A Memorable Birthday

Birthdays are very special when we are kids. But as we grow up, it becomes just another day. But sometimes people around us make our birthdays special. This year’s birthday was one of those! My friends made it special for me.

Our group of friends, is a bunch of 15 odd ‘notorious’ guys who are / have been colleagues in NE Technologies, Goa. Some of us may have parted ways with regards to our careers, but we all are still bound by friendship. We make it a point to celebrate our togetherness (at the pretext of birthday treats) by going out for dinner every once in a month or two. Friday, the 20^th January 2012 was one of those dinners we had planned. Or that’s what I thought!

After enjoying the dinner at A Lua, Merces amidst a few laughs and ‘leg-pulling’ and then ice-creams at Naturals, this time it was not over! There was a plan to go to the Miramar Beach. I casually asked Saish to which he innocently replied – “It’s not too often that we all meet. So let’s spend some time together!”

Naval and Austin had been working late and as a result couldn’t join us for the party. We had got take-away parcels for them, which they had at the Miramar Beach. But even after that we all were still sitting at the park near the shore, at 11.30 in the night. I had no idea of what was to come.

When it was 11.58 on my watch, there was a sudden hustle and everybody hurried towards me. All I know is, the very next moment, somebody grabbed my left leg and right leg, another held me from behind and the next moment I could see the stars and the dark sky, and I was flying high.

As I was recuperating from this surprise when I landed on the ground, I realized there was something more waiting to surprise! I saw a big birthday cake placed on the bonnet of Saish’s car. Saish placed a big shiny knife in my hand, and everybody started singing the birthday song, as I cut the cake. Everybody then enjoyed the cake, not before smearing some on my face.

The surprise party made my birthday extra special and a memorable one indeed. It was the best birthday I have had for a long time… all thanks to my friends who planned it all so perfectly.

Thanks guys. I am glad I have friends like you all. We Rock!!

Parting Away..?

It was 2^nd of January, 2006, and I was standing at the lobby of the NE Technologies building. It was the first day of my first job, and I was full of apprehensions and my mind was driven by different kind of thoughts. There were around ten of us joining the company that day. The voice of the chitchatting group of girls echoed the lobby. There were two other guys besides me. One of them was a very prominent personality. He wore a chequered yellow woollen sweater, was hefty and stood with a holding a helmet in his hand and a smile on his face. I smiled at him and asking his name. He replied… “Rajendra Barve…” We then spoke to the third guy (Vibhav). We shook our hands together… but little did I know that I had just shook hands with a man who will have a great impact and leave an everlasting mark in my life ahead…

As we began our career with NE Technologies together, even though there were four of us in the team, I and (Rajendra) Barve gelled together very well and began working together with great team spirit with no wicked feelings of competition. As I got to know him more, I discovered Barve was a real extrovert to the core. He couldn’t stop help himself from talking to people. He showed an approachable nature, and hence made friends easily with new people. He loved talking and mocking with everyone, irrespective of guys and girls. We both had a lot of commonality in our framework of thoughts. And yet there were many things which were diverse and which we often argued about… Barve has been a staunch RSS follower (Unlike me) and an ardent admirer of Manohar Parrikar (Like me). He is passionate about religion and patriotism and dares to dream and think differently. He knows his goals in the long run, and is focussed to work towards them. Emotional by nature, he thinks more by heart then brain.

For me, it would be injustice to say that he has been a wonderful friend. A friend he has always been, but like an elder brother he has been like a guide and was always there with his advices without even asking. Like a critic, he has also been straightforward in expressing and pointing out my mistakes or when it came to giving a frank opinion about me. And like a friend, he has always highlighted and reminded me of my strengths when I looked to waver and moving towards negativity.

We have seen it all… We have even been through a worst stage of differences, misunderstandings and spats that we ever could have imagined. And yet the friendship prevailed above all these unpleasant things. Yet, he was rock-solid standing besides me with all the support which I needed, when I was in the worst situation of my life.

He says that he loves me, but I don’t love him as much. He thinks that my dedication towards friendship is always “professional”. His naughty and provoking taunts still irk me. His taglines about me- “Hindu Priest”, “Dev Manoos” and “The man who should be destroyed from this world”, do sometimes irritate me. Those bitter comments during coffee in cafeteria do make me angry. And all those smiles with different meaning, conveys a lot of things with no words. But that’s all the speciality of the kind of friendship we share.

And now it is 15^th of October 2010 (soon approaching as I write), the day to part away with this wonderful friend. But are we really parting away? Does a mere changing of jobs mean parting away of friendship? If it so means, then it was never friendship!

Yes, it is parting away. Parting away of two professionals, in their career paths.

Remembering My Teachers

My mother would rise up early in the morning, and go to the neighbour’s bungalow, to collect flowers from their garden. She would collect roses, shoeflowers and some other beautiful flowers, and make a beautiful bouquet out of it. Holding that bouquet with pride, I would go to my school. In the classroom, I would proudly show the grand bouquet to my fellow classmates, with a “my-bouquet-is-better-then-yours” look. And then I would feel even more proud to present this bouquet to my teacher, and receive her thanks and blessings. This was how we celebrated “Teacher’s Day” during our primary school days.

Then during the secondary school, it was again a different story. The classes would begin in the afternoon. We would get a little less then half-an-hour before the classes began. We would assemble together near the blackboard, and start decorating it with the quote, “Happy Teacher’s Day”. With colourful chalks some of us who were good in drawing (I was one of them), used to chalk out the best of our drawings. The teachers would then admire our work of art. They were courteous enough not to wipe out the blackboard, and teach the lessons without using the blackboard on that day.

But as we grew older, the enthusiasm of celebrating teacher’s day was overshadowed, may be because of the seriousness or the responsibility that the higher classes came with. Today is September the fifth! It’s the teacher’s day, yet again. It just struck me today, that now we are a part of the society. We are individuals, with an identity of our own. We have a job or a business of our own. But we no longer celebrate teacher’s day! The day of those teachers, who are the sculptors of the sculpture that we are today. It is because of them, that we are, what we are today!

In the view of the above thought, I decided that this teacher’s day, I would write something, remembering my teachers, all those teachers who have influenced my life the most, and who have left a mark in my life. This writing is dedicated to all my teachers, who mean a lot to me.

Christina D’Souza. (Tuition Teacher, Primary Schooling)

She was my tuition teacher, who shaped the most preliminary days of my schooling. She coached me during my 2nd, 3rd and 4th Std. During those days, we used to stay in a rented flat, and she used to stay in the flat adjacent to us. And since she was my neighbour, I was her only student who used to address her by calling “Aunty”, unlike others, who addressed her as “Teacher”.

She taught me the most basic lesson of discipline in studies. Homework and classwork are taken care by all tuition-teachers. But she was the one to inculcate in me, the habit of doing lessons beforehand. Once the lesson which is going on in class was done, she used to teach me the next lesson. “But Aunty, this lesson is not taught for us yet!” I would say, in the anticipation of going home early. But she would say, “Yes, but we will learn it, so that when you are taught that lesson, you will know it better then your friends”. And I was not too happy with this idea, as it would mean another hour in the tuition, even if I was done with the homework and lessons.

This habit of learning the lessons beforehand vanished as I passed out of primary, and I was no longer her tuition student. But I will always be indebted to her for trying to inculcate in me, the habit of preparing the lessons beforehand, and also a habit of self-learning, which is a real requisite, for higher studies.

Miss. Mahadevan (4th Standard, St. Annes School)

Miss. Mahadevan, was a known strict teacher of our days, in St. Annes School. She was a south-indian lady, wore a sari and applied sandalwood gel on her forehead, instead of a bindi. She was always good to me, as I was among the top-5 in the class. But when it came to writing, I was the slowest.

She raised her voice on me, which scared me out of my wits, when I would not complete my copy-writing on time. “What will you do in secondary school?? The teachers there won’t wait for you as I do!!” She said. She told my parents and other teachers about my slow writing, which embarrassed me. But that made me work on my slow writing speed. Fearing her, I practiced writing fast, and by the time I passed the fourth standard, I had improved quite a lot with my writing speed. All thanks to Miss. Mahadevan and her loud and stern shouts.

Fermina Rodrigues (5th to 7th Standard, Bhatikar Model High School)

Fermina Teacher was my favourite teacher during my school days. And, I will be brave enough to write, that it was vice-versa too! She used to often fondly call me “Zantye” ( after Harish Zantye, a famous Goan Industrialists ).

I still remember, during my early days in Bhatikar School, in 5th standard, she had given the class to write an essay on “My School”. Incidently, she made me read my essay aloud to the whole class, as she always did, the next day. And as I read the essay, she praised some of the sentences which I had put. She even praised me for some of the points which I had mentioned in the essay, and which other’s couldn’t think of.

I used to wait eagerly for Fermina teacher’s essay homeworks. And when she would give one, I would rub my palms, and tried my best with the essays. She always made me read my essays to the class, and this instilled in me a confidence that I had a flair for writing.

Today, writing is my hobby, and I write quite a lot, and enjoy it too. But I feel I should owe this hobby to Fermina Teacher, for sowing the seeds of this wonderful hobby in me.

Saritha Carvalho (8th to 10th Standanrd, Bhatikar Model High School)

Saritha Teacher was another favourite, during my senior days in Bhatikar School. She taught French and English. She had a motherly care for her students. If anyone of us tried to cheat her, then she caught hold of us very easily. But she would never raise her voice. She would say with a calm voice, and touching her hair, “I have grey hair!!”

And I owe the neat handwriting that I have today, to her. I had a miserable handwriting during those days, which even my cousins and relatives would notice. Saritha Teacher took charge of improving my handwriting. She used to refuse to correct my book. Make me write it again, with a better writing. She advised me, “Straight or forward-slanted handwriting is always a good sign. Back-slanted handwriting is not a good writing” (I had a back-slant).

I worked a lot on my handwriting, practiced writing in forward slants. Initially, I had problems, and my handwriting worsened because of the change in the slant. But over a period of time, and with Saritha Teacher’s guidance, by the time I was in 10th standard, I had pretty descent handwriting. And when I would submit my book to Saritha Teacher, she would admire and say, “Handwriting is good!” That is a reward I still cash!

S. P. S. Kakodkar (First, Second and Third year, BSc, Chowgule College)

Kakodkar Sir was always an inspiration. He was an exceptional teacher no doubt, but along with that, he was a tremendous motivator. He always encouraged his students to approach life positively. I remember once, when I was apprehensive about a particular experiment for my chemistry practical, he motivated me by saying, “Eliminate the word ‘Fear’ from your dictionary”. Those words became the driving force for me to face the practical exams without fear.

Even now, when I fear during certain stages of my life, those words echo in my mind – “Eliminate the word ‘Fear’ from your dictionary”.

Animesh Adhikari (All semesters of MSc in Information Technology, Chowgule College)

Adhikari Sir, has been a mentor throughout MSc (I.T.). He was simple, down-to-earth, and spoke a little. His fluency in his subject, and the way he assessed our assignments really prepared us for what was to come in the real life. His knowledge and love for the subject always inspired me.

A few words of wisdom, which he passed on to me, just before passing out of my MSc were, “Your real learning starts at your workplace. Here we get you acquainted and expose you to different technologies and opportunities.”

And those words of wisdom stood vindicated in my mind, as I started my career in the software industry, I got to know that learning in college was far different then what we learn in the industry. And as he said, real learning does start at workplace.

******

This space is just not enough for those cherished moments I had with my teachers. I could mention only some teachers here, but I remember each and every one of them, as each of them has a contribution to the individual that I am today. This writing was just a way to remember them and in my own way, convey a –

THANK YOU

To Grandpa, With Love

Memories they say, are immortal. Fond memories of people who we love, and who have loved us, stay with us. Life and death is at the mercy of Mother Nature, but mightier then the rules of nature, is the human mind, which keeps the people we love, alive forever!

My Grandpa, (Maternal Grandfather) has always been a prominent personality in the chapters of my memories. He, I have been told by my mother, was very strict as a father. He was a staunch follower of discipline, and any indiscipline in his presence, did not stop him from raising his voice! But I had no reason to believe this. Like all kids, I as a child did not enjoy the restrictions of discipline. When Grandpa was around, I could savour the luxury of my liberty, the most. If my mother raised her voice or hands on me, Grandpa would quickly come to my support and shield me. “Don’t beat him” he would say, “Explain it to him nicely and politely. My grandson is intelligent. He will understand”… And I would get away!!

But he did teach me discipline too. He would often come to stay at our place on weekends. Sunday was my favourite day, as I could rise up late that day. But not when Grandpa was around. He would come and sit besides me on my bed, early in the morning, and start chatting with me. He shook me holding my shoulders, and would say, “Do you hear me?? Come on, wake up, and talk to your Grandpa.” That was his way to teach me to rise early, even on a Sunday.

As a kid again, I was not so tidy, when it came to my room, or study table. My study table had books and pens all over the place. The cricket bat, stumps, the ball, and a dozens of comic books, just lied here and there in my room. Grandpa never said anything, but he used to quietly start working on the table, putting the books in order, pen in the pen-container and the comic books in their rightful place in the cabinet. And then he used to tell me, “I should see your room neat and clean like this, the next time I come here.” And next time, when I came to know Grandpa was coming, first thing I did was clean my room neat and tidy.

Grandpa had always been the person, I could trust to look back on, when some of my stubborn “demands” were turned away by my parents. And not to miss the ice-creams and those expensive chocolate packs that I got without any demand. I would pounce on them with delight… but would grumble when Grandpa called me to his bed, and told me to massage his legs. Then he would say, “You are lucky you have a Grandpa … I had never seen mine… And you will remember me after I go…”

But when it came to his birthday, I had my special way of wishing him. I gathered all my crayons, water colours, paints and brushes, made a greeting card, paint it with my best drawings, and birthday wishes, decorate the cards with rose petals, and on his birthday, gift it to him while wishing him. The joy that showed when he saw those cards was enormous. He treasured all those cards with him. The rose petals would dry away and wither. But the cards still rested there, safe and sound, decorating his table in his cabin of the Cloth Store that was now run by his sons. Rested on that same table, there always lied my photo. And when customers often asked him, “Who is that?” he would proudly say, “That’s my grandson!”

As I grew up, inspired by the IT revolution, I aspired to be a Software Engineer. Grandpa was happy about my ambition, and always asserted and adviced me that I should try my luck in Bangalore, as his favourite newspaper “The Economic Times” told him about the IT opportunities there. He was always eager to see me kick-off my career.

That day, was my first day at office. This was my first job, after graduation. Though I was preparing for my post-graduation entrance, I decided to take up this modest data-entry job, just to get the industry exposure, and keep myself busy. As the bus headed towards office, I looked outside the window, and thought… “I should meet Grandpa and tell him about my new job today evening. Though this is not what I want to do, he will still be happy about my first job!” And I made up my mind to meet him that evening.

That evening when I reached home, the door was locked. My parents are out I thought. And I went to the neighbour’s house where they usually kept the key if they had to go out. The lady came out holding the key. Her face was surprisingly straight, and dull. She said in a low voice, “I am sorry to inform you, but your Grandpa expired today. Your parents wanted to call you. But today was your first day in office. They didn’t have any contact number to reach you.”

The ground below me collapsed that second. I could not believe what I was hearing. I wanted to meet Grandpa this evening. Tell him about my first job. Tell him about my post-graduation plans. And my career aspirations. He would be happy to hear it I thought. But now he was gone… Gone forever. And I could not even pay my last respects to him. Destiny had painted a very unfortunate picture of my Grandpa’s farewell.

But that wasn’t his farewell. He always remained, and still is alive in my memories. And on his birthday (11 July) I dedicate this writing to him, as I remember him... Now I know what he meant, when he said, “You will remember me when I go!”