Blog # 1 Dated: 17 April 2022 (See Blog # 74 for details contained in this Blog)

Dear Reader,

Thanks for looking at my blog. You may be curious to know why I decided to start a blog. I have seen eighty-one winters and eighty summers as of today.  I became an Engineer by accident and that profession helped me to put food on the table and help me to provide for my family. After my retirement from the job and with children starting to live their lives without needing my active participation help and guidance, I found a lot of free time at my disposal. I utilized my free time to improve my gardening skills and read books on religion, real-life stories, and current affairs. In the process, I have acquired an experience of life that I thought I should share the same with all of you. Maybe it helps you. There is one more reason. I have always been eager to know how people used to live in the past. None of our ancestors have left a record of their lives and events around during their time. I feel sad about that. Rajtarangini has been written but to me, it is a general one and I needed one which could be read from a reader's individual perspective.  I for myself am doing exactly the same thing here in the blog for the benefit of future generations.

The next question could be " Who I am?" The answer to this is not that easy. I would be opening my life window to you bit by bit so that you get the answer in due time. I was born in Srinagar Kashmir. My parents told me that. They also said that it was a day in October in the year 1941. The birth did not take place in a hospital. At that time almost all births used to happen in the home and were aided by midwives.  There was no procedure to record the births and deaths in Government documents. This in fact created some issues in my life. Once in my adult life, I was required to submit a birth certificate to a foreign government. It was mentioned that failure to produce the same would cause my case with the Government to be rejected. Resigning to the fact of my case rejection, I, however, wrote a letter to that Government wherein I detailed the life and procedures that were in vogue in my place of birth during the period of my birth. I emphasized that there would be no record of birth and death and therefore no birth certificates existed at that time. I mentioned in the letter that the date given by the parents at the time of admission to the school would get accepted without any cross-questions. The administration clerk would look at the child and then take a look at the birth date conveyed by the parent. In most cases, there would be no issues. This date conveyed casually could then get recorded on all school, college diplomas, Government documents all life. A few days after I had sent the letter to the Foreign Government, I received a letter in response, thanking me for the explanation about the birth certificate issue as relating to me. They accepted my date of birth as per my statement and I was accepted into the program.

We are four brothers and a sister who happens to be the youngest of the lot. I was second in the line. We lived in a house with cousins all presided by grandparents. I do not remember the first few years of my life but I am told that I looked very cute and I was a very disciplined child and would be very cooperative. My parents had delayed cutting my hair probably till the fourth year of my life. I looked like a girl. I have heard my mother wish frequently that I was a daughter and not a son to her. 

When I was around five years old, I was taken to a school that was about five minutes' walk from our house. No interviews, no admission fees, no Aadhar/PAN cards of my parents. (Those days none of these existed.) All that I was expected to bring to the school was a wooden slate called "mashak" in the local language, a pen made out of a plant similar to bamboo (called "narkel" kalam in the local language), and a small inkpot. The ink was grey-colored soil (called "seff" in the local language) suspended in water. The school was housed in a two-floor domestic use building having about seven rooms. The ventilation was poor. No electricity, therefore no fans or heaters. The natural light through the open windows would be barely sufficient for us. All children would sit on floor grass mats (called "vaguv" in the local language). One rickety chair for the teacher and a wooden blackboard supported on an easel would be the furniture in the classroom. Of course, no curtains or glass in the window panes.  One tap in premises for all the school children and staff to quench our thirst. There was no compound/ or lawn. We would be playing (shouting a lot) in the classrooms only. When we needed to play outside the school during a recess break, it would be on the road outside. Only one teacher (only male as there would be no female teachers) was assigned to one grade who would be teaching the Urdu language alphabet and numerical. In fact, it would be like a flock of sheep herded by a shepherd. Just to control the children from doing mischief. The children would be sent to school by their parents so that they could have some peaceful time for themselves. The school would be closed for winter vacations for about three months. In March it was time for annual exams which were all oral. The teacher would call each child one by one (with the rest of the children watching in the same class) and ask a question or two to test their knowledge. In less than half an hour the oral exams of 30 children would be over. The result would be declared in the last week of March. The school headmaster would come to the classroom with some loose sheets in hand. All children would silently and eagerly await the announcement of the results. The headmaster would declare " Sare bachey pass" Immediately the children would react with a huge roar (similar to the one when Appolo landed on the moon) and run away from the classroom (with some even slipping on the stairs during the rush). The children would be shouting and running all the way to their homes. The parents could hear that the children have passed the grade. No report cards our time.           

Before the new class would start, the next grade room would need to be cleaned. The teacher would select two to three boys out of the lot. I was one of them in my fourth grade. I was asked to go to my home to get the broom. The second boy was asked to get a bucket. The third boy was asked to get a four-foot rod.  I considered it an honor to be selected for the cleaning unit. I ran to my home to get the broom. My mother told me to make sure that I get back the broom after the job was done. I reached the class. By that time, the other two children duly supervised by the teacher had removed the grass mats. Now it was time first to clean the dust on the floor. The boy with the bucket had already, filled it with water and was waiting for me. I reached the classroom but would not let off the broom. The water from the bucket was sprinkled on the room floor (to help settle the dust). I started the brooming operation and it resulted in huge clouds of dust (not inferior to the dust clouds after the atomic explosion in world war 2). The teacher wanted me to pass on the broom to the other boy but I refused. (I had promised my mother that I would take care of the broom and get it back) Ultimately I was able to collect all the dust in a heap. The bucket was used to carry it off the room and deposit it on the road outside. Now it was time to clean the mats. Two of us held the mat in a vertical position. The third boy would beat it with the rod. The dust would leave the mat and dissipate into the surrounding air. The process would be continued for a considerable time till the teacher felt that further dusting may result in the mats getting torn off. The mats were put into position just before sundown. All of us returned to our homes. I was a proud boy back home for returning with the broom and being a selected one at the school. (Selection is an honor always whether for a prestigious program or a cleaning job)  

Signing off. Follow me tomorrow. I will be here again with more.