My Life...Chapter 8 (Haircutting - brother vs brother)

Chapter 8 – My Life… (Haircutting - brother vs brother)

Annamalai and his younger brother Chinnappan were the answer to Ramanathapuram villagers when they needed a haircut. Annamalai ran the barber shop full time under a thatched shed. There were no high chairs; instead there was just a wooden plank on the floor where the customer should sit for the haircut.

Pre-dawn visitors to the shop had often to risk their heads to his artwork under a dim lantern light. Side-burns of differing lengths and patches here and there were the highlights of those guess work sessions. When it rained, one could enjoy a shower at no extra cost under the thatched roof. Occasionally a snake or scorpion blessed the premises as a bonus to cause commotion and suspend the session temporarily. But Annamalai made light of such moments: “Mind you, we are occupying their space, so we shouldn’t grumble.”

The duo catered more to elders who constituted a majority. So they specialized in Kudumi of varying kinds, and shaving. They served the younger generation too, but not to its much sought-after MGR cut, Sivaji cut, or Premi Nazir style. For them the instructions had to be specific: Crop, Motta Crop, or Mottai – nothing more, nothing less.

Saloons were aplenty in Sultanpet, a mile away. In fact there were twelve of them, six on each side in a row, all fitted with swivel chairs, king-size mirrors with no wavy faces, radio, fan and tubelights, and magazines to read. But one had to pay through the nose. The duo charged four annas, whereas in Sultanpet it was ten-annas. The type of economy at work among villagers was such that even the rare households that subscribed to The Indian Express, Hindu, or the Matrubhumi newspaper had to content reading them in instalments as neighbours thronged to get a page or two immediately on arrival. Against this backdrop, to get one’s parents to agree to shell out more than double for a haircut was next to impossible.

The solitary exception was Hari, the only son of the uncle who returned from Burma with all his savings. Thus, when Hari arrived for a bath to the pond after a haircut, everyone flocked around and subjected him to an intense assessment and evaluation as he unfolded his experience. “You look up at the ceiling and the hairdresser would immediately switch on the fan; pass a side glance at the radio mounted on the wall, he would turn it on,” he continued.  “When I turn back, he would hand me a magazine.” And to cap it all, he added, “after hair-dressing he would hold a large mirror at my back for any last-minute suggestion.” Annamalai persisted with the hand-held smoke-filled mirror that was part of the dowry for his marriage.

Chinnappan gave a helping hand to his elder brother till about 10 in the morning. He would then set out on his single-ox-driven bullock cart to meet the transport needs of villagers. His superannuated ox maintained a record of never having overtaken even a pedestrian, let alone a vehicle. The young ones in the village had several times tried unsuccessfully to paste a label on his vehicle: Slow and Steady Wins the Race. But then the villagers were in no hurry either. If and when they did, they gave sufficient allowance if his vehicle was to be the mode of transport.

Over the years friction began to surface between the brothers thanks to their wives. Partition seemed the sole solution. As was expected, both requested Thatha to mediate and settle things once and for all, everything legally documented. With the two brothers putting forward their plea at the top of the voice and Thatha lending his ear, and guiding them with conciliation, persuasion, reasoning and logic for a rapprochement, it all seemed like watching a court in session right in our backyard.

The week-long proceedings were marked by arguments and matching counter arguments. In the end Thatha settled everything to the satisfaction of both. To express his gratitude Chinnappan rushed home and plucked two ready to eat jackfruits from the backyard that had since become his in the partition. Annamalai, not to be outdone, followed suit with a basketful of juicy mangoes. Thatha politely declined the offers. “Both of you are like part of the village, and I won’t accept anything in return.” Unable to bear the sudden deflated face of her grandchildren at Thatha’s stand, Patty rose to the occasion and interjected. “Yes, at the same time it doesn’t augur well to shatter the sentiments of the two brothers just when they are on top of the world having concluded everything satisfactorily,” and gestured to them where to keep those.

In the partition the major chunk went to Annamalai. Chinnappan was no less happy at the share allotted to him. In addition, he got the entire poultry that the two had reared jointly – about ten or twelve in number - a recurring income. Annamalai gave him the pigeons that they had groomed. Last but not the least, their dog, Tiger, which tailed Chinnappan wherever he went, arbitrarily chose to be with him.

It was agreed that the well would be common to both with each accessing it from his side of the house. Like the decision to postpone the Kashmir issue to a later date proved a pain in the neck for Indo-Pak relations, this decision too boomeranged. One heard outbursts on occasions when both the ladies were face-to-face drawing water at the same time. The silver lining was that children of the two families remained chummy and wellknit as though nothing had happened ever. Thus, in the long-term perspective the decision didn’t go off the mark.

To be Continued…

26 May 2012

My Life... Chapter 7 (Towards Godliness)

Chapter 7, My Life..., Towards Godliness

Bhajan, group singing of God, has been an integral part of village life. All the 18 or 19 villages surrounding Palghat town-proper had their own groups. Nurani Appu’s group was head and shoulders above the rest. Each lead singer in Palghat aspired at one time of the other that his renderings too were as melodious, soulful, and enthralling as Appu’s. His group was always in demand, having performed in Bombay, Delhi, Madras, and other major cities. A slightly distant second was Thondikulam Hari. For some inexplicable reason, my father liked Hari better and invited his group home occasionally for an enchanting evening.

The Vadakkantharai Bhajana group was led by Kittanna. To hail his voice enchanting or haunting would be a misnomer. His normal tone matched the high pitch of T.M. Soundararajan, the then leading Tamil playback singer who himself sang at a high volume. So mike for Kittanna was not redundant but out of question. But a Bhajanai is supposed to be a mood elevator, and from that perspective Kittanna’s voice filled the bill best. Vadakkanthara group got a half-hour or one-hour slot on a couple of occasions in Calicut Radio Station.

        

At least on two annual festivals Vadakkantharai thrilled its villagers with caparisoned towering elephant/s going around in procession. The Nadaswaram troupe and Chendai troupe took turns to lead the procession.  A little behind them would be the learned pandits chanting Vedas in singular intonation and unison, but all reduced to a whisper by the domineering blare of Chendai and Tavil. Then the central attraction – the bejeweled majestic elephant/s with the boys of the village on top, the one holding the replica of the village deity in front, the next hoisting a silk ornamental umbrella, and yet another standing up at regular intervals to swivel what they call Venchamaram to add to the overall delight. (It had always been my innate desire to mount an elephant. But my father never allowed it. On top, he never went on any duty travel so that I could have stolen an opportunity.) Close behind the elephant/s would be the Bhajana group accompanied by harmonium, mridangam and kanjira and of course cymbals. I am not sure if this was a deliberate ploy to be at the fag end of the line so that their renderings didn’t get drowned totally in the high-decibel of Chendai Vaadyam.

Ramanathapuram presented a contrasting scenario. The group’s activities of were confined to Bhajanai on Ekadasis and the early morning ones throughout the month of Markazhi (mid-Oct to mid-Nov). Their accompaniments were bare minimum – cymbals and Kanjira. There was not much to write home about their quality of singing. Nor did they ever get any invitation to perform outside Ramanathapuram. On one occasion they invited the Vadakkantharai group for a Bhajan hoping to get invited as well, but it never happened. 

For the Ekadasi Bhajani there was hardly any sponsor for prasadam. But at the same time the tradition should not come to a standstill. So there was an unwritten understanding that on the days there was no sponsor, Venkacham mama, owner of a petty shop in bazaar, would part with six bananas when he closed his shop for the day. The group in turn would wait for his arrival; and he would be the lead singer for a minimum number of songs. It was a given that we would exchange no side-glances for his tonal lapses nor for taal going awry.

The programme would begin with around eight or nine members present. But the tacit understanding of the core group was that the Bhajanai would continue in full tempo till such time the number got reduced to six. Thus there was no need to split the bananas; each could have one whole banana. This went on Eakadasi after Ekadasi.

The School Master uncle normally went to bed at 8 pm and rose at 4 am. But he delayed his bedtime by two hours on Ekadasi days to attend the Bhajan in the pious hope that at least twice a month a banana the previous night might give respite for his constipation the next morning. Thus it turned out that by sheer persistence he was always the seventh. And the moment he left the Bhajana Mandapam the group would sing Mangalam on fast track and have one full banana each. On one occasion, he left the premises and, as usual, the Aarathi was performed and prasadam distributed. Unfortunately he had stepped out only to ease himself. So when he saw the swift succession of events leading up to our being half way through the bananas, all in such a short span, he flared up at our deliberate and cheap act and swore to expose us to the Village President.

The early morning Markazi Bhajanai was month long. It would be chill and windy in the morning at that time of the year. So it was arranged that by turn one person would get up a little earlier and wake up the rest. Then when ready the group would sing Bhajan and cover the entire village in slow motion. On three or four occasions in the entire month, some benevolent householder would sponsor outside his house a ten-minute break for hot coffee.

All the group members slept in their front yard (Thinnai) to be woken up early. One day it was the turn of Rajai. He came to wake up my uncle Ramachandran. Two or three initial calls, followed by shakes mild to wild, did not elicit any response but just some protesting sounds. Rajai upgraded the level and started tickling and caressing him, when he suddenly felt a tuft. He had seen my uncle only the previous night and definitely there was no way a tuft would grow in leaps and bounds overnight. So he viewed more minutely, darkness despite, and realized the faux pas. It was my grandfather. Later he came to know that Ramachandran had very bad cold and cough and Thatha woke up at midnight and asked him to go inside and sleep, and exchanged place with him. Rajai never came face to face with Thatha for the next ten days.

During the entire Markazi month, they prepared Chakkara Pongal for Neivedyam in the Perumal temple.  A new priest from Coimbatore had just been appointed. The previous Vadhyar was a cinema addict and went regularly for late-night shows. But he never faltered in his duties. On one occasion he however overslept and opened the temple only at 6.30 am – one hour late, that is. And that cost him his job, and he left the village. He was pro-children and used to distribute most of the prasadam to us and kept very little for himself. The new Vadhyar was just the reverse. And we just could not put up with this sudden turn of events. So the four of us devised a plan. After offering to the principal deity, he would go around the temple and offer to the other installations also. Three would accompany him, while the fourth would stay back quietly near the temple kitchen and take a big chunk out of it to be shared later among the four. A couple of days later when it was my turn for kitchen duty, he hastened back to the kitchen half way through saying he had forgotten something – a deliberate police job. I was caught in the act of transferring. But I sped away, and ran into the first house (Babu’s), rushed to the backyard, climbed the boundary wall, and two more, and coasted home. He had seen me enter the first house. So he barged in and complained to the lady of what her son had done. She reasoned out with him that Babu had gone to the pond for a bath. But he persisted. The lady spotted Babu returning from the pond. Gesturing to him, she asked the priest if he was the one who did it. He said, “No, the other; your other son.”  “But I have no other, just this son only,” she retorted. The priest murmured and left in a huff.

Being in a village, I could not escape for long. He spotted me a day or two later and complained to my grandfather. Normally grandfather dispensed with justice on a cash-and-carry basis – on the spot, and with whatever he had readily at hand. But at that time he was sweeping the backyard with a broomstick, and saw me already having taken bath. So he delivered a pro tem justice with a verbal dressing down with a concluding remark, “We also prepare Payasam in our house on all the 30 days of Markazi. Aren’t you happy eating that?” He then shouted for my grandmother from the backyard and ordered her, more meant for me, “From today onwards give your favourite (intending sarcasm) grandson two extra ladles of Payasam, so that he doesn’t steal from the Lord’s house.”

To be continued.

Phoenix

21 May 2012

My Life.... Chapter 6 - Time a Great Healer

Chapter 6 - Time a Great Healer

Vadakkantharai, my father’s village, is always vibrant with purring sounds of cars and motorcycles. Most of the villagers owned wholesale and retail textile goods business. Horse- as well as ox-drawn carts with jingling bells around their necks passed by at regular intervals. Vegetable vendors and dairy products in vans from Coimbatore made rounds and went back tallying cash. Thriving equally on the affluence of the villagers more beggars frequented the village, not to speak of the brisk movements of an assortment of cooks from one house to the other doing part time jobs.

In sharp contrast, the lackluster Ramanathapuram, my mother’s village, wore an eternal sleepy look. The villagers broadly fitted into four categories: Gumaastas (clerks) in the court, collectorate, district hospital and muncipality; Teachers from elementary- to high-school levels; Cooks working in the better-known hotels in Palghat; and Vaideeka Brahmins earning their livelihood performing rituals and ceremonies in households.

There were four exceptions. One was an evacuee from Burma. He invested his savings in paddy fields that yielded enough to meet his family’s needs and a little to spare, which he did. For any village festivals if the prasadam came from his home the villagers knew it would be no less than three to five items, and would pass not through tablespoons but big ladles.

Another whom I had never known to be gainfully employed, got elected as Municipal Councillor giving villagers a joie de vivre feeling that Ramanathapuram was in for a total transformation into a fairyland. At the end of his five-year tenure, he got two pubic taps installed, which managed to gush more air than water. The elders felt cheated that the neighbouring village, Tarakkad, with a solid vote-bank enjoyed better amenities at his hands.

My grandfather was the third. He was the solitary practicing advocate. A moralist of the highest order, he redirected half the cases that came his way to fellow advocates where he was convinced prima facie the law was not on the side of his client – a sense of righteousness reigning supreme over professional ethics. This steadfast principle, as far as I could remember, remained life-long the sole barrier between him and my Patty.

She couldn’t live without coffee, and Thatha never drank coffee. Not only that, he did his best to stop others too. So whenever Patty included coffee powder in the shopping list he would grumble. She would promptly counter it that if only he had stayed bound to his advocate-profession and pleaded cases for his clients, and not dispense with judgements himself before hand, everyone could enjoy the drink – without any grumble. That worked always - in getting her item included in the list.

The fourth gentleman worked as a clerk for a living and, in spare time, drove away evil spirits from the ones possessed of. It earned him the title, Maantreeka Veera Kesari – Lion of Spiritual Powers. He is reputed to have cleared many of their mental challenges. A case in hand I remember was that of Subramaniam, a 6 feet tall policeman from Gobichettypalayam. He was possessed of an evil spirit when he was on a night patrol. A violent variety, we children were just mortally afraid of getting near him. On Amavasya and Pournami days he was kept chained as his mental imbalance registered its peak. Housed right opposite my own, I was the best beneficiary of his shrieks, shouts, and screams. A regular sleeper in the front verandah (Thinnai), I chose to sleep inside till such time Subramaniam remained the chief guest of our village.

Months later a black luxury-model Pontiac car made its appearance in Ramanathapuram. Yes, they were from Gobichettypalayam, to escort the fully recovered Subramaniam back home. There was a visible glow of happiness in his wife’s face as she saw him greet her with smile, and not the roar of a wounded lion.  The young son and the daughter clung to their mother’s saree having the least idea of what it was all about. For them their father had gone out of town on temporary duty. All of us boys collected and watched the proceedings from a close yet safe distance, still apprehensive of his total recovery. He greeted us with a warm smile, and sometimes with a naughty wink to gain our confidence. Soon I gave in, and held his hand when he extended it; other children followed. That was my first handshake with a policeman, let alone with one who gave me spine-chilling sleepless nights.  He whispered something into his wife’s ears. She took out a ten-rupee note and gave it to the eldest among us, with instructions to buy toffees and distribute among ourselves. We waved him good-bye as his car slowly motioned for his homeward journey. The elders watched it thanking Almighty for ending his suffering and reuniting with his family.

15 May 2012

My Life.... Chapter 5 - Encounter with a Ghost

Chapter 5 - Encounter with a Ghost

I have shared in other forums some specific incidents in my life a little more in detail. Therefore I shall thus reproduce them at appropriate places rather than labour on them all over again. Here is one that I wrote for the Hindustan Times on 24 February 1983 (My Encounter with a Ghost) on my scary experience when at the mid of night my grandma’s asthmatic problem aggravated and I ventured to bring in medical assistance:

I lived in a haunted village. The late 20th century scientific brain may revolt at any suggestion of the existence of ghosts but I encountered one at the age of fourteen.

A landlord of our village once discovered his spouse in a compromising position with one of his friends. He strangled her the same night and threw the body in a nearby well. Her spirit started haunting the house to take revenge on the killer. People heard muffled sobs proceeding from the house to the well where the corpse lay rotting. In the dead of night, a sound of descending steps was heard in the house. In the hushed silence, when people stretched their ears to discern more of the mysterious noise, they would hear a pathetic wailing sound as though bemoaning the loss of some beloved. The landlord fled in terror and the haunt became notorious in the vicinity.

A few years after this gruesome incident, two beggars decided to live in the haunted house. Of course they were cautioned about the ominous symptoms, but they ignored the warnings. The second night neighbours heard loud agonized, piercing shrieks coming from the house, but none dared to approach the scene. Death had snapped the life-thread of one while the other fled, leaving his meager belongings, never to come back.

Persons coming late at night to the village sometimes chanced upon a lady immaculately dressed in white moving sadly along the farther bank of the canal. Some even were hailed by their names but thought that to respond was too dangerous.

It was gradually established that moving out of doors at night was a risk that only the desperate would undertake. I was a young, dashing lad, cock of the village boys’ flock. The house that was the terror of others was our rendezvous in the afternoons. We would ape our elders in narrating the mysterious occurrences.

On a particularly gloomy dusk, when it had been raining torrents and lightning was flashing with incredible frequency, the condition of my aged grandmother, who had been ailing for quite some time, worsened rapidly. We waited for the village apothecary’s routine visit, but the weather probably deterred him from venturing out. We wanted to call in medical assistance, but no one voiced his willingness dreading the ghost. It was 11.30 pm. Finally, seeing how much my grandmother was suffering I volunteered to fetch the apothecary and despite the dissuasion of all, rushed out of the house. The young spirit cannot easily be dominated. It was time to act, ghost or no ghost.

The rain had stopped and the clouds had dispersed. In the chilly December night, I was striding along, surrounded by utter silence and frightening darkness. Stories about the ghost converged upon my mind. The hushed silence was suddenly disturbed by something falling with a thud. My heart palpitated. It was some bird. I mustered courage and kept moving. God knows what elemental force was hidden in the dense, dark mysterious jungle. My spirit seemed frozen. Fear for the first time gripped my mind. The hooting of an owl froze me to the marrow. Some unknown bird abruptly flapped past me swiftly, leaving me dazed. I found myself trembling with fear, when, with my own eyes, I saw somebody clad in while slowly moving towards me.

There was no doubt now about the ghost. “Make the most of your time”, the thought rose up from within. I turned back and started running home. The ghost recognized me and called me by name. “Oh God, I am done for”, I said to myself. I was sure to be trapped. Terrified, I dashed home at top speed, knocked at the door and fell in, unconscious. The ghost pursued me right up to the doorstep, and actually knocked.

Later, I was told the ghost I had dreaded was my cousin on his way home for the Christmas vacation.

Continued….

15 May 2012

My Life - Chapter 4, Classroom fiascos

Chapter 4 - Classroom fiascos

(Last para of Chapter 3: As if these were not enough, he (my grandfather) organized with the village Purohit to teach all the boys Rudram, Chamakam, Purushasooktam, in a regular evening class, with Attendance Register, regular tests and marks. 

In retrospect, it is a pity that I have lost touch with most of what I had learned, and my recitation is now confined to just Vishnu Sahasranamam, at horse-race speed - in 20 minutes from Shuklaam Bharataram… to Kaayena Vaacha... Here too a surgery a decade ago had to intervene to trigger resumption.)

My maternal grandfather had a great influence in my life. I never had the privilege to see my paternal grandfather (Kunjanna). He died when he was 43 or 45 – even before my father was married. Consequently, my father’s marriage had to be performed hurriedly within forty-odd days of Kunjanna’s demise for the marriage to enjoy the status of having been solemnized during his lifetime.

Kunjanna raised the family’s textile business (identified as the ‘VKR’ family) to such heights that this period came to be regarded as the golden age of the VKR with the main operations in Palakkad, branches in Coimbatore, Eranakulam, Chennai, and liaison office in Mumbai.

He was pious Hindu. He performed Sahasra Bhojanam - feeding 1008 purohits, cleansing their legs, giving them items ranging from agricultural land, house to live, cows, and ever so many other things. It is a different thing that right now the descendents of the purohit who got a house in the village still live there, while we check into a hotel on each visit to Palakkad. But no regrets. Kunjanna a had done pada pujai to Sri Kanchi Maha Perival, when he visited Palakkad. I am not sure if it was during the same visit that the much-publicized meeting between Sri Maha Perival and Gandhiji took place in the adjoining Nellissery village.

I don’t recall much of my paternal grandmother, since she too died while I was in teens. All I remember is that after sunset I would come home fully tired and hungry after playing cricket or football - all eager to munch something. My mother would flatly refuse me, for it is not desirable to eat anything during sandhi kalam (twilight). On such occasions it was this grandmother who would bring me one Dosai or half Adai (already prepared for her early dinner), and stealthily stuff into my hands. She was a sober lady and had never seen her talk loudly.

My maternal grandmother too had a great influence in my life. In the late evening hours as we waited for our grandfather to return from court, via the big bazaar with his cycle loaded with vegetables and grocery, my two younger sisters and I would take turns to lie on her lap and listen to stories from mythology. She was thorough with the subject, and was a ‘master’ storyteller – like most grandmas are in any household. Like the present day Tamil serials, she knew exactly where to stop for the day, so that we would hang on her lips for more of it at the next opportunity. Not only that, even housewives from the adjoining homes would join the session on the pretext of having a chat with her. I can’t recollect her having missed a single religious discourse in town, though she had to foot a distance of 3 to 5 miles one way with her asthmatic wheezing problem.

In later years when it became my turn to transmit this knowledge to my children, I bought in bulk Amar Chitra Katha, refreshed myself first with those stories as I directed children to finish their homework - to bring in legitimacy to my action. Later, I had these bound and stacked in books of 5 or 6, and lent them to friends and relatives - never to get them back.

Back in school, as I moved to a new class each year I got a new team of teachers. Sivaraman Nair, my Malayalam teacher, was a sort of blow hot blow cold. Sometimes he would be very jovial and witty; at other times serious. But he was good at teaching. Once, in the quarterly examination he had asked us to write an essay on Kalpathy Car Festival. In those days it was believed that the more the pages we wrote, the more the marks likely to be awarded.

Weeks later, when he distributed the answer papers with marks, I came for a rude shock. For a four-page write up on Car Festival, he had awarded me only 3.5 out of 10. I got furious and walked up to him and asked.  “Sir, how come you have given me such a low mark for a four-page coverage. He was at his wit’s ends. “Have you read what you have written? You say, Vishwanatha Swamy therine ella janangalam kude izu izunnu izuthu. What language is this izu izunnu izuthu?  Malayalam, Tamil, or something of your own?" I still gave you pass mark only because of your father. He allows me to buy clothes from his shop on credit." All the boys - and more important, girls – had a hearty laugh much to my discomfiture.

S.V. Subramania Iyer was impeccable in English. There was a ring of authority in his diction, delivery and command over the language. He was a devout Hindu. A sparkling three-line vibhuti on his spacious forehead, thanks to his tonsure up to the middle-head and a lustrous kudumi behind, augured his entry to school. He and the Sanskrit Pandit were the only two teachers who sported kudumi. Among the students too there were two – Sahasranaman (?) and Kasi Viswanathan. And both had the good fortune to be the blue-eyed boys of these two teachers.

It was an Active voice and Passive voice class. After explaining the nuances, he summed it up saying that in passive voice you should say it the other way round. He gave some examples, as I was busy trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle. Then he said, “Rama killed Ravana.” Now make it into passive voice, and pointed his hands towards me. I was totally unprepared. Just to prod me, he said, yes, yes, just start it the other way round. And I said, “Ravana killed Rama,” picking up the hint promptly. That was enough for his face to get red with fury. “I know your family from both sides. You should be ashamed of being part of such an illustrious family. I pity myself that I have to take classes for such a bunch of pupils… Many students felt that his flow of English for the next five minutes was at its best thus far. Not satisfied with the downpour, he said he would share with my grandfather my English grammar level and audacity to re-write Hindu mythology.

(To be continued…)

04 May 2012

Your Take On These, Please

The membership of our like-minded assorted Yahoogroups (US Brahmins, Iyer-123, Thatha Patty, etc.) totals 10 000 – inflated no doubt because most of us are members in almost all of them. Anyway, out of that we get to hear from a meagre 30 or 40 (of course quite welcomingly) - some with systematic regularity of one post a day, some in twos and threes a day, a few in pairs invariably, not to exclude the dated and out-of-place pieces from the likes of me occasionally.

I wonder if the following questions are interesting enough to stimulate the hitherto dormant members to respond - in addition, of course, to the active contributors. Answering one or max two questions in each post will overcome space constraints.

1. Whom would you rate the best PM India has had so far? Nehru, Morarji, Shastri, Indira Gandhi, Rajiv Gandhi, Narasimha Rao, Atal Bihari Bajpai, or Manmohan Singh? Give reasons.

2.  Who has better PM material: Pranab Mukherjee, Rahul Gandhi, Narendra Modi, Jayalalithaa, Nitish Kumar, Mulayam Singh Yadav -- or someone else? Explain why.

3. “If I have maintained Brahmacharya all through and have uttered nothing but the truth, please let this Sudarshana Chakram protect the ….from the mantra-packed arrow,” said Lord Krishna, and it was protected. Despite having 16 100 wives and known not to be telling the truth always, what He claimed himself to be was correct. How? And what was it that he saved?

4. How do religious experts justify Rama’s Agni Pariksha on his beloved wife Sita? Also of his killing Vali under cover?

Now two riddles for children of all ages – or to keep Alzheimer’s at bay.

5. Two students identify a timepiece priced at Rs 50. They give their tea-boy Rs 25 each, and send him to buy that particular piece. The boy bargains with the shopkeeper and buys it for Rs 45/, and saves Rs 5. He tells the students that he bargained it for Rs 48/ i.e., Rs 24 each; returns one rupee to each, and pockets Rs 3/-. That makes a total Rs 51/-( Rs 48 + 3)? How come?

6.  Four youngsters undergo a long-term sentence. The jailor says he would let them off if they solve a riddle. He has two white and two black caps. He would place a cap on their heads, each standing one behind the other facing the East. Thus each can see only what the other/s in front is/are wearing but not his own. If anyone answers the colour of his own cap correct, he would free all four. Each cell can accommodate only three. So one of the four is in the cell in front, with a brick wall partition. The boy in the middle of the second cell answers it correct, and all are freed. How?

V.V. Sundaram

www.vvsundaram.blogspot.com

03 May 2012