Father’s Day – Recollection

My father was born with a silver spoon in his mouth – filthy rich by the then standards. Stretched till now, it is a story of rags to riches to rags, to normal.

Centuries ago, our ancestors moved from Thanjavur to Palakkad, in search of greener pastures. The first one began earning his livelihood by selling bath towels going around on bicycle from village to village in Palakkad, and managed to open a small shop later. Down the generations, the shop was shifted to the central business area, upgraded from retail to also wholesale, gradually opened branches in Ernakulam, Coimbatore, Madras, Pondicherry, and Bombay. 

My father was still in his teens, studying in class 8. The teacher was taking the class. Out of the blue, he posed a question to my father who was in his own world. His question and my dad’s answer were poles apart - like, the teacher asking him: What are the mines in Kerala, and he responding: Teak, rosewood, bamboo…  

The entire class burst into laughter. The teacher took it as an affront – on his ability, or the lack of it, to get messages across to pupils. He ordered him to stand up on the bench. A co-ed school, this command did not go well with my flamboyant father. Instead, he stuffed his books into the bag and walked out of the class – nay, school – never to return.

Grandpa knew my dad’s adamance a little too well. He asked my dad to accompany him to the shop daily thereafter. There he found my dad to be adept in calculations. He could mentally calculate the correct amount to be charged for 1.3 yards of a cloth at 9-1/2 annas per yard (the currency of those days). A key factor for a brisk business house. No calculators. Only a slate and pencil, if need be. My dad did not use even those. Soon he was into shop’s activities neck deep.

They say God does everything with a purpose. My grandpa passed away at a young age of 42 or 46. My dad was able to take over and take it to a level to be hailed the golden age of our business. 

Sedentary job, two fulsome pure ghee jhangiris thrice a week from Veerakutti Hotel, began to tell on his health. He became overweight. Doctor advised him to walk from shop to Fort Maidan and back (nearly eight kilometers) every evening. “Doc, but evenings are brisk-business hours. How can I?” “Health or wealth, the choice is yours,” declared the no-nonsense doctor. Thereafter dad stuck to two things: never missed his walk; and never took dinner - just a glass of milk. And from fat he became fit

INTERVAL

Come World War II with a bang. No fresh imports possible – had to make-do with existing stock till the sky cleared. Ample scope for goods to go underground and to be sold at double the price. Government jumped in promptly. To control inflation, Government fixed prices and insisted on stamping them on the cloth.  This resulted in our having to sell at par, or even below par. Seeing an imminent downfall, the creditors began to ask for their pound of flesh. Result, closure of business. From rags to riches, and  to rags again. 

Dad had to look for avenues to eke out a living. Thus, from a textile moghul, he scaled down to a textile agent. He took owners of small business houses to Bombay and got them goods on six months credit solely on his credentials. This had its own disadvantages. For one of two  transactions he got his commission; thereafter these business houses placed orders directly. Triangular transactions became bilateral - direct between buyer and seller. Father knew this was an in-built disadvantage. Something is better than nothing.

Time flew. He married off both his daughters. The three of us, his sons, took up jobs in Bombay and Delhi. He was past his sixties He began experiencing difficulty swallowing food. Tests pointed towards possible esophagus-malignant. Was referred to Tata Memorial in Bombay. Influence was brought to bear to have Dr Praful Desai, the Medical Director examine him. He did and wrote ADCO (T) on the prescription pad and handed it to the Matron for further action. I could make out that ADCO meant Adrenocarcinoma but was clueless on ‘(T)’.  I ran behind the Matron and asked her in Malayalam, “Chechi, what’s  meant by (T)?” ‘Malayalee”? she asked as she turned back, and whispered into my ears, T means Terminal. But we are not supposed to tell you this, I will lose my job. This also means, another six months to two years max. 

A true prediction. Just a few days before completing two years he breathed his last. 

(The least tribute I could pay to my father)

Kaleeswaran’s Mother (7211), All Rounder, No More

Smt B.V. Meenakshi, Kaleeswaran’s mother, passed away last night. That was my mother’s name too, but K’s mother always called me her younger brother. The family celebrated her 97th birthday ten days ago in a nearby care-home.

Never in a hurry, communion with God in the prayer room takes the best part of her time before she takes her lunch around 2.30. During her free times she hums Carnatic songs, chants stotrams, and watches her favourite Tamil serials. In the last activity her one and only son Kaleeswaran  also joins her, sitting by her side. She is so much into Carnatic music that if someone is introduced to her, she would sing a song featuring his/her name. If it is Krishnan, she would sing, “Krishna nee begane baro….”  If it is Lalitha, she would sing “Lalithambika Chintayamyaham…”; or if it is Hari, it is, “Hari smarana mado niranthara…” Simply fantastic off-the-cuff utterances. 

In the home for the aged where she has been lodged for some months, she is a star attraction. Very popular not just among the nurses (to each of whom she has given a name of her own), but with the inmates as well. A great entertainer. The nurses would give her (and her alone) an affectionate hug and kiss on cheek before leaving for home. And during their spare time, they would chat with her and enjoy her jokes.

The family belongs to Madurai. Mami is Meenakshi; mama, Sundaram. How the names coincide with the presiding deity of Madurai – Meenakshi  Sundareswarar. Mami’s husband was a Carnatic music teacher, pedaling his way to various homes to take music classes to students. Mami is also a music teacher and an accomplished singer. She used to give performances to an audience of 50 to 100. On many occasions, the upcoming (and later famous) Madurai Somu would stealthily come and hide behind the architectural pillar in the temple to hear Mami, in order to absorb the nuances. Yes, this reminds me of the Tamil movie, Thillana Mohanambal, where Sivaji Ganesan, a nadaswaram player, would stealthily watch Padmini dancing. And the apt number: Maraindhirundhu Paarkum (read: ketkum – listening) Marumam Enna… Yes, a music family. No wonder, Kaleeswaran is the star attraction for Tamil and Hindi film songs at many get-togethers.

Till such time Mami stayed in SFV, Koma, a dutiful daughter-in-law, made sure her mother-in-law got her favourite item – Rasam. Herself a daughter of a hotel owner in Delhi (where I used to go daily for snacks at lunch in Jantar Mantar), Koma included Rasam in the menu everyday – paruppu rasam, jeera rasam, good rasam, Mysore rasam, pepper rasam, ginger rasam…

On Mami’s 97th birthday, ten days ago, the Kaleeswarans ordered a two-kilo cake from an SFV expert and organized a get-together with all inmates. Many of them stretched their paper plate, “some more, please”. Unlike in Charles Dickens’ novel, Oliver Twist, where when the nine-year old Oliver asks Mr Bumble, “Please sir, I want some more,” the master aims a blow at Oliver’s head, here Kaleewaran and Koma happily obliged them without even ascertaining whether they had BP or sugar. Yes, on a joyous occasion such as that, a bit of indulgence doesn't go amiss.

Kaleeswaran’s elder daughter Swathi had landed from USA a few days ago with her baby and hubby; his second daughter Lavanya landed yesterday from Canada; his two younger sisters and one brother in law, all from Delhi, arrived today – all to be part of Swathi’s daughter’s first birthday tomorrow; not to speak of Kaleeswaran’s elder sister and brother in law from Chennai.  Yes, Almighty has his own way of organizing things. He arranged a peaceful end to the pious lady, and befitting farewell with all members present, be it in the garb of some other occasion. 

Om Shanti. 

Marriage Next door - a la Destination Wedding

I bet very few in SFV would know Radhakrishnan (RK) and Anita; or, for that matter their son Aditya, my neighbours at 3194. Their movements are calculated to attract the minimum of attention. Wonder if it is genetic. If being confined to oneself is the hallmark of one’s enlightened life, this family scores 10 out of 10. This is not to say they are insensitive to the happenings around. They are very much part of it, but are best at deciding thus far, no further.

Against this backdrop Aunty and I were extremely delighted when, a few months ago, RK and Anita knocked at our doors, stepped in, asked us to stand together for them to prostate and take our blessings. “You are the first ones we convey the good news. We have identified a girl for Aditya. The family lives in Bangalore. We plan to have the engagement ceremony soon. Please bless us.”

Aunty did not let this happy news go uncelebrated. She dug out from the kitchen shelves some yet to diminish sweets, and shared with them along with coffee and A2B and Adukale snacks which we seldom go out of stock, even if Ratnadeep does.

This was months ago. Last Saturday-Sunday we attended Aditya and Pooja’s Reception and marriage. Sorry, I forgot to introduce to you Pooja’s family. She is a US citizen by birth. Her parents lived in the US for ages till Pooja’s father’s parents became too old to live alone in Bangalore. Pooja’s parents lost no time to shift to Bangalore bag and baggage. A son any parents would feel proud of. They are now here in Bangalore for some years. 

Getting an alliance with a family where the girl’s parents were willing to make a relocation sacrifice at the height of his career in order to care for the elderly in India, obviated both RK and Anita the need for any kind of background check.

Back to the marriage, guess the venue? It was in Rajhans Garden, off Silk Institute. Though the road to the venue may not remind you of Rajpath in Delhi – where one sees the Republic Day parade, yet once you are in Rajhans, it looks nothing short of a wedding destination, though I have not attended one. I was told this is one such. Yes, apparently. When we were driving for Reception, we did not need any Google map. From afar we could see a high-end illumination nearly three quarters of a kilometer in length. And, after parking the car, we had to climb an elevation for a rather long stretch before we could join the mass of invitees. Good ambience, ample space including for car parking…

Sunder Rajan, Kamakshi Caterers, was entrusted with food arrangements. At the Reception the guests were entertained with a spread of starters, chats, and South and North Indian foods, and a variety of sweets. The dosa counter alone had ghee dosa, masala dosa, plain dosa, some other dosa, with different chutneys and sambar to go with. Rice items included pulav, biryani (?), plain rice, etc. Tandoor roti, phulka, mutter paneer and daal makhani were among the North delicacies. Desserts included moong dal halwa, rabri, ice cream and gulab jamun to top it. And, of course, different kinds of pan for the road. A nice fare, if only one can accommodate a sample of each. 

Guessing that it is an early Muhurtam and many might prefer to have a heavy breakfast and drive back to their long destinations – Chennai, Coimbatore, etc. – rather than wait for lunch, a sumptuous fare was on the table. For the muhurtam meals, it was a mix of Tamil, Karnataka and Kerala delicacies, with eye-watering pickle that reminded one of Andhra.  

Luckily rain chose not play spoil sport on both occasions, and waited till the afternoon.

The newly-wed couple, Aditya, working at the gym on double shift since a month, and Pooja, already slim and trim, looked very charming – made for each other or, ek duje ke liye. We know Aditya for his infectious smile, and Pooja seemed no less. We wish them long years of happy married life.