It's a Small World
While in US, to keep myself occupied I joined some
like-minded mailing groups – Thatha Patty, Iyer-123, US Brahmins. In the
process I acquired a few pen friends, some based in India. Gradually it was mutually
felt we should meet one another personally when we visited India next.
Thus came about an invitation from Mrs Lalitha Subramanian
to join them in their hill resort in Yelagiri. We enjoyed a two-day stay with
them, marked by enviable hospitality. During the chat it transpired that she
was also from Palghat. Nay, she is from the same village Vadakkantharai as I
am, and her grandfather was in Police force. I shot back, “Are you Sankaran’s
daughter?” “No, he is my
Chittappa,” she corrected.
Feeling a bit sidelined, KS (her husband) began to unfold
his antecedents, in a bid to get connected. Lo, he is from Ramanathapuram
village, my mother’s place where I spent the best of my childhood. This
newfound affinity gave a new fillip to their hospitality, what with Ada
Pradhaman, Kalan, Vazakka bajji, onion pakora, masala tea and, in between,
indigenous digestive golis as
anti-dote. We now look forward to their reciprocal visit to Bangalore before we
return to US.
The next was a visit to our place by Mr V. Swaminathan. He
was a walking encyclopedia on who is whose who. By way of a formal introduction
when my wife mentioned of her Kolkatta upbringing, he was quick to add that he
recently attended in Bangalore the 100th birthday celebrations of his
friend’s father, retired as a Head Master in Kolkatta. What a welcome surprise.
My wife and her sisters had studied under him; not only that, the two families lived
in the same lane.
She got the contact details. His daughter picked up the
phone. Even before my wife could give a brief introduction, she jumped in and
said: “Yes Lalitha, I remember you very well. Don’t’ you recollect we appeared
in the bank examination together? You made it, and I didn’t. But I got a job in
another bank.” The next forty-five minutes of their chat were interspersed with
joyous laughter, giggles, “Oh My God”, “Really?” “Don’t tell me”, “I guessed as much”, and the like.
In the end she confided that Padma Priya, a leading actress in Malayalam and
Tamil movies is her sister’s daughter.
Next, we invited GV, as he is known, and his wife Jyoti. We
were meeting them too for the first time. As the conversation progressed we
realized that years ago we had enjoyed snacks at his parents’ house in
Coimbatore, absolute strangers to them though. It so happened that we were on
an unscheduled visit to Coimbatore, and thought of calling on my sister and
husband who had just moved in. Watching us knock at my sister’s door repeatedly,
GV’s father, next door, stepped out, said they had gone to Bombay, and invited
us to his own and treated us with Adai and coffee. As GV and I were sharing
this discovery, my wife and Jyoti, pursuing their chat independently in the
kitchen, stumbled upon another coincidence. Jyoti’s sister and my wife’s Athai
are married to brothers.
We have a few more pen friends to visit or invite. We are
keeping our fingers crossed that they might as well turn out to be our distant
cousins.
V.V.
Sundaram
Bangalore
22 November
2012
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