Pondering potpourri

The sound of the radio waft­­s in along with the smell of samosas and other savouries being prepared in the adjoining eating joint. The paanwallah who does not take lightly to offenders has a small placard with a list of his defaulters, on whom he bestows innovative but unparliamentary titles. Seated on his high chair he prepares paan with a great flourish, choosing the best betel leaf from the bowl smearing it with lime and ‘katha’ sprinkling some masala and carelessly throwing in a betel nut or two, before dexterously folding the leaf and presenting it to his regular patrons.

Although his name, Natwar, may remind one of a vile Bollywood villain but his appearance is a complete antithesis to it. Bespectacled and clad in a white dhoti with a little pony tail or ‘bodhi’ he conjures up the image of the quintessential pandit in a hindi movie. The archaic transistor by his side seems to be his best buddy and often the soft strains of old Hindi songs from it, break the monotony in my office. Sometimes it is a welcome distraction for me, especially when I catch snatches of one of my all time favourites but very often I wish I had ear muffs to keep away the jarring sound of disturbances in transmission and other not so pleasant tunes. This manoeuvres my stream of consciousness to other times in the past.

Radio’s and I have been at loggerheads since childhood. In the early days my room was adjacent to Chaji’s (my grand uncle) who till date turns on his radio at 5 am. As a child it served as an alarm as well as an irritant for me.

The AIR Bareilly service (the only one in Nainital, at that time) would begin with ‘Vande Mataram’ and I would toss and turn in bed to shut out the sound (no disrespect for the beautiful composition but at 5 am Vande Mataram only heralded a woeful morning for me). Next came the Akaashvaani news in that typical staid ‘propah propah’ hindi news readers, belonging to the old school BBC, accent. Followed by a scrutiny of the headlines for the day and then the daily recital of a part of ‘Ramcharitra Manas’. This was like a wakeup call for me since it meant that it was already 7 and time for school. Sometimes the sounds from the neighbours radio too would filter in to compete with the already existing ones and I felt caught in a web of hotchpotch hum.

In college I thought I had broken the radio jangle jinx but there were substitutes. In the hostel (As all IP hostellers would know) calls were announced over a microphone. One would often be shaken out of peaceful slumber by the Matron’s monotonous tone, announcing someone’s phone call.

There was no peace to be found even when I was out of college. The raucous radio came to haunt me again, this time as an accomplice of a portly lady next doors, who began her day with 'Gurbani' on her radio and joined in at the end with enthusiastic chants of “Jo bole so Nihaal” . Then followed her daily dose of Punjabi songs, many a times I have fought the urge of barging in to her house and decimating her device into pieces.

How certain episodes from childhood play on our psyche throughout our lives, to this day I simply get agitated with these sounds for no greater reason than they disturbed my sleep and were associated with waking up for school, exams, results and all things that I dreaded.