Another Enjoyable Srishti Day (2015)

Every action has a reaction. If you give a sterling performance one year, it becomes a standard and you will be required to do better next time. Last year a few items attracted a lot of applause. The skit by the middle-aged guys, Mere Samnewale Kidiki Mein… To a lesser degree, the senior couples attempting running-around-the-trees numbers a la Dev Anand. Or, the haunting dance number performed by a group of young Srishti mothers. Thus  it was a challenge for the organisers to come up with something better this time. Truth be told, I was a bit sceptical, going by the lacklustre preparatory work. I wished I was wrong. And I was.

First and foremost, I liked the lavish (and deserved) praise of the wonderful job being done by our Manager Beliappa, the handymen, the team of upkeep ladies, and the security staff. These unsung heros (and heroines?) often get tagged to the ‘also ran’ category. 

The pandal contractor stuck to the same set of shamiana that he erected last year. Hence, in later years, the shamiana  per se in a video clipping cannot help one to identify which year’s programme one is viewing. The mike chap did his homework well this time before he set out for work. 

The young boy Gaurav, and Aditi, ably assisted Ms Geeta, who compered the show. (Aditi disappeared after a while to the backstage to get dressed for her own Bharatanatyam dance number). Gaurav took charge of the mike for most of the time and interspersed the programme-announcements with riddle, as the performers got ready. Well done, the team.

Gandhi’s Swatch Bharat was well presented, and it conveyed a pertinent message.  The number where children in deep sleep wrapped under a cosy blanket woke up to a song suddenly and started dancing merrily was enjoyable. But when they remained wrapped a little too long before the backstage guy could start the song, I got worried that they might really go to sleep. That was bedtime already.  

The tiny-tots, all dressed in white kurta doing a patriotic number filled one’s heart. I enjoyed more their stare at their concerned mothers in front for instructions and prompting. The Kathak dance, a difficult one, was performed with near professionalism. The maiden Bharatanatyam attempt by the mother-daughter duo (Bhagya and Aditi) deserve compliments considering that they associated themselves with the art for the first time during the rehearsals.  

Then there was a dance number with teenage boys lined up to the full length of the stage. I can’t recall the song, but I did spot Sriranjini’s son, Sumita’s son, Sarika Kothari’s son, and some more in it. These boys played with verve. Equally spirited was the performance of a dance number by Praveen’s (B-301) daughter, Jyoti Singh’s daughter and two more. Well done girls.

I liked especially the RD Burman song (a difficult one at that to play) which Sreevasta picked to play on keyboard. He did full justice to it. The second one, with Sudha giving him vocal support, was also a haunting old number.

The Rajasthani group dance featuring Sujatha, Ruchi, Sarika, Sumita, Ritika, Poonam, Dr Smita et al, was well rehearsed and executed. Kudos. And the final item of the show by Jyoti Singh, Neodita and Vanitha was a befitting finale.

Mentioned in passing, but arresting in performance, include the violin recital, the skit in English, the Cinderella story with umbrella, the rendition of a song in the Harivarasanam style (the song that is sung before closure of the Sabarimala temple every night), the opening prayer, the individual rendition by Sujata, Ruchi and Sarika’s daughters with their teacher playing background music on keyboard, and a few other items. 

And the food? Unfortunately, I am unable to comment on it. I am still reeling under a resolve (the sixth since New Year) after my family re-union when we visited restaurants left, right and centre. Even at that time we had engaged this very caterer to serve food to about 40 family members. We were quite happy. 

My only regret, as I conclude this piece, is that I wish that my children and grandchildren were here these days (rather than last month) so that they could have taken part in some of the programmes. One grandson is shaping up as an accomplished pianist, taking lessons from Mozart’s great grand daughter’s daughter (subject to correction), while our younger son’s son is good at oratory. He enacted in his school, with accompanying body language and actions, a condensed version of Steve Job’s famous presentation at Stanford, and walked with a prize. The third is good at sports.

V V Sundaram, B-703

16 Aug 2015

A BEEHIVE THAT SRISHTI IS

Migration to greener pastures seems to be the name of the game in Srishti. In the not too distant past Sulochana and her family, the Srinivasans, and the Harihara Sarmas have all moved out. The DeSouzas’ too are to follow suit.

Sulochana, Hari (Ramanathan for most) and his family shifted with a heavy heart to Sahakar Nagar a few months ago. They had to, for administrative convenience, as both Hari and Rashmi go for work. By nature the family moves about quite unnoticed, but hats off to them for what they could be if one is friends with them. During our sporadic, prolonged absences from Srishti in the past few years, they took excellent care of B-703. Not just that, each time we landed at an unearthly hour, the fridge was filled with milk and unadulterated coffee decoction; mail stayed sorted out between junk and the useful ones; and the house as such cleaned. Worth taking a cue from them on what relationship is all about. We miss the family.

Srinivasan ji and Vijaya (A-305) moved to Chennai to be with their son and daughter, preparatory to trying out in their own apartment that is getting ready in Chennai. They will then take a call whether to settle down in Chennai for its music festivals, or return to Bangalore for its salubrious weather. In short, Bangalore’s loss will be Chennai’s gain - or vice versa. Anyway, for the interim we miss them.  Vijaya knows that many Srishti ladies will miss her more than she will miss them. Srinivasan did a creditable job as President of Srishti Association. He had clear-cut views on any issue. 

Harihara Sarma and Padma  (A107) finally succumbed to the pressure of their son that they should ideally move permanently to ‘White House’ to his independent ground-floor apartment which he since got vacated for them. That will grant them their space and Ramesh’s closer presence on the first floor. Harihara Sarma has probably served on the maximum number of sub-committees in Srishti, unless the distinction belongs to Shri V.N. Radhakrishnan. I  don’t have a count. Padma Aunty, as she is popularly known, has been a lead figure in Srishti’s religious activities. Fortunately, we will not miss them altogether; just won’t get to see them that often. We wish them both a comfortable stay in the new environment.

The DeSouzas, of B-403, too are slated to move to Thanisandra, to a villa. If reports are to be believed, it is a fabulous one. The senior DeSouzas are of an amiable disposition. And, as I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, their movements in the compound are calculated to attract the minimum of attention. We wish them a pleasant stay in the new villa - notwithstanding that Mr DeSouza defeated me hands down in a Srishti Day carrom semi-final tournament.

The only silver lining amidst this exodus is the return to the fold by a few, with a renewed Home Sweet Home enthusiasm. Yes, Dr Satpathy (A-306) moved to a place near Esteem Mall, only to make a hasty retreat to Srishti sooner than later. Mr Ajay Choksey (A-104) gave up the pleasurable life in a villa built in a 5000 sft. area to be with old friends.

  

Kudos Srishti children. It seems some of them acquitted themselves ably in the public examinations and made their parents feel proud of them. They have now branched off into their chosen streams in the best or the next best college. We wish them well in their academic pursuit. Yet others whom we saw a few years ago participating in kids programmes on Srishti Day, have now completed professional degree courses.  One is flying off to USA later this month to pursue Master’s in Biomedical Engineering. One more was to leave for US for higher studies. Either because of parental persuasion or on her own accord, she  decided to give it a try for a year to an offer from a top Consultancy firm in Bangalore while keeping her US admission option open. All the best both.

Srishti atmosphere is fully energised these days with positive vibrations thanks to a host of religious activities.  Sarasa/Narayan (B-001) performed Bhagawat Seva (Devi puja) which is customarily done in the Tamil month of Adi (mid-July to mid-Aug). Sudha/Srikant (B-508) too held one a week later - an annual event in their home. These two helped the atmosphere reverberate with religious chants. No less, Uma/Bajaj (B-202) provided a delightful evening to an overflowing gathering of devotees at their annual bhajan. The hymns, accompanied by Dholak beats and cymbals, elevated the mood, compelling even the stiff-upper-lip variety to sing and swing. 

I now hear the bugle sound, with band playing rhythm for steps. Probably it is from Kuppuraja School near Anand Nagar Park. The students must be doing their final rehearsal for the Independence Day parade. Yes, we too have a flag hoisting ceremony, freedom songs, children’s programme, and probably some impromptu soul-stirring speech by elders for tomorrow morning. Also, let’s get ready for the Srishti Day in the evening. Happy Independence Day -  and Srishti Day too. 

V V Sundaram, B-703

14 Aug 2015

Lest I Miss the Bus Again

Recounting missed opportunities has been my favourite pastime. “What a pity, I didn’t buy Brigade’s 2100 sft. super luxury apartment in…. It was then available for 55 lakhs; now it is quoted at 2 cr. And Sobha’s nearby? There were few takers at Rs 2200 per sft. Their rep persisted me to book one. I didn’t. Now it sells at God knows what price. Forget these, what about that Villa in …………”  The regret list goes on.

Last week I was in Coimbatore visiting my sister. Around that time a senior couple from Kochi visited her looking for a senior citizens home in Coimbatore. For the uninitiated, Coimbatore distinguishes itself as a hub for such homes. Many (including some known to me) from US, UK, and Indian metropolitan cities have settled down there - Vanaprastha, Dhyanaprastha, Nana Nanny, Soundarya, Brindavan, Swarnalaya, to name a few. In fact, you utter any name at random, and chances are there will be one home by that name, unless you try to be mischievous and ask if there is one by, say, Heavens Calling, On the Go, Departure Mode, or Then There Were None.

A brainstorming session ensued among the three of us senior couples - 82-72, 75-67, 72-70 - to pick one for a pre-investment survey. The discussions took such a turn that my sister and I, hitherto passive, also began to show signs of interest in the project. Already I had heard good reports about these homes and I didn’t want to miss the bus again. An appointment was fixed, and next morning the young rep drove us through Phase 1 (completed project) where seniors have been living for four or five years. A row of small, compact and beautiful villas, including car parking, temple, gym, recreation centre, meditation hall, and what have you. First impression is the best impression, and the rep succeeded. We all fell for it. But none available. That is called marketing - to arouse interest in the buyer and then deny him so that he grabs the next available one, feeling victorious.

He then headed to the the current project (Phase 2) where villas and apartments were being readied for delivery before year-end. After a conducted tour of the model villa and apartments he said that only a few apartments were available, no villa. An exquisite temple was taking shape, as also a club house, and a few other centres. 

Sensing that we were not unduly impressed with the left-over apartments, he was quick to add: “Now I will take you to the upcoming project (Phase 3) which is due for completion in early 2017. You can choose at free will.” It was indeed very good, and facing the Western ghats.” He even hand-picked from blue print apartments that would give us a view of the mountain every morning - 202, 302, and 402. “All of you would have the same view, and would be close to one another.”  

He took us back to Phase 1 for a taste of their lunch. They enjoy a reputation for serving good food.  We had to wait at the lounge as the lunch hall was full. A few minutes later, one by one came out after finishing their lunch and all the six of us, unknown to the other, watched them with eyes wide open to see if there were any whom we knew.  No luck. So I picked one at random, told him our purpose, and asked him, “So sir, how do you like the stay here, ambience?” “Well,” he said, “my wife likes this place, and so we live here. Basically I am a research scientist, so I keep myself busy on internet.”

As we got into our own vehicle at the drop-point, to return home, we asked the Kochi couple, “So what is your opinion?” “I wish I could see cheerful faces as they walked out of the lunch hall, radiating happiness. They had more of an ‘inmate’ look than a ‘resident’ look. Also, the promoters don’t allow any regular visitors to one’s apartment or villa. I can’t live without my hobby - astrology - and people come to me for consultation. So it is out for me.”

“And you Shanta?” I asked my sister. The present complex where I live combines senior citizens, office-going youngsters and children. And any of them, not necessarily the seniors, can visit (or order) the mass catering service the promoters run at the end of the complex for anything from breakfast to dinner. I am quite ok meeting just not the seniors over and over again and exchange notes on BP, sugar, and cholesterol, but see fresh young faces, and children playing around in the parks in the complex.

“Any about you? they both asked me simultaneously. “Jai Shriram - I mean Shriram Srishti,” I clarified. But I am no gold standard.

V.V. Sundaram

B-703

09 Aug 2015

Finally, Bannerghatta National Park, etc. with grandsons

On any given morning it is an uphill task to goad children to wake up. ‘Five minutes please,’; ‘just two more minutes’. And you tend to bend. But, on a morning when they have a date with the animal kingdom, they are the first to get up. They rolled us all back and forth to wake us up. For a change, we got a feel of what it is to be at the receiving end.

The weather played hide and seek - the sky overcast at times, occasional drizzle, a gentle breeze for most part, and the sun showing up in between. We were unsure how the animals would react to such a combo weather - would prefer to stay indoors, or oblige us who have ventured out. Earlier-visitors to the park had warned us not to have great expectations beyond deers, bears, and peacocks.

As soon as the headcount touched 30, the attendant bundled us into a bus that had a protective thick wire-mesh around the exterior that resembled a police van transporting prisoners. With a born-free feel and in the open, the animals enjoyed the sight and pitied our plight.

First we spotted an antelope. It jumped right in front of our bus, in a bid to cross the road, no less adventurous than any Bangalore pedestrian. It changed its mind and instead raced ahead of the vehicle for a while as though to display its sprinting capability. Then it turned right to take a long leap forward into the jungle. When it reached a safe distance, it stopped and turned back with a frown as though to convey, ‘Come on mankind, believe in live and let live.’ Poor bus driver, his anxiety to show us the animal from close quarters was not taken to kindly by the antelope - understandably.

It was a herd of deers next. The senior deers sat relaxed, simultaneously keeping a watchful eye on their offsprings that leapt around in merriment making different kinds of sound. Who knows, they were singing, no school, no home work; all play and no work... to tease the children in the bus.

A few yards away, it was bears’ den. There were four. Two had just completed their first round of fight, and were taking time off for the second. The intense look of the third had all the bearings of a referee. The fourth was all too restless, moving around in circles in the small enclosure. Must be a writer, stuck with a writer’s block - struggling for the right word.

“See a herd of elephants on your left,” announced the conductor. They were about 12 to 15, in varying dimensions, standing by a pond. It appeared they had just had a bath in the pond and had powdered their body with a liberal coat of dust. A mini truck appeared from nowhere, and all the elephants charged towards it. “Oh God, please save the occupants,” came an impromptu cry from one in the bus. No, they were staff bringing food for the elephants in several XXL buckets. Each staff carried a bucket and spread out in different directions. With military precision each elephant followed one of them, to avail of the offer.

Luck favored us immensely. We spotted two lions. As we were busy taking snaps a third scratched the bus-door close to which we were sitting. In another bush we sighted three lions and one lioness sitting opposite each other in a conference style minus the table. Probably they had just finished their lunch, and were getting ready for a game of cards. In the tiger area we saw far too many, both the striped and plain-white varieties. One of them was especially slim and trim, with a six-pack body, moving majestically. “Must be the forest-cousin of Hrithik Roshan, spending equal time in the gym,” I guessed.

No less rewarding was our encounter during the overnight stay at Nagarhole Forest Resort. Visits to the Innovative Film City, Nehru Planatarium, Tibetan Monastry, and what have you, in the days to come were equally entertaining, educative, and an eye-opener on how a barren expanse of land allotted to the Tibetan refugees could be converted into a small is beautiful township and a fabulous monastery. To cap it all, the mouth-watering lunch and dinner at Rajdhani restaurant, ISKCON’s Higher Taste, Jayanagar Maiyyas...

And so? Well, all three grandsons are firm they don’t want to go back to US (they have since, though); two for the excellent time they have in Bangalore in general, and Srishti in particular; the third for the opportunities the city offer to join cricket academies.

V.V. Sundaram 
B-703
14 July 2015 

Day Out with Grandsons

Everyone looks forward to a family re-union, and I am no exception. So, when my grandsons from USA snatched the telephone from their respective mothers to be me first to announce their proposed visit to India, I was overjoyed. I made no secret of it in my blog with a write-up, ‘Welcoming the Triumvirate’ so that the event does not fade into oblivion.

Now the first ‘batch’ has come - my elder d-i-l and her two sons. The younger d-i-l and her son will set foot tomorrow and, finally my elder son, 4 July. Too bad my younger son can’t make it due to prior commitments. 

I took the two kids on a conducted tour of the Srishti complex more to hint to the Security staff not to let them go out of the complex on their own. At the basketball court, boys of their age were playing cricket. Hardly had I introduced them to the group when the two were inducted - one to the batting side and the other to the fielding side. That was the end of the conducted tour. Now less than a week, and they have more friends of their age group than I have managed all these years. But then they have no ego hassle. Also, in the spate of intercom calls received, Aunty now stays the distant second. 

Well begun is half done, they say. Rightly so, the inaugural day-long trip with the first batch has been rewarding. Ahead of the long ride to Ranganthittu, Nimishamba and Srirangapatnam temples, I brushed up the Tell Me Why answers, just in case. 

As we drove, I shared with them that Mysore is known as the Heritage City, Bangalore the Garden city, and… Before I could continue the elder one (Class 5) interrupted : “Thatha do you know which is the first city to be electrified in India?” 

“We will come to that later. Now let us talk of things relevant to Bangalore,” I evaded his question with my customary postponing tactics whenever I didn’t know the answer. “No Thatha, listen. Bangalore was the first city to be electrified.” “Ashwin, I know you are joking.” “No Thatha, I did a google-search and got all these facts.”

It came to pass that before giving him permission to leave for India one week ahead of his actual summer vacation, his  Director of Student Affairs had directed him: “In that case, make a power-point presentation of all the places you are going to visit in India.” Delhi and Bangalore were on the cards, and he has prepared one.

“So, what are the other facts about Bangalore?” I asked him. “Thatha, as many as 57  engineering colleges are affiliated to the Bangalore University. This is the highest for any university in the world… This city has the most number of Indian scientists nominated for Nobel Prize…’

That is excellent, Ashwin. But how about Delhi?” “Well, Thatha, the entire public transport of the city runs on environmentally friendly ‘Compressed Natural Gas’. But what amused me the most was that the city has an International  Museum of Toilets.”

Who was it who said, Child is Father of the Man? I asked myself, as we alighted at Kamath Lokaruchi, Ramanagaram, for breakfast.

V.V. Sundaram

B-703

24 June 2015

Welcoming the Triumverate

No, not the trio from the celestial world, Brahma-Vishnu-Siva, setting foot in the Garden City - not in its present format definitely. It will be my grandsons, next month,  from the US:  Ashwin, Rohan, and Rishi. The first two from Arizona, and the third from California.

Snatching the phone the other day from his mother (our elder d-i-l) denying her the privilege to convey it, an excited Ashwin (11) announced,  “Thatha, we are coming to India next month.  And you know, I have learnt a new song and will play it for you when I come there.” 

Yes he is an upcoming pianist, under the tutelage of the great-, great- grand-daughter of Mozart. True perhaps because in her house I counted seven pianos belonging to different eras when I last dropped Ashwin for the class.

You have a piano at home, Thatha? he continued

We have a harmonium, beta. You can try your hand at it, I said as a consolation.

But in harmonium one hand stays busy with the bellow, and I use both the hands at the keyboard.

Before we could work a way out, Rohan(7), the younger one who by then squeezed himself closer to the mouthpiece, said aloud in a me too gusto, “Thatha, I scored two goals in the last Sunday match against Jack’s team. You remember Jack?”

Yes I do, but Jack and you were in the same team, always fighting for the centre-forward’s position, right? 

Yes, but now he has moved from Scottsdale and joined another club.

So, your position as centre-forward is now assured?”

Yes Thatha.

Any fresh injuries, Rohan?

No, Thatha, just the usual ones.

Okay, you scored two goals, but what about the opponent?

Five, he said somewhat reluctantly, hinting that I had better not asked that question.

Don’t worry,  when you come to Bangalore we will practice together so that on return you will hit goal after goal, okay?

So you have a soccer ground. Thatha? 

Not exactly, but we have a basketball court.

He started laughing. “You know Thatha a basketball court is much less than half of a soccer ground. How can we practice there?”

“Sorry sunny, but you have to make-do with that. That is what boys here do. In fact even elders play cricket in that space.”

That was the upper limit for my d-i-l to be on the waiting list. She reminded them, “Now my turn,” and picked the receiver from them for a talk with the lady of the house (LOH). I went for my shave and bath. Back from the ritual, I found them not even half way through their chat - milk overflowing at the kitchen, regardless.

About half an hour later, I got another call, this time from San Jose, California. It was Rishi (7) - my younger son’s son. “Thatha, we too are coming there, around the same time,” he said, rather overjoyed. “The network is strong among kids too”, I said to myself.

"Delighted, Rishi. By the way congrats again. I watched your prize-winning speech at the school  - a gist of Steve Jobs’ famous speech at Stanford University.  I liked your body language better. I still can’t say I followed 100% of what you spoke. Your diction, accent, style everything has changed since my last visit."

Aside from a bookworm, going by his interests and inclination, Rishi can be termed a saint in the making, true to his name. So I asked him, “Rishi, can I buy for you any more of Amar Chitra Katha?  I know you are through with the Tell Me Why… series of books.”

Before I could continue, my younger d-i-l, listening to the conversation in speaker-mode, interjected from the kitchen. “Appa, don’t buy him any books. He has a complete collection of Amar Chitra Katha, and is up-to-date on Chota Bhim as of last month. In addition, these days he insists on his dad to take him to the Library, instead of to his earlier haunt, Restaurant. And finishes about 10 books in 15 days - of the Harry Potter and other varieties, each running in 200+ pages. So if you must buy, take him to the bookshop for him to select himself.“

Yes, now I am a little busy drawing a vacation plan for them. To begin with, the division of labour has been drawn. LOH has assigned me the caretaker job for the children, as she and the two daughters in law frequent Orion Mall, Commercial Street, Mantri Mall and the new Elements Mall in Thanisandra. For the last one alone, she has allowed me to accompany them with the kids so that I branch off with kids to Sapna Book shop there to have a dekho at their 100,000 book collection, as the three ladies invade the mall.

As for the one-day and two-day trips outside Bangalore, LOH and I are still to arrive at a consensus, If I suggest Jog falls, she comes up with another name. When I propose the Nagarahole resort, she has a few others lined up. No doubt we will draw up one finally.  After all, next week we will cross 42 years of togetherness, and these little disagreements are of no consequence, and are aimed at only to give the best fare to our sons and families.

V.V. Sundaram

20 May 2015

A Date with the Dead

“Sundaram, our uncles have decided to sell their ancestral house, and request us to empty our household items stored there before it changes hands. Can you travel to Palghat and handle it, please?” asked my eldest brother. Those were the items with which we had migrated to our maternal grandfather's house when our father's flourishing business collapsed overnight, thanks to World War II. 

Chudamani, my friend in the village, accompanied me to the decades-uninhabited house that awaited a full-blown sneeze to collapse. He checked the rooms on the ground floor. I went upstairs and tried to climb the attic with a jump-start. It was too high. I found the table and chair that stood by me in my school days still there. I placed the chair on top of the table and barely managed. 

The attic was poorly lit, and the twilight added to the darkness. I felt the dust-ridden items one by one, braving bats, lizards, centipedes, and scorpions that mounted a joint assault at my invasion into their unhindered lives. 

First I chanced upon the set of ten king-size Tanjore paintings (kept one on top of the other upside down so that the glasses stayed safe). I could recollect they were embossed with gold. ‘A solid few lakhs, to begin with,’ I said to myself.

Still groping, my hand reached for a large utensil with ‘ears’ to hold by. It was used in the bathroom, for the maidservant to fill water from the well for all of us to bathe. Suddenly, attired in pancha-gachham and uttareeyam, bright vibhooti on forehead, my paternal grandfather surfaced from out of the utensil, smiling at me. “So you are Sundaram, aren’t you, my child,” he asked. I was both struck with fear and drawn in by his affection. When he died my father was not even married; thus there was no way he could have placed me. Anyway this was no time for logic. 

“Yes, I am. And from the photo I have seen at home, you are my Kunjanna Thatha, aren’t you?” “Yes I am, my child. I used regularly this and a host of other utensils that you see around here for feeding the poor until in your father’s time this particular one found its way to the bathroom. Promise me you will donate all these utensils to the Grama Samooham for mass feeding during religious festivities.” “I shall, Thatha,” I reassured him. He vanished into the thin air.

With pimple-like sweat from head to foot, I looked up through the solitary glass roof-tile for light and, if possible, fresh air as bonus. The branches of the mango tree above were dancing merrily to the late evening breeze. As I tried to enjoy more of it, I saw Krishnan Kutty, the handyman of the village balancing on a branch plucking mangoes. (Every season he plucked from all the five tress at our backyard. In return Patti gave him a basketful of assorted mangoes and a four-anna coin. He never grumbled, but he was hard-pressed for money.) His eyes fell on me casually. Instead of extending the customary smile at meeting someone ages after, he stared at me, followed by a volcanic eruption. “Did you know why I had to commit suicide, Sundaram?” I was ill at ease at his calling me by name. I wished he didn’t place me after such a long gap. But he did. “But you are alive, plucking mangoes,” I retorted. “No, I am his ghost. You villagers gave me such a raw deal for my work that I could hardly subsist, let alone get married. That is why I had to take that extreme step.”  

“Sorry friend, I didn’t know it. You know I have been away for many years. Anyway, tell me what can I do for you,” I asked him off-guard not realizing that there was very little I could do to a dead.  “I have borrowed several times from your grandmother vettu kathi, spade, axe, the entwined rope for climbing the coconut tree, the multi-hooked trap to dig out kodams from the well-bed. Look around the attic. You might stumble on them. Hand those over to the President of the Grama Samooham, and instruct him to… No, he might change his mind and keep them for the Samooham. Better still, give them to Chudamani and ask him to donate these to Velu who visits the village regularly looking for odd jobs. He can hardly afford to buy these.” “I shall, Sir,” I added the salutation unwittingly. But then they say the dead are to be treated with more respect.

Enough of it, I said, the sweat now turning into a stream. Let me get down; let the buyer of the house take it all, I murmured, and headed down. Now the chair was missing. “Oh my God, what elemental force is loitering around here? Is it the neglect of daily puja in the house for years that is causing this?

No sooner did I utter the word puja than I heard the drumbeat of Chendai from beyond our backyard. It was Friday, and the time 7. Ponnu Thai, the midget, maidservant for many houses in the morning, and an ardent Devi devotee otherwise, was still kicking and continuing with her Friday pujas, I guessed. Yes, as children, we dreaded most the Friday nights with the drumbeat, sound of the oracle wielding her sword, and screams and howling that let our imaginations run riot.

With a full-blown bright red sindhoor, Ponnu Thai confronted me, fully in trance and wielding the oracle-sword.  She smeared vibhooti on me, and asked me how on earth could we think of selling the house. I clarified that it was not mine; it was our grandfather’s. “You... telling me?’ she asked, her sword getting a little closer to me. I pacified her saying that it would in all probability be sold to someone from within the village. “Well that is somewhat heartening,” she said a little pleased, and asked me to continue the good work I was doing. I reassured her. To this day I am figuring out what that is.

Hardly had I got over this bout when I saw a chair surfacing all by itself up the stairs in slow motion. This terrified me to the hilt till I saw Chudamani’s head underneath - struggling to balance the chair. “Where did you take the chair?” I asked him in desperation.  “I wanted to check something in the small cellar in the kitchen store-room. The opening was at four feet high. Why? Anything happened?” he asked. “No nothing, just like that,” I said regaining my composure. With utmost care we brought down the ten Tanjore paintings and took them to his house. Under bright light we found all the gold pieces having disappeared, and the hapless paintings staring at us stripped.

I shared with Chudamani disposal instructions exactly the way I received them, but as though they were my brainchild.

“Should we just have one final check to be sure nothing is left out,” Chudamani asked. “No, not necessary,” I replied, substituting in time my real answer, “Never again.” 

19 May 2015

SRISHTI ROUNDUP

A few loyalists asked me, separately, “How come Uncle we don’t see your post, of late?” I  smiled it away. The real reason is that I have a new Mac Mini desktop. It has TextEdit rather than a Microsoft Word that I am used to. The font proves a strain on my eyes, and  I have not been able to fix it at a default setting with a larger font. Believe me, I have even attempted it at different times of the day. Anyway, not your problem. (This is when I remember Siva Paturi (702), now in California. He would just fix it in a jiffy. “Remembering us for a selfish reason, Uncle,” I hear you mutter, Prashanti. No, not at all. Far from it.)

                                       * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

These days the day starts in B Block with your being woken up by the  rhythmic sound of a new Yoga teacher, “Ek…, Do…, Teen…, Char…,” as he guides his adult students in the Basketball court at 5 am to synchronize various steps. Or, occasionally by the commotion of cricket., basketball or any other game children choose to begin the day with. Which of the two cracks it depends on what time you regained your sleep after the 2.30 am wake-up call of the  stray dogs heading home after a prowl. 

It is summer vacation, and children have a gala time playing various games at all conceivable vacant spots. Skateboard seems the ‘in’ thing this season where an instructor guides children of all ages the nuances, as their parents or grandparents keep a concerned vigil for any mishap. The hitherto deserted swimming pool is in full splash. The easy-going seniors (and not the so aged as well) continue to relax with their select groups at the bench in the toddlers’ play area, watching the young ones enjoy the swing, see-saw, or merry-go-round. Simultaneously these elders engage themselves in conversations on a wide range of topics. The group is getting popular by the day, so much so that each one makes it five minutes earlier to grab a seat before his/her friend does. Their present demand is to uproot the solitary bench in the car-park area of B Block and install it in the park. “In that God-forsaken car-park area,”  they argue,  “you get no more than the smell of what is cooking in the adjoining first-floor flat”.

This is also the time when ceremonies are planned that involve children. Rightly so, Dr Satpathy and Jayashree of A Block performed the Upanayan of their son, Aryaman (Sun), in their home town in Odissa. (The elder son is Chirag (Light). Very thoughtful of you Satpathy to name them after sources of energy. Yes, no doubt children ARE a source of energy.)  Back in Bangalore they held a reception in Malleswaram which was well attended. The menu aside, the star attraction of the event was the sooo cute Aryaman with a tonsured head sporting a two-strand of hair as tuft that the occasion demanded. Did someone whisper into Satpathy’s ears suggesting something for nazar na lage? Anyway, Aryaman that evening could easily have passed a screen test for a child artist for Sant Gyaneswar, Tukaram, Kabir, Tulsi Das, or who have you. 

In sharp contrast to all this merriment, alas there are some children who are burning their midnight oil preparing for a host of  All India entrance exams. One of my morning walk friends’ daughter is right now busy shuttling between various cities to appear in  X number of tests in Y number of days. “Is it a record?” I asked. “No, hers is for Medical. It is more for the Engineering stream,” he clarified.  

The city’s garbage collection centre seems to have resurfaced at its old place - this time with a vengeance. Those who go out to fetch milk early morning would seem the most affected. That probably is the time when sorting job is at its peak.

The long-awaited suspense is over. The shopping cum residential building completed opposite our back-gate will have two shops - a Chicken Blast and an Iyengar Bakery. The liquor shop patrons will now have a wider choice for a bite  - the usual pakodas from the old shop, or chicken pieces from the new one.

V.V. Sundaram

B-703  

13 May 2015

WISH IT WERE DEC-JAN ALL THRO THE YEAR

"So how was the New Year eve celebrated in Srishti? I didn't see your write-up. I couldn't participate myself as I was away from Bangalore," said my morning-walk friend of the day. In confidence, it was my New Year resolve that in 2015 I will spare Srishti-ites of my event posts. Reason? Well, those interested will participate. And those who are not, couldn't care less. So why force-feed them? 

Much to my dismay, resolve is not my cup of tea. Here is a jam-packed list of events that marked Dec-Jan to justify my wish that this period stayed so through the year.

First it was the Sports Day, It started on an afternoon, strangely with events for seniors, which in Srishti 's parlance are those above just 50. Men and women in enviable numbers took part in all the events: speed-walk balancing a pillow on head; musical chair, pick and wear a tie and a hat as you speed-walk to your winning point, and a few others. The star attraction however was the walking race. In men's group, we had the current champion, Radhakrishan, the previous one, Narayan, Prabhakar Sheth (who for the past 40 years has been walking 5 km in the morning and another in the evening), and I, having been a champion on a solitary occasion when there were literally no contestants. And guess, who came first this time? None of these stalwarts. It was a dark horse. Ravi (Jyoti Singh's father). In an interview, holding out an imaginary microphone, I asked him: "So, sir is this the first time that you are trying your hand at this?" "Who says so?" he shot back. "You know i am a three-star holder." 'No Sir, I don't.  I have heard of a three-star hotel but not of a holder. Could you please elaborate?"  "Well, like the 'walkathon' that you hear these days, this is held with thousands participating, and there is police 'bandobasth' all through the route. And you get a three-star only if you come first in four out of the five sports events." "Congrats Ravi," I said as I turned to update myself on women's walking race where on a welcome note Auntie hit the ribbon first. The next morning's session was devoted to the rest of the activities. Unfortunately I had a religious function to attend, and hence am unable to report on it.

The New Year eve celebration was on a slightly lower key than usual. Nonetheless, small is beautiful, and everyone present enjoyed the evening, including the outside caterer's dinner. There was a slight chill and the less prepared had to go back to get warm clothes.Those who chose to hit the bed before it struck 12, were woken up by the fireworks to usher the New Year.

This January, the ladies' group celebrated a decade of its weekly Vishnu Sahasranamam chantings. Sanjay's father (late Srivatsa), Hari and Kartik's father (late Ramaswamy), Harihara Sarma, Narayan (and the likes of me, later), along with ladies, started it ten years ago, initially at someone's house by turn. Later it was decided to have it in the 'Yoga' room. Gradually it became an all-ladies show. Bharti (Sanjay's mother) wanted to sponsor the ten-year celebrations with a variety of prasadams to constitute a brunch.. Unfortunately there was some bereavement in her family at the last minute. The ladies' group however took over and celebrated it with the same gusto. The group did invite the original men-folk participants to the function. And we all had a divine blast, if I am allowed to use that expression.

The B Block second lift (and the last of the lot) became operational technically on 15 January. The ladies organized a puja to augur well, and quite a few attended. Visweswaran and Kalyani took the inaugural flight to check if it takes them to their floor. Yes it did. And that was all. Later in the day a technical snag rendered it out of service, which it still is. Let's hope it will be attended to soon, and someone will try it out before I do myself.

Dec-Jan witnessed many arrivals and departures too. The latest is the impending departure of Sarada Krishnan and her son Prasanth (B-808). Mr Krishnan has taken up a more challenging job in Delhi and Sarada and Prasanth will join him soon. Today Shyamala Lakshmipathi (B-806) organized a farewell High Tea for them inviting a small gathering but with a big menu around - a variety of dry fruits and juices for a starter followed by Dahi vada, mixed pakodas, dhokla, poli, mouth-watering rasagulla, badam kheer, followed by three kinds of digestive 'golis'. There was an 'army' touch the way Shyamala had organized the whole thing, with everything being served spic and span, well laid out on the table with no more and no less than 6-1/2 inches distance from one dish to the other. Only a band was not in attendance. Thanks Shyamala. It was an enjoyable evening. And Sarada, wish you all the best in life. Of course your sister's Lakshmi Nursing home will miss an able administrator in you, but then life has to go on. And Prasanth, wish you success in getting a right opening to set foot on your career. 

V.V. Sundaram

B-703

24 Jan 2015