The activity calendar in colleges today is packed with events, much in contrast to the scenario years ago when we used have just three mega events – Prizes Distribution, Convocation and Sports Day. While the first two functions were solemn, academic in nature, the annual sports function in the Chandigarh College where I taught used to be a two-day extravaganza celebrated with much fanfare and zest. The opening day ceremony began with the march past by smartly turned out contingents of different classes to the tune of military band followed by various track and athletic events. The end of the first day of the event was reserved for the much applauded staff race, normally a musical chair race. As a member of the faculty, though I never won the coveted top position, I had the privilege of standing on the victory stand at the third place quite a few times.
Jab we met
Like many romantic stories which begin on a journey, the origin of my ‘Jab We Met’ story can be traced to a bus journey. However, let me clarify it wasn’t love at first sight. No spark kindled, no fireworks, no violins played in the background, no butterflies fluttered in my stomach when I met him for the first time. It was just an encounter that remained etched somewhere in my subconscious mind.
It was a cold Monday morning, when I caught a bus at the crack of dawn from my home town Jalandhar to reach Chandigarh where I had recently joined as a lecturer in a college. Midway through the journey, the snoozing passengers of the early morning bus were shaken as the bus came to a halt with a thud. Anxiously, the passengers alighted from the bus and started waiting for an alternate conveyance to reach their destination. Among the stranded passengers, I happened to notice a handsome young man wearing a dark green hand-woven pullover with a matching cap. Not the ‘Mills & Boons’ hero kind, but the man who caught my attention was definitely fair and handsome. While he was dressed smartly, my attire couldn’t have been weirder; I was wearing a pure white sari, the dress code for Mondays for the teachers in my college during those days in early 80s.With my class starting at 10 o’clock, there was hardly any time to change from a casual-comfortable dress to a sari and hence, the awkward six-yard white drape on a cold winter morning.
As I waited anxiously, a Roadways bus passing by, almost full, stopped. There was a scramble to get into the bus. Desperate to reach the college in time, I dashed to board the bus with a bag in my hand. As I was struggling to get into the crowded bus, the young man intervened, “Don’t board the bus. It’s too crowded. Wait for the next one.” Brushing aside his sound piece of advice, I embarked upon my onward journey while he stayed back. A fleeting glance and we departed as strangers.
I had almost forgotten about the man and the episode until we met again. Though arranged by our parents, this time again it was a chance meeting, in fact, a surprise for both of us. There he was a prospective groom who had come to meet me. As we sat face to face with each other, the memory of the fleeting encounter flashed across my mind. Not just I, but he too had vivid memory of the incident.
Oh yes! We were destined to be together for life. Though we stumbled upon each other as strangers, parted as strangers but met again to become life partners and now happily married for almost four decades. Ours was definitely not a love marriage, but an arranged marriage with an air of romance.
( Published in Woman’s era ‘ November 2022 issue )
Republic Day: Then and Now
I belong to the generation born a decade or so after independence that was lucky to have opened its eyes in an India high on the euphoria of newly acquired freedom. It was the time when memories of freedom struggle were still fresh in the minds of our parents and elders. Inspired by the stories of freedom fighters, we grew up steeped in patriotic fervor. As kids we were enthused by the patriotic songs like “Nanha munna rahi hun desh ka sihahi hun…,” ‘“Kar chale hum vida jane tan sathiyoan , ab tumare hawale vatan sathitoan..” Many of us would recall watching patriotic films like ‘Shaheed’ and ‘Haqiqat’ with the school mates as a part of the school outings.
Weddings get bigger and fatter
My marriage was solemnized in early 80s, an era of simple weddings-‘Band, Baaja and Baarat’ sans over-the-top extravagance of today. My wedding was, in no way a mega affair but definitely, a gala family union. Relatives-close and distant-came from far and wide but no elaborate arrangements were made for their stay. No hotel bookings, most of the guests were adjusted at home and the rest were accommodated by the friendly neighbors. No caterer, but an elderly woman was engaged to do the cooking for the whole lot of guests.
Learning from mistakes
“Mistakes are painful but as the time goes by, they become a collection of experiences called lessons.”
As I read these lines , I am reminded of a classic instance of my immaturity, rather stupidity, dating back to the time when I had just joined a college as a lecturer on probation. At the age of twenty three, while I was still pursuing M Phil in Economics (dissertation was yet to be submitted), I started teaching. Overnight my status changed from that of a taught to a teacher but my conduct and behaviour remained essentially immature and brash for quite some time.
