links_
news_
Doris Day special
Feb 19, 2004
It was 1981 and my first assignment in the USA. We were in a tiny airport in Kalamazoo, Mich, attired in jackets with briefcases in hand.
It was a beautiful summer day and my colleague Hank was whistling, "People will say we are in love".
We were greeted at the small aircraft by a large billowy blonde with sparkling blue eyes. After settling down comfortably in my seat, I looked out.
Besides the nine people inside, three women in business suits were running towards the aircraft. Below, our blonde hostess was counting and hoisting bags into the hold.
A little later, she climbed in, pulling up the boarding ladder. The aircraft's engine continued to make a soft purring sound.
The blonde did a brisk head-count and then disappeared into the cabin. A few seconds later, at the time of departure, she was back, and spoke into a microphone.
"Good morning folks. I am Doris, your pilot. You are requested to have the safety belt on during the duration of the flight..." She went on to explain the safety and other pre-cautions, ending with, "Presently, you will be served refreshments."
She disappeared into the back of the aircraft and emerged with a large plastic bag, from which she handed out packets of pretzels and orange juice. Having done that she said, "We will now take off. Relax and have a pleasant flight, folks."
The small aircraft taxied down the tarmac, a bit bumpily and took off with a shudder.
After some time, with the steady drone of the aircraft, Hank closed his eyes. And before we knew it, our aircraft was descending. The voice over the PA system said, "Please straighten your seats and fasten your seat belts, we're about to land." Then the plane did a perfect landing.
The blonde was back in front of us. "Was that a good flight or what?", she gushed, smiling broadly at the passengers. "You did just fine, Doris," said an uniformed man sitting in the last row. She paused to wave to him, "I hope you enjoyed the flight as much as I did. Gosh, this is the first time I have flown a plane alone."
Hank blinked several times, and his jaw dropped, as the lady continued, "Now please remain seated, I'll have the boarding ladder down momentarily. Then I'll get your bags."
As Doris stood next to the baggage, smiling and bidding us goodbye, I couldn't help looking back and admiring this one-woman crew.
Sounds of another day, another time.
Jan 5, 2004
Someone said that happiness isn't something you experience; it’s something you remember. One such happy memory - of pleasant sounds in Coles Park in the cantonment - goes a long way back and yet it could have been yesterday.
As a kid, I was mesmerised by my grandfather's laughter. It was a rich hearty laugh that carried far. We seldom heard it at home.
But once in the leafy confines of Coles Park with his evening walk companions, he'd let his hair down, merrily chatting, and joking. Among the group, it was his laughter that would resonate loud and clear much to the delight the members of our large joint family.
When the grandfather’s walk ended, it would invariably be the time when the pinkish orange orb spread its magnificent colours on the sky from behind the temple trees.
And when the birds - the mynahs, kites, and crows - were noisily settling down for the night on the huge banyan tree.
You could set your watch. As grandfather's large handsome figure appeared at the bungalow's gate, it would signal that the joyful screams and din of us, children at play in the park and house would end. And that it was time for us to put away our playthings, wash up and get ready for puja and studies.
On special occasions, we were taken to the Coles Park's bandstand to hear military bands. Dressed in regimental colours - navy-blue turbans, red tunics with elaborate golden frills, these bands played marching music and popular melodies.
Once we heard a band that wore kilts. The reverberating sounds of big brassy instruments, drums, bagpipes and other wind instruments would ring loud and clear on summer evenings.
The bands played Blue Danube, Daisy Daisy, Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White, When Irish Eyes are Smiling, Bye Bye Blackbird, Lili Marlene, It's a long way to Tipperary, and such musical hits of the time. A repertoire largely drawn from Great Britain. The music filled the park with joyous notes or in turn, moved the listeners, particularly the ex-pats, with slow sentimental sounds.
After the performance, as we made our way home across the emptied green space, the dark density of the trees and the calls of nocturnal creatures would give us the heebie-jeebies. We'd race to the bungalow. Later in bed, we'd hear the eerie harmony of stillness and the unending sounds of insects, birdcalls, frogs, and other ambient sounds that Coles Park saved for the nights..
With time, other sounds started to be heard in the Park. The first was from a radio set installed in a small room adjoining the pump house. The transmitter was turned on for about an hour or so each evening. From loud speakers mounted on a pole, hits of the day, film music would be blared. "Aayega, aayega, ayega anewaala ayega...", "Gore, gore, yeh banke chore...", "Bachapan ke din bulana dena..." and so on.
One morning before I knew what hit me, it was time for me to start school. I found myself being reluctantly coaxed across the Park by my mother. The first day struck holy terror in my little heart. At the school gate, facing me was a sea of strange, uniformed children screaming and running, stern nuns in habits and the intimidating exterior of a large stone building. So I did what any sensible four-year old would do in the circumstances.
As soon as my mother's back was turned, I stealthily followed her all the way back! Well, almost. Somewhere, near the pump house in the Park, she turned back and was shocked to see me. I was caught. I did what kids do in similar situations. I bawled my lungs out.
She looked stunned, yet understanding. With tears streaming down my face, I raced to her. She gathered me gently in her arms, and, hugging me, said “My son, my darling son…”
Not Daisy Daisy. Not nature’s symphony. Not the radio. Or any other sound. Nothing compares with that reassuring, comforting voice of my mother in Coles Park.
© Copyright - Author