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.