hopscotch

This was published in the books page of the Sunday Supplement --- When I was in college, the most-talked about book was Prakash Sant’s Vanwas , or ‘exile’. I was staying in a hostel and was always homesick; and I didn’t want to read a book that would have proclaimed my state of mind loud and clear. It was a chance conversation with my roommate, four years later, that I developed an interest in Lampan or Lampu, the boy character (Sant himself), on whom the books — Vanwas , Pankha , (Fan) Sharada Sangeet and Zumbar (Chandelier) — were based. A highly imaginative and sensitive child, Lampan lives with his maternal grandparents (Narayan Sant and poetess Indira Sant) in a small village near Maharashtra-Karnataka border. He’s a gifted musician: he can sing, compose and play all the musical instruments; but scores a duck in Maths and Geography. Lampu speaks Marathi with a distinct Kannada lilt. His favourite words are “Mad”, Tantotant and Kay mhantat na... tyatli gat . He “measures” h

This was written as a second edit piece. --- The lal dabba , as it is often derisively referred to, holds very special memories for me. I was a gawky, confused teenager when I first came to Pune to study in a reputed city college. I was always homesick for the first few months, and counted days when I could go home. The first opportunity came around the ten-day Ganesh festival. I took an autorickshaw to Swargate and then made my way to the platform for Mumbai bound buses. I stayed in a small village near Panvel, so I had to get down at a 'request stop'. I, therefore, decided to wait for the conductor to ask if he could stop the bus at Dand Phata, the request stop. When he came, with the driver, I was scared of his gruff manner and I fumbled. I had to repeat myself twice before he nodded. I was travelling alone for the first and that too on a bus, so after Khopoli I kept my eyes peeled for Dand Phata. I need not have worried because the conductor called me as the stop nea

This appeared in the Sunday supplement --- The chat signal turned green. “Hey!” my friend pinged. ‘Hey... long time...’ I pinged back. “Yeah... KP...” she said. ‘Koregaon Park? Aare... I need to go shopping...’ I typed furiously. “Not that KP re...” she said. ‘Then?’ I wondered. “C’mon... KP...” she sounded tired. Ah! KP... My friend was talking about the kande pohe meeting! In Maharashtra, when the prospective groom, accompanied by his family members, comes to ‘see’ the girl at her house, he is generally served kande pohe and chaha (tea). Of course, modern girls prefer to meet the guys in a cafe or restaurant. But the name has stuck. Anyway, I was eager to know how the KP meeting transpired. I had several KP meetings to my credit, and since I also got married through an ‘arranged’ match, I was considered a ‘veteran’. No wonder then, my friend started keying in the details about her experience. “The meeting wasn’t great,” she pinged. ‘So, you didn’t like him?’ I asked.