Mini Srishti Day

Mini Srishti Day

The Upanayanam of Srikant-Sudha’s son Srivatsa, a private function though, can easily qualify for a mini Srishti Day because it had most of the ingredients of a Srishti Day – camaraderie; joy of meeting and greeting each other; getting to know of Srishti-ites you have seen but not known; and, no less, an orientation on who’s whose who. Equally, you have an enjoyable time together at the breakfast or lunch table – or both.

The attendance was good, but the turnover more brisk, it being an auspicious day. Many had more invitations to honour. We spotted a senior-couple rush to the venue, mark their presence, hand a gift, wave a quick hello to the Srishti gang and slip away at lightning speed. I bet, before alighting from the car they must have instructed their driver to reverse the car and keep the engine on. A real Bollywood style guest appearance.

A variety of information emerged from group discussions – I hate the term gossip. The Hema-Krish duo of B-Block, off to California next month, would move to a new house there, still farther from ours in San Jose. It was not deliberate, they reassured us, but driven by closeness to grandchildren’s school. Krish clarified, as consolation, that Gautam, the third Srishti-ite, would equally be farther, but the meeting of the trio would continue as hitherto, to enliven the spirit of Srishti, outside Srishti.

Mr Janardanan, the peppermint-uncle to the Srishti children, and picnic-organizer to the upward of 40s, shared with us of a proposed day-long trip to Sivasamudram dam/falls, and a few temples en route, the chief attraction being that he had pulled the right strings to get the closest view of the turbine-functioning, dam, falls, and what have you, which to a normal man access is denied. In addition, a special lunch would await the group at the Guest House after the tour. (We hear since that the 12-member group had a wonderful time on Thursday, 19 May, and the sound of the generous waterfalls is still ringing in their ears.)

Now it was time for Asheerwadam. The Srikants had specified, “Only your Blessing, please”, and everyone bestowed it liberally, but with an accompanying gift (not excluding us).

The unanimous verdict on the lunch served was that henceforth the caterer should be permitted to add in his business card: “By Appointment to all Srishti functions – private or public”.

Guests without a vehicle had meticulously managed to tag along with someone to return home. We were the only exceptions. Seeing our inability to persuade any auto chap to take us for the short distance, the young couple at B-603, with their kids of 6+ and 2+, kindly offered to accommodate us in their car although my cool-operator friend Narayan had already ensured his seat. Thus, the young family of four squeezed themselves in the front, and offered the three of us seat at the back. The pleasure of keeping a 6+ on one’s lap ceases at the forty-fifth second. Thereafter you yearn for your destination. With both the boys on her lap fighting for the window seat, and the young lady’s own concern to get the return-gift home in one piece, she braved the ordeal with a great spirit of accommodation. And at the driver’s seat, the young man’s discomfiture was no less. Each time he moved his hand to shift the gear, he found himself moving his son’s leg instead. But then good manners are made up of petty sacrifices they say, and that is precisely what the young couple did for us.

Long live Srishti spirit.

Sundaram Uncle

B-703

21 May 2011

Cars, Parking, ...

An array of cars parked around the inside of Srishti compound and the golden rays of the early sun bestowing a gentle glow to them may not particularly be spectacular, but is a reasonable bargain for a morning walk. You start late, and you pay a price – the rays get warmer.

Earlier the parking lot was the monopoly of Maruti and Hyundai. Now it boasts of almost all brands and variants. Only Mercedes and Nano are conspicuous by their absence. I think someone enterprising should buy a Nano and write on its back, “When I grow, I will become Mercedes,” and make up for both.

Innovative inscriptions are the hallmark of Delhi cars. “Pappu, Sonu, Nina aur Chotti di Gaddi”, writes one putting the constituents of his family on the public domain. “You dare overtake me,” prints the other warning you of the youth at the wheels and the challenge ahead. The lorry drivers follow their own pattern. “Buri Nazar Wale, Tera Moonh Kaala” (You evil-eyed, blackened be thy face), they write, as if there are no better vehicles on road to cast one’s eyes on than theirs with rattling engines, wobbling bodies and jarring beats of retreaded tyres.

In our open parking area, some have the knack of parking at 90 degrees in a slanted slot. One could guess three possibilities. They wish to be head and shoulders above the crowd; they are too well connected to have undergone the rigours of driving and parking tests; or, they return home very late and are eager to join their kids and spouse to observe norms. An incurable optimist, I would bet my rupee on the last.

It doesn’t require a Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot to guess how many residents are on travel status at a given time. Just spot the cars that are covered, and you get the figure - with residence numbers. A perfect shortcut to an elaborate door-to-door survey for any prospective burglar to decamp with valuables.

Speaking of covers, some tend to be an apology for covering. Lack of tight knots at places aided by wind turn them into a maximum cloth, minimum coverage.

The weekly open carwash is as much enjoyable as, back in the village, the mahout gives the elephant a bath before it is bedecked and taken around with a replica of the village deity mounted. Here, some cleaners give the car a sponge bath with a cloth that has seen better days - and keep you guessing which way the dirt-transfer is taking place. A few splash mugs-full of water at incredible force and speed, and you are better off keep a distance unless you enjoy the rebound spray. Yet others, with their 9-to-5 regular job, pour a bucket-full from the top and call it quits. The ground still fully wet when the owner lands and inspects, he drives to work fully satisfied at his HR skills that he has hired the best cleaner in town.

B-703 Srishti

18 May 2011

SHRISHTI REVISITED

It is nice to be back in Srishti Apartments after months of absence. You are greeted either with a, “Oh God, you have pulled down,” (a negative statement you welcome as in a lab report) or, “Now you look healthy” (a mild hint that you have put on weight).

Physical fitness fervor in Srishti is at its best on this visit. The ladies’ yoga sessions continue unabated. It seems the group had a go at a potluck lunch to celebrate its fifth or sixth anniversary. Morning walkers can seldom miss their chant of Om and Gayatri mantra - maybe in varying volumes and modulations, but it establishes their unity in diversity

The one that steals the show however is the yoga lessons a group of office-goers, and in some cases their spouses and children, undergo early morning in the basketball court. Their teacher prefers “Sahana Bhavatu, Sahanao Bhunaktu…,” the peace mantra from Kata Upanishad, for invocation. His resonating voice can give Harish Bhimani, of the Mahabharata serial introductory-remarks fame, a run for his money. Sorry Srishti-ites, only RAC or Waiting list booking is open.

This is not to rob you of the pleasant sight of the Karate session that goes on in the evening. Donning their all-white uniforms with their respective well-earned grades of belts around, it is a treat to watch young children attempt the various forms in unison. Unlike yoga, this provides the younger generation their much-needed freedom to shout at will as part of the regimen as they enact their action-packed movements a la Bruce Lee.

The male elderly group lags behind in no measure. In the evenings one can watch them take steps with military precision, but in super slow motion. Given a pair of cymbals each, this group can easily pass for a Bhajan troupe doing parkirama or pradakshinam of the complex praying for the welfare of the residents. The topics they cover could be the day’s TV news, the flourishing garbage warehouse adjacent to A Block with sorting centre and pick up facilities added, or to its minuscule companion in B Block but in much closer proximity to compensate.

The young mothers are a group in themselves. With time constraints weighing in their minds as homemakers and having to give attention to children, they walk on a fast track. At the wink of eyes, they are at the other end.

These activities take me down the memory lane on my own efforts to keep fit 45 years ago. First it was a gadget called Bullworker that promised to make a Mohammad Ali out of me. With Mohammad Ali or even his distant cousin nowhere in sight after a couple of months, I switched my allegiance to another gadget, Tummy Trimmer. However, owing to constant non-use the trimmer itself developed tummy. A few more fitness equipment till my mother, mild in nature otherwise, came heavily on me, “I can take no more of decorative pieces in the drawing for dusting.”

I picked up weightlifting this time. After weeks of preparatory workouts the instructor who had won the “Mr Delhi” title inducted me to the actual lifting of the bar. I lifted it with full vigor and, can you believe it, held on to it for full five minutes. He patted me and said, “Very good. This time you raised it up to the ankle. Next time you bring it to the knee level.” “Not my cup of tea,” I said to myself and moved on.

14 April 2011