation Z – Zoomer. She has definitely not heard the song” I convince myself.

Priya? Bandu? Varsha? Amma?

“Is it Diwana Hua Baadal?” inquires Priya.

I am shaking my head in disbelief.

“Main Shayar to Nahin” explores Bandu.

“It is Jab Chali Thandi Hawa…”  Declares Varsha.

I am openly staring at the screen in shock.

No. No. No. Absolutely Not. Are you kidding? “It is Solva Saal Film ka Hai Apna Dil to Awara…” I reveal.

“No way” writes Priya while rolling on the floor laughing.

“Jitu, download the notations and practice with it. This is nowhere close to Hai Apna Dil…. that world knows”

“Ok, I have got to go” I exit the group chat in disbelief.

But, I am committed aur Mai Khud ki bhi….  Correct! So, I am back !

I download the notation.

I practice with the notations. I am attempting to play the 1^st line…. Hai Apna Dil to Awara…

Hole #-3 Pa (Blow out), Hole #1   Sa (Blow out)   Hole #1 Sa (Blow out)  Hole #2  Re (Suck in) Hole # 3 Ga  (Blow out)     Hole #1 Sa (Blow out)  Hole #2    Re  (Suck in)  Hole #1   Sa (Blow out)   Hole #-1  Ni (Suck in)  Hole #-2   Dha (Suck in)  

Oh! My Golly Gosh! It’s exhausting to get the right notes. It is anulom vilom at breakneck speed. And not sequential. Phew!

Slowly, bit by bit, I begin to play the right note and it does sound like “Hai Apna Dil….”

I had started with Isme kaunsi badi baat but over a period of few weeks, Naani yaad aa gayi.  I confess with my rock bottom music abilities it is tough to play a harmonica. I am humbled. Now I understand why we pray goddess Saraswati. I have a newfound respect for Buddy Green.

I share the new recording with my family.

And this time I get a quick response.

“Appa, O.M.G! That Was Sic… It does sound like Hai Apna Dil… I am so proud of you”

Now, that is music to my ears.

Journey of learning a musical instrument can be challenging and frustrating. But it is also so much fun and rewarding.

True Story

“Jitu, get up. It’s 6.30 already. You will be late for college.”

Me, with a muffled voice – “5 mins…”

THIS extra sleep is like the 1^st sip of chilled beer in summer.

And after 10 mins…

“Jitu, uth 15 mins ho gaya.”

“5 mins more…”

After 10 minutes, dad takes over. The volume of the Suprabhatham by the legendary MS Subbulakshmi goes high, my chaddar (blanket!) is taken off, fan is switched off. I feel a tapli on the head.

“C’mon get up!”

I look at the watch “Holy shit, I will miss my 8:03 local.”  (Local = Local Train)

Now, everything is in fast forward mode. I am all set and about to leave the house.

“Jitu, idli chutney is ready. Have it and then go.”

It’s too early for the breakfast. I really don’t have time to eat.

So, I gobble up 12 idlis.

“Mmmm, so delicious”. You just can’t eat few Amma made idlis and chutney.

One must have priorities clear in life. Mine is “khaana.”

“Aaram se kha. Chew it. Cows can un-swallow, and re-chew, humans can’t.”

“Eat some more.”

“No Amma, I am getting late..” I lament and I gobble up 2 more.

‘Maa ka pyaar’ is totally manifested through food.

I grab the packed dabba. “Bye, amma.”

Mankhurd station is 20 mins walk from my home. I start walking, then walking fast, then running and finally I am sprinting towards the station. It is 8:02. As I enter the station, I run faster through the gaps, twisting my body to squeeze through the crowd, ducking under the macchi basket carried on the head by a fisherwoman. I end up hitting (not intentional) a few people with my elbow and bag. Somehow, I make it to my platform. I run towards my compartment.

“Phoooon” the loud local train horn blows. And the train starts.

There is a technique to get into the running train. A science, if I may…

You must run at the precise speed. Too fast – you will find yourself in the ladies’ compartment. Too slow – you will be among stuff in the luggage compartment plus there is no door rod. Once at the right speed, you must secure the train door rod with a firm grip with one hand and then vaaauuuulllt into the train. People standing at the door will create space for you and even support you to get in. That way, Mumbai Rocks!

Once in, I am looking for place to stand where I can breathe with a normal head position. Most of the time you look at the heavens, not praying, but to avoid breathing right into your neighbour’s armpit!

There is absolutely no place to stand – forget about place to sit.

Seats are maximized. 4 people sit in a 3-seater. We Mumbaikars stick together – literally. If there are only 3 people sitting, you just tap on the shoulder of the aisle guy, make a silent hand and face gesture conveying “thoda khasak na”. Now, you are the aisle guy.  

We always choose 4^th coach from the engine because it’s a video coach. One can keep watching and dream – even in the crowded train. Each one in the compartment has their head turned in THAT direction. How blissful!

No, there is no video. The adjacent compartment is ladies’ compartment separated by iron net or a small gap in the frame.  

All the women ogle at men through it. How creepy, right!?! Magic of Y-Chromosome! 😊

Fitness experts say the trick to remain fit is to aim for a  mix of activities. The workouts should include walking, running, jumping, punching, hanging, squatting, and balancing.

Mumbaikars don’t have to go the gym to get the above workout done, they just need to travel by local train.  

In addition, we also get extreme body compression and stretching done. Please note, we do it in formals, casuals, dhoti, saree, with long hair… along with the weights hanging by our shoulders.

At the next few stations, thousands of people get into the train. Local train is like my stomach. Even if it’s totally packed, it always makes room for more food.

Next station is Kurla, and I must alight.

It takes weeks of practice to have the necessary skills to alight at Kurla. (I am embarrassed to admit I have not been able to alight at Kurla when I was a rookie Mumbai local traveller)

So, I adjust and align myself in the direction of exit door.

The total distance is less than 8.8 feet. Just like in Rugby and American Football, you can’t just march. One needs firmness of mind and the will of a gladiator to face the extreme hazard ahead. It’s like childbirth but here you are the one pushing and you are the one coming out!

I thrust and apply tremendous strength to wriggle through 3 people. I make monumental progress. I cover 2.5 feet. I tap on the shoulder of the person in front – “Kurla?” Nahi. He makes a tiny space for me to press through. Then I tap the next shoulder in front. Kurla? Nahi. I wriggle through.

I tap again. Kurla? Nahi. Move. Tap again.  “Haan, mai bhi kurla”.  I am pleased to hear that. I just stand there.

As train enters and slows down at the Kurla station, it’s a tussle between people alighting the train versus people barging into the train. I adjust to be in the right lane.

Please note: If you are in the right lane, you will be pushed and thrown out of the train onto the platform.  It’s like water gushing out at the opening of a Watergate in a dam. In case you are in the other lane, you must generate enough power to push through the people entering the train. If you are not able to overpower them, you will be pushed back into the train. First time it happened to me, i thought crowd loved me and didn’t want me to leave.

Off the train, now to the next hurdle.

Climbing the overhead bridge is again a clash. Clash between commuters going up versus commuters coming down. One more opportunity to get the workout done – this time at an inclination.

Many use the overhead bridge as a watchtower to determine which train to take – fast or slow. Both take the same time to reach Dadar – well almost. Sometimes fast train reaches faster.  

Gayathri joins us as we take the overhead bridge.

“Gayathri, you are so lucky. You don’t have to deal with general compartment crowd. It must be so peaceful in ladies’ compartment”.  I declare.

“Peaceful!!?? My foot. You have no idea. Be glad you are a man. The Aunties in the ladies compartment are the most dangerous creatures. Thank your stars you have not seen them fight. A small dhakka by mistake can cause anything from ripping off your hair to a deadly stare that can burn the whole train!  If two ladies claim the seat at the same time, its near World War 3!”

“Gayathri, you just shattered my image of ‘Serene compartment’. I mumble in utter shock.   

Mumbai local trains’ doors are always open. This way over 1000 passenger’s hangout at the door.

Yes – I mean passengers hang in there by hanging out by the door!

The open door also ensures people in the train don’t die of suffocation.

You live on the edge at the door – literally. You stand on your toes on footboard and hold the metal upper water gutter by two fingers. Your body is fully stretched in the shape of a bow. You keep pushing your body inside the train otherwise you will be hit by the electric pole.

Peak hour rush sometime forces humans to take on Monkey avatar. For a monkey its easy-peasy to climb up to top of the train. These monkeys enjoy the view and breeze like they would on a building terrace.  ‘

Once, I was also on the local train roof dancing to Chaiyya Chaiyya. I forgot the bow down and got hit by the crossover bridge.

After that I stopped imagining. Phew!

Mumbaikars are very supportive. If they see you struggling to hold on, one of them will grab you by the collar and not let you fall. But the same man will politely yell at you too “C&*^%, Bhagwaan akkal baant raha tha tab kahan tha? next train leneka na”

I disembark at Dadar. Dadar station is the most crowded and busiest railway station.

It’s a junction to Western line and Central line. Outstation trains stop and start from here. Every inch of Dadar station – platforms, overbridge, long ticket line, tea-stall, bookstall, restrooms is packed with people.

I am walking to change platforms. The hawkers are doing good business; People are bargaining loudly. Some people are smiling ear to ear after returning from their hometown. Coolies carrying 5-6 huge bags on their head and shoulders.

There are all kinds of sounds, some loud, some faint… – “Borivali jaani wali slow local platform number ek pe aaegei“, “paanch ka do bundle, fresh maal hai”, “chai, garam chai”, “dil ke arma aasuon mein beh gaye”, “Phoooooooonnnn”…

I am a bit hungry, so I stop to grab a snack. In my opinion, the Vada paav at Dadar station and Ragda paav at Kurla station tastes the best in the world. They put in a lot of blood, sweat and tears to reach that level of success. Sweat for sure. We see it all the time.

The guy is washing the plates with the stagnant soapy water in the bucket. The wada is being cooked in the same oil since yesterday. How can anyone eat after seeing that!?!

But what to do? It nourishes my soul. I relish eating at the station.

I make it to platform number 3. Next train is a Virar fast. Everyone dreads the “Virar Fast”.

One must be very careful with pickpockets at the station or in local trains. I have extraordinary reflexes. When someone touches my rear pocket, with my lightning speed reaction I always end up catching the wrong hand. And as a reward, I get a tight slap. This happened a few times and I figured the best strategy against these pick pocketers is to keep my pockets empty.

If a pickpocket is caught, the victim beats him up.

Wait.

A non-victim passerby who has absolutely no idea what happened will whack the pick pocketer too. We call it “Behti Ganga mein haath dhona.”

It’s a proven way to quickly unwind after a stressful local train journey. New age Coaches call it active recovery.

I somehow manage to get into the Virar fast.

In the train, a man has a radio glued to his ears.

“Score kya hua?” We know he is listening to cricket.

“112 for 3.”

“Kaun gaya?”

“Sachin is batting.”

“Phew, bach gaya”. In those days, who got out did not matter as long as Sachin is batting.

“Arey Bhai, you come and sit here”. One man offers him a place to sit. Unbelievable. A seat offered in Virar Local.

“No. No. I will stand here. Mai baitega to Sachin out hoega” he says rejecting the offer to sit.

“OK, fir tu udhar hi khada re.”  27 people say in Chorus

I am enjoying the rhythmic sound of train on track.. chu chuk chu chuk… chu chuk chu chuk… and suddenly I hear a loud, noisy angry voice “B!@#%$, dhakka mat de”. A free-for-all angry noisy brawl erupts – out of nowhere. Two decent looking office goers are fighting.Truth be told – it’s total entertainment to see others fight, but I definitely don’t want to be in one. From these brawls you learn new creative gaalis. Some idiots will try to stop the fight and end our “timepass”.

While the fight is on, there is group of passengers who are not perturbed at all. They continue to sing bhajans. One of them is playing manjira and the other using his suitcase as tabla. how refreshing!

At Bandra, a couple enters the general compartment.

“idhar pahila hi jagah nahi hai. Why can’t she go in the lady’s compartment?”  being irriated, I mumble irritatingly.

On top of it, this boyfriend protects his girl from potential creeps (not me). He spreads hands and legs in around her – taking up a space of 4 people in that congested train. It is also possible that my irritation is that I am jealous. ‘Even he has a girlfriend’

We cross Santacruz and one fella shouts “Arey bhai fan on karo na”.

“Switch on hai. Fan kharaab hai” responds a passenger.

A man next to me takes out a comb from his back pocket. Inserts the comb into the dusty grill and gives it push. And it starts working.  It works – all the time.

Some clap, some thank him. He has a big smile.

We reach Andheri, get pushed off (I mean, get off) the train and walk to college.

“Arey yaar, aaj ek naya gaali sikha!” I say.

“Hahaha, mai bhi” says Subbu.

And life continues.

The thought of ‘one day I will drive my own car and never travel by local train’ crossed my mind many times. Infact, it became a life goal.

I do own a car now.

And yet, when I must reach on time or want to be introspective, I depend on the local train. Without a doubt, it is the lifeline of Mumbai.