Meet the Morning Melody Man

It was early last year when we moved to SFV. Occupants were few and far between, and scattered. We were the sole family, not just on our floor but probably in the two floors below too. Enough of sannata  - more pronounced at night.

We would hear someone playing flute, fortunately early morning. For sure it was not Chaurasia, because there were repeated attempts at perfection.  Maybe, somebody is trying to be one.

But when the sound began to emanate from different directions each day, scenes of the horror movie, Bees Saal Baad began to converge upon my mind. “Have we by chance selected a complex haunted by ghosts?” After all most of it was forest, and several trees must have been chopped off mercilessly before construction. And who knows how many of these trees gave shelter to ghosts to bemoan the loss of their beloved.

The residents being small in number, the info network in SFV was at its best. It came to light that the flutist was none other than Pulkit Yadav, the watchman who greets you with an unfailing smile, and a Namaste as bonus. Or, the one who rendered a solo flute performance at SFV’s Independence Day celebrations. And the reason for the sound from different directions was that sometimes he was posted in Alder, at other times in Cedar, Oak or Maple.

Hailing from Bhagalpur in Bihar, Pulkit is one of the younger ones in a large family that subsisted on land cultivation and rearing cattle. As a young lad he was assigned to tend the cows – graze them on the open meadows, take a short nap under a tree, hum a number or two till it is time to take them back home. “All this while I cherished I had a bansuri too to re-live literally Kishan Kanhaiya.”

He set foot in Bangalore in 2012 to join the agency responsible for SFV security.  Away from his wife and six children, Pulkit found time, enough and to spare, to pursue his passion – try his hand at bansuri. A dream come true.

Carpentry work was in full swing in SFV.  At his request, one of the carpenters made a bansuri for him – though it turned out to be an apology for one. Later Pulkit himself made one and started practising. Initially he and his flute could never see eye to eye, but with time the bansuri yielded to his commands and released sounds closer to what he had wished. Thus began his association with the instrument. On his next visit to Bhagalpur he bought one made of bamboo, the real one, which he still holds close to his heart.

Does he play flute for the family when he visits home? Yes he does. Children are not that enamoured, but his wife does enjoy it. In fact she has retained one of his notes as the ring tone for her mobile phone.

“Have you attempted any film song?” I asked him.  “Yes, I tried the Pardesi… song. “Which one, Pardesiyon se na ankhiya milaana… from Jab Jab Phool Khile?” “No, Sir, Pardesi, Pardesi, jana nahin… Raja Hindustani.“ That’s on the positive side. Good. ‘But Sir, I am nowhere close to getting the tune,” he seemed a bit disillusioned at yet to make a breakthrough.

To encourage him I thought I would share the success story of another watchman, and narrated to him what Salil Chowdhury, the famous music director, had disclosed in a Vividh Bharati programme in the 1960s.

Whenever Salil Da stepped out of the recording studio, he would hear the Nepali watchman hum a rural tune as he went about his chores. Salil Da once asked him to sing it in full. He did and the Maestro was inspired. The result?  He composed a nice and melodious number, Chhota sa ghar hoga baadlon ki chhaaon mein – for Bimal Roy productions, Naukri, 1954. Moral: Even an ordinary person can sometimes be a source of inspiration to a learned man.

“Ab mein har haalat mein himmat nahin haarunga Sahib,” Pulkit said as he sipped the last drop of tea and departed from my apartment.

V V Sundaram

Maple 3195

22 Sep 2017

From Gossip to Godliness

 Hari (3192) had gone for shopping. Viswanathan (3161) had some other engagement. For my evening stroll I had thus to fend for company. After all, you can’t do a soliloquy of world news and the resultant debate all by yourself, and unto yourself. Maybe I should circumambulate our supreme abode (the more populated areas in particular  - Swimming Pool, Pine, Park, and Maple) for a chance meeting of someone for a chat.

There was no dearth of people around. But everyone had his pre-arranged group and agenda for discussions, to be able to spare even a side-glance at me, let alone extend a smile. However, an elderly gentleman was enjoying solitude near the pathway to the Oak basement – close to the de facto ladies gazebo. On closer scrutiny I observed he was either in deep meditation or chanting mantras. On my third round I saw him collecting his belongings – a hand-towel, mobile phone, and the specs cover – probably to head back home.

“Doing Japam enjoying a cool breeze, Sir? I asked him, from a distance of five metres. “Come, come,” he hailed me. I joined him. “I am Sundaram. I too chant  - Vishnu Sahasranamam,” I said, to set the ball rolling. No reaction. Maybe he is not impressed.  “Also Rudram and Chamakam,” I added, though it is six months since I recited R&C. On rare occasions I allow myself such liberty, to boost credence to my spiritual bio data. You never know it might trigger re-start of R&C. In which case the end will justify means.

“I am a devotee of Satya Sai Baba, of Puttaparthi,” he announced. “I too had darshan of Baba thrice – once in Delhi and twice in Puttaparthi,” I added, in a bid to be at par. But his experiences were of a different league. On one occasion he and his wife had got a special paduka made which they somehow wanted Baba to wear so that it stays blessed and they could worship it at home. But they were no VIPs. So they stood on the side as Baba walked by giving darshan. Suddenly from nowhere his wife pushed the paduka on to the carpet as Baba was approaching. Baba stopped, wore them for a while, and moved on. “Can you believe that, Subramaniam? He asked. “Sundaram,” I modified.

“Years later my wife had to undergo spinal cord surgery,” he unfolded his second experience. Her brother, a senior doctor in another discipline, had made all arrangements for her surgery. But our friend won’t give the green signal without Baba’s directive. The family was based in Hyderabad, and Baba was then in Whitefield. He rushed to Bangalore, stayed in the ashram for three days hoping for Baba’s darshan, and audience. Two days passed. No luck. The third day afternoon he had booked his ticket for Hyderabad. That morning also Baba went past the crowd and our friend waited in vain. After walking past him ten steps, Baba stepped back towards him. “Baba, Sharada (name changed), spinal cord, operation, …” he fumbled. Baba probably signaled him there was no need. He returned to Hyderabad, and told them to abandon surgery.

A few days later he booked tickets to take their daughter back to Ahmedabad after delivery. “Buy one for me too,” came a voice from behind. It was his wife, still confined to bed. “For you? You can’t even get up on your own. How can you board the train?” he asked, but booked one, just not to displease her. A day before the journey she began to be on her own, and undertook the journey successfully. “All Baba’s grace, Mr Sundar Raman,” he shared proudly. “Just Sundaram,” I clarified. “Yes, can you beat that, Judge Sundaram?” he quipped.

V V Sundaram

Maple 3195

15 Sept 2017

Finding Tenant

Yes, the task is no less arduous than Finding Nemo. Well, Walt Disney Co. produced the movie, made millions, and moved on. I am still stuck at square one.

First I tapped internal sources - Commonfloor, ADDA, Hike, and word of mouth. No luck. Take heart.  It’s never thus far and no further, and ever ‘Vijayam vare Samaram Cheyyum,” the Kerala trade-mark procession-slogan: “Will fight till victory.” So I took to portals - Magicbricks, 99 acres… They offer their services for free. You click the Submit button to register your ad for free and, lo, you get instantly a spate of phone calls, emails, and messages. It is rewarding after all, you pat yourself. Hold your breath. These are not from prospective tenants, but from these very portals - systematically unleashing their business models - Plan A, B, C.. to convert you to paid ads.

“Sir, thanks for registering your property for rent. There are 431 persons looking for an apartment in your area. (Thankfully they didn’t say 431-1/2 with one person is still in two minds). We could in fact dedicate a Relationships Manager exclusively for your property  at a nominal fee of Rs .…., and get you a tenant within a month,”. “Certainly,” tell, “if only you can assure me with a money-back guarantee that you will get me one within a month”. He didn’t relish such direct confrontation. “Or, sir, we can insert this as a paid ad in our exclusive site that ensures better visibility. It costs only Rs….” If you don’t buy that too, he deploys a few other methods before he releases the last straw. “Okay sir. As you know this free ad will be removed after X days.”  (These said, I confess, I got my first tenant only through one of these free ads.)

The sifting process is all the more difficult, given that you belong to the old school of thought, looking for a custom-built tenant. He should be an executive in the corporate sector, the family should consist of young children so that he contemplates no move till children’s twelfth grade - short of prescribing a dress code, height and weight. 

Customer A arrives accompanied by an elderly person, donning a neatly pressed panchagachham and a liberal coat of vibhuti that carries a guarantee to last till late evening. Even before I could explain the features of my son’s apartment, which I can now recite like a poem, the two head towards the balcony to open the Compass App from their mobile. They are closeted in a whisper-conversation before coming out with their unanimous verdict, “Sir it is not built at straight East, but slightly slanting - North-East. In fact, Chandrababu Naidu, the Andhra Chief Minister, is the only one who is cutting plots in Amaravati that look straight at East.”  “But I thought you were looking for something in Bangalore, Sir.” I reminded him. “Yes, yes, but I am just telling you.” My further efforts to conduct him through the rooms proved futile. He had made up his mind.

Customer B and his wife are retired childless couple. Both were working, but now live on their savings. They have a 60x40 house in a prime layout close by. They want to try out apartment-life for a year or so, before taking a call on whether to sell their independent house and buy an apartment. In other words I will be on the same hunt this time next year. Customer C, around 45, decided to call it a day in Europe, and move to India. He has young children. He too plans to manage the rest of his life with his savings. Does that fit your bill, you ask yourself, confused as ever. Then there is a young music troupe keen to move in, and another group of three young men and a woman… I still look forward to someone from the normal category. Or, am I expecting too much?

The door-bell rings. It is my present tenant and his wife, set to vacate on 15 Sept. “Uncle, is it possible we stay till early 2018?” “Why not?” I reassure them. When they leave I announce to the lady of the house, “I think I can now start a Property Management Service,”  “You can, certainly. But be clear, you played no role in the present tenancy-continuance arrangement. They chose so. Thus if and when you find a tenant after they leave early next year, then I shall accord that recognition. Till then, just keep our dinner plates ready. My Naamkaran serial starts at 9.”

V V Sundaram

Maple 3195

08  Sept. 2017