Down memory lane @ Gangotri! Revoking all five senses & beyond on campus

By Radhika Puthiyetath Cheruvatta

Taste

Love at first slurp

It was at the Mysore University Campus (Manasa Gangotri) I fell deeply and madly in love with Bisi Bele Bath (hot lentil rice). My first love on the campus, it endured through time and space, and against all odd flavors, the palate’s poised for a delectable forever.

It was on a balmy August noon, near the Multi-Media Research center building, I slurped my first spoonful of Bisi Bele Bath—a hot mix of rice and lentil sprinkled with delicate spices and vegetables. Despite it being the rainy season, the sky was Azure and dotted with cotton clouds. The trees surrounding the sandalwood-colored building created a colorful display with green and vivid yellow. I stood there contrasting the shades of flowers with the gleaming yellow shade of the delicacy that I am holding in my hand. As the delicious aroma of ghee, butter, and curry leaves teased my nostrils; as the tamarind
tang and a slow chili afterburn taunted my palates, something unknown distilled into my veins, inebriating my senses. My eyes welled up and I dropped the spoon involuntarily, and at that moment, I realized I was in love. A melodious Raj Kumar song wafting in the air conjured up a perfect romantic frame.

Canteen

Friends warned me. Stopped me. Satired upon my desire to be aberrant.

Still, I took a chance to visit.

On a September eve, fresh on the campus, sitting at a corner table, I was asked to gulp
a mixture of Tea + Coke! By a Senior at the department. And I did.

The seeds of revelry with the “Humans of MassComm” and friends had thus been sown.

On lazy afternoons, we grabbed hot cups of tea and steaming plates of bisi bele bath.
Slurped while listening to umpteen numbers of Rajkumar songs from movies unbeknownst to me. Sat and prattled on for hours with Seniors and their friends. Popped
onto the backseat of two-wheelers for impromptu short trips and movies, which started and ended at the Canteen steps.

At one point, people on the campus knew me only for I was the only girl found with a
group of “udagaru” at the canteen steps.

When popular girls were found at Downs and SJC canteen, I sat on the Canteen steps
like I ruled the world shunning the “popularity” contest.

I cherish each and every moment I spent in the “namma adda” sipping hot cups of tea chatting with people who mattered to me.

Tactile memories

● Icy and dry
● Smooth and uneven
● Thick and thin
● Leaden and leather
● Ragged and patched

My fingertips felt them all—the tactile perception was strong—they were able to detect even nano-scale ridges. Perhaps, they’ve got fingerspitzengefühl. For book covers! I’ve no count on the books on Psychology that I’d churned up back in the days to comprehend and heal my writer’s block.

When I look back on the path I walked through on the campus, it feels as if it was only last month that I was at the library entrance, chatting with different groups of friends, with dried crumbles of pages withered in my hand, quizzes in my eyes, and unsettled thoughts inside. It feels as if it was only yesterday, I was on the third floor, standing up on a library ladder, running my fingers across book towers, and quivering at every touch on arrays of hardbound books.

When I switch on a kaleidoscopic flashback, I see curiosity in books had not led to
curiosity in humans, as much I wished to hold. In particular, a human who would sit
across a huge wooden desk in front of a pile of books and a red helmet.

We would stumble upon each other at the library entrance. Cliched. Like in movies. He
would announce his arrival by a high-revving four-cylinder engine. Clutching on to his red helmet with one hand and raking the messy curls falling over his forehead with the other,he would rush to the third floor.

The face is still fresh in mind, but identity is unknown.

Perhaps, I’d not had the nerves to be as fingerspitzengefühl as my fingertips!

Auditory senses

A motorcycle found its way into my poetry in Mysore.

“…Seventeen is not sweet, dreams are bittersweet

Yet, a boy is crossing my mind

Long eyelashes and deep brown eyes
Messy hairs, lazy gears

He’s an athlete, sweating out at the field

In brown leather jacket on Royal Enfield

He caught me peeking by the field

With dazed pair of pearls,

Yesterday when the sun set …”

If my memory serves me well, it was in Mysore the poem emerged from the dark corners unbeknownst to me. I was alone at the college hostel determined to learn the art of celebrating solitude.

Let me tell you, honestly, the boy I referred to in the poetry was purely imaginary.

The true inspiration was a song.

The melodious and soulful Naa Ninna Mareyalare from the movie of the same name.

The movie portrayed the love story of a motorcycle racer, personified by Dr Raj Kumar. Not only did the iconic actor play the motorcycle racer on the screen, but he also gave the perfect rendition of the song setting the right tenor.

Watch gorgeous Lakshmi and talented Raj Kumar on a motorbike singing to the tunes by the duo Rajan-Nagendra.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zd2UmQKbgu8…

I don’t clearly recollect when I first heard this score, but it has been my favorite one of all time. And decades and decades later, Mysore has presented itself to love the song a little stronger and go a little farther.

Visual Memories

Lalit Mahal Palace

Seductive and sensual.

On full moon days, Lalit Mahal Palace resembles the leading ladies of Raj Kapoor movies—attired in wet white saree—drenched in dazzling moonlight.

Each full moon night I would crawl up to the bunk bed next to the large window in our hostel room to catch glimpses of Lalit Mahal. It was an agreement between the occupant of the bunk bed, and I, that we exchange beds every full moon day. Lying on my belly and propping my head on my hands I would gaze at the celestial scenery for hours, attempting at poetry. It took months together to finally come to terms with the fact that I was going through the worst phase of writer’s block.

I still believed in legends and lore, continuing to draw inspiration.

Going by the legends, Lalit Mahal Palace was built for a courtesan. The lore of the legendary romance between a courtesan and Mysore prince and the symbol of their love had been the awe and delight of my dull and dry hostel days. Teenagers require something to fixate on, and for me, it had been Lalit Mahal Palace.

It’s only after decades, when I’d had enough to afford a night with her, I could recuperate from the obsession. On a full moon day, I would hang out with her, drenched in ethereal moonlight, sketching poems after poems, until I was finally over her.

Downs

Road to Downs. The floral carpet between your campus & mine.

Bright blue sky. Blossoming trees. Strolling beneath the canopy upon a colorful bed of
fallen yellow flowers for a hot cup of tea.
Downs!

The lane to Downs in Manasa Gangothri campus has something magical about it. I do
not have any fond memories about Downs but most of the students do have.

Humans of MassComm, soak in those moments. Let’s continue our Golden Jubilee
celebrations by revoking the golden moments you may have.

Well, I’ve this crazy romantic notion of meeting someone from the neighborhood campus who walked the path decades later yet to have been able to connect over this gorgeous alley to Downs

Stadium

Glade Cricket Ground aka Mysore University Stadium.

The most notable match held here was the International Women’s Cricket Match between Denmark and Pakistan in 1997.

My favorite spot on the campus. Canteen, Library, Stadium — I’d never felt venturing
beyond these spots.Sweating out in the misty mornings and strolling in the evenings. Jogging starts at the stadium and ends at the Kukkaralli lake, then a powerwalk back to the hostel.

No other better place for Bird watching than these for single souls!

Well, if rumors are to be believed, two gentlemen from the LLM department ditched their warm blankets in early autumn mornings for an intro — of you-know-who — a dedicated jogger.

It did not take long to get acquainted with an entire batch of LLM students!

Well, a daily dose of Dairy Milk chocolates was received through an entire Autumn,
which was then redistributed in pieces within the girls’ hostel. Then the Autumn leaves started to wilt and fall off to welcome Winter.

Seasons changed.

Years passed.

But the friendship with the LLM gang’s still fresh and strong.

Woodlands Theatre

Uppi fans, sorry about this unimpressive banner of his movie and about the painting of Woodlands theatre

Everyone in Mysore will have something to associate with this landmark theatre. Mine
was going for the movie for the first time in Mysore, standing in the scorching sunlight
(like any other “single passungal”) for hours for a ticket, only to leave with no ticket to
another theatre (Sangam) to watch a crappy Hindi movie, which I still regret watching!

The most interesting fact about Woodlands theatre is that it was established by the same great building contractor ( in the pre-independence era) who built Lalit Mahal Palace (if you know my love for this architectural wonder)! His name is Munivenkatappa (lovingly known as Bangalore Munivenkatappa) & the British honored him with the title of “Rao
Sahib”.

The hotel nearby, the Greens, my favorite spot (the beautiful eatery I was frequent to with friends also established by him

Study Tour to Rajastan

While the India-Pak border conflict was looming on the horizon we were at the border. We traveled in trains filled with army men heading to the border.

A 3-hour camel ride to “nowhere” in the middle of Jaisalmer desert. Watching the huge bright fireball disappears as it colors the horizon, and doing the photography
sessions–behind and in front of the cameras. A night full of “Ghoomar” dance&music.
Camping in a tent in the frosty weather of Jan. Waking up early to witness sun rays hit
the sand dunes. Devouring the street Khoba and Missi Rotis, and khadi!

16 days of merry & mirth. Modeling and photography sessions!

Sixth Sense

Every college hostel has a spooky tale of its own. Manasa Gangothri Campus Girls
Hostel had its own set of legends.

Within a week of inhabiting the building, the chilling accounts of haunting legends will reach your ears. Sharing and reshaping is an initializing ritual. For months together youhave something to lose sleep on. With every batch of fresh students, the stories are
spiced up and passed on.

I was told that a student committed suicide long ago hanging from the window bar. The
room was locked from inside though there were rumors about foul play. My window
opens directly to the window where she was found hanging from. Since I’ve had my own
set of horror stories from childhood, I was not among the chicken-hearted.

The very first room I was allotted was a corner room, very next to the washroom and my bed was next to the wall that separates from the washroom. You can imagine! My roommate was prepping for the GRE, and at this point, I wondered why she was mugging up some 4000+ arcane English words. (I went through the same cycle a decade later, and having witnessed her persistence gave me reassurance.)

She moved to the US for higher studies, and I moved to a new, brighter room.

There was a certain charm to the hostel room that I stayed in for two years. If my
memory serves me well, it was room #21, probably the only room with a working power outlet and ample sunlight, on the top floor of the old block.

It’s not the best hostel I’ve ever stayed in terms of convenience, but it was indeed the
only hostel I’ve felt at home. The sumptuous Bisi Bele Bath and Lemon Rice and umpteen other types of baths (a dish made out of rice) and the hot cup of tea in the
morning.

Watching the girls from Kashmir cheering for the Pakistan Cricket Team on the hostel TV while some nationalist girls cursing them for doing so and the Indian Government for
giving them the scholarship to study in India. Outside, watching the boys from Kashmir hanging out with everyone. We still embraced those girls warmly, without prejudice, and some fell in love with those boys as well, for obvious reasons.

We waited for them to come back to the campus with dried fruits from the Kashmir
valley.

It must be the people that I’ve stayed with who made all the difference. It must be the
people I’ve hung out with who made the memories extra special.

Cooking Maggi with friends while pouring outside and sipping it hot while listening to the music of the rain. Walking with the Malayalee gang to pick up snacks in the lazy evenings and join the rest of the gathering for socializing rounds.

Breaking and distributing the huge Dairy Milk bar that I regularly received from the LLM department.

Getting up early in the mornings mainly to check out the athletes in the stadium on the pretext of jogging. Jogging in misty mornings by the Kukkarahalli lake watching all sorts of birds.

The scene in the late evenings was funny to the single chicks – guys impatiently waiting for their girlfriends to emerge from the hostel rooms; love birds perching on the sidewalls that separated the hostel and the gorgeous Jayalakshmi Vilas Mansion, as well as on the wall by the road that passes right in front of the hostel towards SJCE.

This is the description in bits and bytes, wish I could scribble down something
substantial.

Memories made galore and kindled in bits.

At this juncture of celebrating the Golden Jubilee, I walk down memory lane and cherish the moments with our beloved teachers and friends at the Department of Journalism & Mass Communication, University of Mysore.

(The writer is a Technical Writer by profession and an artist by passion. Currently working at Sysdig Inc, San Francisco as Principal Technical Writer)

 

 

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