Walking down memory lane........

I DEDICATE THIS STORY TO THE MAN I ADMIRED MOST IN MY LIFE - MY FATHER.

My name is Rajeev. I lived in the 400-year old city of Hyderabad from 1978 - 1991, until I moved to Bangalore for my further studies. I visited Hyderabad after a span of 8 years (the last time I visited Hyd was in 1996).

My brother and me were in the Blue color Volvo bus, which is a new mode of transport these days compared to the old "Deluxe" buses. The Volvo bus cruised into the old city of Hyderabad through it's old roads, mosques, and buildings. The fragrance of Hyderabad was as fresh as it was about 8 years ago. As usual the the roads were dirty, dusty, and very few people were seen as it was too early in the morning. We cruised through "Old City," passed through the old Nampally station, Tank Bund, and alighted the bus at Paradise, a landmark of the city by itself.

We took our bags and the first thing we did was sit down in one of the "Irani" restaurants and had a cup of pure, authentic Hyderabadi "chai." I do not find words to describe the pleasure I felt when I had the chai there. This was something I was missing, I realized. My eyes were trying to find out the places we used to move around. "Akbar," the old Irani restaurant was out, and in was the new Persis Fast Food Joint. One of Hyderabad's oldest landmarks was gone, I thought to myself; so many memories have been washed away with that. Flyovers everywhere. My city had changed. We took a rickshaw to Nacharam, where my brother's friends stayed. We were supposed to stay there and share the house with them (cost cutting). We passed through many of the old places we grew up.

First of all, we passed Parade Ground, the ground where we as kids used to play cricket. Behind the ground was an ancient (British Aged) Christian cemetry. Memories were there too. Ephraim, my old friend in class 4 was buried there. How could I forget that? My first confrontation with death. That was a spooky area for us as children as people had various ghost stories to tell us. I lived most of my life in Secunderabad. We passed that area and entered the street, which held the city's most decent Girl's school, St. Anns. It still was a fortress as usual. As adolescent children, we always wanted a peek in that school. Opposite the school, I saw my first school, Kotwal. I heard from my friends that they had decided to close it down. Unfortunate, I thought to myself. That was the school, which gave me my building blocks, enabled me to gel with people, get along well with others, and a lot more than I can currently think of. We passed the old St. John's church and school. I looked at it, the church had withstood history itself, earthquakes, rain, sunshine, everything. We got on the road towards Tarnaka, which was comparatively a new area. Again, on a flyover and down. Finally, we landed at MayFlower Apartments, which was going to be our residence for the next couple of days.

I had a shower and eagerly went out to see my city. I went to Sangeet Theater, which was one of the oldest theaters in Secunderabad. I could see the spiral Sangeet Board on the top as usual. Nothing had changed. The Irani Cafe next to it was there, so was Fantasy (the first place where we tasted Burgers). I walked past Sangeet and saw the young college going crowd, standing by the theater's wall, smoking, chewing paan, and talking about everything, but career and their future (forgetting that we were the same a decade ago). I saw a middle-aged man, about 45, who was repairing a scooter and a child, about 13 - 14 years old standing next to him with dirty clothes on, grease all over his face and a screwdriver in his hand. He was probably the child's father, I wondered. I was also wondering what the boy was doing there at that time, when he was supposed to be in school. I could see in his eyes, the glimpse of an urge to go to study, wear clean clothes, eat good food, etc. They were dreams for him, as he saw a couple of school boys pass by with their heavy schoolbags and water bottles, and lunchpacks. I passed them thinking that I was lucky to have a good childhood. I got to the junior college where I studied, St. Mary's Centenary Junior College. Nothing had changed. The college was as it was with a huge blue gate, but the color of the walls had changed from grey to light pink. I decided not to go inside as it would take the rest of my evening and I did have less time at my disposal. I saw a man on a scooter. His younger son was standing in the front and the elder one was sitting behind him. I thought of how Appa used to leave us to the bus stop to go to school. Tears rolled down my eyes. Neither was Appa there, nor was our childhood, and neither was that scooter. I walked on. On my left was the DCB bank building, which once hosted the Thomas Cook office, I thought to myself. Next to that was one thing that had not changed, the fruit vendor. He had been there ever since we came in, in 1978 (atleast thats what I thought) and he was there today. I was happy that somethings had not changed. On my right was the St. Mary's church, with its huge tower and a big bell on it. It was a Catholic church. I went inside the vast compound it had, memory was fresh. I used to go there with Ajay Christopher Gopinath, who was a regular church goer and he never had any reservations taking me there. I walked on. Rodi Mistry's house, a big bunglow was now Global Trust Bank. I still remember the lane beside that, Sebastian Road. There were memories which flashed my mind, some good, some bad, but memories overall. Golden Foods, the local shop, from where we used to buy eggs, milk, cheese, and other milk products, was gone. It changd with time, it was now one of the many fast food joints in the city. I did go inside and inquired about Anwar, the old owner and a very close friend, who was no more a familiar name in the new shop. Walking down from Golden Foods, I passed the New Citi Hospital, which was closed down for renovation. Opposite that I saw something and was shocked. The old school, St. Pius, was plundered and all that remained were ruins. The roof was damaged, foliage all over the building. Alas, the school was no more.

Something cheered me up almost immediately, the sight of Garden Restaurant, established 1923, was written on the building. I went inside and had a cup of "chai" It almost made my day. YMCA was as it was. The Big Ben of our childhood, the Clock Tower was also renovated, but for the better of it. It, for once, I thought, showed the right time. The park had been extended. On the other side of the park was the age old church, established 1877. That was a protestant church to which my neighbors Prasanna, Suresh, and Sunita used to go. A road away from the church, I looked aghast, Shanghai Dry Cleaners, D'Souza cold Storage Shop and all the other ones, which I relished to go to as a kid, were gone. My heart suddenly felt heavy, memories flashed past my mind, but then what has a beginning, has to have an end, I thought to myself.

My life had changed, life had become more mechanical, money oriented, and more materialestic. I never knew that I could take Appa's place.

I could visualize a middle-aged man walking on the street where I was standing, with two children and his wife. No money with him, no food, no sleep, but a load of responsibilities. Worries crossing his mind about where to take his family, but always with a smile on his face. In that old city, where he had received the highest of laurels and recognizations, but that day he was all alone, thinking of how to hold his family together.

That middle aged man was my father, Ramdas Shamanna Malur. A man beyond comparison when it came to caring and loving. All that day I was left with was MEMORIES, MEMORIES, & MEMORIES.

I thought to myself, "Yes! It is true. Every father is a hero to his son." I walked away, my head held down, remembering what we had gone through in that city. There were good times and bad, but as a human that I am, all I could recollect were the sad times of my youth and the troubles my father had faced................LIFE HAS TO GO ON....