Let me take you, at this stage ,to a flash-back. My nomadic journey, in fact, had begun in 1950s in the stark rural area in India, where the water had to be fetched from river a km away and light in the night was available only through the burning of the kerosene in the lanterns. I was living in the mud house without a concrete slab and without any touch of cement. The two room house was rented by my parents to hold
6 of us . I walked a km to daily to reach to the primary school and studied sitting on the floor. That lasted till my primary schooling was over.
Many people of my age who now occupy the high positions in India also went through similar situation and hardships. It never occurred to me to attract the sympathy by describing such apparently miserable conditions to get applause for my achievements and accolade in my later life. The reason is simple, I never considered my childhood conditions to be hard, nor full of suffering and definitely not deprived of the human joys. Lessons I learnt, ‘looking back’ at that life, became my treasure and the capital to invest in my future life. The adverse conditions have lessons when we look back.
Looking back, those were the days, full of struggle, aspirations and hopes. Adversity, I think, is not only mother of invention but a father of ‘thinking-differently’ and grandmother of serendipity. My primary education was in small village of Vaduj. For secondary education, I moved to another small town of Rahimatpur where my aging grandmother was living. Interestingly, while my mother who took her children under her wings in that muddy house of the village of Vaduj where she was primary teacher, my illiterate grandmother in small town of Rahimatpur helped me to get ‘differently-educated’ for secondary education.
My grandmother herself had gone through even tougher times. Her stories were full of ‘looking-back’ exercises that she unveiled before me. I then started loving and reliving her nostalgia myself. Not for my daydreaming, but for dreaming for my future with restlessness. In the huge ancestral house of Rahimatpur, we were only two residing there. My grandmother and me.
When she took me under her wings, that was also my resurrection. Reinvention, recreation and reimagination became my new traits and tracks. Definition of my ‘dream’ then became , not as something that I get in sleep but that does not allow me to sleep.
Realising my restlessness in Rahimatpur, my uncle took me to Mumbai- Bombay those days-for further secondary education. There my journey took me on further ascents. I stood among top-50 of the state-level Secondary School Examination and then cracked national level IIT entrance examination to enter into that ‘out-of-the world’ experience of IIT. I was reborn.
It is said that “Put Harvard, MIT and Princeton together, and you begin to get an idea of the status of IIT in India”. That was yet another trajectory for me leading to yet another resurrection.
This web site is full of the impact of those trajectories. These are the cyber pages of journey of resurrections.
From very peculiar rowdy and rough local rural Marathi language to Imperial Oxford English, and then to stylish and smooth French, from the green campus of IIT Bombay to crusty salt fields of Tata Chemicals , from profit-hungry business and industry to peace making United Nations, from the causes of the problems to the tenets of the solutions, from making of chemicals to phase out of those lingering and persistent man made pollutants and finally from the dusty soil to sky-high stratosphere , it is a journey of a nomad called Rajendra Shende that has no destination.