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I have beautiful memories, almost as an interloper, of the hallowed premises of the Indian Institute of Science, Bengaluru. In the early 1980s, our company took an external user account in the computer department just for us to learn. It was a Supercomputer, the DEC10 mainframe from Digital Equipment, US. It was a large room filled with tall, blue, metal chests, faint whirring sounds of tapes and disks, and very cold. Only the operator had a console to see things. Users submitted their programs in 'batch', through punched cards, and waited for results. (One evening the operator allowed us in to look.)
I was so proud to get down from the bus at the IISc stop, watch awestruck the brilliant students, have coffee in the simple canteen. It was addictive. One Diwali morning when I set out for IISc from my aunt's house where I lived, my loving aunt declared me a gone case.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times (bowing low here to the Greatest of Writers). My aunts in Bengaluru felt responsible for my future. My parents living faraway in Bihar were making feeble attempts in their space (and within the ambit of my flawed horoscope) to find a suitable boy for me. Two of my aunts decided that more action was needed, and set out to the address of a prospective bridegroom. I’m told they beat a hasty retreat from there. For when they arrived, they saw the previous hopeful bride’s family leaving with fearful backward glances.
My work kept me in Mumbai for many months at one point. One day I got a call to come home for a meeting that could complete my future. I made the 24-hour bus journey to Bengaluru, and waited among affectionate family members for them to arrive. My dear down-to-earth father, so lovably innocent, had shown them the picture of legendary actor Smita Patil, whose Kannada movie had just hit the theatres, and enthused how I looked like her! Well, I was not the fair, demure bride men probably dreamed of, but let’s say I was dusky. The father and son came, and were regaled with lovingly made snacks. They left saying they would get back to us. I can swear that the duo looked lean and hungry, and desperate for a woman who could cook and feed. And, they said no!
Another time, I was urgently called home from work. A childhood friend of my mother and aunts was there with her son, and a match was being hatched! The son was on holiday from his research job in America, an amiable, smiling man, and he seemed to love what he saw. But unbelievably, my treacherous brain sent out a dozen alarms that said “Wait! This is too good to be true!” And led me to my loss.
How did it all end? Ended well! With the unconditional blessings of my beloved, forgiving aunts and uncles.