Tuesday, December 29, 2020

2020 - In Retrospect

For me personally the notable event of the year was... Guess what? No, not Covid. Not the Work-From-Home concept. No, not the onset of online purchases; nor the film industry tending to take a backseat to Netflix, Prime Video, or Hotstar...

No more guessing. The year marked my 80 years of life on planet Earth. I recall vividly my grandfather’s words in his 1940 diary, on the 22 October leaf: “Meena delivered a male child; normal delivery; both doing well.”

Yes, I entered the world not to make a difference, but to join the teeming millions. Otherwise, thunderstorm, cloud burst, lightning or other elements would have announced my arrival to the world with Mahendra Kapoor’s soundtrack of the Bhagavat Gita lines: Yada Yada Hi Dharmasya, Glanir Bhavati Bharata, Abhyutthanam Adharmasya. Tadatmanam Srjamy Aham – whenever Dharma is in peril, I will manifest myself on this Earth.

On my 80th birthday my SFV Rudram-Chamakam group friends paid reverential visits to my house as Aunty and I called on my solitary senior member at his house to pay our respects. The group organized a special chant-session in my honour in which our learned Shri Muthuraman chanted with incredible ease Ayushya Suktam, Bhagya Suktam, Roga Nivarana Suktam, Navagraha Suktam, Shatamanan Bhavati slokam...At the end I checked if he was by chance the Veda Adhyayanam Asthana Vidwan to Sringeri Matam. What a wonderful flow.

Originally my sons and their families had planned to visit India to celebrate the event. But by then the old saying got slightly modified - Man Proposes, Covid Disposes.

Yes, Nature took its toll this year in the form of Covid, for reasons best known to it. Medical world braved it with a record-time invention of vaccines to combat. At last, relief seems in sight. Meanwhile I have declined two marriage invitations from Chennai in February and March, pending the vaccine shot.

As an aftermath, Work From Home is here to stay – if the thinking of the corporate sector is anything to go by. The business community lost no time in cashing in on it. We now have scores of WFH furniture, gadgets, and a host of ‘immunity’ products as well.

Online purchase, or home delivery, is another lifestyle change that is fast overtaking the conventional shopping method. Yes, just read a message that D’Mart too has started online service. The other day the boy at the vegetable shop told Aunty not to bother to come to shop physically but to order them over the phone. He unleashed a list of apartments in SFV who do so regularly. That has set Aunty thinking, but with her habitual apprehension - what if I get rotten tomatoes?

On physical shopping, Easyday has vacated and Shoppy Mart has flooded the allotted space with goods. We read mixed reactions about the latter’s quality of stock and price. A small-time vegetable vendor has pitched tent outside Oak gate for a few hours in the morning – seemed a contended family until Easyday disturbed his peace of mind with setting up business a few yards away, on Wednesdays and Saturdays with a 10% discount to Easyday card holders. Perhaps this reinstates the concept, Survival of the Fittest. Regardless, our own co-residents, Girish and Hemangi, have been having brisk sales of their organic products, for whom quality comes first.

With nowhere to go for a chat, and confined to homes, sedentary habits are fast gaining upper hand. To cash in on that, the likes of Netflix, Prime Video, or Hot Star, lose no time to come with up their own entertaining, gripping or time-pass short movies, or series, seasons, or episodes. Right now we are busy watching The Crown, with its good, bad and indifferent episodes. But full credit to the power-packed one-upmanship dialogues and the British humour.

A virtual general body meeting was held to ratify the election of new Managing Committee members to the Association. So far each MC team has left a mark of itself with one innovative measure or the other. The new MC has thus an onerous task ahead. We wish them all success.

Monday, December 7, 2020

Maid Gauri, A Model Mother

 

This story might seem a straight lift from one of Salim- Javed’s Bollywood movies of the 1960s with Nirupa Roy at the centrestage. It is not. It is a fact, and it is about Gauri (name changed), the domestic help in the apartment complex we stayed earlier.

As a lass, Gauri lived a simple rustic life helping her father in his tiny agricultural land in a remote village in Karnataka. Her mother tended a cow to supplement the family income. Gauri’s elder sister was married off, and had children. A contended family, altogether.

But that was not to be. Her sister fell ill seriously. The village apothecary couldn’t reassure her survival. Two growing children and a baby in arms, this shattered the son in law. He asked his father in law to give Gauri in marriage to him while his wife was still alive, so that she could rest in peace that her children would be in safe hands. And so Gauri got married to him.

INTERVAL

As fate would have it, Gauri’s sister recovered, rather rapidly, and became fit like a fiddle. But she understood Gauri’s predicament, and their lives went on without much bitterness. Gauri bore a girl and a boy for him and, while they were still attending school, she moved with them to Bangalore to eke out a living. Her husband would visit her occasionally.

She took up domestic help’s job in a few apartments in our complex. Her work as such may not be gold standard, nor will she sparkle the utensils as an ad for a cleaning liquid would, but her sincerity, honesty and reliability won the hearts of housewives. Thus it became clear, “Once Gauri, always Gauri,” in any house. Yes, she has been working in houses for ten, fifteen or more years without break.

Not just that. As though with a missionary zeal, residents began to count on Gauri for assisted-living seniors. She would help my friend Narasimhan (name changed) to take a shower, put on his clothes, and would take him for a slow-motion walk around the complex in the evenings, till the family moved to Chennai to be with their children.

And now? Yes, she helps my 87-year old friend Krishna Kumar (name changed) who is afflicted with Alzheimer’s. I have known KK as one of the most active persons while the going was good. He was at one time a trapeze artist in a circus, as he shared the information with me.

Years rolled. Now time to admit the daughter to college. Gauri was particular that her daughter should pursue engineering. Many advised that with her good marks, her daughter would easily get a ‘free’ seat under the OBC quota. But Gauri didn’t want the OBC stigma to be attached to her daughter while she pursued the course. She opted for the ‘payment’ seat – whatever might be the loan amount she might have to avail from a bank.

The girl came out in flying colours in Electronics and Communications, accepted a campus-interview offer, changed for a better one, yet another one. And now? She is all set to marry. The boy? An engineer too. Last week his entire family flew from Hyderabad for the engagement ceremony. If only Covid is a little accommodative, Aunty and I would attend the marriage slated in a 3- or 4-star hotel later this week.

Her son? Well, not everything works one’s way every time. He too pursued engineering. But is stuck with some papers. But the incurable optimist that Gauri is, she is confident he will clear them. And let’s hope he lives up to her expectations, lands up on a good job and gives his mother some years of well-deserved rest.

Friday, November 13, 2020

Women Seniors Go Tech Savvy


Covid-19 brought in its sway several lifestyle changes, ‘stay home, stay safe’ being one. Unaccustomed to changes late in life – in their 60 to 80s - the senior women of the Narayaneeyam Group-1 were determined to find ways to bring near normalcy to their daily life.

The result? They learnt the intricacies of a hitherto uncharted territory, Google Meet, and succeeded in their trial attempt at chanting slokams online on Ekadasi, the day before yesterday. Yes, necessity is the mother of invention.

All this in preparation for a mega event, the Narayaneeyam Saptaham (seven-day chant) starting on 19 November and culminating on 25 November, the Guruvayoor Ekadasi day. In these seven days all the members would chant slokas from chapter 1 to 90. The last 10 chapters would be rendered online through Google Meet where each member would chant her allotted solkas. Yes, several are the ways one can keep oneself engaged – more so in a spiritual way.

For record, Group-1, about 20 members, had already graduated with honours a year ago and has been staying in touch as a group with regular Ekadasi chant-sessions offline. The team leader (read Aunty) organizes the offline chant in such a way that each one gets to chant all the 100 dasakams (chapters) over a period of several Ekadasis.

The start of Google Meet is not without its ripple effect. Sons, sons-in-law, daughters, daughters-in-law, or spouses of members, as the case may be, are pressed into service to give them a helping hand to get started. Some members still hold on to their Jambhavan model mobiles. These may require to be upgraded to either smart phones or, ideally, tablets or laptops if their near and dear ones really care for them not to lag behind the rest in the Meet.

Yes, some of them were found struggling with Mute and Unmute operations. One could even hear external voices (read, their spouses) from behind lending ‘technical support’ to the best of their own limited exposure – just as I stood in readiness for such an eventuality back home though Aunty is way ahead of me.

Thus it is just possible that one may have to be on the look out for a Grand Sale of electronic goods. Doesn’t matter if Diwali sale is on its way out. Christmas/New Year sale is not far off.

Wantonly or otherwise, this exercise also revealed that Group 2, which has completed 50 of the 100 chapters, consists mostly of younger generation, full of life, energy and determination. Consequently the Old Guard watched with open-mouthed awe as the youngsters chanted their portions with supreme confidence. That should perhaps alert them not to rest on their laurels, but to perform still better in the final day, Guruvayoor Ekadasi, 25 November.

To mitigate the noises emanating from behind one’s room, the Group 2 members have already recommended ways where the team leader will hold the key to mute and unmute others’ voices. Yes, many improvements are under way; but the takeoff has definitely been good. None of the uninitiated expected that she would perform so well in her maiden appearance. No wonder the intercom chats among them these days is more on this rather than what sweets and savouries they planned to prepare for Diwali.

If senior women can make such strides, can the senior menfolk be far behind? No. In the Rudram Chamakam chant group, now more than a year old, they are already geared to excelling the quality of their online performance week after week. They are into embarking on new Suktams. Also they (we) host special sessions on members’ birthdays and wedding anniversaries. Yes, we are in a world of our own. After all a day well begun is a day well spent.

Who said that the seniors, men or women, don’t know how to keep themselves busy? 




Sunday, October 4, 2020

IPL: Respite from Media Trial

Too much of anything is bad. Holds good for the 24x7 media trial of a Bollywood personality’s demise.

IPL thus comes as a breather. Initially I wondered if this could at all be called a match, what with the boys playing to a vacant stadium with no spectators to cheer or jeer them. On the contrary IPL picked momentum rather a little too fast. We have witnessed two tied matches between DC vs KXIP, and RCB vs MI, where super overs decided the winner. Again, setting massive targets - first by KXIP (216) against RR and the latter chasing it with aplomb; then, last night by DC (228) and KKR almost getting near.

Thankfully we didn’t miss the sparkling century by KL Rahul, the hurricane shots by Sanju Samson and Devdutt Padikkal – all namma Bengaluru boys. A step further, I felt extra glad that Kerala, known more for football, has produced some good cricketers in Sanju and Devdutt Padikkal. Still further, Devdutt is from Ponnani,– near Palakkad, another reason to be happy about apna admi, nammade aal.

Shreyas Iyer, the youngest captain of IPL, whom I had almost written off, showed me last night what he is capable, with his 88-not-out.

There were some outstanding pieces of fielding as well - reducing sixes to fours, or taking innovative catches hitherto unseen. On the flip side, those who resurfaced from retirement and whom we expected to be back with a bang are yet to oblige us.

Altogether, it was worth the 22-rupee investment on the sports channel that I reopened for the occasion.

These seldom fail to take you down the memory lane. Back in village, the parents of most boys were gumastas, teachers, or priests. Hence buying bat, stumps or ball for their sons was out of question. The only exception was the Penang-returned family with their only son. Unfortunately cricket was not his cup of tea. Cycling was. He would buy a new one every two years – Atlas, Hercules, BSA, Raleigh...

But where there is a will, there is a way. Ramu, our senior by eight years, would help us chisel out a functional bat from the coconut-leaf stem.

Krishnankutty, the Man Friday for villagers, who plucked mangoes from every backyard annually, would drop from the top four pieces of near-straight looking branches for us to make stumps out of them.

For tennis ball, we would persuade our parents to part with a small sum. With all the pooled changes in hand we would head to Model Sports, opposite Palakkad Head Post Office, to make our major ‘purchase’.

Occasionally, when Krishnankutty passed through our playground after a day’s work, he would ask us, “So who is winning?” Both teams would shout back simultaneously,

“We” with utmost self-confidence. He would laugh it off feeling happy: ‘after all, my efforts to help the boys have not gone waste. They are enjoying the game.”

All said and done, this kit is okay for ‘domestic’ cricket, definitely not for an official match with our neighbouring village boys. So with our limited municipal school English, we would draft a letter to them:

“We wish to play a cricket match with you, in your ground, with your bat, and with your ball. Ball go, no ball.” The latter sentence meaning that if the ball is hit hard and falls untraceably into the middle of the paddy field, our team will not replace it.

Yes, recapitulating the good old days is always a pleasurable proposition – if only you pick the right ones, and not the one like this:

There was this guy whom I didn’t like the best; he made me take a run where there was none. Consequently I got out, at 49. I wanted to repay his gesture. This time I was the Umpire. I gave him Out. “Why” asked the batting team. “Bowled,” I answered. “In that case the wickets should fall backwards, not lean forward unless the wicket-keeper stumped from behind,” they pointed out, rightly. I had no defence. “Umpire’s decision is final,” I pronounced, and the match ended in a fight. Today when I visit village and if my friends happen to be around, they would make fun of me.

Sunday, September 27, 2020

Remembering SPB

The passing away of S P Balasubramaniam is a great loss to film music lovers. A versatile, he sang in many languages. The greatest virtue however is that he was a great human being.

In our own little way as a mark of respect, our Moorthy Clan (a WhatsApp group consisting of the families of Aunty’s six sisters, brother, their children and families – say about 50) decided to observe SPB-week. There is already a frenzy sharing clippings of one’s favourite songs, his last appearance, his last song, and what have you.

I have nothing similar at hand to offer. But, as Shashi Kapoor said in Deewar, Mere Pas Maa hai. I shall pen some of what I have heard or seen about SPB.

My first and foremost impression about him is that he is an epitome of humility - full of sincerity; no doubt about it. This is not to suggest that he will be remembered more for this than the everlasting contribution he has made to film music. These seldom go hand in hand, but in his case they do in full measure. 

Hear his words of praise about Mohammad Rafi in a programme anchored by Sonu Nigam. How well he explains the nuances of Rafi Sahib’s unmatched renderings, with examples. 

Few would have failed to watch in their own WhatsApp groups SPB washing the feet of the Malayalam idol Yesusdas – in what I would consider the highest form of respect to the latter. SPB is reported to have said something like this, “I sing music, but Yesudas sir lives music”.

Yet another clipping that is doing rounds is the one where when on a pilgrimage to Sabarimala he was taken in a doli. See the humility with which he touches first the feet of all those who were to carry him to the shrine. Any one else in his place would have thought he was doing the men a favour by allowing them to carry him. 

Monopoly is the name of the game in film line. Every hero resists a new face to emerge; no music director wants someone else to usurp his place; nor does any singer want any other to enter his fiefdom. Amidst these Lakshmikant Pyarelal had SPB sing all songs in Ek Duje Ke Liye, not wantonly though. LV Prasad, the producer, stipulated that he would engage Laxmi-Pyare if they let SPB sing all the songs. All eager to add another famous banner to their kitty, they agreed. And SPB didn’t disappoint LP.

I learn SPB is on Guinness Book of Records for having recorded 17 songs in one single day. His voice fitted so well Salman Khan that not only did all of Maine Pyar Kiya songs top the chart, they helped Salman, then on his second film, to reach the top of the ladder. 

An engineer by qualification, a singer par excellence by occupation, and humane by deeds, SPB is a man of many parts. Not only just the music world, but all will lose a great human being.

Once again the words of Kannadasan, the foremost Tamil  lyricist, come to my mind: “Chave, un chavu eppo?” Translated in Hindi, “Yeh Moth, teri moth kab hogi”, or in English, “Oh, Death, when is your death due?” 



Saturday, September 12, 2020

Sibling Rivalry (or, Bonding?)

 In WhatsApp I received this time a black and white photograph of a duo. It was of two brothers in whose sibling rivalry the international community benefited by two famous brands of shoes – Adidas and Puma.


With fake news equally on the rise, I rang up my brother in law who was a top executive in Adidas. “Yes Athimbar (Jija ji), this sibling rivalry is the folklore in the industry,” he confirmed.

 

Take Ambani brothers in India. Probably it was not in the best of relationship that the brothers parted ways. The younger even shifted his base to Delhi for some time, possibly in protest against the allocation of assets or sectors. Luckily, both brothers were brought up in a Matru Devo Bhava spirit, and hence her final word settled the issue.

 

The entertainment industry has thrived no less on the sibling rivalry theme. Deewar, starring Amitabh Bachchan and Shashi Kapoor, was a box office hit, not to speak of its all-time great dialogue, “Mere Paas Ma hai.” Karan Arjun helped Shah Rukh Khan scale greater heights. Bharatam is one of the top 20 Malayalam movies. Apoorva Sagodarargal, a 1949 Tamil movie, was such an instant hit that Gemini remade it in Hindi. Godfather II walked away with six awards at Oscar. Lion King, Walt Disney’s animation film, minted millions.

 

From reel life to real life, there is hardly a village or household which cannot share a sibling-rivalry story. In my neighbouring village they were two brothers. The elder made a lot of money under the table. And the younger? Just his monthly pay packet. Later, the elder smelt a possible enquiry against him. He immediately registered in his younger brother’s name a house that he had bought with ill-gotten money, on the understanding that the younger would return it when things settled down. No enquiry took place. He asked for his house back. “Which house?’ quipped the younger. “This is mine only.”

 

In another, it was a property dispute. The elder showed the younger a cheque for Rs 5000 (then a big sum) and told him that it would his if he signed the ancestral property transfer documents. The younger signed. The elder tore the cheque leaf, and showed the younger a 500-rupee note and said:  ‘take it or leave it’.

 

In my house, my immediate brother was elder to me by just 18 or so months. Our childhood was thus one of blow hot blow cold. We would fight practically for every item - pencil, eraser, notebook, the solitary tennis ball, or snatching a seat closest to the lantern for dinner...

 

As we grew, it became a show of one-upmanship. We bought from the wholesale market a dozen undergarments so that we could have six each - we were of the same build. He suggested that in each garment we write with marker our initials in a corner to avoid mix up. I wrote S on all my pieces, and asked him to write R in all of his. “No need. Anything without a sign is mine,” he said, and got away with a clean set of clothes.

 

Isn’t there a brighter side to all these? Yes. Why not? In the case of Ambanis, when the younger could not pay hundreds or thousands of crores that he owed to companies and faced possible imprisonment, the senior bailed him out.

 

In the ill-gotten wealth case after both seniors passed away the son of the younger brother offered to the senior’s son to return the house. The other gracefully said, “No need, both our families are happy the way we are. Let bygones be bygones.”

 

In the cheque-tearing case, he succumbed to cancer two years later, not before seeking forgiveness from his younger brother’s son when he visited him at the hospital.

 

In my case, both he and I had registered with a house building society for a plot of land. Years later the Secretary told my brother that he could allot a plot to just one of us, not both.  “Allot it to my brother,” said my brother.

 

Yes, sibling rivalry and bonding go hand in hand.

Saturday, September 5, 2020

Seniors, in Our Own World

 Elderly people make up a third of Japan’s population – and it is reshaping the country, says a World Economic Forum report. I can’t vouch for the percentage of seniors’ population in SFV; nor guess if we contribute to the wellbeing of the complex. But I do know we are a formidable number, and are in our own world.


If you see a 6 feet tall, single-piece guy walking erect, you are right, it is my friend Kocheppan, of Ebony. A retired Flt. Lieutenant, he was a volleyball champion and coach. The Air Force stadium in Pune is named after him. Also, I had seen him coaching some volleyball enthusiasts in SFV

 

Another person who keeps his head high is Professor Venkatachalam, of Alder. He is a retired professor from IIT-Madras (Chemistry, with Electrochemistry as specialization), having published over 120 articles in peer journals. He was adjusted the best teacher consecutively for five years (scoring 99% in the evaluation). Cooking is his hobby. To be honest, we looked forward to more Rudram-Chamakam classes in his house, for we get to taste the Prasadam that he prepared himself.

 

During the morning walk have you observed a gentleman picking biscuit- or chocolate- wrappers lying in the complex and dropping them in the nearest dustbin? He is Krishna Murthy Aithal of 6243. By his habit I thought he would have been a civil engineer. Because as he walks he also re-adjusts the alignment of the bricks kept at strategic borders to prevent children riding bicycles into the grass area. “Sir are you by chance a senior?” I asked him, before including him in this piece. “Yes of course. And guess my age?” he asked. “Would 63 be close to the mark?” I asked him. “Add 10 more,” he said. “And, my father staying with me will hit 100 soon,” he added with pride.

 

L&T Krishnamoorthy, as we call him to distinguish from the host of Krishnamoorthys, is a man for all seasons. He organized a one-day trip outside Bangalore for seniors, with well-arranged lunch, snack packets, and what have you. Alas, his stay with his daughter was only for a few months; he has moved back to his own house nearby. But his heart is in SFV, and comes here at the slightest pretext.

 

Shri Rajashekar is a retired principal of a Pre-University College in Hosadurga taluk. Can you believe, he has written 17 educational books in Kannada meant for B.Ed and M.Ed students. He is one of the most unassuming persons you will come across. If this doesn’t help you to place him, he is the one who moves around in the morning calculated to draw the minimum of attention; and his slow steps are so hesitant as not to hurt the bricks on which he treads. With the Kannada class having met with an abrupt ending, he plays for me the role of a Kannada teacher, minus the accompanying cane, and I resort to English only when stranded.

 

To SFV Malayalees, Col Paddy of Oak, is the darling Uncle. To me, we are from the same village in Palakkad. Yet, when Aunty and I meet Col and Nalini on an evening stroll, honestly I  avoid a stop-by for a chat. Reason? He would share with us the long pleasant drive he and Nalini had to Kochi, Munnar, Trivandrum or other places. Back home, I face the music with Aunty to venture a similar trip. As for my record, the longest distance I have driven is from Delhi to Ghaziabad; or, in Bangalore, from SFV to Devanahalli.

 

I call Lakshminarayanan a walking encyclopaedia. Ask him if it will be Joe Biden, or Trump again. You can get his analysis. Why India’s GDP is at a low ebb, he has an answer. Or, is an end in sight for the China-India North Eastern military movements, or occasional skirmishes? Or back home, what are the ingredients of a herbal tea.

 

After a five-month gap, we seniors have resumed our Rudram-Chamakam class – but Online. Everyone having adjusted to a new lifestyle in the interim, I feared many would opt out. No, all are on board. Vishwanathan, of 3161, managed a smooth sail on day one. We hope to improve session after session.

Friday, July 31, 2020

Obituary: TC Ganesan : My Sammandhi no more

Obituary: TC Ganesan

 

My Sammandhi no more

 

Tarakkad Chandrashekar Ganesan, my elder Sammandhi, passed away in Delhi two days ago. He was 77. He was on medication for some years, but that never affected his daily life. But in the last few months doctors switched over to just palliative care. May God bless his soul.

 

My association with Ganesan has been somewhat of a ‘so near yet so far’ nature. As a student I go to school via his village, nay, pass through his house. Yet I had never met him. He studied in a different school. Ganesan’s brother and I stayed in the same block in Delhi, and he would visit him. But I had never met him. Later we moved to a house, which was less than a kilometer from his. Still we got no occasion to meet. Yes, we really met the Ganesans only when he and Sita visited our home with a marriage proposal for Sunita with our elder son Shankar.

 

So, when the marriage was fixed and both the families visited Shankara Mutt temple in Delhi to offer our gratitude, the purohit who knew both families very closely, was surprised that the two families knew each other in person only now. But after the wedlock, we were thick, more as friends. He would call me VVS and I, TCG.

 

His strength? He had at his fingertips all cricket statistics. When cricket is on in TV, nothing else matters to him. Then comes his acumen in investing in shares – mostly through the Initial Public Offer. Today, those shares have grown in multiples by way of bonus shares, rights shares, debentures…More importantly, he knew when exactly to exit. He may be younger to me by three years but years ahead of me in practical wisdom.

 

He is very meticulous. Sita now knows exactly which are the investments to do away with, and which ones to hold on to. TCG never missed his morning puja – nearly 45 minutes. He is very good at political analysis too, but with firm likes and dislikes. So when on a visit to Delhi, TCG and I would sit at home discussing politics or cricket, as the two ladies ransack Sarojini Nagar or INA market. That said, TCG knows exactly my preference for khadi and handloom. Some of the best kurtas I have, were bought by him.

 

His weakness? He can count the number of movies he has seen in life. This doesn’t mean he is totally detached from the film world. Waheeda Rahman, then among the top heroines, once spent two hours in his house with his family enjoying Sita’s typical South Indian snacks. The children, Shekhar and Sunita, were in splits in the heroine’s company. It was a treat for neighbours too who flocked around on getting wind of her presence. Waheeda Rahman’s husband was one of the Directors of the firm TCG worked for.

 

In the last few months Shekhar and Sunita have been taking turns to fly from US to be of help to Sita who, in her own right, has been taking care of TCG as no one could, single-handedly.

 

If only Corona had been less virulent in both Delhi and Karnataka, we would have been now physically in Delhi attending the obsequies. Thankfully Sunita flew from the US a month ago to be with him. And on Tuesday morning TCG hinted to her that he would not survive the day; and in the afternoon the end came, peacefully. Luckily for Sunita the memory that she could cherish is that before breathing his last, he looked and smiled at her. As for Lalitha and me, we could spend two full days with him in Delhi a few months back.


Thursday, July 30, 2020

‘Blog Uncle’, and other names

Aunty and Gomathy Kaleeswaran were on a stroll when Gomathy’s friend passed by. Gomathy introduced Aunty to her: “This is Lalitha Sundaram, you know her?” “No, I am afraid,” she replied. “You know Sundaram Uncle,” Gomathy persisted. “Who… Blog Uncle?” she asked. Yes, prefixes, nicknames and pet names abound - for different reasons.

 

Drawing from my Pallakkad days, a father ceremoniously whispers into his child’s ear three times; say, “Narayana Swamy, Narayana Swamy, Narayana Swamy”. Normally it is paternal or maternal grandfather’s name - to preserve the ancestral lineage.

 

But there is a problem with this. Both Narayana Swamys (the grandfather and grandson) will be living under the same roof. And by custom no elderly person is hailed by his name. So the bahu will be hesitant to call her son aloud Narayana Swamy lest it offends the senior. To preempt this, many give a pet name as well. I am thus both Narayanan and Sundaram. The latter name stays for all intents and purposes.

 

The name Narayanan is pressed into service only on the rare religious occasions when I have to pay obeisance to the Almighty and elders around, tracing my origin, starting from the Rishi (Kashyapa, Kauntinya, or Bharadwaja….) whose progeny I am, to my given name. This Abhivadaye mantra covers practically everything except the nearest railway station and the platform number.

 

Some houses just continue with the given name. In such cases what started off originally as a fulsome Narayana Swamy, ends with Nanachamy; Parameswaran with Pammechan, or Subramanian with Chuppamani, by villagers who mutilate it beyond recognition in the name of ease of pronunciation. These punctured versions sometimes get prefixes. Thus you have Enna (Oil) Chuppamani, and Pohela (Tobacco) Chuppamani.

 

Pulyinchi Pammechan’s case is different. He got this prefix because three years in a row he bought the leftover Pulyinchi at the village auction after the Ayyappa Puja celebrations. For the uninitiated, Pulyinchi is a distant cousin of Pulyogare mix, but a little more liquid. Pulicha Moru Doctor was called thus because he prescribed sour buttermilk for all ailments; and Spade Krishna Iyer, for his passion to declare Spade as the trump in the game of 56. French Mama got the tag because after his solitary trip to France, it was France, France, and France in all his chats.

 

Sometimes childless, or all-daughters, couple undertake a pilgrimage in the pious hope of begetting a male child. And if their prayer is answered, they prefix the holy place to the child’s name. We have thus a Kasi Viswanatha Gopala Krishna Sharma. Also, a Sethuraman, born after parents visited Rameswaram.

 

In Delhi as bachelors we used to have meals in a South Indian hotel. On entering, one would eagerly ask, “so, what’s the menu today?” “Sangam Sambar”, came a reply once from a disgruntled member having his meals. Yes, the restaurant owner began serving Brinjal-Bhindi sambar from the day Sangam movie was released in Regal six weeks ago.

 

Sometimes when two business giants collaborate, they come up with a new name. In some cases both want their full identity on display: Tata Mcgraw-Hill; L&T Komatsu… In some others, the new name reflects the merger in the real sense.  Volkart Brothers, a Swiss firm, and Tatas merged with a new name Voltas – drawing the first three letters of Volkart and the last three letters of Tatas.

 

But what appealed to me most is back in SFV my friend Swarna Kaleeswaran and Gomathy very thoughtfully named decades ago their first baby, Swathy, combining the first and last three letters of their respective names.

 

Some homes give a new name to their bride on arrival. In such cases the bride sets foot in the new home, not rolling down the customary bowl of rice, but being hailed by a new name. A Vedambal becomes Radha, or a Ranganayaki becomes Rajam.

 

However, as early as four hundred years ago Shakespeare has pronounced the last word on this, in Romeo and Juliet:

 

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose,

By any other name would smell as sweet”.


Wednesday, July 22, 2020

My Senior Friend Hospitalized (Names changed)

Before you ask me “Uncle, did he test Covid positive; and in which block of SFV does he stay?” (uppermost in everyone’s mind), let me assure you it is neither. My friend is in hospital for a fall in bathroom; and he stays in Bannerghatta Road.

 

Mr Rajashekar and I worked in the same Office in Delhi, nay the same Department. He is senior in age, service and intelligence. He hails me affectionately either as “Beautifullam” (his way of translating my name) or just VV. He is very eloquent in his praise of Bangalore as a retiree’s paradise – one of the reasons why I am here. That said, his heart is still in Mysore, his hometown, and drives from Bangalore with Nalini whenever he feels nostalgic. Yes, extensive travel is his passion. He was one of the first buyers of Maruti Van when out in the market, and used to drive to Mussoorie and Dehra Dun on weekends.

 

That was his lifestyle till he was 85. In the last four years his driving is limited to a radius of, say, ten kilometers. Not on his own volition. That is the maximum his hand or leg will cooperate to shift gear or meddle with clutch and brake.

 

To liberate himself from stiff-joints in order to pursue his passion, he tried everything, from grandma’s home remedies, village apothecary, modern medicine, Ayurveda, Sidda Vaidya, Unani, to touch-therapy. Name any system of medicine, chances are he might have tried it.

 

A happy-go-lucky man, he has never allowed this impediment to interfere with his annual trips to Virginia and California in USA, and Calgary in Canada, to be with his children. He undertakes that as religiously as would an Ayyappa devotee to Sabarimala.

 

Very jovial and good sense of humour, Rajashekar was active in the Karnataka cultural circle in Delhi, having acted in dramas. An ardent fan of Raj Kumar, he passes muster as a singer too.

 

And that last talent precisely makes me suspect he might have been singing in the bathroom and, in an ecstatic mood might have tried to shake his legs as well, resulting in a fall on the bathroom floor with a thud.

 

Another colleague, an insurance-entitlement expert, also in his 80s, lost no time to arrange for surgery in a well-known hospital on cashless basis.

 

Meanwhile I got a call from the senior-most in our group, Harcharan Singh from Detroit, USA. He is 92 with failing eyesight. He takes the help of his grandchildren to read and get messages across to us through WhatsApp and email. “Sundaram, Rajashekar ka kya haal hai? Pata karke batao.” I spoke to Rajashekar and updated my Detroit colleague. Half an hour later I got a call from him again, “Mein ne bhi Rajashekar se baat kar liya.”

 

After the required post-operative hospitalization, Rajashekar moved to a hospital, which is more a physical rehabilitation centre. “They take very good care of us, starting from the morning coffee to a hot cup of milk before going to bed,” beams Nalini, relieved of her daily chores.  “Practically we are now on medical tourism, but within the city.” I felt glad the made-for-each-other couple knew how to take things lightly.

 

Because of the Lockdown there are no visitors to the hospital. “In a way it is good,” confides Rajashekar. “Otherwise, with poor bedside manners some of them would begin narrating similar incidents rather than enquire about mine.”

 

The famous Malayalam poet Ulloor Parameswara Iyer’s poem, Veena Poovu (the Fallen Flower), comes to my mind. The flowers that are still on the branches laugh at the flower that has just fallen on the ground. The latter reminds them, “Innu naan, naale nee,” - today me, tomorrow you.

 

But that statement is out and out philosophical or fundamental in nature. Given the physical fall of our friend Rajashekar, the lesson to learn is: Sundaram, better check if your bathroom floor tiles are really anit-skid as claimed, or need to be replaced. After all, you can skip your shower for a day or two, not everyday.


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