“Tirupati
is one of the best for senior-citizen darshan facilities,” said over the phone
my youngest sister of 70+, as gave an account of her last visit. We were bowled
over, and decided to leave by the evening train, if possible.
We
asked her to join too. She checked with Raja, her husband. He was okay with it.
“So you book the tickets for all the four of us,” she told him. He checked and
announced, “no tickets for the dates that suit us.”
“Then
why not we try Guruvayoor. We have not visited this year,” said Aunty, now
fully charged up. “Fine,” endorsed my sister, and asked her husband to try
Guruvayoor. “No” checked Aunty. “We will try from our end. Maybe, our desktop
or laptop is more user-friendly.”
Tickets
bought, arrangements made for who would bring breakfast, lunch, knick-knacks,
there we were in an early-morning train.
In
the 3+2 row, Raja occupied the window seat to be able to plug in the charger and
make optimal use of his mobile. The ladies took the other two seats to cover
everything under the sun in the nine-hour journey. It fell to my lot to fend
for myself in the two-seater row. It is in such solitude that one recapitulates
earlier visits.
It
was 1973. Aunty and I had just got married. Instead of a honeymoon, we embarked
on a visit to temples. Some family members no doubt laughed at us. But we were
determined.
For
Tirupati we had wangled a letter from the Governor of Tamil Nadu to accord us
an out-of-turn darshan. The TTD man asked us to wait outside. Seeing us wait a
senior couple walked up to us and said, “We have a special-darshan family
ticket of Rs 3000 (?) that allows four persons. We are only two. Would you like
to join us?” I thought he expected me to share the amount, so I politely
declined. He guessed and clarified that it was just accompanying them to avail
of the quota. We agreed, and the lady so lovingly held Aunty by hand as though
she was her own d-i-l. Her husband and I greeted each other as we walked to the
sanctum sanctorum area where was watched the Abhishekam for full 15-20 minutes.
What more could you have asked for?
If
I heard him right, it was Kasturi Rangan (Editor, Hindu) and his wife. As we
bade farewell, they confided they had guessed we were newly married, hence couldn’t
make a better choice from among the multitude.
In
Guruvayoor it was a different experience. We were on one of our yearly trips, this
time jam-packed. We underwent squeeze, pull, push, before we barely managed a
glimpse of the deity. Back in the lodge, I realized my sacred-thread with
silver Guruvayoorappan locket knotted to it was missing. The locket was bought
on our maiden trip to the temple after marriage, hence it had more sentimental
value. Aunty got upset and said she would search for it. “Where? In the whole
of Guruvayoor?” I asked. She didn’t listen, and set out. She passed through the
same crowded serpentine queue looking all the time at the ground if it had
fallen anywhere along. She was now right in front of the deity, but no luck. “With
your blessings I will buy another one to replace it,” she swore to the Lord and
bowed before the deity only to see the sacred-thread lying on the ground right
in front. She bent to pick it. The staff on duty checked her, “Madam, you can’t
prostrate here, you have to do outside only.” She clarified that she was only picking
up an item of hers that was on the ground. Our joy knew no bounds.
* * * *
The
train whistled to signal its arrival in Thrissur. We hurried to Guruvayoor not
to miss the evening senior-citizen darshan, which we had to our heart’s
content. We had one more round next morning.
Now
in Bangalore, it is back to basics – rushing to RTO to renew Aunty’s driving
licence, stop by to give our water kettle for repair, pick up groceries from D’Mart…
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