Articles tagged with hyderabad
“Girte hain shahsawar hi maidan-e-jung mein. Woh tifl kya gire jo ghutno ke bal chale – Mirza Azeem Baig (Only the horseman falls on the battlefield. How can that child fall who crawls on his knees!)
The stories we hear mould us. Not all of them need to come from our parents. It is the variety and diversity of life experience which is the foundation to build a lot of skills. This comes from adults who have led interesting and challenging lives. We learn through their stories; we see with their eyes, and we exercise our own judgment.
I believe that the commercialization of medical care and education are the two major causes of social corruption and breakdown of values in our society. How we were unable to transfer the wonderful values we grew up with to our own children, remains a mystery to me. It is not that there were no corrupt people. It is that they were not accepted in society and so had to hide. Today corruption is not only accepted but is seen as a sign of intelligence and being worldly wise and people who stand against it are seen as stupid and naïve. Corruption is an aspirational goal in India. How did this happen?
We did not have telephones. Only those with ‘pull’ could get a phone. For ordinary mortals, a phone connection took fifteen years to materialize. If you paid Rs. 15,000 (an absolute fortune) you would get a telephone connection in three to four years. We had to either go to the post office to make a call or request a shopkeeper who had a phone to allow us to make a call. They charged Rs. 2 for that and listened to the conversation and dispensed free advice if you sounded like you needed it. After the call, you were closely questioned about what you had said, to whom, why and told what you should do about the matter.
That morning, I was sitting on the steps leading up to the front door, lost in my grief that I would never see Aunty Mohini ever again, when someone came up behind me and said, ‘Yawar, I think I know what Mohini meant to you. Will you allow me to take her place?’ I looked up to see Ronnie. I deeply appreciated that she understood my grief and so I smiled. That friendship grew and lasted for nearly 50 years.
There was one solitary policeman at the main entrance with a zillion mosquitoes to keep him company. I spoke to him and explained my predicament and he was most understanding. Having gained access to the terminal building, I asked him where I could sleep. “Sleep anybhear,” he replied. I told you he was helpful. Anywhere, even in a Bengali accent meant sleeping on the floor in the cavernous terminal building. “Be careful bhith your luggage,” he added. I wondered who would steal my single haversack since the policeman and I were the only two people in the airport. To be on the safe side, I stuck both my legs through the haversack straps and lay down on the stone floor and tried to ignore the mosquitoes who threatened to carry me away, haversack and all.