Today I went to sign some society formation papers for my new flat. It was supposed to be only about signing the papers and coming back. But since I hadn't visited the site for around half an year now (I know, I am that lazy and care less), I thought to make a site visit.
To my surprise, the flat was ready in almost all respects. Only some minor plumbing and finishing work was all that was remaining.
It was well done. It was a nice flat.
Seeing a nameplate with my name on it, sent me back by around 20 years. Back to the days when my parents had struggled hard to have their own home-sweet-home, collecting all resources they could, bringing in their life's saving. But then they lived in a society and amongst relatives, who rather than becoming the force behind them, became the stumbling blocks in their way. Ultimately, straightforward and weakened by the situation, as my parents were, they gave up this one small dream of having their own small home. Their own home, built on their own piece of land, built with their own hard earned money. They let go of it. Just because someone, who they thought, and still think, to be close to them, actively nuked their plans.
They still don't have a home of their own. They stayed in a rented house all through their life. In a generation which considered having one's own home as a measure of success, they remained virtually homeless.
All those emotions harbored for a long time, came rushing to the fore, just by seeing my name on the nameplate of that impressively well done flat. It's a 2BHK flat. Maybe a bit on the smaller side, yet large enough for us.
That small flat, I had bought all on my own. Not a single penny from anyone else - not even from my parents. Right from booking to registrations to loan processing - every damn bit I had carried out on my own. All I had asked them to do, was sign the papers as co-owners and as beneficiaries of my home and life insurance.
I was elated, making up plans about how and when I should bring my folks and show them the flat...... Till I reached back to my office and checked my mails.....
A professor, one of my favourties, who taught us physics in 12th, and was the reason behind me starting to think analytically, had passed away on Sunday, 29-July-2012 - due to swine flu, of all reasons.
He was a jolly-good fellow with a light angle to everything. He was passionate about what he taught. He never knew me or many other students, but we took his name with implied respect. College going public never mention their teachers with respect. Never. There are always pet-names for professors. That he was an exception to this, alone, speaks how successful a teacher he was.
Maybe now he will teach the gods - SHM (simple harmonic motion) madhe asanaara particle 'quarter marun' kasa yeta te.
Some days are plain bad, while some days are absolutely elating. Both can be managed alone.
It's when both these extremes happen on the same day, that you lose your bearings and then one cheek tries to smile while a virtual tear rolls down the other.
