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Writer's pictureRanga Veeravalli

Serendipity, Choice, Destiny - ch.2

Updated: Jun 28, 2020



.. it was a balmy morning in may 1979 when the bombay mail drew into the only platform for the long-distance trains in dadar station, both then and now, which is in itself a small curiosity that i don’t think anyone else has noticed or remarked about till now that i know of ! :)


i got off the train there. as was told to me to do, i climbed the internal overbridge and walked almost all the way towards west across, to come down on the last of them platforms on western railway side of the dadar station, got into a train going back up north towards andheri, after ensuring from the lit boards above that it was not a ‘fast’ train that would not stop at the next station, did not sit but stood at the entry way of the fairly empty train as it swiftly travelled towards the first station downstream, matunga road..


got off at the station, and walked down to the bijlee barkha complex that housed what now is called the movie times: starcity cinema theatre - which i think used to be a complex with more than one thatre, called by a different name then,( i think, as badal, bijlee and barkha theatres), to reach the apartment of the distant relatives that i was to stay with for those two days..


i rang the calling bell of the first-floor apartment by what must have been about 6.30 or 6.45, to be met by a somewhat astonished and a bit impressed folks there, who found it remarkable that a first-timer to the city and that too without knowing hindi, could find his way to their door so..


truth to say, their directions to me were excellent, and the bijlee theatre was a big help to locate their residential complex, though i did the navigating all by myself without asking anyone. of course, i was also a pretty ’street’ smart guy, even then…!! :)


as i washed and brushed and got a tumbler of coffee and stepped out on the balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard, i had the first of the several culture shocks that i awaited me..!


there was a badminton court there, and it was a sunday morning (idea was to reach sunday, rest, and go to the shipping corporation office bright and shining on monday for the interview..).


and down there were a set of one of the most breathtaking, fair-looking lot of shining young girls i had ever seen till then..! it was literally breathtaking, that i stopped breathing for a second or two !!


it was one of those only marathis' residential complexes, my hosts being the *only* exception tam-brams there. if you know them, the upper class Maharashtrians were/are of a kind of colour complexion that would be blinding alabaster shining fair-skins, and, in their nubile young women, it would be at its dazzling zenith..


there i was, in thrall, a dark-skinned madrasi, gawking in a state of utter disbelief and wonder at that lot - that i fell in love with *all* of them right then and there.. - the first of the many times i was to ‘fall’ in love like that ahead with those kind of fair lasses…!! :)

came the monday - bright and early i proceeded by train to churchgate, now a ‘veteran’ of the bombay suburban trains (! :), and once again walked my way - to the shipping corporation of india office at nariman point, again helped by the clear set of directions from the folks that i was staying with..


it was a new world, the tall buildings of nariman point, all glass and concrete and shining..!


the sci office stood perpendicularly across the sachivalay complex that housed the state government offices. the building was still waking up as i reached there early - with only the cleaners and the security folks opening things up..


since i came from the church-gate side, and going by the directions given, i ended up entering this building from its rear-end doors, by turning right into a smaller road, one sooner than what i was to do - but did not realise it - and thus was somewhat puzzled by its odd inner arrangements as i crossed its glass doors entering in.. LoL!!


i went up the elevator to the floor that housed the personnel department.., i think it was the 4th floor, and was then directed to go to the 7th floor i think, where the interviews were to take place..


already there were a few other guys like me who were there for the interviews. soon, more came. only difference was, i noticed quickly, that everyone of them had a parent in tow.., except me !!


i recall feeling “pretty grown up” right then and there.. :) :)


in a way these were silently the moments when i suddenly but emphatically did grow up, i reckon, thinking back.


beauty of it was, i was completely sure of myself, completely alien though all those settings were..


thinking back, it was indeed a marvel..!


soon everyone came, and a minor looking official came and sat at a desk in front of the doors to what looked like a small conference room where the interview was to take place.


he took the interview call letters from each of us, found our names on a list he had in front of him, ticked each of them solemnly and, with an air of importance, i remember, looked up at each of us after that, having read off some statistic about each one in that list/table there in his paper..


i sat down on a chair against the wall, and looked around.

the other guys all looked quite unremarkable like me, save one guy, who was an anglo-indian looking young man, who sat across me against the opposite wall, with a strikingly impressive chiseled face and features.


he was also alone like me, and as our eyes met, he smiled at me in a warm and quiet manner..


then he was called in for the interview. in time soon, in fact next to him, i was called in.


thus i entered to face my first ever interview in my life..! there were i think four or five people, all male, in that panel. i think one of them was wearing the merchant marine all-white uniform, but was without his cap.. at that time i didn’t know how to read off the ranks from his epaulets so i didn’t even think it then.. the rest were are all dressed in usual civvies, but no jackets or ties..


the interview was something of a slight disappointment in my mind.

after the usual questions about my family and vital statistics on self, they went on to ask some questions to check my knowledge.. one of them was, i remember, “how does the steam engine of a train work”? somehow, it felt a bit pedestrian and a curious thing to ask..

i answered it, describing the innards of the long bullet nosed barrel of the engine, all the way to how the drive shafts to the wheels were pushed by the steam in that two way chamber that one would see standing on the platforms, from which the crank shafts would emerge, with steam idling out of its orifices.. one of the panelists asked me how the spent steam went out.. and i kind of drew that chamber cross-section on a paper kept there in front of me, and showed him..


in something of an anti-climax, the ‘interview’ got over then, after only one more question on ohm’s law or something.. ! and they all said, that’s all, thank you, all the best..


in all, it must have been not more than may be 10 or 12 minutes, as it appeared to me..


i recall looking at the watch on my wrist, which of course was my father’s that he had given me to wear for this ‘important’ occasion.. !! :)


i came out with somewhat mixed thoughts and unclear feelings, wondering if i didn’t impress them or what - even while not being very impressed myself of them..


as i came out, i saw that fellow behind the desk who checked our names against the list, and the other boy, the anglo-looking one, standing in front of him.


not sure if this was all, and to ask what else and what next to be done, i went up to that official. before i could ask my question, he looked up, saw me, and said, to this day i don’t know why, to me and the other boy, “you are the southern region rank #1 (other boy) and #2 (me) in the entrance exam, and all-india #7 (him) and #11 (me)..”


i thought, like, “hun’h?!” and then, “vow!” - in some wonderment. the other boy turned to me, extended his hand, and shook mine, saying “William Gonzalvez” - what for me and all the mates later was to become, “willie, gonzie”!! :).


i told him my name in return. he then turned and asked that officer, ‘how many people wrote the exam?” that man answered, as i recall, mentioning thirty-six-odd thousand and something number..


i didn’t know how to interpret that stat. couldn’t say if it was ordinary or anything big deal.., had no reference points to form an opinion.. so it slid by, with none of us there saying anything further, as i recall.


but at that point i got a visceral instinct that that office person was somehow feeling proud of/for/by us in some vicarious way, and was in fact keen to tell us that fact to feel good himself...


we moved off that table, and i asked gonzalvez where was he from. he said, bangalore. i said madras. we then bid each other goodbye, feeling pretty good not knowing why, in some precognition - as if we had known each other for longer.... ! :)


my way back from sci office to matunga west was now a care-free lark.. :)


i made my way leisurely, and reached there by about 1.30 or 2 pm.


the same night, i caught the now madras mail, as it was returning from bombay to madras, as it was called the way back.


and it was homeward ho….! :)


if you had travelled madras-bombay-madras by train, somethings would stick and stay in your memory.


curiously, mantralaya road station is one of them. unremarkable though the station itself was, in every way, the guava (round the year) and mango (in season) that came, were/are always good quality, delightfully tasty; as were the few minutes' standing on the platform, stretching the cramped limbs and the jaded mind.


mundane, yet persistent, pleasant memories.


reached home.


and, i was *not* the boy-man that left for bombay only a week ago, anymore.


as days went by, the college life reclaimed and embraced me again..



in life, it is as much *what* happens to you, as *how* you process what happens to you - that is the fork in the road, where, when you take the 'other' road - you are not the same again ever, thereafter.



to be continued.

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