RD Memories

The date was 2nd Jan 2006.

The moment I drove past the big old Jacaranda tree with maroon and white stripes around its knotted midriff, I knew it. The tree has been standing strong for years, watching the years roll into decades, caching memories in its rings.

I wonder if the tree remembers a young gal running past it twice a day everyday for one whole year. She’d stop by the tree without fail, clutching her throbbing stomach while drawing loud raspy breaths of cold air into her heated lungs, squinting past the knotted trunk up towards the branches to see if there were flowers. She knew if there’d be flowers or not, but looked anyway. And all the while she’d count in her mind – 9, 10, 11…until one other girl ran past her. Then she’d reluctantly and silently bid adieu to the tree and start running again till she reached the designated post, to turn around and outrun the other girl. She never stopped by the tree on her way back.

I don’t know if the tree remembers me. But I remember everything…almost.

I remember how I loved the march-past at School. I absolutely loved being all stiff and angry looking, feeling important and patriotic, saluting Rev Fr D’Mello and Mrs Lobo, trying not to see the funny faces that the other girls from my class we pulling at me. My PT Master had selected just 3 girls from my class for the parade; the other girls were from the higher classes. I was so proud to be part of the team that I did not mind that I sometimes had to go to school a half an hour early or stay back late for practices. Come July, we’d start practice for the Independence Day march-past and come November we’d start practice for the Republic Day march-past. Republic Day was always more special, There were more activities, dances and such. The parade itself was longer and different, the band was bigger and we got motichur laddus instead of boring barfi. Once back at home, I’d watch the RD parade on TV wondering what fun the kids there might be having.

When in college I joined NCC. The first year was boring with identical drills and a camp with trenches for toilets, but the second year was an entirely different thing. Every morning my dad would drop me at this huge old bungalow at 5.00 am in the biting cold.

We were about 50 young girls and we had to run 6 kms every morning. We were timed every single day and each day missed was recorded, so you could not fall sick. Or you fell sick but still ran…like I did. My dad would time me as well, just to stay busy during the 45 minutes we were gone. Once back from the run/race we’d have drill practice.

Now when I look back its amazing that I even wanted to run like that. I cannot believe that I went through so much physical pain just to be part of the RD parade.

I never made it through the selections for the coveted RD parade inspite of being the first at that final selection race. Maybe I was lacking in some other important aspect …I always found those rifles too heavy to run with and could never get up fast enough with all the funny gear. The good thing is that I was not too disappointed. My dad was relieved because he did not have to deal with early mornings anymore and had just my late evening dance practices to endure.

It’s been many years since all this happened. It’s been many years since I watched the parade on TV. This year we called family back home. I forgot to ask, but I am sure Ma hoisted the Flag at her college and dad at his….

I feel like some Motichur laddu…Oh and a Happy belated Republic Day!!



A few days ago while still in India I saw this on CNN-IBN. http://www.ibnlive.com/article.php?id=3497&section_id=3 (watch the video as well)