Karad Diaries-1

Of all the towns I have ever stayed in, Karad happens to have some very special memories for me. It was here that I experienced firsthand the tremors of an earthquake, ran away from home for the very first and only time in my life and tried to take my own life for reasons I do not remember now. It was also where I explored the surrounding area with my friends, bicycling and trekking in the mountains, swimming in the river and doing many more exploits of similar kind, usual for a teenager.

I was all of 11 years old when we moved to Karad, and was admitted in the 8^th standard at the Tilak High School, which was about a mile from home, a distance I used to walk merrily with friends everyday. The School building was quite old, in typical british pattern of stone walls and verandahs enclosing a large courtyard where we had our morning prayers led by the Principal, who looked like the First President of India, Dr. Rajendra Prasad, with his bushy white moustache, white dress and Gandhi cap.

We lived in a rented house, like most of the lower middle-class families at the time. The house had high compound wall with a central door leading to the front courtyard, and was divided in two parts, one for us and the other larger portion belonged to the landlord. The front courtyard had a large champak tree in the centre, and also had a common loo and a bathroom on one side. We had two rooms, the outer just enough to accommodate a folding bed, two chairs and a small cupboard. The inner room was slightly bigger and was used as kitchen, also had an open washing place, and a door leading into the rear common courtyard, which had a banana tree and scores of other plants all using the waste-water from kitchen. As I now realise, it was a model of a sustainable household, with almost no waste, and the only services we used were water supply from the city mains and electricity from the grid.

My father had purchased a big radio in Kolhapur, which was placed on top of the cupboard in the outer room, with its indoor antenna in the form of a wire-mesh about 4” wide and almost 10’ long spread all across the room at top. It was an extravagance on the part of my father, as its cost was more than double his monthly salary at the time, but my father did not bother about such things when it came to things he really fancied. I remember going to dramas with the entire household (we were 5) and the tickets were really way above what we could afford, as I realise now. He never spared expenses when it came to school-books, dresses and many such items, and I remember suggesting him once to buy second-hand books to save money, but he would have none of it.

We lived in an area called Dubal Galli in Shukrawar Peth, and here I faced a lot of bullies who would call me names, curse me for no reason and throw stones at me when I was not looking, and it was difficult to pass the road without something or the other happening almost every day to school. Once one of them caught hold of my schoolbag and ran away with it. I told my father about it and he ran after him, but couldn’t catch him. After this episode, I found out an alternate route to school and never had to face them again. The lane was actually famous for a very different reason, as it had a house belonging to the late Home Minister of India, Hon’ble Yashawantrao Chavan, and I remember once going to the place when he visited and joining the crowd of the visitors to have a look at him. He was a very simple person, who met and listened to all visitors earnestly before replying. I managed to get an autograph from him, and should have saved it for posterity, but can’t find it anywhere now.