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.