Rusty- The boy from The Hills - A little Note

Have you ever been on a short train journey, like From Delhi to Agra? My Grandparents used to live in Agra so the taste of those journeys is still fresh on my tongue. I remember my mother holding one of my hand in Taj express or InterCity express., while I was holding my comic book from my other hand. I remember those small boys and girls whom I have met on those journeys. Those potato cutlets we used to share. Those Sharing of our respective experiences with each other. But one thing was common in those journeys - A goodbye, without any hope to meet again. That feeling had a warmth and emptiness that can't be described in words. I always wished that journey would never have ended. 

I had many encountered with those boys and girls again in my dreams. But at the end of the day, it was just a dream.

When this book was ending I had a similar feeling. It felt like a friend of mine, whose lines of destiny intersected my lines of destiny for a while, then diverting on a different, way all of a sudden.

This book is a collection of various encounters of Rusty. It begins in Dehra, where his grandparents used to live. As his Grandfather was retired from the Forest department, he was very attached to his Animals. One of them is Toto, a mischievous monkey, who almost killed himself while trying to have a bath in boiling water in a kettle. The other one is Timothy, a smart cub of Tiger. And then there is Tutu, a monkey again, Popeye the parrot, Chips a squirrel, and many others.

The book takes a jump and describes the ultimate bond between Rusty and Trees.

And then comes the famous Rusty's escape from Java, which is undoubtedly the most amazing, action-packed story I've ever read.

The book shifts the Room of many colours to the last Tonga ride, halting a bit to the funny yet fantastic stories of Uncle Ken.

And then, we have an encounter with The Ghost in the garden. Now, this is my personal favourite. This story has an element of horror, with Mr Bond's epic style, which is soothing as the story ends. 

The last three stories are more of Mr Bond's personal experiences (that's what I believe). 

And when the book was coming to an end, I honestly never wanted to it end. Just like that journey, when I had to leave my friend forever whom I had met a couple of hours back.

If you haven't read the book, you are missing something beautiful. If you have read the book, do share your experiences with me. You can write it on hrntales@gmail.com

Mr Bond's stories are like a pond of cold water, one feels fresh and rejuvenated after taking a dip in it.

That's all from my side. Till then keep reading and keep loving. 

and yes you can grab your copy from HERE.    

HRN

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The Railway Gang by Ruskin Bond - Not a Book Review

I remember the days when I was in school and I used to hate those ridiculous Parent-Teacher meetings. It was a day when the teacher humiliates the student in front of their parents and the parents humiliate the student in front of their teacher. It's like that age-old ping pong game, a collective activity to make sure that mischievous activities of students like me come to a halt. The only thing I love about those horrible meetings was the Scholastic book fair in our school corridor. Those little storybooks with attractive pictures was a treat to look at. I said 'to look 'at' because I haven't purchased many of them. My Mom used to say that we'll buy one of those after the meeting. And I couldn't ask her to buy me one after the meeting, of course, due to obvious reasons.

But quite recently I came across this little book written by Mr Bond called The Railway Gang.

This is a story of a little dog called Chottu, roaming with his gang on the platforms of a Railway station. Now he is named Chottu because he was too small in size. If you have some stray dogs in your locality, you might find people who call themselves dog lovers, calling them with names like Blackey or Brownie, Sheroo or Pinkey, or any other names like these. These names are purely based on their attributes which helps them to get recognised or sometimes they even listen by the names when you call them repeatedly.

Now Chottu has a full-fledged gang of half a dozen fogs namely Raja, Rani, Rishi, and few others. All day they roam around the platform, gathering staled chappatis and half-eaten fruits to fill up their belly. 

Now the problem is a newly appointed, highly motivated, Stationmaster who chases away the beggars and the dogs from the platform. Now the beggars had to compete with the beggars who sit near the bus stand. But it was much difficult for dogs to adjust with the Dogs near the bus stand. 

But when the station master is nowhere to be seen, the railway gang come back to the platforms in search of food.

The only human friend they have now is Kumar, who is a guard in Doon-Delhi express. He feeds Chottu with food he brought in his Tiffin and has a soft corner for Chottu.

One day, while hanging around with school students on the platform, he gets along with one of them on the train. The train starts moving. The ticket checker left him on the Haridwar station, which was quite alien for him. He roams around alone in the city to find some familiarity, but he couldn't. He desperately wants to get back to the platform he can call his home.

Will he able to reach back to the platform where he can unite again with his gang? You have to read the book to discover that.

What I like about the book

Everything - Literally everything. It was a short, simple, and interesting read. Being an ardent reader of Mr Bond's books, I was frequently travelling to the world he has created down the years. Like I was seeing that world again where Arun used to feed biscuits to a stray dog on platform number eight of Ambala Station. His words actually become a gateway to travel into his world.

The other thing I like about the book is the pictures on every page. They are very well detailed, and one should go slow and spend some time looking at each picture. I bet you won't regret it.

So this is a perfect gift for your kids this summer if you want to indulge them in reading. And it's a perfect gift for everyone who doesn't like things too complicated. 

So that's it for this post

I'll see you again.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

PS:- You can click HERE to buy the book. :-)

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Mr Bond and those 'Unnamed Feelings'

Have you ever thought about why some stories or books feel so special? Why is it so that your favourite book is not your friend’s favourite book and vice versa? Honestly, I’m not the right person to give you correct answers to these questions. These types of question arise in my mind too. And I’m still seeking a genuine answer.

Last night, I was flipping the pages of this freshly received copy of the collection of short stories written by Mr Ruskin Bond (I received an exclusively autographed copy by Mr Bond from Cambridge Book Depot, Mussoorie. And if you are thinking that I’m boasting about my exclusive copy, you are right my dear reader friend.). I came across a story called ‘The Coral Tree’. This story is set in the time when Mr Bond was about to leave our country to start working in England. The story goes somewhat like this.

He might have locked the doors of the house he used to live in and laying in the verandah, waiting with his suitcases around, for the dawn. It was raining and he was lying on his cot. When he opened his eyes, he saw this little girl looking at him. After a formal introduction (not so formal actually), the girl asked Mr Bond to pluck some flowers for her from the corral tree. He did the same. The little girl talked about her best friend, who is a cook. And she also called Mr Bond her second-best friend.  She also expressed her interest in exploring the world and being on her own. He also talked about his decision to move to England, with the motive of being on his own.

Soon, Mr Bond heard the bells of the tonga and asked the girl to help him in lifting the suitcases. They bid each other a goodbye, with a promise to meet again.

Now, those who read Mr Bond’s work can understand this. There are two types of readers of his work. The first ones are those who like his work, enjoy the simplicity of his work and enjoy that warmth, that cosiness. The second ones are dangerous people (like me, of course) who try to reach to those unnamed feelings behind those stories.

Let me try to explain those unnamed feelings I’m talking about.

For a moment, let’s try to be in Mr Bond’s shoes, lying on the cot in the verandah, waiting for the dawn.

The very next morning you have to leave your own country for the sake of your career. There are no certain chances whether you’ll be able to come back or not. You have to leave behind all those friends, who were closer to you more than anything in your life. You are leaving behind all those memories – your childhood, your adolescence, your adulthood – everything. And the cherry on the cake is the girl who is standing in front of you and calling you her second-best friend. Those short moments of togetherness, which creates a long term impression in your memory, that feeling of that ‘unnamed feeling’.

On the other hand, you are excited to make your career in another nation. You are excited to be on your own and creating your world.

You know it’s important to travel, but it’s difficult to leave all those people, all that environment behind.

That cocktail of that pain, that sense of longing and that excitement of the future is the unnamed feeling I’m talking about.

Do you remember those strangers who become our friends in long railways journey? When mobile phones weren’t common at that time, but we still used to promise each other that we’ll remain in touch. Those faces, which blew away like smoke from your memory, but still fresh as the fragrance of early summer mangoes in a corner of your heart. Those people never grow old in their memory. They are as constant as the ranges of the snow-peaked Himalayan range.

I remember those railway companions. Not exactly their faces, but as a memory which is never going to fade. I remember the uncle who offered me breakfast on a long journey from Delhi to Bangalore (now Bengaluru). I remember that boy who offered me a seat on a journey from Delhi to Agra and that career guidance he offered me.

They are still living with me, as I’m flowing through this river called life. And they’ll always remain with me as they were more than a decade back. They’ll always remain the same till my last breath… or maybe even after that.

And I hereby apologise that I failed miserably in explaining that unnamed feeling.

For that, you have to knock the door of ivy cottage and ask the man himself.

As I’m the lone fox, who is still learning to dance…

HRN

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