"No! I cannot carry this old-fashioned grandfather's umbrella to school. My friends will laugh at me!" I protested at home. No school boy with an ounce of self-image carried a tent-like, black, "manual" umbrella with a handle curved at its end like a hockey stick! That was simply not done. Dabbawalas and bhaajiwalas carried an umbrella with those features, not school kids at Don Bosco. "Doesn't Subra carry one of these umbrellas?" my mother persisted. Subra was after all my hero- if he ate curd rice with his hands, I ate curd rice, if he listened to Carnatic music, I listened to it as well, however hideous it sounded! "Subra can do whatever he wants- he can shave his head and come to school if he wants to, I can't do something, just because he does it!"
That's when I made the transition from a traditional umbrella to a sleek, automatic umbrella. A press of a button and it unfurled- rather it exploded- on the person in front of you or worse on your own face!
As long as the Principal was out of sight, the short recess was put to good use. The school corridor was filled with kids armed with umbrellas as light sabres- each one re-enacting the famous Star Wars duel between Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker! It would have looked absolutely comical for someone to prance around and threaten the opponent with a traditional umbrella- more like Gandhiji taking on Darth Vader! It just wouldn't have won the approval of ones peers.
In many ways, the automatic umbrella had several challenges which its counterpart didn't have. Having unfurled the umbrella, it took a lot of effort to bring it back to ground state- the spring would be just too resistant. One had to position the umbrella handle at the belly, clench your teeth and plunge it down- with almost suicidal intent to get the required momentum to close it. The umbrella would close half-way- only for it to protest and groan and snap back to its full-blown form. It was especially frustrating to close the umbrella in time to get onto the BEST bus. Often, the attempts were unsuccessful- either you missed the bus simply because you couldn't close the umbrella or you tried to gate crash into the bus with the umbrella still open, only for the bus conductor to deny you entry with a brusque show of hand. A traditional umbrella had no such drawbacks- it was just an eye sore!
A traditional umbrella was robust- it could take on the might of Mumbai's rains effortlessly. It was made for it. The automatic umbrella had no such capability. The rains toyed with this umbrella with mischievous glee. Sometimes, the wind snatched the umbrella right out of your hand and made it perform a few somersaults, while you pursued it with your hands held aloft- all drenched and looking absolutely silly. At other times, like Bakasura pouncing on his hapless prey, it turned the entire umbrella inside out. It was always a losing battle. After the incident, one of the steel rims would invariably give way. For the rest of the season, you walked around with an umbrella, looking more like a shapeless octopus with one of its tentacles sticking out like a needle! When three of the four rims gave up, you simply discarded the umbrella and bought a new one- a new, automatic, sleek umbrella.
You always started the year by drawing an umbrella in the Drawing Class. Mrs Sequeira, our Art Teacher, examined the handiwork at the end of the class. Drawing an umbrella was never simple. There is always an irresistible urge to continue drawing curves, once you start one. Soon, almost a dozen curves would be drawn, spanning the entire page. The tough part was drawing the dome of the umbrella connecting the start of the first curve to the end of the last one. Many a student incurred the wrath of Mrs Sequeira for drawing an umbrella which at best looked like a UFO! If he got the dome right, the handle was not at the centre. The umbrella resembled a giant banyan tree with a single adventitious root hanging apologetically from one side!
Mehernosh wanted to get the umbrella correct to the most intricate detail. He tried to draw even the ornamental cone on top of the umbrella. Only, he got his proportions wrong and drew a cone with dimensions rivalling the handle. At the end of it, it became terribly confusing. His umbrella appeared to have two handles- one at either end. The creation looked the same regardless of which way you turned the paper! Mrs Sequeira was not amused. She squinted her eyes and gave him a mouthful, "You gaddha..." (Donkey! in Anglicized Hindi)... she began.
It was tough to please Mrs Sequeira.
Traditional or automatic, Mumbaikers carry an umbrella for most part of the year. We have an umbilical relationship with umbrellas!
That's when I made the transition from a traditional umbrella to a sleek, automatic umbrella. A press of a button and it unfurled- rather it exploded- on the person in front of you or worse on your own face!
As long as the Principal was out of sight, the short recess was put to good use. The school corridor was filled with kids armed with umbrellas as light sabres- each one re-enacting the famous Star Wars duel between Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker! It would have looked absolutely comical for someone to prance around and threaten the opponent with a traditional umbrella- more like Gandhiji taking on Darth Vader! It just wouldn't have won the approval of ones peers.
In many ways, the automatic umbrella had several challenges which its counterpart didn't have. Having unfurled the umbrella, it took a lot of effort to bring it back to ground state- the spring would be just too resistant. One had to position the umbrella handle at the belly, clench your teeth and plunge it down- with almost suicidal intent to get the required momentum to close it. The umbrella would close half-way- only for it to protest and groan and snap back to its full-blown form. It was especially frustrating to close the umbrella in time to get onto the BEST bus. Often, the attempts were unsuccessful- either you missed the bus simply because you couldn't close the umbrella or you tried to gate crash into the bus with the umbrella still open, only for the bus conductor to deny you entry with a brusque show of hand. A traditional umbrella had no such drawbacks- it was just an eye sore!
A traditional umbrella was robust- it could take on the might of Mumbai's rains effortlessly. It was made for it. The automatic umbrella had no such capability. The rains toyed with this umbrella with mischievous glee. Sometimes, the wind snatched the umbrella right out of your hand and made it perform a few somersaults, while you pursued it with your hands held aloft- all drenched and looking absolutely silly. At other times, like Bakasura pouncing on his hapless prey, it turned the entire umbrella inside out. It was always a losing battle. After the incident, one of the steel rims would invariably give way. For the rest of the season, you walked around with an umbrella, looking more like a shapeless octopus with one of its tentacles sticking out like a needle! When three of the four rims gave up, you simply discarded the umbrella and bought a new one- a new, automatic, sleek umbrella.
You always started the year by drawing an umbrella in the Drawing Class. Mrs Sequeira, our Art Teacher, examined the handiwork at the end of the class. Drawing an umbrella was never simple. There is always an irresistible urge to continue drawing curves, once you start one. Soon, almost a dozen curves would be drawn, spanning the entire page. The tough part was drawing the dome of the umbrella connecting the start of the first curve to the end of the last one. Many a student incurred the wrath of Mrs Sequeira for drawing an umbrella which at best looked like a UFO! If he got the dome right, the handle was not at the centre. The umbrella resembled a giant banyan tree with a single adventitious root hanging apologetically from one side!
Mehernosh wanted to get the umbrella correct to the most intricate detail. He tried to draw even the ornamental cone on top of the umbrella. Only, he got his proportions wrong and drew a cone with dimensions rivalling the handle. At the end of it, it became terribly confusing. His umbrella appeared to have two handles- one at either end. The creation looked the same regardless of which way you turned the paper! Mrs Sequeira was not amused. She squinted her eyes and gave him a mouthful, "You gaddha..." (Donkey! in Anglicized Hindi)... she began.
It was tough to please Mrs Sequeira.
Traditional or automatic, Mumbaikers carry an umbrella for most part of the year. We have an umbilical relationship with umbrellas!
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