Korigad 11/10/2014 by Kavita Shivdasani
It was trekking time again. About
a fourth of the class signed up out of which a fourth chickened out last minute
with the usual excuses of, “had viral infection”, “has a bad cough so I am sure
he will puke”, “it is too hot”, “you guys are leaving too early” and so on and
so forth. So finally we were left with a grand total of sixteen kids. To quote
my long suffering bus driver Kaalu “pehle toh pachaas seater bus kam parta tha
aur ab pachees seater bhi khali lagta hai…”
Two mums Geeta and Anju, decided
to brave it out as assistants along with my trekking resource personnel
Prashant and Ameya. While the kids entertained themselves on the bus journey to
our trekking destination Korigad Fort the two mums and myself gossiped about my
hey days when it was normal to have nothing less than two and a half bus loads
(about 80 – 120 ) of kids accompanied by enterprising and plucky mums to
destinations in and around Bombay. In fact our explorations had taken us to places
like Vada for rappelling and river crossing, Nashik to check out the paper
mills, its history, Dahanu for the chickoo orchards, bee keeping and visiting
the gold jewellery mould makers, Asoo village to hobnob with the gram
panchayat, watch “kushti” and understand the workings of the village market
committee, Badlapur for night star gazing, Karla Caves in Lonavala, Nath Gufa
for trekking and more.
Anju whose older one had attended
the KYE classes in those golden years enlightened Geeta that I used to be “three
times more aggressive and crazy” in those days. I confess I definitely did the
description justice. It was the days when cell phones were a thing of the
future and the only way I could keep track of the second and third bus was
standing at the head of the first bus staring out of the rear window. If I lost
sight of the following vehicles I would order Kaalu the driver of the lead bus
to halt until the others caught up. If it took longer (in my opinion) than
necessary I could be seen performing a war dance demanding to know why the
other two drivers were being lackadaisical. A loud whistle was an effective way
to silence a busload of equally vociferous kids and efficiently communicate
what was expected of them. Anyone who did not toe the line was in for some big
time trouble.
For indoor class no one was
allowed to enter class late and since most of them never wanted to miss class
lateness was a rare occurrence. Pinakin Thakker once scaled the locked gate of New Era
School Huges Road side to
get to class on time. The normal entry point was from the Tejpal Lane but that was the longer way
in and he would have been late. However the irate watchman caught him by the
scruff of his neck and the time lost in evading the captor cost him the
advantage he had gained from the illegal entry not to mention all the
unmentionable remarks from my end when I finally opened the class door at break
time. Pinakin chose to hang around and brave the watchman and me instead of
scooting home – a pointless expenditure of energy -because he knew full well
his mom Dolly would send him scooting right back to face me.
New parents would wait for
admission time and huge crowds of mums would “gherao” me and demand to know if
there was a vacancy for their child. Each mum would compete for attention by
tapping my shoulder or yanking my arms as I struggled with my mile long waiting
list. Alok Nanda the creative head of Trikaya would wait patiently at the
periphery of this heaving mass of ladies hoping his kid had made it on the
admissions list. I would helplessly shake my head in regret. Alok would
stoically return each trimester until he finally hit pay dirt exactly nine
months later – the time it takes to conceive and deliver a baby.
Today I seem to be spending time
tugging parents to encourage their children to participate in KYE activities.
As Anju aptly stated “my life has completed a full circle”.
If on-line posts are anything to
go by it would appear the latest trend is to holiday in five star resorts
posing with the food, in front of the pool or carefully manicured lawns or the
elegantly styled hotel in the background. Ah not to forget the children
receiving life lessons pretending to be “dabbawallas” in the air conditioned
play malls with a Rs. 4000/- per head entry charge.
But I believe nothing can be more
magical than watching the kestrel with wings outstretched, buoyed by invisible
thermal energy, suspended motionless below the blue sky and above the highest
point of the fort.
And I know nothing can outshine
the melodious call of the barbet or the mating chorus of the cicadas as we headed
up the hill side.
And I believe nothing could
exceed the exhilaration of the wind rushing by as we stood just below the
Ganesh Darwaza entry into the Korigad Fort and Prashant our trekking guide had
to hold onto 4 year old Mahi with one hand and his hat with the other, so both
would not fly away.
And as we stared mesmerized, I
know nothing could surpass the simple beauty of the measureless expanse of long
grass continuously undulating in the breeze like silvery green ocean waves
And I believe nothing could go
beyond the pain of walking over the hot sharp stone to the ultimate and
exquisite pleasure of the cool and healing waters of the lakes inside the
Korigad Fort.
