Sangeetha Matthu Dharma



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My Train Journeys in 50's and 60's

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      My childhood was spent in Bareilly in North, far away from Shimoga, in Karnataka  and Parvatipuram in Andhra where my grandparents lived. So travelling southwards during our school vacations in summer was an annual ritual which we keenly looked forward to. Travel was invariably by Indian Railways. Bus or air travel was ruled out due to the distances and the cost factor. Of course, in my case we could avail of free travel by Indian Railways since my father was a medical officer in the Railways.  It used to be rather a long journey. Our schedule of typical journey by Rail from Bareilly (UP) to Shimoga (then Mysore State) used to be like this:- Day 1- Start from Bareilly in the night. Day 2 Reach Delhi the next morning.           Take train to Chennai (then Madras) in the evening called Grand Trunk Express. Day 3- Spent in the train. Meals usually from Railway Catering Day 4 -  Reach Madras in the Evening. Take Bangalore Mail in the night. Day 5-  Reach Ban
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HOLI MEMORY- A TALE FROM CHILDHOOD

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   ( Above picture is of Flower Fields,San Diego, clicked when we visited it in 2018) Reminiscences of Holi:  I had been planning to write about my Holi experiences since long but kept putting it off. This time I made up my mind to write about it. It was the late fifties when I was in my middle school. Place : Bareilly, Uttar Pradesh We were residing in a Railway colony which was a small world in itself. Our activities for the HOLI used to start with organising for Holika Dahan  ( Holika,  the sister of the demon king Hiranyakashipu  , was killed in the fire) .   There was an open place in our colony earmarked for it. A couple of days before Poornima ( Day of Holika Dahan), a Pooja was conducted at the site and initial collection of fuel ( Wood, cow dung cakes and other combustible materials) were collected and placed there. Then the task of gathering more fuel was taken over by the Bachcha Party (we) under the guidance of a few elders. We used to go house to house requesting for dona
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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
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