The YWCA gang
The cast and characters of the following tale and true, alive and kicking ass somewhere.
***********************
The year was 2003. I had finished a Masters degree quite painfully and boarded a bus to Delhi.
Delhi has had an impact on my life which remains unparalleled in every sphere. I attribute it to the age factor. I was young, a dreamer, an idealist and contrary to when I came to Delhi, when I joined the YWCA, I was a happier soul, having shed the presents from the past to an extent.
When I came to Delhi I brought with myself a grumpy-ness and heaps of frustration, both of which my eldest massi and her family bore out with an impeccable smile. The things that I picked up while staying with them bore fruit later in life when I sat down to contemplate my life. As I sit down to write this, I am amazed at my naive-ness or should it be called foolishness, I known not.I did not come to Delhi with any dreams. I came because I wanted to get away from Chandigarh and because I was hurting due to a beautiful friendship gone awry. Strangely going back home never figured on my list and so as soon as the varsity released me, I boarded a bust to Delhi and was at my massi's door before she could say SKADOOSH.
I don't think I moved a muscle for good couple of months or may be they were three when I remained immobile, lost in my thoughts and wallowing in self-pity. It must have been my maasi's massive urgings and pleas that I set on the path of finding a job. A job I did find, in fact, I vaguely remember getting some 3-4 offer letters simultaneously in about a month's time. Much more about those adventures, you can read here and here as well
Well as it turned out, I took the job which had been offered to me impromptu and that too without a due call letter. After I had a job it did not seem fit to keep extending my relative's hospitality and I was introduced to the option of the YWCA.
Young Womens' Christian Association has a hostel on Bangla Sahib Road and a certain guardian angel who has played an important role in my earlier life was already staying there. So to cut a long story short, with all the paper work done and a sifarish from a Christian colleague at ANI, I got assigned to room number 317 at the YWCA.
I barely had a clue what a roller coaster ride the stay was going to be. I was already adopted in to the huge family that my guardian angel- Charu Di- had without any qualms. There I was a raw, awkward girl from a small town with a job that I thought I was lucky to have and looking forward to every day in the national capital.
Charu Di and Joycee Sembian were in room number 301 down the hall, bang opposite the loos. Then in a huge dormitory that homed about 8 other girls were- Jaya Kanchanbaras, Shagufta Jawed, Preety Arora. A room ahead on the same side of the hall was given life by a vivacious kid who now is a mommy of two beautiful dolls- Ruchi Kapoor.
On the second floor Pema Sherpa, our mate from the northeast resided and I think was later joined by Jaya's younger sister Priya.
Our days were spent at our respective workplaces but as the evening came around and we began to gather back at the hostel, life became interesting like never before. there was much catching up to do, gossiping, a visit to the market, supplies to be purchased, trips to the dhobi and all that hostel life is composed of.
Charu and Joycee worked at a call centre and were mostly on night shifts. This oddity gave birth to certain rituals which form the most cherished part of the days at YWCA.
These included ordering food from the CCD (or was it a Barista) at their workplace along iced teas. Today when I think of it I wonder how they must have managed to fulfill our demands along side pressures of work and strict timings of their cabs. I don't remember anything better than spending those nightly hours with lights dimmed, in their room, washing grilled sandwiches with (warm) iced tea, listening to music, lost in our own thoughts, world did not seem like a formidable place at that point. We were in no hurry to get anywhere. We lounged in that one room as if that was our lifeline, our moment of glory. Maybe the owners objected to the intrusion, may be they didn't but they never let anyone feel unwelcome. So much so they even adopted my room-mate Neha (of whom I was recently reminded by a pic that Joycee uploaded)with as much affection and good-will that was shown to me.
Our weekends were almost incomplete without a visit to Dilli Haat. Fruit Beer and momos from the Manipur stall, I could write an ode to but I remember it being a complete shopping stop for us. I remember buying bangles, bags, bed-spreads, etc from there with all of drowning a merchant with our questions and bargaining skills.
Weekends and memories would remain incomplete without the mention of a certain four-wheeler. I can feel the breeze in my hair as I cling to the door of a blue, Maruti 800, which carried the eight of us to various destinations all over the city. The car belonged to Jaya, who was also our chauffeur. The freshest memory of a trip in that car is a trip to the India Gate. It was either a 15th Aug or a 26th January. At night, after having finished our dinners we were taken by the wish to see the decorated monument and Jaya was summoned with the orders to get the ride ready.
It escapes me how we must have fit in that car, but we did and we did make it to the
monument to see families sprawling on the nearby gardens. The lit-up monument was a breathtaking sight in itself. There were a couple of nefarious accompaniments and sitting in the car, dangling from the windows we celebrated the day of national importance and the wonderful feeling of being alive, free and young.
Besides being an absolute delight on the dance floor, Jaya was also worldly wise. She gave me her precious jewellry when I was supposed to go for a photo session for a matrimonial-ad to ensure that I gave the right impression. Joycee accompanied me to the photographer's. She told me how to pose, ensured that I did not get clicked wearing my spectacles, was threaded(!!!) and that I looked more than presentable.
Joycee and Shagufta went along to see the husband-to-be and dragged me back at the some three times when I ran off. They bore with me as me and S as we got lost in conversation.
Preety Arora, fondly referred to as Preeto came from a different mould altogether. She pampered me and indulged me. I fondly remember our trips to Regal Cinema to catch the latest flicks soon after having our breakfast on some Sundays. Chameli is a distant memory but the thrill of that dubious theatre and an evening show at that is still alive. She was my introduction to 'classy'.
Pema- our fiery Darjeeling beauty and I were fond of each other but then some misunderstanding cropped up and we parted on a not-so-happy note. When I lost a baby and she came along with Jaya and Priya to Chandigarh to see me, it was as if we had not lost a day.
There are many more memories- of golgappas at Odeon, of mangoshakes and breadpakoras at the Bangla Sahib Gurdwara, of lunches, of discos and disco hopping and dance sessions (in one such memory I can clearly see Jaya dancing to Dilli ki sardi, having come straight from work and surrendering to the rhythm. It was a Christmas celebration at the hostel.), of Boost vending machine, of morning walks, of award ceremonies on TV in the dorm, of creams and lotions, of borrowing handbags and clothes, of unending sessions of soul healing conversations, wonderful gifts, food and music.
As the year 2004 drew to a close, the group had started to disperse. I was probably the last one to leave hostel. That time in my mind has sepia tones.
We all continued on our journeys and as we go on to fulfill our destinies,we are bound together with innumerable memories of love and affection, of lending a shoulder, of a helping hand, of being there. These are feelings and memories which stay as you cross a threshold into another, like a warm shawl, thrown carelessly over your shoulders. A reminder that however busy you might get, when you begin to feel cold, there will be that warmth to cover you up and remind you of your own glow.
***********************
The year was 2003. I had finished a Masters degree quite painfully and boarded a bus to Delhi.
Delhi has had an impact on my life which remains unparalleled in every sphere. I attribute it to the age factor. I was young, a dreamer, an idealist and contrary to when I came to Delhi, when I joined the YWCA, I was a happier soul, having shed the presents from the past to an extent.
When I came to Delhi I brought with myself a grumpy-ness and heaps of frustration, both of which my eldest massi and her family bore out with an impeccable smile. The things that I picked up while staying with them bore fruit later in life when I sat down to contemplate my life. As I sit down to write this, I am amazed at my naive-ness or should it be called foolishness, I known not.I did not come to Delhi with any dreams. I came because I wanted to get away from Chandigarh and because I was hurting due to a beautiful friendship gone awry. Strangely going back home never figured on my list and so as soon as the varsity released me, I boarded a bust to Delhi and was at my massi's door before she could say SKADOOSH.
I don't think I moved a muscle for good couple of months or may be they were three when I remained immobile, lost in my thoughts and wallowing in self-pity. It must have been my maasi's massive urgings and pleas that I set on the path of finding a job. A job I did find, in fact, I vaguely remember getting some 3-4 offer letters simultaneously in about a month's time. Much more about those adventures, you can read here and here as well
Well as it turned out, I took the job which had been offered to me impromptu and that too without a due call letter. After I had a job it did not seem fit to keep extending my relative's hospitality and I was introduced to the option of the YWCA.
Young Womens' Christian Association has a hostel on Bangla Sahib Road and a certain guardian angel who has played an important role in my earlier life was already staying there. So to cut a long story short, with all the paper work done and a sifarish from a Christian colleague at ANI, I got assigned to room number 317 at the YWCA.
I barely had a clue what a roller coaster ride the stay was going to be. I was already adopted in to the huge family that my guardian angel- Charu Di- had without any qualms. There I was a raw, awkward girl from a small town with a job that I thought I was lucky to have and looking forward to every day in the national capital.
Charu Di and Joycee Sembian were in room number 301 down the hall, bang opposite the loos. Then in a huge dormitory that homed about 8 other girls were- Jaya Kanchanbaras, Shagufta Jawed, Preety Arora. A room ahead on the same side of the hall was given life by a vivacious kid who now is a mommy of two beautiful dolls- Ruchi Kapoor.
On the second floor Pema Sherpa, our mate from the northeast resided and I think was later joined by Jaya's younger sister Priya.
Our days were spent at our respective workplaces but as the evening came around and we began to gather back at the hostel, life became interesting like never before. there was much catching up to do, gossiping, a visit to the market, supplies to be purchased, trips to the dhobi and all that hostel life is composed of.
Charu and Joycee worked at a call centre and were mostly on night shifts. This oddity gave birth to certain rituals which form the most cherished part of the days at YWCA.
These included ordering food from the CCD (or was it a Barista) at their workplace along iced teas. Today when I think of it I wonder how they must have managed to fulfill our demands along side pressures of work and strict timings of their cabs. I don't remember anything better than spending those nightly hours with lights dimmed, in their room, washing grilled sandwiches with (warm) iced tea, listening to music, lost in our own thoughts, world did not seem like a formidable place at that point. We were in no hurry to get anywhere. We lounged in that one room as if that was our lifeline, our moment of glory. Maybe the owners objected to the intrusion, may be they didn't but they never let anyone feel unwelcome. So much so they even adopted my room-mate Neha (of whom I was recently reminded by a pic that Joycee uploaded)with as much affection and good-will that was shown to me.
Our weekends were almost incomplete without a visit to Dilli Haat. Fruit Beer and momos from the Manipur stall, I could write an ode to but I remember it being a complete shopping stop for us. I remember buying bangles, bags, bed-spreads, etc from there with all of drowning a merchant with our questions and bargaining skills.
Weekends and memories would remain incomplete without the mention of a certain four-wheeler. I can feel the breeze in my hair as I cling to the door of a blue, Maruti 800, which carried the eight of us to various destinations all over the city. The car belonged to Jaya, who was also our chauffeur. The freshest memory of a trip in that car is a trip to the India Gate. It was either a 15th Aug or a 26th January. At night, after having finished our dinners we were taken by the wish to see the decorated monument and Jaya was summoned with the orders to get the ride ready.
It escapes me how we must have fit in that car, but we did and we did make it to the
monument to see families sprawling on the nearby gardens. The lit-up monument was a breathtaking sight in itself. There were a couple of nefarious accompaniments and sitting in the car, dangling from the windows we celebrated the day of national importance and the wonderful feeling of being alive, free and young.
Besides being an absolute delight on the dance floor, Jaya was also worldly wise. She gave me her precious jewellry when I was supposed to go for a photo session for a matrimonial-ad to ensure that I gave the right impression. Joycee accompanied me to the photographer's. She told me how to pose, ensured that I did not get clicked wearing my spectacles, was threaded(!!!) and that I looked more than presentable.
Joycee and Shagufta went along to see the husband-to-be and dragged me back at the some three times when I ran off. They bore with me as me and S as we got lost in conversation.
Preety Arora, fondly referred to as Preeto came from a different mould altogether. She pampered me and indulged me. I fondly remember our trips to Regal Cinema to catch the latest flicks soon after having our breakfast on some Sundays. Chameli is a distant memory but the thrill of that dubious theatre and an evening show at that is still alive. She was my introduction to 'classy'.
Pema- our fiery Darjeeling beauty and I were fond of each other but then some misunderstanding cropped up and we parted on a not-so-happy note. When I lost a baby and she came along with Jaya and Priya to Chandigarh to see me, it was as if we had not lost a day.
There are many more memories- of golgappas at Odeon, of mangoshakes and breadpakoras at the Bangla Sahib Gurdwara, of lunches, of discos and disco hopping and dance sessions (in one such memory I can clearly see Jaya dancing to Dilli ki sardi, having come straight from work and surrendering to the rhythm. It was a Christmas celebration at the hostel.), of Boost vending machine, of morning walks, of award ceremonies on TV in the dorm, of creams and lotions, of borrowing handbags and clothes, of unending sessions of soul healing conversations, wonderful gifts, food and music.
As the year 2004 drew to a close, the group had started to disperse. I was probably the last one to leave hostel. That time in my mind has sepia tones.
We all continued on our journeys and as we go on to fulfill our destinies,we are bound together with innumerable memories of love and affection, of lending a shoulder, of a helping hand, of being there. These are feelings and memories which stay as you cross a threshold into another, like a warm shawl, thrown carelessly over your shoulders. A reminder that however busy you might get, when you begin to feel cold, there will be that warmth to cover you up and remind you of your own glow.
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