Oldies’ Day Out - With Gay Abandon

 It is not often that one is able to pack picnic, entertainment, spirituality, knowledge-enrichment, temple-visit, and at the same time turn foody for a while. But that is exactly what Aunty and I did the last two days.

Aunty’s one and only younger brother to seven sisters, Kannan rang us up on Wednesday to spend some time with him and Chitra.

“Athimbar, are you and Akka free to spend at least two nights with us – say Thursday and Friday. We shall visit some architectural spendour, eat out, roam around, and spend some time at home together?” he asked. And there we were in Brigade Gateway on Thursday evening. After coffee and snacks we went down to see the Christmas illumination and festivity at the Orion mall surroundings. It was somewhat close what one witnesses in the West. An hour of chat and updating, we drove to Tandoori Taal in Race Course Road. Since it was a Thursday evening, we were saved of the weekend, or Christmas holiday crowd, and were attended to well. Kannan is very good at ordering – what with Aam Panna and Lassi (by 2), good starter, enough to increase and not spoil your appetite, and assorted main dishes to enjoy with varieties of rotis. I liked the light paratha. I forget the name. 

Back home, we spent some time watching in You Tube each one’s choice in Kannan’s exclusive ‘home theatre’. I chose Sudha Murthy featuring in Kapil Sharma show wherein she wondered if Narayanamurthy was an international bus conductor…. Chitra wanted to see the trailer of Jeetu Joseph-Mohan Lal’s latest  Malayalam movie that has hit the screen that evening – Neru –  where a blind girl was raped, and Mohan Lal, an advocate, brings the culprit to book.  Kannan switched to Sarvapriyananda’s talk on OCD in a distinguished gathering of US Psychiatrists and Psychologists, to give us a sample of the monk’s acumen. It was now 11.40 night, and we all had to leave early next morning.

At sharp 7 yesterday morning, we drove to Chikkaballapur to see the UNESCO heritage temple. To quote Google, Bhoganandiswara Temple and Arunachaleswara Temple are a twin Hindu temples complex located in Nandi village in Chikkaballapur. Ornate, beautifully carved and dedicated to Shiva, they have been variously dated between the 9th- to 10th-century CE. 

“Glad we didn’t miss it,” we felt as we walked up to the car. We then drove to Nandi Upchaar, a popular restaurant on the Hyderabad highway. The assorted items ordered included puri sago, idli, curd vada, Aappam, kesari bath… to wash them down with aromatic coffee. And as is usual on such occasions, everyone decided to have Rajasthani special paan. 

We headed to Sadguru’s Adi Yogi – the upcoming Bangalore chapter of Swami ji’s Coimbatore version – a vast expanse. By my reckoning, it will be one or two years before the to and fro drive could qualify to be a backbone-safe experience.

Back home, Chitra and Aunty got busy with warming up dishes for lunch. As Kannan and I waited at the table. I asked others to name three dishes Chitra is good at making.  Everyone hesitated. I opened up – Mor Kozambu, Onion sambar, and Jackfruit payasam. Kannan and Aunty both selected Rasam in place of Sambar. A nap for a while, coffee later, and we all got ready to go to Orion mall to watch Shah Rukh Khan-Raj Kumar Hirani movie, Dunki. Nothing to write home about. As though to compensate that feeling, we recalled some of the good old movies of both.

The serious topic, Advitam, Vishita Advitam and Dwitam, somehow managed to creep in during this morning coffee chat.  Though turned 60 only a few months back, Kannan is already an expert on Karma, Sanatana Dharma… He has already culled 77 important slokas from the 740-odd slokas of Bhagavat Gita. The way he eloquently explains various concepts, I would guess he is eminently qualified to write a book on spirituality. Good luck Kanna. We enjoyed every minute of our stay with you and Chitra. Now your turn to visit us.

Carrom-Final matches - a la Kurukshetra war

(All in good humour; no offence meant)

Kurukshetra Battlefield: Carrom hall

Dhritarashtra (the blind king who wanted to watch Mahabharata Yudh sitting on his Simhasana):  SFV residents wishing to have a gist of the proceedings, but from within the comforts of their home

Sanjay (who narrated the story to Dhritarashtra): Thy humble writer, of a sort, VVS. No Sunil Gavaskar, Murali Karthik or Harsha Bhogle to give him a breather.

Pandavas and Kauravas: Just the players with no Good, Bad or Indifferent segregation. All are good, with sportsmanship aplenty.

Statisticians: Girish Kumar and Raghu (Carrom convenors)

* * * * * * * * * 

Dhritarashtra: Sanjay, is Krishna, the clever and manipulative around with Arjuna. 

Sanjay: No, your majesty, but almost every player is accompanied by his spouse to give him moral support.

Dhritarashtra: Or, for backseat driving?

Sanjay: I don’t know sir. But your prerogative to say so, your majesty.

Now, over to the game. Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the Kurukshetra Channel 007. The battlelines are drawn. 

With heads up the players are marching into the battlefield in measured steps, minus bows and arrows, swords, spears, or maces; no military band in attendance, or the overpowering sounds of conches and drumbeats that marked Mahabharata Yudh. All that a few carried in their pocket was a tiny striker. But,  like Shakuni’s tricky dice, this striker could act as a bulldozer in reducing the ‘enemy’ to nothing.

Unlike the burly, broad-chested Arjuna, Bhima, Karna or Duryodhana, here our friends (mere modern mortals surviving on millets or pursing intermittent fasting plans) are frail, of normal build, with receding hair line – or, to correct myself, some having more hair on their chest than on head. Outwardly they proclaim, ‘we are playing just for fun’, but inwardly they are here hell-bent on winning. Isn’t it after all so with all of us?

The onlookers clustered around to cheer their players had to beg, borrow, or steal chairs from wherever they can lay their hands on, which they did without the last two having to claim the single one, as in a musical chair. 

In the matches that I watched at one end Neelambika and Rohini played against one another to qualify for semi final. Neelambika was leading for most part with her play-with-a-bang style, only to succumb in the end to Rohiini’s persistent slow and steady wins the race pattern. Like Guru Dutt’s goods-train-speed song in Pyaasa, Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaye to kya hai…, the score moved at snail’s pace, in single digits.

Simultaneously, Savitha played against Navneeth, a formidable player. The game was always swinging like a pendulum. Everyone watched it with bated breath. Ultimately Savitha won. 

Thus, Savitha and Rohini were pitted against each other to qualify for the finals. Savitha won -  a match I missed.

At the other end Sandesh had defeated Girish in a match I bet none of us could predict the results.  Sandesh played Raghu in semi finals and won. 

Thus the final singles match were played between Savitha and Sandesh. In a well contested match, I learn, Savitha conceded defeat to Sandesh in a 9-29 score, or, to put it in proper perspective Sandesh had a comfortable win. 

In the doubles, the final match Panindra and Raghu (brothers)  were pitted against Girish and Savitha (brother and sister – also Savitha is Panindra’s wife). Thus, all this fight was within the family – precisely why I said, a sort of Mahabharata Yudh between Pandavas and Kauravas with only one difference. Everyone played in a spirit of accommodation and sportsmanship. Panindra and Raghu won.

After watching the games, these are my takeaways: Sandesh, Mr Quiet, as I could study him. Savitha, Jhansi ki Rani, minus on a horseback. Navneeth, the Amul-butter smooth striker. Panindra, sarva vyapi, but moves around calculated to attract the minimum of attention. Rohini, patience-tester as to when she would release the striker to hit the coin she aims at.

These said, no amount of praise will be too much for the conveners – Girish and Raghu K N. Three cheers.

E&OE – Errors and Omissions Excepted.

SFV Sports Carnival – Carrom Tournament

For most part of the year the Carrom room wears a vacant look except for some yoga practice or music-teaching sessions. Occasionally one sees two chess players confined to a corner, deeply contemplating on their next four or five moves. But not so ever since the Carrom tournament was announced.  It is abuzz with activities.

The hopefuls (read: everyone who had registered) were found waiting around the boards as their cleverer counterparts reported a little earlier for their practice sessions. Security staff had to be summoned to bring in chairs from the adjoining room to accommodate both waiting players and their friends and well-wishers who had come to cheer them up. 

There are about 80 entries  – singles and doubles. Girish Kumar. Raghu K N, and Savita Panindra had thus to operate on fifth gear not just to get the ball rolling but to complete everything on time. To play safe they advanced the start date was from 17 to 12 December. In the first round each aspirant would play his opponent 5 boards, and the one scoring the highest number wins. So, the organizers made sure 50% of the gang returned home the very first day patting themselves better luck next time.

Everyone was basking on his past glory. One had brought home a prize money of Rs 600 every year as his Company’s carrom champion. Also, a shirt and pair of trousers for winning shuttle. Before he could complete the sentence, another said that he too would have registered his name for table tennis if only his son and family were not landing in Bangalore from UK for Christmas holidays and their travel destinations booked. He was a Table Tennis champion in his office.

I had won carrom on a couple of occasions in my office way back in 1980s. My friend, the late Mr Subbiah whose 1st anniversary we attended in JP Nagar last month, was the Sports Convenor. When I won my first, he asked me, in the customary way in which he used to address me, “Mr Beautifullam, I have earmarked X amount for the first prize. What would you like me to buy?”  “An Oxford English Dictionary, please.” He laughed. “A sports event, and a Dictionary as the prize. Somehow, they don’t go together VVS. But I will see. And he did. But when I won the next year, he hastened to whisper into my ears” “No Encyclopaedia Britannica or Rogets’ Therassus, OK?”

In my limited observation, Navneet, Anurag Anan, and a host of stalwarts can give others a run for their lives. Aunty, who gave company to other ladies for practice sessions, warns me otherwise: Some of the ladies play exceedingly well. I won’t be surprised if they walk away with the prize.  So be it. That said, let’s not to write off children. I saw some of them pocketing straight coins so casually – a prime requisite. 

Seeing the superannuated coins and striker Girish, Raghu K N, and Savita Panindra, the carrom convenors, bought three fresh sets, along with quality boric powder. Now the fresh problem for the players is a switch over from a super-slow board to a fast and furious one. A bad carpenter quarrels with his tools?

We first played doubles. My partner is a young boy, Adhityan. His father RSLN had teamed up with Rahul Singhvi. Thankfully I found RSLN giving more tips to his son Adhityan than to Rahul.  Despite that, they won the game. The silver lining was that it was not a cake walk; we managed to open our account. Initially large enthusiasts flocked around us. But once they found us take four attempts to pocket one coin, the crowd dissipated for greener pastures in the hall.

For the singles game last evening, it was between me and Rahul. At the end of 5 boards we were tied at 14 points each. Hence there had to be a Super board, as a super over in cricket. And Rahul made it, creditably.  

“All this write-up, Uncle, when you have been eliminated in both singles and doubles in the very first round?”  So what? I studied in my Matriculation Alexandar Silkirk’s “The Solitary Reaper”. The protagonist’s fiancée rejects his marriage proposal, but he sees the brighter side when she agrees to his request for a last ride together. Overjoyed, he says of the present, “I am the monarch of all I survey; My rights there is none to dispute…” to convey what if she rejected, right now she is with me, and one knows not of the next moment…

Similarly, the memory that I would treasure of this Carrom participation is some of the comments: “It was my honour and privilege to play with the 84 youngster, Mr V V Sundaram uncle…” writes Rahul Singhvi, my singles opponent. “Awesome match – match of the tournament so far; First super board,” says Raghu KN, one of the carrom convenors.” “It was a privilege to watch Sundaram uncle’s spirit at the age of 84…the match was so closely fought that they went on to play a super board”, comments Savitha Panindra, another convenor. “We should definitely play some friendly rounds when free, Uncle,” writes Sanjay, an Oak resident I am yet to have the pleasure of meeting. 

If this is less, what is more?

Lord Shiva Descends on Club House

Yes, tomorrow is Pradosham, and Lord Shiva will be busy performing his thandava to appease Parvathi with the entire Deva Loka watching it (if my understanding is correct). So, He decided to descend on SFV Club House a day in advance to see how His devotees are faring vis a vis their promised Shatha Rudrabhisheka ceremony. I have no doubt that He would only be happy to have witnessed such devotion and dedication of His devotees to the job at hand, and decided to spend the whole day in Club House rather than just grace the occasion for a while.

I would guess the credit primarily should go to Panindra, Naveen, Sudharshan, Vasuki, and Vinay. But no less are those who stand and wait, as they say – the behind the scene activities of Vaidya, Ishwar, and ever so many others. All this is aside the equally strong female force in action. 

The day started with Ganesh Puja and Ganga Puja. Meanwhile the Rithvikas, or japa-ganam, trickled into the Club House to register their attendance and to receive new Dhoti and Uttareeyam along with fruits in a packet. To maintain uniformity, the organizers requested  them to sport the new set of dhotis in panchagacham/uttareeyam format, which they did – some seeking others’ help to do it at short notice. Gulping a hot cup of coffee or tea, the Rithivikas barged into the Club House to take up position – most on the floor and some on chair. 

It was nice to observe that the in-house talent was reinforced with some learned amateur pandits from outside – friends of SFVians. Naveen and one gentleman from outside took turns to explain the significance of the function, the nuances of certain slokas, such as Tryambakam yejamahe sugandhim pushtivardhanam… We felt delighted that one doesn’t need the likes of Dhushyanth Sridhar, or Nochur Venkataraman to explain the various concepts, but we have them aplenty in-house  – amateurs, but no less than professionals.

With various chants preceding the Rudra japam, Panindra took a count of the Rithvikas and pronounced that we should repeat Rudram chant thrice to exceed Shatha Rudhabhisheka. And so it was done with the Club House resonating and reverberating with Rudra mantram as though the entire celestial world was all set to descend. Occasionally I raised my head from my book to see every nook and corner if this was happening. Probably the celestial world has its own way of gracing such occasions, unseen but felt by the devotees.

Neivedya offering and mangala aarti followed with much fanfare, with the lights switched off and the conches blowing in unison while others gave a rhythmic beat to the metallic instrument elevating the mood of one and all to a world of their own. Soon followed prasada viniyogam – very well organized.

At sharp 5 in the evening, people gathered once again, this time to hear the bhajan of SFV ladies. Needless to say, they gave a good account of themselves. Soon followed Carnatic music. Be it Malini, Uma or Lakshmi Nagaraj it was like listening to some professionals singing and nothing less whatsoever. Simply enchanting. At this point we felt this had made our day. No, not yet. It was followed by classical dance performance by Vaishnavi and finally by Vidya Vinod. Since the dances of both were on Shiva thandava style it was rhythmic foot-tapping beats all the way – a fitting finale to the ceremony. 

Many wondered as they left for home: why not they organize one of these at least once a month for an hour or two so that in-house talents get the recognition they very much deserve, and the SFV residents get an opportunity to pass a pleasant evening.

A day well spent, regardless. STOP PRESS. This doesn’t end here. The community is all set for yet another event – mega sports featuring nearly 20 events ranging from cricket, tennis, swimming, volleyball, carrom to track events. Get set – ready, steady, go.

Down the Medical Memory Lane (names changed)

If you happen to watch an accident as you drive along, the natural tendency among passengers thereafter is to share the accidents they had witnessed. Similarly, as I lie down on bed battling with viral fever, under the care of daily-change doctors in our Clinic, thoughts of my visits to hospitals, clinics, labs, pharmacists, in the various stages of my life go past my mind.

I was 8 or 10 when there was an epidemic of cholera, plague or smallpox. The elders engaged Dr Tanikachalam, a family doctor to many houses, for a mass inoculation/vaccination programme, starting with children. Very competent, he was a Mr Serious – even with children. I can’t recall him ever having smiled. His driver, Mr Noor Mohammad, was still worse.  He won’t let us, children, touch doctor’s new Oldsmobile car. 

Everything was ready. But no child was forthcoming. Ten, fifteen minutes have passed – no sign of anyone coming forward. Then my Chiittappa, a happy go lucky person, announced, “Ah, Sundaram is a brave boy, he climbs treetops, rooftops and is always for daredevilry. He will take the first shot.” Everybody clapped. I had no choice. Took the shot. “Ask him if it was painful,” suggested the doctor to the others. “No, not at all,” I said, as I managed to hide my tears out of pain.

For day-to-day bruises, scratches, or small cuts that we five siblings might sustain while playing, our parents had a monthly account with Compounder Krishna Iyer who had his small clinic where he attended up to surgery which didn’t require anaesthesia. He had worked under Dr Tanikachalam. Both were competent in their fields, but both given to short temper. It was this sharp-edge nature that led them part ways. Compounder Krishna Iyer’s separate clinic did eat into Doc’s income. Decades later, while in Hebbal, we were surprised to see that his granddaughter was staying just 200 yards away from us. I was delighted to see someone from my village, and I even showed her the scar on my back of the surgery her grandpa had done.

In Delhi, we had three family physicians in the three different localities that we lived. Two of them were MDs and one MBBS. All three simply superb and were incorruptible. No unwanted lab, x-ray or other tests. As my boys were coming of age, Dr Ashok Taneja whispered into our ears that drug peddling was taking strong roots in the area and asked us to be careful with our children.

My Mother, diabetic, was easy going with food, and relished spicy food. Things started getting out of control. Unable to persuade her at our end, we took her to Doctor Anju Khanna. She was still unrelenting: “Let me eat as I please. Doesn’t matter if it means an early death. So much the better.” Dr Anju Khanna replied to her politely: “Mata ji, maybe so, but don’t think it will occur suddenly one fine morning. You will get first gangrene, your leg may have to be amputated; you will be bedridden, there will be urinary and other problems. The end could be very painful.  Only you will have to suffer.” It went into Mom’s head, and she became a little more careful.

In office we do exchange our experiences with doctors. My collegue, Mr Bhatia, would always be one up. “One dose of my doctor’s medicine, and the disease disappears.” He would repeat it for everything. For three kinds of small medical issues – sneezing, cough, fever…, I noted down his prescriptions and showed it to Dr Anju Khanna. She smiled. Yes I too can prescribe them. But once you get immune to them, there is no other alternative. He prescribes the ultimate. I prescribe two steps below, so that we have stronger doses to rely on. In other words, it’s like prescribing straightaway steroid. 

In Geneva I was hospitalized for a medical intervention. The surgeon explained the situation and gave me the options. “Non-invasive, invasive, or radical.” What would you do if you were operating your own father?” I asked him. “I would give the same choice,” he quipped, giving me no escape route.

“I say, your breakfast is ready,” comes a voice from the kitchen, bringing the flow of thoughts to an abrupt ending.

Cricket All the Way

Since the day the 2023 World Cup started, it has been cricket, Cricket and CRICKET. Luckily, or deservedly, it has been a pleasurable period for us with India’s  unstoppable wins thus far. Hopefully we might win all the nine matches – an achievement in itself. And we shall keep our fingers crossed for the semi-final and final matches.

Aside India’s performance, the day to day matches not involving India have equally been interesting. To be frank, I was planning to watch them only in passing. But facts turned otherwise. On the very first day New Zealand avenged their last World Cup final defeat by winning the very first match against England - by 9 wickets.

The much-awaited match between India and Pakistan ended in India claiming supremacy. Afghanistan, who I would call the heroes of the 2023 series, stole the show by defeating Pakistan, England Sri Lanka and Netherlands.

Netherlands, who are on an Associate status, showed their mettle by defeating the formidable South Africa, and Bangladesh. 

Sri Lankan Government dissolved its Cricket Board for poor performance. For government interference in cricket, ICC removed Sri Lanka from membership. 

Sri Lanka’s Mathew was declared out for not entering the crease within the stipulated two minutes for World Cup (and three minutes for international matches), as the rival team Bangladesh raised the point of order. This is the first time in the 146 years of cricket. Ganguly had a narrow escape when he was similarly to be declared out, but the opposing team, West Indies, did not make a call. 

New Zealand posted an unachievable score of 400-odd against Pakistan, and everyone was skeptical, including the Pakistani commentator, if Pakistan could measure up to it. Possible rain was the forecast and Pakistan focused on run rate and got the benefit of it under the DLF formula. Unlucky New Zealand and lucky Pakistan.

Hardik Pandya, our Vice Captain, sustained a leg injury during one of the matches, and was ruled out for the rest of the World Cup. Mohammad Shami stepped in, and he proved how devastating he could be to the opponent batters. Not just once, but in consecutive matches.

Mohammad Siraj, an opening bowler from one end along side Jusprit Bumrah from the other, got his ranking upgraded to 1 from South Africa’s Maharaj. And, on the batting front, Shubman Gill usurped the first place from Pakistan’s captain Babar Azam. 

At home, the Indian capitan, Rohit Sharma, or better still, the Hitman, set the tempo of the Indian innings by hitting the ball for fours and sixes in Power Play 1 when most fielders are in the inside circle. 

The single most admirable event of the series? Yes, the limping Maxwell, having fallen flat on the ground once or twice because of acute leg pain, still persisted at the crease with both his legs covering the stumps, and deciding to go for nothing short of fours and sixes to sail Australia from 91 for 7 to a victorious 293 for 7 against Afghanistan. A single-handed achievement that is sure to go in the annals of cricketing history as an example of challenging to win under all odds. At the same time, no less credit is due to the Afghan team who dared the Aussies and gave them a run for their money. Rashid Khan of Afghanistan takes the cake for that.

Based on the performance at this World Cup, Netherlands and Sri Lanka do not qualify for the Champion’s Trophy to be held in Pakistan in 2025.

As an aside, we were happy to see film celebrities being given a break for ads and, instead, our Mr Dependable Rahul Dravid featuring for an engine oil ad – Engine oil ho ya shaadi, soch samjkhar select karna. Looked very natural. Also enjoyable was the comedy of errors by Sprite cool drink, relating an unconnected event outside to the cricket enthusiasts watching a match inside shouting drop it, or andhar—bahar… The ad on monthly health insurance premium versus annual premium was very imaginatively done in a ad when a patient walks out of the hospital half way through treatment for lack of coverage. And, to end it again with cricket, Dhoni did a convincing job by laying a condition to the youngsters that he would watch the match with them only if they served Lays.  

A good time pass these past 20-30 days – alas, coming to an end soon. 

Meanwhile, happy Diwali.

A Delightful 60th Birthday Celebration

It would seem SFV is fast becoming a 24x7 entertainment, cultural and religious centre what with the recent Onam, Ganesh Puja, Rajyotsava celebrations interspersed with such semi-private and private celebrations as the Soundarya Lahari Saptaha chanting sessions  that will go on till Thursday organized by SFV Satsang, and the breathtaking Devi Puja celebration organized by Sudharshan Acharya, Panindra, Naveen Kashyap, et al. 

As though these are not enough, Abhishek and Aarthi, the son and daughter of Ravi and Mythili Ravichandran of Ebony 7242, wanted to watch a re-enactment of their parents’ marriage. And the best prescribed means in the Hindu rituals is to celebrate their parents 60th birthday and see, and let others also see, how their parents got married. 

Result? Abhishek flew from USA (alas, his wife Shruthi could not join because of visa constraints) and Aarthi from UK to conduct a wonderful ceremony full of mirth and enjoyment, and at the same time not missing out on religious aspects – a full-fledged Rudra Ekadasi with the mass chant in unison reverberating the Ebony tower and reaching out the adjoining towers, and an enchanting Carnatic musical extravaganza in the evening by none other than Ravi and Mythili’s daughter Aarthi, an undoubtedly accomplished singer who enthralled the audience for nearly two hours - all this yesterday evening in their home and in the Club House.

Today’s itinerary, the real Sashtiabhtapoorthi celebration, was organized in the Finer Side hall, a stone’s throw from SFV.  Among other families in SFV, Ravi had invited all members of the SFV Vedic Chant group. He has been a member ever since he moved to SFV.

We split our group into three or four teams so that we ply minimum number of cars to the venue. When we reached an hour before for the10.30 Muhurtam, we prided that our group would be among the firsts to reach there. But alas, cars were already lined up till the end of the main road, and my friend Kaleeswaran had to drop us at the gate and go on a hunt for a parking space.

No sooner had we entered the building than one of Ravi’s relatives, a la traffic policeman, with one hand stretched and another waving to the right, directed us to the breakfast hall. Since it was a 10.30 muhurtam we had our breakdfast at our respective homes and agreed we would just have a cup of coffee. But seeing the others at the table relishing the menu, we didn’t particulaly object to the caterer spreading the banana leaves for us. But we swore to ourselves, ‘not more than sample bits’. But when we headed to wash our hands, we felt, ‘yet another violation of our resolution’.

Ganesha Vadhyar & Co. – the priest for this function.  Yes, he made his debut in Sobha Forestview when our Vedic Group invited him years ago to perform Yajur Karma for SFV residents in the adjoining Madheswara temple foregoing his own established clientele in his home base Banasvadi. Since then, to the benefit of both SFV residents and himself, he is the de facto priest for many residents. Added to that, both his elder brothers operate separate catering services – one styled Gauri Shankar caterers, and the other Shabari Catering services. We had the experience of Gaur Shankar Caterers on an early occasion when he did a creditable job, and today we experiences the taste of Shabari catering services. The fare was sumptuous, done to perfection, and accompanied by generous services with no hurry to seat the next batch.

Photo session is inescapable on such occasions. A couple of snaps were taken with the Vedic group members lined up, which served two purposes: one, Ravi’s 60th birthday, and the second, Venkatachalam mama’s 50th marriage anniversary. Friends clamoured for separate celebration of 50th anniversary, and Venkatachalam mama turned to me to name the restaurant. ‘No more after such a heavy dose,” I said and brought a possible yet another celebration to a grinding halt, more so with Diwali celebrations on the card.

Ode to Subbiah ji, my colleague

In the august gathering that had assembled early this week to pay homage to Subbiah ji on his first anniversary, friends, admirers and relatives eloquently recalled their association with Subbiah ji and shared interesting anecdotes.

As a colleague for long years, I too treasure memories of my association with Subbiah ji. He was one of the firsts to welcome me into the Department when I joined the organization. He made me feel at home. For some inexplicable reason we became good friends as well. He would call me, not Sundaram, but ‘Beautifullam”. In return I couldn’t coin anything matching. So I would call him, not M R V Subbiah, but M R R S Subbiah – Maha Raja di Raja Shri.

Subbiah was a happy go lucky man bestowed with tremendous sense of humour. He was entertainer par excellence inter-woven with the qualities of a good conversationalist. He moved with ease with anyone. 

He was concise in office correspondence. And, on the Organization’s new  health-related publications he wrote  such synopsis for the in-house journal as also for wider dissemination that never failed to hit the nail. 

In Office, for some time he was the Sports Convenor. On one occasion when I won the carrom championship, he indicated a figure and asked me what prize would I choose for that amount. I said, “Oxford English Dictionary”. “He laughed. That is far from a prize to be given for a sports event man,’ he quipped. “Any way, I will see what I can do.” And he bought that for me, though totally unconnected to the event I won.

Once or twice a month,  Subbiah would bring delicious Masala Dosa prepared by Madam Lakshmi and share it with us. In turn he relished the roasted aalo curry that my mother prepared for me for lunch. I was a bachelor then.  

Subbiah was very popular among the Delhi Kannadigas for his active roles in dramas. In Sobha Forestview when I met another ex-Delhi resident and introduced myself, he was very prompt; “Oh you worked in the same office where Subbiah was; I know him from the Kannada drama circle.”

Subbiah invested his money wisely. In our circle of friends within the Organizaiton, he was the first to buy an apartment in Safdarjung Enclave – a locality that is owner’s pride, others’ envy (modified from the old Onida ad). Later, when there was another announcement by Delhi Development Authority for sale of apartments by lot, it was Subbiah who persuaded me to apply for it. “I am still a bachelor, Subbiah ji. I will plan after I get married.” “No way Sundaram, you should apply now,” he insisted, and I did. Thank you, Subbiah ji. Also, if my memory serves me right, he was the trend setter to own a car – Standard Herald. Many followed him soon.   

As I share these with you these few, I know Subbiah ji you will be entertaining, in your inimitable style, your new friends and admirers over there. Om Shanti.

Onam Celebrations Galore, Yet Again

Saturday, 7 October, 7 in the evening. The gentle breeze wafts around to make it pleasanter for the evening strollers. Like they say All Roads Lead to Rome, this day it was All Roads Lead to Club House lounge.  Everyone made a mandatory stop to peep into what was going on there. Yes, Nalini Padmanabhan, Nalini Chechi to most, was overseeing the preparatory work for Pookalam. Dr Anjusha took time off from her busy schedule in the hospital to ably assisted her. A host of young girls and boys were busy separating the petals from the stem to render them acquire a divine status in the form Pookalam when done.

We were on our usual stroll. On seeing it, Aunty couldn’t wait any longer. She signalled me to go ahead my usual rounds as she gave a helping hand to Nalini who was overjoyed. She got a companion to talk to as they simultaneously worked on the job in hand. It made the work less laborious.

The flower-decoration is such that you cannot start it too early lest the flowers fade and lose their glory on the day of the celebration. So, the job had to be started and completed within a limited time-frame. And so did the volunteers who joined them later to make the end momentous, as usual.

On Sunday, 8 October, the sound of Chenda melam - Jillam Pada Pada as we interpreted the sound as children – alerted the residents many of whom rushed to the spot causing a stampede in the lifts. 

With ladies attired in white sarees with golden zari, and menfolk in white mundu (read: dhoti) with zari or assorted borders and sporting kurtas, it was a pleasant feeling to see the procession move in snail’s pace to the accompaniment of foot-tapping chenda melam. Normally with each year one expects Mahabali grow in age. But this year we were delighted to see a younger Mahabali in action fully filling the role. Sivaprasad and his companions clicked their cameras with incredible frequency to let posterity re-live the past.   

The chenda melam troupe made sure to play at each tower for a minimum period to permit those residents unable to take part in person, to watch it from the comforts of their balconies before the procession headed to the amphitheatre for a fitting finale. A young and enthusiastic group. Well done. 

It was time for a photograph session. Hardly anyone missed being snapped with Mahabali. The crowd got divided thereafter – some went to see if the stalls were operational, others went to see the Pookalam, while yet others loitered around for the ten or fifteen minutes that were left for the first batch of Onam Sadya.

The Sadya fare was very good, followed by liberal servings. Except for once or twice when we were out of station, we had been enjoying Onam Sadya. This would seem one of the best. My friend had asked me to list the items that were served. I am sorry I lost count. 

The cultural programme in the evening deserves special mention. Considering the fact that only a couple of days ago it was decided to celebrate Onam on a full scale, providing little time for practice, the performance of the girls, boys, men and women left very little to be desired in terms of excellence. Items included dance and songs in Malayalam, Kannada, Tamil, Hindi...Personally it helped me to recall some of the old numbers in Malayalam when they recapitulated the golden era of Mayalalam cinema. And, those who were not lucky to perform it in the stage, did a make-do by re-enacting it from their seats. 

The stalls were lined up along the road leading to Gate 1. Trampolin, circular children’s train were extra. With many food stalls it looked a miniature of Food Street in V V Puram. Almost all of them seemed to do brisk business. The stallholders would have gone back home feeling happy at having pitched in their tents for the occasion.

To sum up, well done the organizing team. No amount of praise will be too much for you guys -  Adi Poli, Kalakki.

Moral: Where there is a will, there is a way.

SFV Celebrates Ganesh Puja

Ganapati Bappa Morya, or Om Shree Ganeshaya Namaha. That is what I should pray before attempting to cover our function that I couldn’t attend in full.

Nonetheless, here is imagination running riot for the missing portions. Lord Ganesha had agreed to descend to Sobha Forestview on Sunday morning disregarding His host of other commitments. Playing a welcoming note on Nadaswaram with a foot tapping beat on the percussion instrument, the deity was accompanied from Gate 1 to MPH Hall by men and women devotees attired in traditional clothes, not excluding Mysore silk, Kancheepuram silk, crepe silk, or simple but graceful cotton sarees by women, and equally matching silk dhoti with golden- or peacock-eyed border dhotis and angavastram by the menfolk. The procession halted at regular intervals and those accompanying it enjoyed some of the best notes on Nadaswaram with the burly middle-aged men playing tavil with gusto.

At MPH2 where the deity was to be installed awaited a larger gathering, some sticking their neck out to see where the procession had reached and how soon or late it will reach the venue. Yet others, fear of losing their seats for a vantage view of puja and other rituals to follow, preferred to guess it from the decibel of Nadaswaram. The morning function over with puja and prasadam distribution, some headed to the flea market for a dekho, while others chose to club it with the evening’s cultural programme. 

Earlier, on Saturday evening when we reached the lawns, musical chair was in progress. It was nice to see women of all ages taking part in it. When the number thinned down to 10 or 12 in the process of elimination, I made a mental guess on who might be the winner. I asked Aunty casually who might make it. Believe me, she pointed at the same lady - and lo she was the winner in the end. Some who are into mild gambling on these occasions might think of summoning our services to spot the possible winner to make some easy money. We should hasten to advise them that this was a pure chance, and first time.

We went around the stalls. I felt a slight discomfort passing by the stalls situated on the elevation of the lawns. We had to stand on the slope to look in. We deliberately skipped that stall where we feared our little secured investments might get disturbed by the marketing gimmicks of that financial institution. Yes, we are highly gullible. Also, we desisted from tasting the samples of various food products. We didn’t want to add to our inventory. Already we find it difficult to deplete our Coimbatore-trip stock.

On Sunday, 24 September, too we could join the function only in the evening. We had to be part of a Koti Vishnu Sahasranamam chant planned pan India. In SFV, my neighbour Hari-Geetha, 3192, had requested the SFV Vedic Group members to chant it twice from 11.30 to 12.30 pm so that we could add a modest 40 000 to the one crore chant. This was followed by lunch that Geetha had prepared - all by herself, politely declining assistance or potluck arrangement from others.

We rushed to the visarjan ceremony parade as soon as we heard the first beat of Dhol Tashe. It was irresistible.  We enjoyed watching the merriment all around where men and women of all ages danced with gay abandon. The mutka-todh ceremony was interesting, as also the tug of war by children. The prasadam kit was mouth-watering.

On way back, my friend asked me, “So we can expect a blog some time by tonight?” “I am afraid I have no locus standi to write a piece on a function I didn’t attend in full,” I replied. “Maybe, you can do one minus what you missed,” he quipped, unrelenting.

Heartiest congratulations Binita Prasad, Vaishali, and others for organizing such a wonderful event. Three cheers.

Reunion, Rejuvenation, Rest and Recuperation

All my siblings have moved to a senior home in Coimbatore in four apartments. We have been under constant pressure to move in, for two reasons: one, the whole family will be in one complex – so near yet so far; two and more important, so that we buy a vehicle together and go places. Good idea. However, our bonding with SFV has become so strong that we do the next best – hurry to Coimbatore at the slightest pretext, for a family reunion. This time we took our friend and his wife too.

Our visit coincided with Onam, Yajurveda Upakarma, and Janmashtami. In the Auditorium with cushioned chairs and five-star chandeliers illuminating it golden yellow, it was a feast for the eyes to see the senior ladies dancing Ona Kali donning off-white sarees with golden border; men in their 80s singing old numbers with no discordant notes whatsoever; a lady tracing the origin of Onam, yet another with no knowledge of Malayalam singing a Malayalam number, and so on. Nice to watch an all-Senior show, as also to see menfolk move around attired in clothes reserved for occasions. The only snag was that whenever they passed by instead of sharing the fragrance of Armani, Hugo Boss or the local Fogg, one felt the smell of Bengal Chemicals’ naphthalene balls.

On each visit my siblings unfailingly coax me to visit the latest project of the builder. This time it was their third phase with villas, and 1- 2-, and 3-BHK apartments under construction. Each villa has an independent lift in the drawing room that takes you to first floor and the terrace. The balcony, fitted with the traditional solid-wood swing faces the coconut grove in the immediate vicinity and mountain a little ahead – too tempting. But we resisted it this time too.

Both my sisters are great shoppers – for others. They know where you get good cotton sarees, daily-wear sarees, which lady sells from home very good bedsheets at moderate rates or, which restaurant stops supply of bonda and bajji at 5 pm so that we must rush before that…. Both the Bangalore ladies did so much justice to textile shopping that the counter-assistant ordered coffee twice. As usual, menfolk carried the bags on both hands, praying for more hands, adhering simultaneously to the instructions to keep the bills safe just in case an exchange was necessary.

They say Indians have the herd mentality. A month ago one sister, her daughter-in-law and her daughter from USA, underwent a week’s rejuvenation therapy at a well-known Ayurvedic Centre situated in the middle of the forest near Aana Katti. She persuaded us, the Bangalore four, also to experience it, if not for 7 days, at least for 3 days. We were skeptical for fear of falling off the oil-floating table, or uncertain if we could withstand the full-strength massage of the young paramedics, that too in the first batch when full energy is at their beck and call. But we succumbed to my sister’s persuasion.  All the four enjoyed all the sessions in those three days. We were prepared for the minimal food supply those three days, if only we would shed some kilos. Yes, I did – 500 gm.  

For return trip too we engaged a one-way taxi. Before leaving Bangalore my friend had suggested each one of us to select 20-30 favourite songs in any language which he would put together and play during the trip. Needless to mention there were many songs which more than one person had selected by coincidence. On the return trip the driver, a young man, had his own collection to listen to as he waited for his next trip.  He played them too. All of them had that rich, innocent and welcome rural flavour.  

A trip well spent, said the ladies. “Both in time and shopping-spree,” added the menfolk in jest, side-glancing their spouses. 

Deprived First; Granted Tenfold Later – 3-day Temple Visit

It is not always that one manages to execute one’s plans to a T. Circumstances sometimes conspire to deny that privilege. Precisely that is what happened to me and my friend, Ragu, in two unconnected instances.

That evening Ragu and Padma were waiting for the taxi to catch the train to Kumbakonam. A visit to their family deity, Swamimalai temple. He got a call. Ragu presumed it was from the taxi chap and hastened, ‘We are already at the Gate.” No, it was not him. It was from a relative to convey a sad news. They headed for Chennai instead.

In my case, when my son and family were here last month, we had planned Vaitheeswaran temple, our family deity,. But a sprain that my son sustained during the preceding trip because of a sudden bump in the road denied us the opportunity. 

This deprival however proved a blessing in disguise to both. Ragu proposed later and I agreed - to undertake a joint trip as the two temples are only fifty kilometers apart. And we covered as many as ten other ancient temples. As they say in Hindi: ऊपर वाला जब देता है तो छप्पर फाड़ के देता है. 

Ragu had made arrangements for Abhishekam at Swamimalai and also for us to sit closest to sanctum sanctorum. That forced me sit cross-legged for forty-five minutes continuously – a tall order, but I managed.

I had no contacts at Vaitheeswaran temple, but I had a hassle free darshan in my last visit. I took it easy. But this time it was a muhurtam day with at least 10 or 12 newly married couples and their groups of 20-30 people. 

Our ladies sprung into action. They noticed a purohit hurrying towards the temple. They interrupted him and asked him if someone could help them to get darshan at the temple. “How many of you are there?” he asked. “Just four.” They quipped. “Follow me,” he said and rushed to the sanctum sanctorum without even checking whether we were following him. Yes, he seemed the Chief Priest or the priest on duty. He instructed the gate keeper at the final point to let us in. We thus got to watch the archanai and deeparadhanai from the closest point – short of performing it ourselves. God sent. 

The other shrines we covered included Oppiliappan koil; Ramaswamy temple, Chakrapani temple, Thiruvidaimarudur temple, Kamphahareswarar temple, Dhenupueeswarar temple, Airavateswarar temple, Adi Kumbeswarar temple, Saranatha Perumal temple,  Brahmapureeswarar temple… Space constraints disallow me to share the sthala puranam of these temples. Suffice it to say each of it was as interesting to listen as the architectural splendour was to watch. In one, Lord Vishnu appears as an old man asking for the hand of Markandeya Rishi’s daughter, Bhoomi Devi. The latter refuses it on the ground, “she is too young for you sir,” only for the Lord to reappear in his real form and marry. Another is dedicated to the Lord removing the fears of Prahlada and Devas after they watched the gruesome killing of Hiranya Kashipu by Lord Narasimha. In the other it is Lord giving darshan to Kaveri, and moksham to Markandeya. Yet another relates to how a Chola king who accidentally kills a Brahmin is chased by the spirit Brahmahathi, and he escapes to his favourite Shiva temple, prays to Him for relief, and exits through another gate. Swamimalai is associated with how Lord Muruga explained to his father, Shiva, the meaning of Om. In Vaitheeswaran temple, Lord Shiva is identified as Vaitheeswaran who cures any illness. Rewarding experience, simply put. 

Ragu had suggested Mangalambika hotel for breakfast and dinner. The hotel was started way back in 1914 and is going strong. Most of us know of Kumbakonam Degree Coffee (KDC), but few know it is this hotel that introduced  KDC way back in the 1940s as the newspaper cuttings that are prominently displayed on the walls substantiate. 

“On the go for continuously three days, Uncle? Wasn’t it tiring?”  “Yes, of course it was – nearly 1100 kilometers in all. So, to compensate it, on return the four of us went along with another senior couple to Forum Mall to watch a movie, followed of course by snacks in a restaurant. 

Can there be a better way to celebrate Senior Citizens Day?

SFV’s Splendid Independence Day Celebrations

India celebrated its 76 years of independence today. And SFV, no less, in its own modest but impressive way. 

The programme was to start at 8. And we reached the venue thereabouts only to see a ‘house full’ amphitheatre. There is no dearth of good people around. Naveen and Praveen squeezed space for me and my friend at the vantage point they had occupied. Kudos for their ingrained service-before-self gesture.

• The organizers had proposed to everyone to possibly don something that featured one of three colours of the Indian flag. It was a feast for the eyes to see everyone attired in bright colours – ladies donning immaculate white sarees with red or green borders, the gentlemen sporting kurta- pyjama or other national dress. 

The programme started with SFV’s Estate Office Manager, Mr Prakash, an ex-military personnel, being rightly given the honour to hoist the flag. The invocation ceremony was entrusted to a group of senior ladies who did it with aplomb – their resonating sound belying their age. Rightly someone murmured: well begun. The one next to him quipped, “well begun is half done”. And I would add here that it didn’t stop at half;  the entire programme was executed to perfection.

Before the next item could begin, everyone felt a commotion at the entry point of the amphitheatre – the sound of an army march-past. Yes, the security staff dressed for the occasion paraded to the amphitheatre bringing along with military precision in terms of steps of boots, grace, and adding a ceremonious touch to the whole event. They stood in attention for the patriotic number sung by another group of ladies, before they saluted the flag once again before marching back with gusto to their ‘barracks’. Kudos.

This was followed by prize distribution – not for walking, running or other races. That will be on a different occasion later this year. This time it was for exemplary performance by different categories of SFV support staff – plumber, electrician, gardener, housekeeping staff… It was nice to see, among others, Pulkit (the SFV’s flute man) bagging a prize – all over again?

Now comes one of the major attractions of the day. Yes, you guessed it right - featuring children.  In groups and individually they enacted how the East India Company entered India to do business and gradually took over the reins of the country; how later the brave Rani Laxmi Bhai, Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekar Azad, Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Sardar Patel, Maulana Azad…, fought with the British to leave the country to themselves.  Each child artiste was dressed best for the occasion and performed his/her role to perfection, never looking to parents for approval or direction. Even the sober and quiet ‘Jai Jawan Jai Kisan’ Lal Bahadur Sastri could not resist dance in merriment to a number that did not involve him. So much was the excitement all over. No wonder the audience shouted for a repeat performance. Apparently this could not be acceded to, as other items had been lined up. Oh! what an applause this item received.

These said, all this would not have been possible if those behind the cutain -  persons who anchored the events, or those who choreographed the items - didn’t do their homework well. Full compliments to them.

Food court and shopping stalls are inseparable partners for such celebrations. Most of them were doing brisk business. And if the time when I went around the stalls were to be reckoned as the peak period, then I heard the cash register at the Mulbagal Dosa counter clinging the maximum. There was a long line. Consequently, some chose to walk up to the Elephant Café - live and let live.

Items sold in other stalls included bedcovers, bedcovers, quilts; Kerala banana chips and Kozikode halwas; cold-pressed and wood-pressed oils; sweets without sugar; dry fruits; tracksuits and, last but not the least, sarees.

My friend, Muthuraman of Ebony 7102, negotiated his way to me in the midst of the programme to whisper into my ears” “Sir, I shall share videos of the event just in case you want to use them for your blog.” So nice of him. Yes, the videos appear here courtesy Mr Muthuraman.

Finally, occasions such as Independence Day do help us look back and feel happy that over the years India has made fast strides in science, technology…, in every aspect of life, and at the same time does not rest on her laurels. Vande Mataram. Jai Hind. 

Foodies’ Corner

During our morning coffee, Aunty and I exchange highlights of messages received from our respective WhatsApp groups. This morning she shared two messages from two different persons: one, the good quality of chat served at Chat’s r’us, near Big Market; and the other, Venkateswara where they have a huge chats section - both in Kanakapura Road. 

That emboldened me to pen these few lines. Friday evening Aunty and I were having snacks at the Little Elephant’s High Café, at the end of Cedar Gate. It was an accidental visit. We were in fact going to the Sanitaryware shop at the corner to buy a holder for the faucet. It suddenly struck us why not we enquire if we could return the unopened item that we had bought a few days ago at the suggestion of SFV Plumber A, for Rs 3300/-, because Plumber B who came to fix it said, ‘no need to replace’. Ideally, we should confront the shopkeeper with the product, we felt. So, Aunty suggested she would go home, pick it up, and I wait at the newly opened Elephant Café where there were chairs in place. Hardly had she walked ten steps when she turned back: “I say, don’t just sit on a chair and wait for my return. Order something; it doesn’t look nice. Okay?” She said this specifically because after our son and family’s recent visit when we visited restaurants left, right and centre, Aunty and I had put an embargo on restaurants – however tempting the air that wafts from the restaurant. 

There were others as well in Elephant Cafe – in families of twos and threes. I ordered one plate of onion pakoda, certain that it would take about seven to ten minutes to get ready – the time Aunty would require to return from home with the product. Truth be told, the onion pakoda was really crispy and fulsome. Probably this was the reason why all the others (belonging to the middle aged group) were ordering one item after the other. As we were about to leave, they were still relishing their ordered items. One couple suspended the proceedings temporarily and walked up to us. “Uncle, can you do a write-up on this restaurant?” and the lady introduced herself as from Pine. The other - husband, wife and son – got up as well and the lady said: “Oh, so you are the one, Uncle, who writes those blogs. I never miss any. Yes, I too endorse, and request you to do one on this.” The second family disclosed just their names. I wonder if they are from Oak.

I was apprehensive for the simple reason that I might be mistaken for the restaurant’s Marketing Manager and conveyed my fear to them. “No uncle, we persist only because the food is good.”

To complete the story on both fronts. Yes, the Sanitaryware shop refunded with no questions asked. Kudos to present day practices. In our days it was mission impossible howsoever thoroughly you might rehearse your narrative. 

Two, we fully enjoyed the snacks at Elephant Café. We were on the verge of ordering another item. But we realized we must present our case much before the shopkeeper switched on lights for the evening after which they seldom entertain requests for return or refund. 

All is well that ends well, we said to ourselves as we walked back home with two decisions. One, for all our sanitaryware requirements hereafter it will be only this shop, and none other. Two, any visits to this Café hereafter will no longer be Accidental, but Deliberate.

P.S. It would make my day if only those two families that requested me realise that I attempted this write up to honour their wishes.

SFV Kalyanothsava 2023

To conduct a puja in one’s own home like I did the other day, or my neighbour more recently, is no big deal. But to organize one of the magnitude of Kalyanothsava 2023 is stupendous. And that is what Panindra, Vasuki, Navin, Ishwar Dutt, Surendra Acharya and a host of front-runners did yesterday with moon-landing precision. No amount of praise is too much for them. Kudos to the entire team.

The blueprint was drawn long before. Behind the curtain activities were in full swing - quietly. A Dharmik group, Sri Vari Foundation, Chamarajpet, specializes in performing Kalyanotsava, replicating the Tirupati style. This is its 624th performance since inception twenty years ago. The group consists of about 25 young and vibrant people, each an expert in his own form of art, a la a drama troupe. The purohits among them rendered slokas with the diction and intonation prescribed in the scriptures. The young among them elevated the mood of the audience by singing and dancing - sometimes holding the idol, sometimes inviting the audience to participate. The anchor, acting as sutradhar, held the thread of events intact with captivating narratives. It is on this occasion that I said to myself, “if only I had learnt Kannada a little more than I did…” Consequently, more often I applauded or laughed after the rest of the audience had – like I did when I watched English movies in Rivoli in my twenties.

When the organizers allotted us a slot to chant the Suktams, we, the SFV Vedic Group, were both appreciative and apprehensive. Appreciative for their gesture, and apprehensive for the fear if our fine-tuning would justify our four years of practice. Luckily the scholarly group from the Foundation came to our rescue. We were only to play second fiddle to their reverberating rendering – our voice to be in the forefront only when they stopped for breath or to adjust their vocal chords to prevent tonal lapses. Escaped unhurt, some of us said to ourselves.

Earlier the ladies were given the floor to render Tiruppavai. Needless to add, they did a good job.

These preliminaries aside, the prime time of the event was between 11.30 and 1.30 when the team kept the audience spellbound, giving them occasional goosebumps – aho bhagyam. They gave opportunities to as many of the audience as possible to perform some part of the ceremony – such as token fanning the Lord and Goddess, paste on the forehead sandlewood or Kumkum, or hold the divine umbrellas. And the way flowers were showered on the deities in platefuls instead of handfuls, I wondered if  half of City Market’s flower market had descended on MPH 1. The entire flow of events transported us to the celestial world for its duration. For a while I felt if by chance the best art director of the film industry was in town the previous evening to mount the elegant but befitting sets.

It was perhaps for the first time that I could see the crowd not slipping in to the lounge area towards the end, to be near MPH2 where prasadam counter would open. Instead, they were still thronging around to get from purohits' hands flowers, haldi, Kumkum, or sandlewood offered to deities. 

There was perfect order in MPH-2 where prasadam was being distributed. The elderly had no longer to play their Senior card to get prasadam ahead of others. And, truth be told, when the word “Prasadam” gets appended to food, it acquires a special taste. No doubt about it.

It was 5 pm, and time for SFVians to return to Club House after a brief rest at home. The procession of the bedecked deity was ready to be taken around all the blocks. Some regular Gym-attendees were seen holding the bars carrying the deity around. An enthusiastic crowd overflowed from all directions. In the morning the acumen of the Nadaswaram group was never in display. Their role was limited to filler roles or playing ‘sakala vadyam’ when signalled, or when the next recorded music was getting ready to play. But now in the procession, they had a free hand, and we could enjoy some of familiar numbers, Jagadhodarana…, Venkatachala Nilayam…and the duo percussionists taking it to the next level with their inherent one-upmanship. 

Sorry folks who could not make it. This is for you - but with a rider. What you missed is way more than I could portray here to the best of my poor ability.         

Travelogue-3 - Final: Shivamogga, local visits, puja at home, departure mode

After more than ten hours of ride in Tempo Traveller each way during our trip to Kerala, everyone was delighted to take train to Shivamogga from Yeshvantpur. We decided to take the Metro rather than engage two cabs. Rush hour Bangalore traffic is just unpredictable. Besides, the Sundaram household is not known for stepping out on time.

This said, we were one of the firsts to be in the compartment. Even the Chair Car air-conditioning was switched on much later. Our co-travellers were from Hennur – elderly parents, daughter in law and her two-year old son, Advaith. The elderly lady gave up her seat with her husband to be next to Aunty to engage herself in conversation. Aunty was no less happy. The lady recommended some restaurants and places to visit. In between the chat she offered us some eatables from her bag. Alas, we had to decline - our own stock was lying unavailed.

When we went our ways at Shivamogga station, she sent back her daughter in law to us waiting for our Innova. She, a native of Shivamogga, gave me her mobile number and asked me to ring her just in case we encountered any problems. So nice of the family.

During our three-day stay the places we visited included Jog Falls, Lions Park, Sakkarebailu, and a few historical places. We had to cancel Sigandur temple. It would have been a fun for grandsons to cross the ferry. A festival was going on, and it would mean three or four hours of delay. 

Jog falls was simply breathtaking, more so during monsoon. No wonder it is one of the best in India. Despite intermittent rains and brisk 600-crore project work going on to make it world class, the crowd was no less.

As for the Lions park, I had seen Gir Forest, National Park in Bannerghatta, and few others. But it is only here that we had close encounters with lions and tigers – of course from inside our safe safari vans.

Though meant for children, everyone enjoyed the Sakkarebailu elephant camp. A herd of elephants is brought from inside the forest sanctuary every morning and given bath. One can give bath to an elephant on payment. Rohan chose to do so, though the mahut did the major brushing job to get deeper into the elephant’s thick skin.

As though to compensate for the Sigandur temple-visit cancellation, we made an unscheduled stopover at Hosahalli (not the one leading to SFV), the only-Sanskrit-spoken-village in India. It was my wish that I should visit it one day, and I was glad I could. When we went around the village it was silent – either the householders were busy inside doing their japam, or the ladies preparing the day’s lunch. Nonetheless we could hear some conversations from inside some houses. At the end of the village was Tunga (or Tungabadra?) river, in spate. Only the daredevils would venture to go near. 

Back in Bangalore, it was time to fulfil social outings – to visit friends and relatives. Earlier we had planned to host a lunch at home where we could meet all in one go. But most of them were out of station. So, we visited the ones around. 

It’s time to give their India-visit a fitting finale. So, a la Hollywood or Bollywood movies where the Don passes the baton to the heir apparent, we let Shankar and Sunita perform Bhagavat Sevai (Devi puja held in Aadi masam, mostly in Kerala). A past master in this, the Sastri ji did a good job. Also, we were lucky that an untried caterer we had engaged for prasadam and a light dinner, gave a good account of himself to qualify for future assignments.

Now the inevitable - the departure mode. We dug out the weighing machine from the attic, dusted it so that when the packing is over, they could weigh them. Son is busy attending to online checking and changing seats to a row nearer the exit gate so that they could rush to get the next flight with the limited layover they have at their disposal. From my side I have already engaged Akram to drop them at the airport. Grandsons were doing their own packing. “How come?” I asked. “Yes Thatha, it is all the more necessary,” they said a little loudly for their parents to listen, “because hereafter every summer Rohan and I will come to Bangalore on our own, regardless of whether Amma-Appa are able to make it.” “Most welcome either way, my boys,” I reassured them. 

Travelogue 2: Palakkad, Guruvayoor and back

Babu topped up diesel before halting at Palakkad for the day. Can’t guess if the Tamil diesel rate was cheaper or he wanted to save time for the umpteen temple visits in Kerala the next day. Rohan decided to use the restroom at the petrol pump. I asked him how it was. “Horrible Thatha, just a hole in the ground!”. Curious, I went to check it out for myself. Stepping in, I saw his “hole in the ground” - the Indian style toilet!

Our journey continued through Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala. As we approached Palakkad, I requested Babu to slow down. “On our left is the school I studied, and on the right my college,” I pointed to my grandsons. “Such old buildings?” quipped the younger. “Yes, I studied there 65 years ago kiddo, and these looked just as old even then” I clarified. “Just off the cuff statement; nothing personal, Thatha,” hastened the elder defending his younger brother.

After some rest at Krishna Garden Homestay, I helped both grandsons to tie dhoti for the temple visits. “Thatha you are ‘strangling’ my waist.  It’s too tight,” complained Rohan. “No beta, just wanted to ensure the dhoti doesn’t disown and embarrass you in public.” “Come on Thatha, I am not a child.” 

We went to two Devi temples. After darshan at the first, we rushed to the second where the curtains had already been drawn for the final deeparadhana of the day. I saw Rohan observing the carvings around minutely.  “Thatha, why is it so carved that the poor tortoise is made to bear on its back the weight of the huge six-storeyed brass lamp?” “I will tell you later,” I said. “Never mind Thatha, I will check it myself in Google,” he quipped. 

It was already 8.30 pm, and our sole worry was not to go to bed on an empty stomach because Kerala hotels are not known for staying open late hours. We telephoned the ‘Taste of Kalpathy’. “Come before 8.45,” they replied. At such last minutes the fare is either nothing or take-it-all. That rainy night it was the latter.  So, each plate was served in overflowing quantity – be it the main dish Sevai or the accompanying solid chutney, sambar or, as bonus, ‘masala’ of puri-masala.

Next morning we drove to Hariharaputra restaurant for breakfast. The proprietor took no time to guess we were ‘outsiders’.  On knowing we were from Bangalore, he sat beside us and said his grand-daughter too stayed in JP Nagar. “Where in JP Nagar,” I asked. In “Brigade Gardenia,” he replied. “Her name?” He responded. Aunty was quick to say, “Oh I know them; with two children: … and ….” “Yes, but how come you know them?” he asked, getting curious. “They stay in my brother’s son’s apartment,” I responded. A small world, but not enough to attract any discount on the bill.

We then drove to Atirapally, the “the Niagara falls of India”. Good we went during monsoon; the falls were in full blast, though the path to the final point was a little slippery. Grandsons got very close to the permitted area and took snaps. Nature’s bountiful in full display.

We checked in at Guruvayoor hotel, and after a while, headed to the temple. Grandsons waited for their turn for Tulabharam (the devotee offers himself to the Lord by offering one’s weight of materials like jaggery, coconuts, etc.) They were very excited sitting cross-legged on the weighing scale with folded hands, eyes closed and be weighed. Soon after darshan the boys rushed to the elephants waiting at one side chewing their food (the coconut tree branches), before they were bedecked and taken for temple procession. 

After a satisfying Kerala trip, we drove straight back to Bangalore.  Home sweet home, we said as we entered.

(Final: Shivamogga, local visits/shopping, puja at home, departure mode)

Note: Photo/video uploaded courtesy Shankar

Travelogue – Son and family from USA

Yes, the much looked-forward-to visit of our elder son and family did come through. Their plan to do so a year ago had to be cancelled at the last minute. Better late than never - or, it’s never too late? Too bad, our younger son and family could not join, to turn it into a family reunion. Never mind. Their visit later will give us, parents, yet another opportunity to be on top of the world.

Akram, the trusted Innova Crysta owner with a host of SFVian customers under his wrap for airport pick-up or drop, drove them home, giving me a tinkle on reaching SLV. Left to herself, Aunty would have received them with Aarati, but it was way past midnight. 

Ashwin, now 6’2”, and Rohan keen to surpass Thatha’s (read: my) height, were overjoyed at setting their foot in this home for the first time. They had visited us earlier in Hebbal. Shankar and Sunita haven’t changed much since we returned from US early this year. Shankar was happy to be relieved from his 18-hour a day schedule more in the wake of merger and acquisition of his division by another giant firm. Sunita, no less, because she no longer had to catch up with the ‘product release’ event every Friday evening. And us parents, we are happier than ever.

Plans had been drawn well in advance for their entire stay, leaving very few ‘rest’ days. To be on the move is in itself a change, and that is what they have come here for, not to speak of the restaurants we had short-listed. 

For six persons Innova Cyrsta (7+1) is more than enough. But we decided to engage Babu’s 12-seater Tempo Traveller, (whom we engaged for Sakleshpur trip) for the simple reason that the two 6’2” (father and elder son) could stretch their legs and travel in comfort while others can shuffle seats as often as they want. 

The sky was overcast. What else do you expect on a monsoon morning? Fear engulfed our mind that the first leg of our travel – to Guruvayoor – will be rain-hit. But we were armed with six umbrellas – three our own, and three from neighbour Hari – that was sure to protect our head if not the rest of the body. Something is better than nothing. Luckily, taking up duty travel elsewhere those three days, the Rain God spared us. We stopped at Sri Krishna Inn in Krishnaraja Puram for breakfast, after debating whether to repeat this for the n’th time or try Murugan Idli nearby which a few spoke equally highly of.

Ragu, my friend in Brigade Palmsprings, had forced upon me earlier his spare mobile suggesting that it might come handy for Shankar or Sunita to carry with them so that they are not mobile-less for any contact. He had subscribed to You Tube ad-free limitless music. You name the song, and it will play. I tried some of the less known but haunting songs of the 1950s, and lo there they were. Thus it was free for all – Sunita wanting Carnatic music, Enthoru Mahanu bhava…; Shankar current Hindi songs of Arijit Singh. Ashwin and Rohan plugged in airpods to be in their own unhindered world. Aunty waited with baited breath for her turn to listen to Tamil movie songs replete with meaningful lyrics: “Ninaithathaellam nadandhu vittaal…. I took a back seat for my old Hindi songs . Tum na jaane kis Jahan mein khogaye…, Guzrahua zamana atta nahin dubara… or Tu pyar ka sagar hai…

Time for lunch. We just bumped into a hotel unsure of the quality. I asked a man who just stepped out: “How was the food?” “Good for the area we live,” and started off his bike. It was indeed more than what we had expected.

Alas, here we are already on the threshold of Palakkad, our scheduled halt for the day.

(Next: Palakkad stay, Visit to Guruvayoor, and back) 

Yoga Day and My Own Fitness Pursuits

 ‘Priti-storm hits SFV on Yoga Day.’ That would best describe the SFV Chapter of the International Yoga Day that was celebrated with great pomp and show at the Basketball ground - braving the forecast of intermittent rains. The organizers had Plan B at hand. Luckily the sky was just overcast, it was not drizzling even.

Slated for 6.30 to 7.30 morning, yoga enthusiasts numbering about 100 (?), rushed to the ground to be one up on spreading their yoga mats at vantage points so that no instruction of Priti slipped past their ears.    

Introducing Priti to readers would be like carrying coals to the Newcastle, as the expression goes. To be honest, if there were to be a popularity contest in SFV, I bet she would figure in the top ten, if not the top five. Nonetheless, for record, she is a trained Yoga teacher. She conducts yoga classes regularly to largely attended SFV residents. If the feedback is anything to go by, she is simply matchless.

A small oversight denied me the privilege to attend Yoga Day celebrations from the word go. I misread the programme as ‘6.30 pm to 7.30 pm’ when it was written ‘6.30 am to 7.30 am’.  Consequently, on Yoga Day I was getting ready for my usual morning walk. Aunty stepped to the balcony for her morning dual ritual - to water Tulsi plant and drive the pigeons away from using our balcony as bathroom - but rushed back: “I say, I can see the Yoga session on at the basketball court. You said you wanted to attend it.” I was aghast and hurried to the spot. Too late. The participants were rolling up their mats and the photo session was about to begin. Doesn’t matter, given the response of my friends who attended and along with whom I returned, and read in conjunction with the praise that poured in later in Telegram, I guess it was simply fantastic. Good job Priti. Kudos.

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My own association with yoga started when I was 10 or 12 years. In fact it was thrust upon us, the three brothers, by our grandfather. He wanted to encourage the gentleman who had just returned to Palakkad after undergoing two or three years of intense yoga course in Sivananda Ashram in Rishikesh. Given my lifestyle of ‘half-way all the way’ in any venture I undertake, I gave up yoga after a while in the guise of having to focus on my studies. I wish I had done any better in that field at least. 

Years later when in Delhi, I bought what was then a popular mail-order gadget, the Bullworker, that promised to make a Mohammad Ali out of me in one week. Months later, seeing it gather dust in the drawing room, my mother asked the maid one fine morning when I was taking shower, to dump it on the attic, which I noticed only a week later, in any case. The end.

Undaunted, again years later the stay-fit instinct in me was rekindled. This time with weightlifting. I joined a camp run one who had won the Mr Delhi championship, with muscles all over his body.  My uncompromising strict vegetarian diet notwithstanding, this went on for some time until I ventured to raise the bar with increased weight. I lifted the bar and, yes, held on to it unshaken for full three minutes. The Master patted my back. “Very good. You raised it to ankle level this time. Next time, you raise it to knee level,” and went on to attend to the next aspirant, murmuring something. Maybe cursing himself: “Oh my God, what wrong did I commit that you persuaded me to enroll persons of this caliber who, let alone not enhance the prestige, could bring disrepute to my gymnastic centre.” 

These regardless, way past retirement now, I still have not given up my workouts - not as part of any development phase but to keep Shoulder Pain, Knee Pain & Co. at bay.

Celebrating Milestone-Anniversaries

I don’t know how it is with you, but in our family sometimes it is celebrations all the way. We had four such occasions in our family.

My younger sister celebrated her 60 years of married life – she in her eighties and b-i-l just 90. They stay in a Senior Citizen home in Coimbatore, very happy, attending sloka or bhajan sessions, or discourses, simultaneously not missing the weekly new movies shown in their auditorium or occasional group trips in taxis to four or five temples in a day. The rest of the time my sister is on a disinvestment spree, selling their properties in Mumbai, Chennai and Bengaluru. 

Then comes my wife’s brother. He is celebrating his 60th birthday visiting his sons in US. On being questioned how he chose to ignore all his sisters in Bangalore on this landmark birthday, he said, “My elder son has just lapped up a job in San Francisco, and we didn’t want to miss the younger one’s Master’s Convocation in Washington DC. Not to worry, I will celebrate it when on return,” He reassured his protesting elder sisters – a sole son after seven girls to his parents. His sons had arranged a helicopter ride to celebrate, and visits to friends and relatives stretching from East Coast to the West Coast. One of the beneficiaries is my elder son and family who spent with them some time with them on their way to Grand Canyon. 

Chandra-Chandru, as the name itself suggests, is a made for each other couple.  After spending five days in Munnar celebrating their 40 years of married life they returned last evening, to perform Satyanarayana puja at home today. After retirement they lost no time to join an international time-share company, a la Club Mahendra. And if my guess is right, barring the African continent, they would have covered several countries. They take off to Australia this month-end till year-end.

In May end we too celebrated our 50 years of married life. “So how are you going to celebrate your Golden jubilee, Akka-Athimbar?” asked my Cedar sister in law. “Not much of a plan since Shankar (my elder son) and family will be here the whole of July and we have elaborate plans drawn up – Guruvayoor, family-deity temples, Coimbatore to be with my siblings, Shivamogga, Pondicherry, Vaitheeswaran kovil…. We will thus have a quiet day today - at best we will go to a temple,” we answered. “Fine, you take care of the ‘quiet’ part, and I will take care of your visit to the temple. Get ready now, we will drive you to ISKCON temple here, and then we all will go to Jayanagar for lunch,” she said – and did it.

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Not just us; the hands of my SFV friends too are full.  Let me share my experience in enlisting members to our recent Sakleshpur trip. I contacted first my Alder friend. He said: “Sakleshpur? Nice place to visit. But right now, I have three couple-guests at home. We are ourselves going on an eight-day trip to Madurai...”

The Pine friend had this to say: “We would have loved to join, but a close relative of mine is very ill and my presence in Bangalore is essential.”

My new friend who moved into Maple recently was in Vande Bharat train to Chennai when I contacted him. “Sorry sir, we have not shifted fully from Chennai. There are still some unfinished tasks.”

My Ebony friend checked his diary and said, ‘Sorry, we will be in Sringeri at that time.”

The Cedar couple, out more often fulfilling social obligations than pleasure trips, responded thus: “Sir, you know I just returned from Chennai after attending a bereavement. My wife and I are now headed in two different places – me to attend an 80th birthday, and she for a family wedding. And next month I will be in Thiruvannamalai advising my brother, on the civil side, to construct a charitable shelter facility for spinal cord patients.” 

Busy-bee thy name, retirees.

3-Day Trip to Sakleshpur

Nine of us, 7 seniors and 2 super seniors, in the age group of 61-88, left Bangalore last Wednesday to Sakleshpur, an uncharted territory to all of us. The four male members distributed the work: one, Home Stay; another,  transport; the third took charge of the entire 3-day travel, and the fourth used his contacts for special darshan at Kuke Subrahmanya. Each one excelled the other in his assignment, while the five ladies (one brought her 88-year old mother along), liberated from kitchen, had a gala time. 

Babu, unknown hitherto but a driver par excellence, drove us in his 12-seater Tempo Traveller. Goes the extra mile to please his customers.

We took breakfast at Dhruvatara, had darshan at Siddalinga temple and headed to Sakleshpur. With Aam Panna Ras made from the home-grown mangoes, the young and enthusiastic host-couple welcomed us to their abode.  

Lunch, prepared as per our selection, was delicious. Meanwhile Ravikiran, the host, drew an itinerary for our entire stay. He then drove us to his 65-acre coffee and pepper estate. Other items included coconut, mango, jackfruit, sappotta, avocado, lime…From the animal kingdom wild elephants, boars, peacocks, deers and cobras strayed in occasionally. (At the mention of cobra, one lady whispered into my ears – Can we return home please?) We then rushed to the two local temples, one on a hillock and the other facing Hemavati river, before they closed, and were back ‘home’ for dinner. That marked Day 1.

On Day 2, Thursday, after a sumptuous breakfast of the region and a packed-lunch of Puliyogare, Lemon rice and Curd rice, we headed to Kuke Subrahmanya – a long ghat section drive. The temple would close in another thirty minutes. But thanks to our friend’s connections, we were accompanied up to the final entrance to the temple after which we were left to join the melee of devotees thronging for darshan – as in Guruvayoor or Tirupathi.

On way back we shopped at Chikki (groundnut) factory and Spice Bazar. Assorted pakodas with steaming coffee awaited us back home. The ladies then went around, plucked jasmine flower, converted them into malas – one for each, one for the puja room of the host, and one for Babu’s tiny Ganesha in the Tempo Traveller for the next morning. This time the dinner menu included Malnad idli, a health-conscious trim version of Thatte idli, and tender coconut malai dessert.

Day 3, Friday, was hectic. Everyone bought his requirements of pepper, white pepper, high-end coffee powder... from the host. We finished breakfast, hugged or blessed the host/hostess, host’s mother, and gave liberal tips (by old generation standards) to the entire staff. A fond farewell from one and all. and we left for Belur Channakesava temple and Halebeeedu – the best part of the trip perhaps. 

In Belur the architectural marvel, intricacies, attention to details were simply breathtaking – be they the 48 differently, distinctively carved pillars, the Narasimha carving at the ceiling dome or, in the exterior, the tiny delicate carvings conveying messages after messages. The one that I recollect is an adolescent boy hugging a donkey passionately. Reciting a Sanskrit sloka the Guide explained that in adolescence even a donkey will look a charming girl. In another a fly was sitting on a semi-cut jackfruit enjoying his day’s meal, a lizard was all set to prey on the fly, and a snake at the back of the lizard ready to pounce the lizard for lunch. He recited yet another sloka to explain the food chain concept.

The architecture in Halebeedu was destroyed mercilessly by the invaders. No puja is performed on any defaced murthi. Hence Halebeedu is just a monument, unlike Belur which is a temple with daily puja. The meticulous planning of Halebeedu is remarkabale. It took 20 years to erect a miniature, and 103 years to complete the real one. Yet another marvel is a 35-feet long one-piece stamba that is placed on a plane surface without any plastering. One could see a thin layer of space between the stamba and the plane surface on which it stands. 

We reached Bangalore at 7 pm; shook hands and asked one another, “When and where next?”  Yes, with a good home-stay host, good food, an excellent driver, a good vehicle, and participants on same wave-length, the whole trip could be summed up: Swarg Se Sundar. 

सर्वम् Mango Pickle मयम्

Veeru and Vijay, the monkey duo, have migrated probably to greener pastures. The buzz is no more monkeys. It is mangoes, Mangoes and MANGOES. Messages flash past several groups: “Is any mango seller coming today?”  “The ripe-mango seller will be at Gate 5 from 11 to 3,” or “Tender mango seller Gopal will be at Gate 3 from 11.30.” In addition, some residents bestowed with expertise handed down by their mothers churn out pickles in right proportion and sell them to co-residents. 

One long-time Delhi-ite and now in SFV like me, prepared an authentic Punjabi type Mango pickle using sarson ka tel. It has come out very well  - only aloo paratta, gobi paratta or puri chole that make a deadly combination is missing. 

Her mother, 88, is an expert in Andhra achar. She gets all the ingredients including gingelly oil from her hometown in Andhra. The staff in GKVK (Gandhi Krishi Vigyan Kendra) calls her when the mango is ready for plucking. She personally inspects, have them plucked and cleaned, and cut them in geometric proportion using her own cutter. She distributes the finished product to her daughter, grand- daughter… and keeps for herself just enough for one year, though its shelf life is easily two years.

Yet another has already prepared it in Palakkad style, wrapped and stored in air-tight bottles for her sons in Europe and Singapore. 

All this takes me to another page - the poor Paru Mami of my village. Her husband’s income was insufficient to feed the large family. Mothers in other houses mitigated Paru Mami’s misery to the extent their own situation permitted, ensuring simultaneously that Paru Mami’s dignity was preserved.

Most houses sought Mami’s services for the annual pickle event – mango, lime, naarthankai (dried lime), or veppala katti. And every lady relied on Mami’s hand to add the final heap of salt and spice for two reasons. First, she moderated the quantity of spices depending on the blood pressure level, ulcer or other problems plaguing members of the house in question. Second, the ladies firmly believed that under any other hand the pickle would get sour and develop fungus sooner than later. 

When done they would give Mami a bottle of the prepared product, haldi-kumkum, a blouse piece, and money. Mami thus had a good collection of pickles on hand at any given time. Sometimes when the family had to make-do with a bare minimum meal – rice, and thin buttermilk - Mami made up for the absence of a full course with an offer to her children to choose their own pickle: Karikkar Mami’s mango pickle; Karimasseri Mami’s lime pickle; or Kolathu Mami’s hot kadugu mangai… This effort to divert her children often worked – the children forgot what was missing on their plates in their eagerness to grab the pickle of their choice.

Decades later while on duty travel I visited Mami and her son in Kozikode where they had shifted. Two of her five daughters also lived there, and one of them was into pickle-making as cottage industry. I called on her too. After offering me coffee and snacks, she said: “We hear your uncles are selling their ancestral house in the village. I would be keen to buy it, just to perpetuate my childhood memory. Can you put in a word to them please?” I promised to convey her wishes. Yes, at that time all members of my grandpa’s family had moved to cities, and the house remained vacant, on the verge of dilapidation. My uncles were seriously thinking of selling it. As I prepared to take leave, she asked me to wait. She went inside and returned with a shopping bag full of assorted pickles – easily 12. I had a tough time convincing her that it would be a problem for me to carry them either as a check-in or cabin baggage.

What a wheel of time. The family that had endured nothing but hardship in the village was keen to own a house there; and my uncles, who had nothing but pleasant memories, were trying to sever all connections. Yes that is what life is all about, I thought, as I got her to agree that I would accept just one bottle (mango pickle, my favourite) and headed to the airport.

Meet the Over-80s

A regular evening stroller, I seldom miss the sight of persons on the same wavelength flock together - near the swimming pool benches, in the gazebos, in the benches surrounding children’s park, or in the comforts of club-house reception. 

One of them is Vasantha Mami, as she is popularly known. Yes, she is Capt. Suresh Padmanabhan’s mother - that endearing lady, with an infectious smile. Aided these days by a wheelchair and a lady to operate it, Vasantha Mami makes it a point to establish eye contact with everyone passing by and halts to greet and chat with them, be it for just a while. 

A running champion, ball-badminton player, good at shot-put, and a host of other feathers in her cap during college days, she is very effective communicating in English. The onset of hearing problems regardless, she unfailingly attended the first batch of Narayaneeyam classes ONLINE years ago. Not just that, she was the first to report to the subsequent practice sessions. Kudos Mami.

Dinakar Mulay, Hemangi’s f-i-l,  has a permanent place ‘reserved’ for him in the bench facing the swimming pool. He is so punctual that you can adjust your watch by time he arrives for his evening quota of fresh air. And he stays there for an exact number of minutes – say 33 or 47 minutes – no more, no less. The conversation in the fully occupied two benches might gather full momentum, but he will leave for home on time. Wondered if he served the army by chance. Yes, I learn he was in Army engineering service. A ripple effect is inevitable. He uses a walker, but if the enthusiasm and vibrance in his conversation is anything to go by, one wonders if he carries the walker more to ensure kahi nazar a lag jaye. So good to see you full of life, Sir.

Then the most loved ‘Gujarati Lady’ – yes, Manoj Makadia’s mother of Maple 3. Her name is Vijaya. At 87, she still gets up at 3 pm (no coffee no tea in her lifetime), reads religious books till day breaks and goes for a walk. Earlier, Madam would visit Madheswara temple morning and evening unfailingly. At the evening Aarti time, she would take charge of the huge temple bell. A year or two ago, she rang our doorbell. We thought she had lost her way (she lives one floor below us) and offered to escort her back home. No, she had come specifically to our flat only. “Lalitha, the other day when we were sitting in the park you recited one sloka from …. Can you write it down for me please?” Amazing. First, she is so alert to remember my wife’s name; two our flat number (never visited us); and three, recollect the sloka she wanted us to write for her. Getting up during brahma muhurtam has its own rewards apparently.  Our pranams Madam.

Here comes my friend, Col Padmanabhan of Oak, walking majestically as though he is on Republic Day parade, the edges of his iconic moustache never failing him to maintain an upright position. Whenever I meet Col a bit of envy overtakes me. He drives his car all the way up to Kochi or Trivandrum, while my record still stands at Whitefield. We were born with only a month difference. Baaten karte karte I learnt another thing. He now owns the very first house as one enters my village. So, now a two-fold salute when I visit village; one my respects to my village that nurtured me; two to my friend in absentia as I pass by his house. Then vacant, his house used to be our (the village children’s) afternoon rendezvous during summer vacation for climbing the mango- or jackfruit tree and play pranks imitating the stories we had heard of a lady clad in white walk past midnight by the rivulet on the opposite side of the road bemoaning the loss of her departed husband…  

Personally, a welcome down-the-memory-lane bonanza for me as I attempt this piece.  

Talk of the Town - Ponniyin Selvan 2

In the last four or five years four regional movies have taken the nation by storm: Bahubali, Kantara, KGF, and Ponniyin Selvan. Have I missed any?

On Sunday evening as Aunty and I were about to step out for a walk the intercom interrupted. “Akka, can you and Athimbar get ready in fifteen minutes and come to Gate 3?” asked Shanthy, her sister in Cedar. “Anything special?” asked Aunty. “We will watch Ponniyin Selvan Part 2.” “Not fifteen minutes, we will be there in ten minutes,” Aunty reassured her, and we did it - and waited for them instead.

While waiting for the cab, Preeti and Hari, on their slow-motion run, stopped by to have a chat. We are going to the theatre to watch PS-2,” we said enthusiastically. “We saw it yesterday,” they replied. We felt deflated.

Later we shared it with Kaleeswaran and Koma now in USA. They said they had watched it first day first show. You too Brutus…? I felt. They are 12 hours behind us, still they saw it before us.

Kannan, my brother in law, rang up the next morning to enquire about the 75th year celebration of my co-brother-in-law. I mentioned about the movie. “Yes, we too saw it Athimbar, but in Orion Mall.” Blatant betrayal. Moral: Never ever overestimate yourself.

Now on to the movie. By way of background information, Sriram, a Historian, has this to say. Back in the 1950s the historic novel, which he calls ‘faction’ (fact and fiction combined) was serialized in Kalki, a weekly Tamil magazine. Thanks to that the circulation soared from mere 12 000 copies to 73 000 copies, and every household waited for the next issue. 

My mother was no exception. She used to send me, then about 10, to Pushkala Mami’s house to fetch Kalki (with incentives on unwilling occasions), as part of their magazine-exchange programme. Such was their keenness on the story. The author, who hailed himself Kalki Krishnamurthy, was inspired by the history of the Chola kingdom, and wove into it his own fiction to make it interesting week after week. Also, as an ardent admirer of the French writer Alexandre Dumas, he transplanted some of the characters of Three Musketeers into this story… 

As for the title, the famous king Raja Raja Chozan, when a child,, got drowned in the river Cauvery and was saved at the nick of time. The farming community hailed river Cauvery as Ponni, the giver or gold. Thus the name Ponniyin Selvan, the son of Ponni or Cauvery. 

In part 1, Mani Ratnam focused on introducing the characters. It had more to do with the audience getting a grip of the characters, apart from watching with open-mouthed admiration the cinematography, the musical masterpiece, and direction, and every artist playing his role a la Nala Pakam of food (the right blend of all ingredients and preparation).

In this Part 2, Mani develops the characters. Whether it is Vikram, Kartik, Jayam Ravi, Jayaram, or Aishwarya Rai, Trisha, or Aishwarya Lekshmi,  each one gave his/her best. The flow was excellent. Mani sustained the interest of the audience for all the164 minutes. Rahman’s music was good; may be loud because of the acoustics. And, accustomed to adjusting the volume through remote at home, I personally felt the absence of a remote at hand. Luckily, after a while I got involved in the pace of the movie so much that the background score effect took a back seat.

The cinematography, realistic magnificent structures, costumes, music, fulsome star-studded movie (with only Rajni, Kamal and Vijay missing), each artist playing his role with an element of competition to find a mention, and direction can be rated between 3 and 4. Hence I would put it at 3.5 in a scale of 5 overall. 

PS-2, replete with plots and sub plots, offers something as takeaway. Back home it should keep the four of us (Aunty, me, Shanthy and Sekhar) busy for the next four days fixing loose ends. Why did X kill Y, why did A want to seek vengeance on B; why did C who paid allegiance to the revolting group join the mainstream. Some of us might have grasped some portions better and missed something else, and vice versa. No problem.  Rummikub, Sequence, and other board games can wait.