<p>A group of six children from the neighbourhood of Lalbagh, including me, made a plan to go for a run early in the morning every day. I was seven years old. Seena, the eldest, wisest, most talkative, was our leader.</p>.<p>The azaan at 5 am, from a nearby mosque, would awaken us. We would assemble at 5.15 am and wait for about five minutes for others to join us. We would jog through Lalbagh — it did not have a compound around it then — passing under sapota trees. The aroma of sapota reminds me of those days.</p>.<p>Our run was for about a mile, up to the granite hillock where we would walk around and play some pranks. The Kempegowda Tower then had a small hollow gopura. A few older youths would be there, too, doing squats and push-ups.</p>.<p>From the hilltop, we could watch the aeroplanes flying from the HAL airport, which was then considered a remote place. On Sundays, we visited the nearby Guttanjaneya temple near the hill. We would walk in the garden and raid the horticultural fruit garden near the West Gate.</p>.<p>Sometimes, Papanna the gardener (who lived in our neighbourhood) would catch us and punish us. But we would continue with our naughty deeds the next day.</p>.<p>It was the 1950s. Schooling was resented. Admission to school was easy. Our schools would start at 10 am. So, we took our time reaching home after the morning run. We were required to go to school, so we did. We carried only a few books and never had homework. Whatever was told or taught in the school summed up our schooling. We played and played. Tuitions were foreign to us.</p>.<p>In the evenings, we would play at M N Krishnarao Park, close by. While we flew ordinary kites, another group of older boys would fly a big, imported kite that went up high, making a sound. It was flown with rope tied to a tree. It drew crowds of fascinated children and adults.</p>.<p>One Sunday afternoon, while we played cricket, Mr Iyer, who ran a gym on Krishnarao Road, came and plucked out our only wicket, lecturing us to go to his gym to build body. He did this a few times, but we did not budge.</p>.<p>Another of our favourite pastimes was going to Bugle Rock in the evenings and rolling heavy stones down the rock slope to watch sparks fly. People cycling on the road would scream at us.</p>.<p>On occasion, as we watched an almost noiseless black Cadillac car pass by us slowly on Krishnarao Road in the mornings, Seena would tell us that it was Mr Netkalappa, owner of Deccan Herald. He wore a Mysore Peta and sat in a dignified style in the chauffeur-driven car. The car was always seen at 9 am sharp.</p>.<p>The annual Kadlekai Parishe was an eagerly awaited fair. There were many varieties of kadlekai. With one anna, we could feast on kadlekai with bella.</p>.<p><strong>Watch the latest DH Videos here:</strong></p>
<p>A group of six children from the neighbourhood of Lalbagh, including me, made a plan to go for a run early in the morning every day. I was seven years old. Seena, the eldest, wisest, most talkative, was our leader.</p>.<p>The azaan at 5 am, from a nearby mosque, would awaken us. We would assemble at 5.15 am and wait for about five minutes for others to join us. We would jog through Lalbagh — it did not have a compound around it then — passing under sapota trees. The aroma of sapota reminds me of those days.</p>.<p>Our run was for about a mile, up to the granite hillock where we would walk around and play some pranks. The Kempegowda Tower then had a small hollow gopura. A few older youths would be there, too, doing squats and push-ups.</p>.<p>From the hilltop, we could watch the aeroplanes flying from the HAL airport, which was then considered a remote place. On Sundays, we visited the nearby Guttanjaneya temple near the hill. We would walk in the garden and raid the horticultural fruit garden near the West Gate.</p>.<p>Sometimes, Papanna the gardener (who lived in our neighbourhood) would catch us and punish us. But we would continue with our naughty deeds the next day.</p>.<p>It was the 1950s. Schooling was resented. Admission to school was easy. Our schools would start at 10 am. So, we took our time reaching home after the morning run. We were required to go to school, so we did. We carried only a few books and never had homework. Whatever was told or taught in the school summed up our schooling. We played and played. Tuitions were foreign to us.</p>.<p>In the evenings, we would play at M N Krishnarao Park, close by. While we flew ordinary kites, another group of older boys would fly a big, imported kite that went up high, making a sound. It was flown with rope tied to a tree. It drew crowds of fascinated children and adults.</p>.<p>One Sunday afternoon, while we played cricket, Mr Iyer, who ran a gym on Krishnarao Road, came and plucked out our only wicket, lecturing us to go to his gym to build body. He did this a few times, but we did not budge.</p>.<p>Another of our favourite pastimes was going to Bugle Rock in the evenings and rolling heavy stones down the rock slope to watch sparks fly. People cycling on the road would scream at us.</p>.<p>On occasion, as we watched an almost noiseless black Cadillac car pass by us slowly on Krishnarao Road in the mornings, Seena would tell us that it was Mr Netkalappa, owner of Deccan Herald. He wore a Mysore Peta and sat in a dignified style in the chauffeur-driven car. The car was always seen at 9 am sharp.</p>.<p>The annual Kadlekai Parishe was an eagerly awaited fair. There were many varieties of kadlekai. With one anna, we could feast on kadlekai with bella.</p>.<p><strong>Watch the latest DH Videos here:</strong></p>