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| Image source: www.45cat.com |
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It was one late afternoon in the winter of 1998 in Bejai. I was coming down the steps of Panchami Complex opposite KSRTC Bus Stand. My intention was to buy some bakery products at Baliga General Stores below our office.
As I went past a white Santro car parked near the store, a familiar voice called me aloud.
"Kanthaa!"
I stopped and looked aside. Standing tall, about to get into the car, having a grin on his face, was Ramachandra Baliga. I too exchanged smile and said, "Hello Ramachandra. How are you?"
Ramachandra Baliga is my friend and brother of my one time closest friend, classmate Late Naresh Baliga, who has since passed away in a tragic and untimely death in 1976.
"I'm fine. Just came here to buy some things. Also thought it will be a change for father who otherwise sits at home and gets bored."
"Oh your father!"
Though I was standing close to the front passenger window, I'd not noticed his father. I saw two curious shiny eyes staring at me and a hesitant smile on his face. He was at least 80 years old but had very less wrinkles on his well nourished, but sort of shrunken face. he was still as gracious as he looked in the Seventies when I'd seen him last, but the scanty silver hair on his head and the silver white eyebrows made it rather difficult for me to match his face with his younger version that had the presence of some Hollywood movie character!
I folded my hands and said, "Namaskaar Baliga Maam. How are you?"
He was surprised that I knew him!
He looked at Ramachandra suggestively.
Ramachandra said, "Kantha. Naresh's best friend. He used to come to our house to meet Naresh. Don't you know?"
(Naresh intimately used to call me Kantha and I am known as Kantha in his family)
"Ravi Surendra? I remember Ravi Surendra. He always used to come and talk to me. This man...! Have I seen him? Let me think."
His voice sounded unusually feeble. The commanding loudness and presence in his rich bass voice had dampened obviously due to senility. Now he sounded more like a horn speaker than the woofer of the Seventies!
He thought for a while and laughed aloud, showing the empty cavity in his mouth! He had no teeth. None at all!"
Ramachandra asked me if I could understand whom he meant by Ravi Surendra.
I said, "Yes. Ravi Surendra is Surendra Shenoy, our classmate who was your neighbour. He also used to join us those days at your place."
Ramachandra replied, "Yes. Surendra was staying close by, he used to come frequently to our house and was very intimate with father. That's why father remembers him well! Now senility has caught up with him and he can't remember Naresh's other friends. It's been a long time since he saw you. May not place your face properly. Please don't feel bad. At home he keeps asking us about all the old friends of Naresh who used to come to our place."
I looked at Baliga maam, smiled and told Ramachandra "Oh don't mind at all! I was too skinny and young those days. How can we expect him to remember me when he had not even talked to me once during those days! I used come to your place by bicycle, get down and ask for Naresh. Your father used to sit by the left side window of the verandah on a Bata chair with both his legs relaxed on a stool and chain smoke cigarettes in style. He never even looked at my face. He just shouted in a controlled tone "Nareshaa...." and continued to smoke. I was always too scared to talk to him and go inside to meet Naresh!
Baliga maam watched us slyly, but he acted as if we were talking about someone else and stared through the front windshield in a distance!
I was timid those days alright, looking at the majestic look of Baliga maam, the successful textile businessman from Bantwal Vaikunta Baliga's family, but now he looked very friendly but firm in his looks.
I told him, "Baliga maam, it is indeed a pleasure to see you after so many years and more so, talking to you freely. I had a dream in my life, that was getting intimate with you. When I told Naresh that you never talked to me when I tried to communicate with you those days in the Seventies, he used to say that you are very strict and disciplined. You never mingled with the younger generation. Now I am happy that you are jolly friendly. You made my day. Thank you!"
His eyes glowed and he was speechless for a moment.
Then he laughed aloud and said, "Aha... That scratched record! Was it you who borrowed a gramophone record from Naresh and didn't return it for a week fearing that you mishandled it? Don't worry. I won't scold you now!"
I too laughed aloud and replied, "Oh! You're too good Baliga maam. Yes that 'Kitty Can' SP record by the Bee Gees. I never thought that you knew about it. I just avoided returning it for a week because you were always there when I visited you. Naresh said, you will be away on business trip at the weekend and then it's safe to return the record!"
Baliga maam continued laughing and said, "You cunning brats! Where do you get those brilliant ideas from? Now listen to me carefully. You must come to my home daily and talk to me for at least an hour. I will see that all that talk you missed those days will be given to you with interest! What is the present rate running in Banks? I will give you two percent more over that!"
As they left, my heart was heavy and all my younger days apprehensions about Baliga maam were cleared.
No man is as tough as he looks. He wears that look just to guard himself from some apprehension he may have about communicating with the younger generation, that too with those who try to get more familiar than necessary. That's what's all about 'Generation Gap'. The gap gets filled up automatically as people get old and their wavelength becomes equal. They become younger mentally and try to associate more with the younger generation.
In our case, the Scratched Record had filled the generation gap!
