slow time

It was something to wake up to the slow, rhythmic tunes of Doordarshan starting its day at 7 AM in the mid-eighties.

This was the age of chitrahaar, rangoli, rini khanna and the colourful but simple nirma ads. The time of mythological series of Mahabhaarat and Ramayan, that made grandmothers in every Indian household sit as close to the television as allowed with diyas in their hands and admiration in their eyes. Some even sat with folded palms!

Of what I remember of it, I loved the eighties. It was a time when Bangalore’s M.G.Road had an old-world charm about it, with the pink bougainvillas sprouting by the side road. Believe it or not, back then the whole of M.G.Road wasn’t half as crowded as today’s Hebbal. Really!

And if we felt like taking that train to Ernakulam on the spur of the moment, not to worry, the tickets for the day after tomorrow would still be available. No haggling with travel agents, searching for online tickets and definitely no bleary-eyed customers waiting by the ticket counter at 4 a.m. just so that they can grab that Tatkal ticket. Need I even mention the absence of irate bus conductor and drivers and of course, traffic cops. They could have been smiling at every passing vehicle back then (okay, a li'l exaggeration here).

I loved the eighties for another reason too. For, they were my wonder years. The eighties taught me to ride the bicycle, to know the difference between a friendly cow on the street and a cow that would be contemplating surprising me from behind. those were also the days of stacking pennies in my piggy bank. and no withdrawals. of any kind.