A day in Winter Vacation

Taking a cue from Anne de plume's blog, "Iris", I am reminded of vacations we had during our days spent schooling in Sunabeda. Since this theme would not be out of place in the context of my blog, "Meadows-Reminiscences and Travelogues", I thought it relevant to put up a post on this caption.

During the seventies, our academic years coincided with the calendar year and hence schools used to close for "Winter" Vacations after the annual exams in Novembers. Winter vacations, when compared to its summer counterpart, were certainly more enjoyable and being looked forward to by students, teachers and parents alike. As kids, it afforded us the luxury of cozying up in bed at least until 9 am.(The township water supply system took its daily break half an hour thence!). It was also fun to roam in the much needed warmth of the overhead sun shining brightly down on us. One is hardly motivated to step out of home during summers today. Winter is also one of the best seasons to undertake long travels without undergoing its incumbent travails. As kids, we deemed home as one of the worst places on earth and always preferred to loiter out in the open spaces, be it the playground, the wide roads in the township, the picnic spots, the nursery, the hills, highways, the swimming pool or the bazaars.

If I happened to rise early by any chance, my first stop would be that unmistakable HMV, the valve radio that religiously performed its duty from 6 every morning till late evening, with intermittent breaks to cool off. The inimitable announcement from Radio Ceylon still keeps ringing in my ears to this day, “Yeh Shri lanka broadcasting corporation ka videsh vibhaag hai, pachees aur iktalees meter band par….aap sun rahen hai purane filmon ke sangeet…” Numbers from the vocal chords of yesteryear crooners, (Begum Akhtar, Shamshad Begum, Uma Devi, Pankaj Mullick, Talat, Mukesh….and the one and only Saigal), filled the room and one’s ears. It would be a relief to realize that Saigal’s “Gum Diye Mustakil…” or “Do Naina Matware tihare…” at 7.55 am need not any longer signal the commencement of my trot to the nearby school, at least for a month to come.

Demanding a cup of coffee over “The Hindu” of the previous day, (that’s the time the newspaper took to travel from Chennai to Orissa those days!), I would head straight to the penultimate page to read Rajan Bala’s reports on the latest match between India and West Indies. Around nine, a couple of heads would pop up across the window facing the road, whispering entreaties to tiptoe out for large scale “Scheming”. Barging into the bathroom for a crow’s bath and quickly gobbling up a few idlis or half a chapathi, I would be out into the open, hardly caring to lend ears to my harassed mom all through the process.

With the cool morning breeze wafting through the warm rays of the winter morning’s sun, it used to be a perfect time to loose oneself around the township and beyond it. Humming, “aaj mausam bada …beimaan hai bada”, we jumped and frolicked around to reach Bhanja Mandap, our first stop to check out the day’s celluloid entertainment for the evening. A Dharam-Hema starrer would on most ocassions, for sure, be the one to be exhibited. After ensuring with Punjappa, the theatre manager, if Hema was glamorous enough in the film to deserve our attention, we would ask him to “lock” a few tickets for the evening show. (There were no morning or matinee shows during week days…..wonder how it is now!). And we needed to do this, failing which we had to resort to mara-mari jhagda with the local high school bullies before the 95p counter. Even if one managed to get one ticket, it wasn’t before losing a few buttons from one’s shirt.  Crossing over across the path inside the theatre verandah to reach Ramu’s canteen, we would peek into his shop to see if any stuff  (Singada/lobongo latika….) carried over from the previous evening would by any chance be available for a deep discount!

Tramping down thence to the large playground (now housing the stadium) to notice that some known faces have ganged up for a game of cricket against the high school bullies, we also jump into the fray to ‘graciously’ help complete the elusive eleven. If we had the option to bat first, we would wait until our turns came, swished the bat to our heart’s content and then forthwith decamped citing some inexplicable reason (mom has sent word/the all familiar stomach ache…etc) with the poor captain cursing us swearing never to take vagabonds into the team thenceforth!

From here, scampering down in a group to the Central market with a keen eye on the pavement vendors’ stuff for tit bits, small eats and cheap novelty items, we were actually spoilt for choice. These included huge Rose coloured cotton candies that melts in your mouth in no time (then an inexplicable gap between perception and reality), the mixturewallah’s stuff with all known spices going into the  concoction with the mustard oil to lend that unique taste, small plastic whistles (our long distance ‘unicode’ walkie talkie),  mid-sized plastic balls (for our simple version of volleyball, though the ball would last only for a few hours to be finally decimated to grotesque shapes and then relegated to the status of a football), readymade katties (katapult- though intended to target cashew fruits and nuts in the bhalu pahad, we only ended up stoning each other before exhibiting swelled temples as souvenirs to remind us of the enemy act pending to be squared up!).

Stuffing all the buys into our shirt and trouser pockets, our next sojourn before lunch would be the unmistakable picnic spot near the main school premises and opposite to the “P” zone. Laying out all our newly acquired materials on the cement benches lined up amidst the shade of eucalyptus trees, it was time for redistribution/barter/trade off with each other before finally drawing up each of our personal balance sheets (receivable from, payable to, stock of assets , returnable ones etc…).. The siren at 11.50 am would throw a red alert as most of us had interim (home) login deadlines to be met and would run home from the picnic spot before our dads arrived from the HAL factory for lunch.

Heading straight to the bathroom to wash up the sun burnt muddy feet and hands, I would sit up innocently at the dining table not before switching on the HMV at exactly 12 noon. The SLBC’s announcer, the one and only Manohar Mahajan’s inimitable announcement would flow forth announcing the programme, “Aap hi ke geet”, with the signature bin (snake dance) music from the film “Dastaan”. On most occasions, one always heard this number from “Prem Parbat” , “Yeh dil aur unki nigahon ke saaye” and also “Pankh hoti to ud ati re” from Sehra. Listening to the Prem Parbat number, I would start planning the post-lunch “ghoom” schedule as pictures of the hills with the pleasant feel of the afternoon breeze and the small rivulets would conjure up in the mind. All this while hurriedly swallowing food and giving half-hearted answers to dad’s questions over the table.

The sound of siren at 1 pm would be music to my ears and herald the onset of yet another session of freedom. Its logout time again! Ignoring entreaties from mom to stay put and rest at home, I would soon be out on the streets and find my way to my buddy’s next block. Calling out from the road  (was never used to ringing the bell and request elders to let my buddy out for some “work”), I would often be greeted with a terse reprimand from his mom, “Dhoop me kya bada kaam rakha hai, chal niklo yahaan se….pata nahin kahaan se aa jaate hai yeh bekaar ladken….). Khallas! This guy is not going to come….lemme try the other buddy down the lane.

Then managing to get along a couple of juniors a few blocks away, we would set out for that hillock called Bhalu Pahaad. Coming to think of it, I always used to wonder why it was named thus. I could hardly sight any Bruin during a decade of my stay in the township and at least not on this hill where we used to spend time on many a sunny afternoon. It was said that bears used to come down from the hills on winter nights and wander around the township! The tailor at the Russian market swore he was a witness to one such incident. Seeing the bruin’s silhouette near his shop at around 12 at night, he panicked, pulled down the shutters and locked himself up in the 8”x 8” shop and didn’t dare open the shutter until 8 the next morning and not before human voices were heard outside who were tapping the shutter to investigate if he was alive yet!

Those were days when small paths into the hill were carved out by people walking up the hills from various points from the foothills. These paths used to merge and diverge in various directions so as to form a good network around the entire hill region which was infested with thorny bushes, mainly the lantana with a good number of cashew trees lining the hills to form a large plantation around the landscape. During a recent visit to the place, to my utter dismay, I found the Bhalu Pahad totally inaccessible with dense scrub jungle grown to forbidden heights all around with hardly any sight of the fruit trees.

Climbing up the hill, picking up a few unique leaves (we used them as bookmarks!), plucking some rare wild flowers (to gift them to girls in the neighbourhood!), we would finally reach mid-hill where the cashew plantations come into sight. It was fun climbing up the cashew trees to pluck the golden-red fruits along with the nuts and throw them down into the waiting hands of my buddies (they used to catch them with precision like professional cricket fielders borne out of sheer experience.). Climbing further up the hill, chewing the fruits all the way up, we would finally reach the water tank on a plateau on the top of the hill. This central water tank used to cater to the needs of the entire township in Sunabeda. With parched throats and sticky tongues (no wonder I don’t see cashew fruits sold anywhere in today’s departmental stores and malls), we would suck out a good quantity of water from the tap below the tank. Time for stock audit (!), we would religiously climb up the pipe ladder to reach a position of vantage to oversee the height of water in the tank, nod to each other as if things are all in order and then climb down and relax for some time.

Ambling downhill in the direction of the HAL guest house (taking the path less trodden!), one of us would soon be sighted by the lease contractors (the temporary owners of the plantation) who would swear on us with the choicest odiya epithets and chase us downhill to recover our pickings. More often than not, we would give them the slip and ultimately reach the highway (NH43), cross over and get into the guest house premises to check if we could dip into the swimming pool after the tired adventure. Dropping names at the security, we would ultimately get in and reach the swimming pool. Finding a couple of known faces popping out of the surface of the pool, we would authoritatively jump into the shallow reaches of the pool to immerse ourselves like buffaloes in a pond.  Very few of us knew swimming then!

Soaking in the pool for a couple of hours, we would then decide to leave, water dripping from our clothes all the way to the GH gate notwithstanding! The security would look askance at us as we scampered out of the protected premises.

Trotting barefoot all the way back (with slippers lost whilst being chased downhill) with our booty of fruits and nuts, we would head straight for the picnic spot. Lighting up a small fire with dried leaves and branches, all the cashew nuts would be offered as ‘oblation’ to the obliging fire. The task in the meanwhile, was to exhaust all the fruits….by ‘donating’ liberally to all the chotus who would come around watching. Lazily lying down on the cement benches, we would indulge in small gossip on “iskool’ and township politics, (the unusual chemistry between the physics master and the new English teacher!), the endangered species in our class who have left for their native homes and those who have stayed back, the romance between the Bong management trainee and the young lass in our alma mater…et al. Time for breaking open the nuts, we used sharp stones like the early Neanderthals (we later graduated to nutcrackers) to break them open and eat them, most being half roasted, but tasty all the same.

We then decide to temporarily show up at our homes (where else can you get a cup of coffee free?). This would also mark the onset of the 4.30 pm siren when the bread-winners would drive back/cycle back home. A meeting with this specie was best avoided for multiple reasons. While moms were darlings, dads seemed to have nothing better to do than keeping a tab on us poor young and simple folks! Gulping down a cup of hot coffee, I used to run down to the nearest field where a game of cricket was in progress.

At 5.45, when dusk fell, we were reminded about the tickets “locked” at Bhanja Mandapa for the Dharam-Hema starrer, “Dil ka Heera”. Hurrying back home, tiptoeing in through the rear garden door, I get into the kitchen and plead whisperingly with mom for a rupee and after a few minutes of haggling, she finally concedes. Therefrom, running down to the theatre, I catch a glimpse of Punjappa and yell out from the crowd before the 95p counter until he manages to notice me. In another 15 minutes, I find myself comfortably seated in the wooden bucket seat about 3 rows away from the screen. That, by itself, was an achievement!

Hema Malini was the “dreamgirl” to most of us. I remember having watched this film at least 4 times in the same theatre. The change-over of any Hema film in the theatre cast a gloomy spell on us as if we were personally parting with the heart-throb for good!

Coming back home at 9 in the evening to be pleasantly surprised to hear that dad’s gone out to the bazaar, was nothing short of a great relief likened to unfettering of chains around one’s legs. Quietly slipping into bed after a short grub, the day’s events were recounted and the thought process for the POA for the next day stoked my mind………………..