HMV- an Epitaph
I was saddened to read a news that HMV, the iconic symbol of gramophone records of my time, is closing down. It felt as if one old link with my past was snapped. The symbol of a dog listening to “his master’s voice” had become a part and parcel of my psyche. ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/His_Master%27s_Voice ). This took me back to my first encounter with the good old gramophone, a purely mechanical device. It was in fifties during our summer sojourn in my grandfather’s expansive bungalow in Durgigudi Extension, Shimoga, Karnataka. The gramophone had a place in the first floor of the house which was nothing but a huge (everything appeared huge as a child) hall and nothing else. We cousins used to congregate from Bareilly, Delhi with those in-house and have a field day in that hall, away from the prying eyes of our parents and grandparents. Our favourite N mama (the youngest of Mamas) who was our hero, friend and guide would be part of it. Sometimes our other J mama would