On the path leading to Papa

reflections

Driving down Mahatma Gandhi Road a few days ago on a visit to my hometown Bengaluru, I was struck by the appearance of the only building left standing as a noble reminder of the past: the offices of the Deccan Herald. I looked fondly at Nandikeshwara seated comfortably on the sign, an image I had grown up with, because my father had once worked with the paper.

Close by, the Higginbothams building was on the verge of a makeover, so I looked gratefully at Deccan Herald. At the sight of the metal gate on the other side of which the ‘Time Office’ used to stand, my mind flew back to more than half a century ago, to a warm afternoon, when my brother and I, aged 4, decided to set out from our house on Rest House Road to visit father in his office.

We had a fair idea of the way — it was a simple hairpin route. Step outside the gate, turn right, walk to Brigade Road, turn left, walk to the top of the road, turn left, and keep looking up for Nandikeshwara.

We were too young to read the lettering but we knew that father and Nandikeshwara were in the same building. The Bengaluru of that time was so quiet that no-one born after 1970 will believe me if I say that, if 10 cars passed along South Parade (as MG Road was then called) in an hour, it was a lot.

My brother and I were hardly dressed for a visit — he in a vest that was tucked into his shorts, and I in a petticoat — to get through the afternoon. I do not remember how we dodged both mother and our elderly ayah.

How I persuaded my cautious and infinitely wise twin to participate in this adventure is also rather fuzzy. Going up Brigade Road, we walked nervously past the Mickey Mouse ashtray stands outside a barber’s shop. For some reason those cut-outs alarmed my childish imagination and I had succeeded in influencing my brother as well. Perhaps only people of my vintage will remember them or Spinkers, which was the shop next to it.

As we turned on to South Parade, the world seemed a bit overwhelming, but it was too late to turn back. From Rex General Store came the jovial call of the manager who knew us well, “Baby, where are you going?” But we pressed on and on. Arriving at the metal gate of Deccan Herald, we stopped. The iron frame of the gate seemed like high-jump to our small legs, but we went over it. Three or 4 peons and watchmen hurried forward to shoo us out. Then, the time-keeper recognised us. “What are you doing here? Does your mother know?”

“We’ve come to see father.” Someone flew upstairs to fetch our father. I’ll never forget the mix of amusement, annoyance and wonder on his face when he saw his twins at his office building in their nursery room clothes.

The rest of my memory is hazy but I remember feeling happy when he appeared at the doorway. An elderly peon held us both firmly by the wrist and led us back home to where mother was waiting for us, unsure whether to be relieved or angry.