Monday, August 7, 2017

Information please!

**Not my story. But worth sharing**


Image result for information please telephone            

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody's number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway - The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."

"I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?"

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."

After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.

And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.

"How do you spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.

Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between plane, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please".

Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?'

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really still you, I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."

"I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do, just ask for Sally."

Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" "Yes, a very old friend." "Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down, Here it is I'll read it 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean'."

I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.

- Paul Villard

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Welcome to the life of Self Worth

Just when I started to chronicle my first ever Solo trip, I came across this 1 year old draft. Headline - 3 years after marriage.

Life can really change in just one moment.

Anyway, not the mood to talk about the tornado that came and ruined the "married" life.

So... On 16th June'17, I embarked on this journey to cut loose from the daily mundane life and give myself a break. Some time to think about how to heal myself and prove to myself that I have the ability to make things happen.

Work brought me to Dehradun and a friend's guidance took me further on 'ToP of the Hill' as they say. 

On way to Mussoorie
Amazing weather. I took a sharing cab from the rainy Dehradun. 6 people stuffed in an old Ambassador with just one wiper - driving on the winding roads leading to Mussoorie. amidst heavy downpour. Wow... It was a marvelous experience.

The best part of the journey was getting drenched in rain twice. That feeling I can't define. The carefree, right in that moment, free from sadness, filled with excitement feeling. In all this I almost forgot that I was carrying my laptop with me. But! Worry not! My Nike backpack came to the rescue and saved my precious precious data.

Anyway... Once in Mussoorie, I met with Amit. He really is a gem of a person. Very thoughtful, gentle person who plays great music. Here is a picture of me and him at the Chick Chocolate (this amazing old English fashioned Cafe at The Mall Road.- Serves delicious Hot Chocolate and plays very good music). 




I will always remember the walk I took alone at The Mall Road at night after Amit left. Not only because of the pretty curves of the road or the street vendors selling the steaming hot boiled corns. But because, this was the first time in life when I was all on my own. But both happy and sad. A constant tussle between my 2 minds. One with same old questions - why did this happen? And the other pushing the first to shush, enjoy the moment and forget the past.
I guess it will be some more time before the two minds become ally and let me live in peace.

Anyway... I am determined to take things one at a time.

Its 9.45 am on 17th June. I have half a day in Mussoorie. Then I will leave for Dehradun after lunch to catch my train back to home sweet home.












--- Now writing this after coming from the trip. Sitting in office as I write.
17th June was indeed a very beautiful day. Sun was shining bright. The breeze was cold yet comforting. I started my day with stroll on the Mall road again. Looking for Pandit k Hot Gulab Jamun, chewy toffee and a few other things that were recommended by Ankit. Ankit spent his childhood in Haridwar and was a frequent visitor to Mussoorie.

Pandit k Hot Gulab Jamun at Bengali Sweet Shop


I met Amit and we took long walks on the roads of Mussoorie. He took me to the internal or the less frequented roads to show the localized version. I feel its very important to see a place from the eyes of a person who has lived there for quite some time. Gives you a perspective that you won't otherwise get if you visit like a tourist for a day or two. We went to Camel Back Road, saw far flung villages, Indian Scientific Telescope station, Old Mussoorie (where Mr. Ruskin Bond lives) etc. thorough Binoculars. Also... ate wild leaves, plucked right off the mountain, that tasted sour just like the Tamarind leaves.

Just a little down the road and on a cliff, there is Cafe Teetotaler. So beautiful with perfect landscaping, red bricks and blue doors. white table and a see-through roof to gaze at the clear blue sky. To be honest, I got drawn to it because of the music they were playing.






Another Cafe worth mentioning is Cafe By The Way. The entrance is easily miss-able. But once you notice it, you cannot unsee it. You would be drawn to climb the steep steps and explore the small and out-of-the-box decorations and furniture. We spent good amount of time playing Djenga. Eventually Amit won. But only because he distracted me and I ended up spilling the blocks everywhere.

Amit, Djenga and Chocolate Shake
Cafe By The Way



Finally once in train, I was all ready to spend a blissfull time reading "Thanks for memories - Cecilia Ahern". But was distracted (or rather entertained) by a chatty co-passenger. Who, just like me was excited to share his tales of DDN and Mussoorie travel.

*************************End of my first of many Solo Travels************************** 

Sunday, March 3, 2013

The new journey is about to begin

What started off as an exciting date setting up ritual by mom and dad seems to be coming at an end now. Guy almost finalized, families met, talks happening... and so on. I have started to feel nervous and jittery now. Is he the right one? Yesterday everyone came to our house. And I ended up being left alone with the chirpy lot of brothers, sisters, jijaz and bhabhiz. That's when for the first time I got a glimpse of how would it be to live among total strangers. Understand and laugh at their humor, speak their language so you could fit in, inside you feel like crying and yearning for your own cousins but outside pretend as if you are really having fun.
A sigh of relief came when i realised that it wasnt only me who was trying to fit in. They too were trying to involve me in their talks. Every now and then, they would call my name. Make me sit in the middle of the group. Yet nothing can ever ever ever beat the feeling of own family sitting next to you.
Hope to feel the same thing there as well someday...

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

The confused little birdie.

I wish it could be true as they say - Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dream !


That hope, I know, just shimmers from a distance for a while and then fades away to only lure me back after some time. The phase called Growing Up doesn't let it rest for long. 


As a kid I always wanted to grow up. I misunderstood the term and thought it had something to do with height and looks. Crazy was I to not see the intrinsic pain and hardship that lies beneath the superficial treats of growing up.


Why can't life still be like the joy of waking up in the evening, getting dressed by mum , going out shouting friend's name, playing, falling, crying not because of the pain but only to get pampered by mum and dad.


Wish the breeze could assure the little bird that it will always be around to help her fly.