Monkeys Out; Snakes In

“Vaalu (tail) poi, Kathi (knife) vanthathu Dum Dum …”  Kathi poi Viraku (firewood) vanthathu Dum Dum…,’ then Dosai; Earthern pot, till the chameleon ends up getting a Drum. It goes about merrily beating it and singing thus. 

That is among the umpteen rhymes and stories that my grandma used to tell us while she relaxed in the front yard in the late evenings to enjoy gentle breeze. We siblings fought for turns to rest on her lap and listen to her. 

In a somewhat similar vein, there has been a systematic intrusion, if not invasion, of animals, from our Thurahalli tiny animal kingdom.  First the leopard did rounds sending shockwaves to the peace-loving SFVians. The Forest officials, sitting in the comforts of their office, reassured us, ‘not to worry’, that this species kept changing its habitat frequently and would move soon to some other hunting ground. Sannatta chhaya hua tha during that short span, though. Even the peacocks which used to start their day in the wee hours with gay abandon calling their comrades in arms to join them stopped this for fear of being hunted.  

Then came the monkeys – now an annual fare. They are still here, probably on the last lap, for the younger ones to get hands-on training. Nonetheless, we shall safeguard our inventory of vegetables and fruit, more so the mangoes - the last crop of the season.

Now the reptiles have taken over. The other day a resident wrote that she spotted a long snake passing through Gate-1 and asking everyone, the kids especially, to be careful while passing by.

Last week it was the turn of a five-feet cobra to show up, near Gate-3. Its movement lacked swiftness - either it had just gobbled something for breakfast (though no symptomatic bulge inside), or, as someone rightly reported, he was sick. Regardless, the video was scary.

This spot where the cobra was negotiating its escape has some special significance for me. It is here that I used to wait for my taxi at Gate-3. And the guard would graciously offer me his chair. Hereafter I will be sure to move the chair a little further to provide ample space for the reptile just in case he decides to re-visit the spot. You never know. Psychologists say that when a person commits a crime, he makes it a point to visit the crime site later. Here the snake might not have committed any crime per se, but he might re-visit the place from where the snake-catchers so kindly provided him the great escape to his habitat.

The hullaballoo over after the snake-catcher swiftly got the reptile sneak into his bag, the senior morning walkers rejoined their respective Rajadhatri, Vidyarthi Bhavan, A2B, or Krishna Dwaraka groups, as they are called.  Yes, each group frequented these restaurants at least once a week, more to disallow their cars from refusing to start. 

In the chat that ensued for the rest of the rounds, some shared their encounters with the snakes. Instead of the age-old style, “Once upon a time…,’ each started thus: “When I was in Meghalaya….’  only to be interrupted a moment before the climax by another. “Oh my God, when I was passing through Agumbe…,” with yet another taking over… ‘When I was on a field trip to Nilambur forest…’  each trying to be one up. The few who did not have a story to narrate resigned themselves to just being listeners, for a change.

The group dispersed in different directions - one for a haircut of what the hairdresser can hopefully trace, one to the flower-hawker, yet another to Ratnadeep to buy a bunch of Yelakki bananas for our Vedic chant he was hosting that day, while one headed to the lift praying that at least one lift be in working condition. 

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Our ‘Bhajan’ Ravi Celebrates 60 Years

Ravichandran, of 8022 Alder.  celebrated his 60th birthday at Club House last evening.  Everything about the family is simple, grounded.

I can’t claim any prior closeness with Ravi. I knew of him since he moved to SFV after I did. Once acquainted, I realized two things bind us. First, we both were Delhi-ites. Thus, on the few occasions we cross shoulders we recall Delhi days – the irresistible Paharganj chole bhature, mouth-watering sweets of Nathus and Evergreen; the golgappa (paani puri) of Shahjahan Road, or the Ram-kela raw mango, best for Avakkai pickle from Sarojini Nagar market. The conversation often ended with ‘Delhi is Delhi’- a la Tejashwi Surya, South Bangalore MP, who said recently after his exhaustive tour abroad, ‘Bangalore is Bangalore’.

Second, Ravi and I love bhajans with just one difference. He is an accomplished Sampradaya Bhajan specialist - say classical. He is synonymous with Namma Sankeertanam, getting a slot every year at the prestigious Alangudi Bhajanotsav, along with the greats of Udayalur Kalyanaraman, OS Sundar, and others. 

In sharp contrast, with the exodus of Namavali bhajan singers from my native village leaving in the 1950s for Bombay, Madras, Calcutta or Delhi to eke out a living, the likes of me, novice, took charge of Ekadasi bhajans with little musical leanings, be they the simple light music variety.  And the poor villagers, on their side, sat through such sessions solely for the prasadam at the end. 

Ravi is a multi-faceted personality. He is a dutiful son. Yesterday when I asked his mother on Ravi, she said, ‘he leaves nothing to be desired – Shravan Kumar in short.’ What better compliment can a son ask for. He is a loving husband – doesn’t matter takes appointment to talk to Lalitha amidst her umpteen sharpening-skill efforts on religious subjects – learning Narayaneeyam, Tirupugaz... A caring father Ravi has groomed his boys well. His first son is all set to defend his PhD thesis after completing his MS from a US University. The second did his MBA and padded it up with a post-graduate diploma in music to take over as a Business Executive in a music company. He is an accomplished piano player as well.

In professional life, Ravi did his B. Com Hons, and Cost Accountancy (ICWA).  His last assignment was as CFO and Finance Director of Honeywell in Bangalore. Alas, his love for music got the better of him. He went on a sabbatical to give music a try and never looked back. He is now fully submerged in his primary passion, music. And, just not to let the benefit of his education go unavailed, he teaches ‘Finance’ part-time in PES University for B Com and MBA students.  

Music being the name of the game, this piece will be incomplete without a mention of the musical extravaganza that ran through the celebrations – piano recital by Ravi’s son, a popular Tamil song by Ravi, accompanied on piano by his son; and SFV stalwarts taking charge for karaoke songs in Hindi. The notable song for the occasion, from my standpoint, was the Balraj Sahni song in Waqt, Tu abhi tak hai haseen… Ravi joined the fun, to be able to address Lalitha thus. He searched for her in vain. She was taking care of the guests. Pulkit, our security staff, rendered a number in flute, and the relative of another security staff sang a bhajan number and a film song. 

Catering was probably entrusted to Sundara Rajan – Kamakshi caterers. Going by the nala-paham taste of the food, it would seem he is determined to retain his original coveted position which some youngsters threatened to usurp.

A man for all seasons, a man of many parts, or everything rolled into one, might explain Ravi better. Kudos. The community will look forward to your celebrating Bhima Ratha Shanti (70 years), Shatabhishekam (80 years), Kanakabhishekam (90 years) - and sau saal in good health and happiness. Jug jug jio my friend.

An evening well spent. 

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OTT Releases – My Take on some

Thudarum (‘to be continued’) Malayalam, Thriller, Jio Hotstar: Once again we get a taste of the Drishyam series – riveting. Here it is all about how a contended and happy taxi driver’s life gets entangled at the hands of police. The police officer, George (Prakash Verma), a debutant, does an outstanding job. So much so, the established police constables of Malayalam movies can feel a little unsettled. PV is sure to stay here. Mohanlal seems to remind us: “I am not done yet, don’t write me off.” To watch or not?  Well, I liked it a lot, and look forward to Part 2, as the title hints.

Tourist Family. Tamil, Feel-good, Jio Hotstar. I didn’t even know the hero’s name until his performance in Ayothi (Ayodhya), a great success, impressed me. Sasikumar does an equally good job in this comedy drama. The family moves from Sri Lanka to India for greener pastures. What they undergo here to get a footing is what the film is all about. A well-woven story sprinkled with humour. Watch or not? I would love to watch more such genre, as I did with Ayothi where a North Indian family from Ayodhya is on trip to Rameswaram and the trial and tribulations they undergo and how they go back satisfied – North or South, we are all humans.

Stolen. Hindi. Thriller. Amazon Prime. This is a simple story of how a desolate lady with baby in arms goes on a short nap in a railway station for the day to break only to find her baby stolen, and her desperate efforts to find the child. A gripping thriller, based on a true story. The chases, in vehicles or on the run, were all captured well, reminding us of the Hollywood movie Breakdown. Watch or not? Well worth a watch; the length could have been reduced by say fifteen minutes. 

Khankajura (centipede), Hindi, Web-series, SonyLiv. It is a crime thriller about the past deeds and trauma of two brothers played by Mohit Rana and Roshan Mathew. It is an adapted version of an Israel web series.  If the Hindi version could be so gripping, one could guess how the original Israel series would have been. Roshan Mathew proves what he is capable of. A much underrated actor. I was reminded of the likes of Balraj Sahni or Moti Lal of yesteryears where they portray their roles casually – and convincingly. To watch or not? Suffice it to say that my wife and I wanted to view it leisurely in parts and ended up watching the entire series in record time, only to skip the next morning walk.

Ace. Tamil. Amazon Prime.  It is the story of the hero landing in Malaysia seeking a fresh start and gets drawn into a dangerous heist plot. He befriends a rag picker who pretends to be a businessman. To watch or not? Won’t be surprised if some of this hero’s fans themselves suggest skipping it.

Retro (feeling the past). Tamil. Netflix. Truth be told, my wife was not for watching it. I persuaded her to watch this for two reasons. Surya, a talented actor is the hero. Second, Karthik Subbaraj, who has directed the likes of super-star Rajnikant. So, one could expect a minimum fare even if at the face of it we were not clear of what the title conveyed. After waiting for the entire duration, hoping every fifteen minutes later that ‘from now onwards it will get interesting’, we were disappointed, still clueless on the storyline. To watch or not? Well, you can recommend it to someone by way of revenge.

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If Monkeys are in 3192, can 3195 be far behind?

The title is an inspiration from poet Shelley’s lines, ‘If winter is here, can spring be far behind,’ just to fit in with the monkey menace in SFV

I don’t know how it is with you, but I always think that things go wrong only for others. Misfortune happens only to someone else, never to me. Optimism rides supreme despite repeated warnings from well-meaning co-residents, sometimes with photographic evidence, of the menace. Having gone in for a forest- view abode, probably it’s time to live with its attendant advantages and constraints. After all, everything comes with a price. On the plus side we are cut off from vehicular pollution, traffic congestion, or a crowded marketplace. On the flip side the animal fraternity is reigning supreme to reclaim its lost territory. 

My friend and neighbour Hari rang me up over the intercom this morning. “Mama, can you and Mami come to our house quickly please?” It was breakfast time, so I thought that Geetha, the culinary expert always keen to try out what she had watched in the Food channel, had attempted something new for breakfast and they wanted to share it with us. No, not this time. They wanted us, instead, to watch the monkeys make a breakfast of their morning’s acquisitions - chappatis, mixture packet, mangoes, bananas… that they smuggled from Maple 4 flats. 

They were a family of seven – five adults and two kids. The baby monkeys were assigned to sneak through the small window openings or elsewhere, lay their hands on whatever they could, and deposit them safe to the adults waiting on the chajja of 16 and 17 floors of Maple 4. When we went there, they were busy enjoying the booty, sometimes fighting for equal share, and at other times disallowing solitary claim to another item.

“No more taking things easy,” said the lady of my house on hurrying back home. “Close all the glass windows, and lock them,” she ordered; I obeyed, but none worked, they were way past their expiry dates, builder’s lifetime guarantee regardless. 

It is at this time that alternative methods flash past your mind. “Bring the sewing machine oil-can. Possibly if oiled well, these latches might lock,” she persisted. 

It did not strike her that long ago when the sewing machine literally disowned her and began operating on its own terms, she had given it away, along with its paraphernalia, in a sort of riddance move.

“I should have retained the oil can at least. Anyway. All right, then get me the oil-flow regulator from the kitchen.  You know the one I use to regulate the flow of oil while preparing dosa, adai, etc. for you,” she told me in a manner that I was the lone eater in the house. But no time for argument. I managed to lay my hands on it in less time than usual. She applied on all latches with a victorious look. None obliged. The next thirty minutes she spent cleaning the excess oil that was seeping. 

“I think, rather than spending your time on blogs, you should write a strong letter to the builder to come and see the fate of his lifetime guarantee items, See these, the health faucets, the electric switches...Most of them we have begun to buy in  wholesale.”

 “That is all okay for the future. Tell me what we should do for now,” I asked, trying to get her to the point. “How else do you think? Let us just lock the house and go on a vacation for one week – say to Coimbatore and be with Leela Akka, Shanta Akka, and others. After all they have also been inviting us for quite some time. Also, there are a lot of activities taking place in the new Ganesha  and Guruvayoorappan temples in Phases 2 and 3 of the retirement homes. We can get a first hand account as well,” she said.

Kaha monkey menace aur kaha vacation -  अजीब दास्तां है ये, कहाँ शुरू कहाँ खतम 

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Coorg Calling – Part 2 (concluding)

A long trip awaited us on Day 2. Breakfast was arranged at the same hotel where we had lunch on day 1. This time 2/5, inordinate delay as well. We headed to Abbey falls which was in full blast. The wife of the 80-year-old had warned him not to venture. “Why not? When my 85-year-old friend can do it, why not I?” And he climbed all the 154 steps. On return only to realize that I had skipped it. Must have felt cheated.

Then to Bhagamandala temple and Triveni Sangama, the confluence of Kaveri, Kannike and Sujyothi rivers. Nature needs no decoration. ‘Why not we shift our residence here.’ I asked myself.  “No, way,’ wisdom dawned. “By chance if there is no milk at home, you can’t drive 10 km downhill to fetch it. Be happy where you are man. Just enjoy the scenic beauty here and head home,” alerted an inner voice.

Now to Talacauvery, the longest stretch. An arduous uphill drive with occasional throw-up feelings, I wondered if the ordeal was called for. But once I reached the top, the hair-pin and drive, the circuitous route, all became a thing of the past. I can admire with my own eyes the source of the Kaveri river surrounded by the bountiful Nature.

This was followed by a homely lunch, the best part. In her simple house, the elderly lady served us with love and affection a simple but delicious lunch. Long live the lady.

Motor ride in Harangi lake

Now to the Dubare elephant camp where children of all ages fed a row of elephants. Seemed artificial, but sometimes you enjoy watching others enjoy. We took a motor-boat ride which was exciting, but not the unsteadiness one felt while stepping in and out of the boat

The Raja’s seat or garden was next. When free, the King would sit and enjoy the sunset surrounded by the lake, garden and the lustrous greenery.

Back in the bus, the crew offered us this time Badushah and ribbon-pakodas, coffee and tea. Every morning and afternoon they did it but changed the items. On one occasion a fellow passenger asked me: “Uncle, are we here for a tour or for repeated snack sessions?” “Initially I thought for the tour, but now I am not sure.” 

We were at the base at last. The tour manager said that since they were serving only vegetarian food thus far, passengers were on their own for a non-veg dinner should they so decide; the Management would refund Rs 200 to each passenger. We were happy with Shanti Sagar. 

Day 3: Everyone was ready at Reception at 6.30 am with their luggage because the previous evening Santosh’s call was: Tomorrow, Wake up at 5.30, Make up at 6, and Pick up at 6.30.

Omkareswarar temple

We drove to Omkareshwara temple in Madikeri. We were told that the rooftop was of the shape of a mosque dome. There was an invasion and the local king changed the top to mislead and avoid destruction of the temple. 

All work and no fun was no good. The manager kept us engaged with word games: Bahu Nama and 1 to 50 game. That kept us all pleasantly busy for more than an hour. 

We realized the trip would be over soon. I suggested that if everyone contributed some amount we could distribute it among the crew. All agreed. We collected Rs 200 per passenger, and distributed the money to the driver, the tour manager, the guide and the cleaner. They were happy, and so were we. 

The driver stopped at an Udupi restaurant for a buffet lunch – 3/5. “In ten minutes,” announced the tour manager, we will be on the Mysore-Bangalore Expressway, a distance of 140 km.” The driver dropped us near the Rajarajeswari arch in two hours. 

We took a cab and reached SFV. Beaming with joy we said,  ‘Value for money’, ‘Home Sweet Home,’ and with our right foot forward stepped into our supreme abode.

Yes, we started off as co-travellers but became one family in no time – Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam. 

Coorg Calling – Travelogue (Part 1 of 2)

Karnataka abounds in tourist spots – Historic, Religious, Cultural, Architectural, or the Nature. I have seen quite a few - just a drop in the ocean. Lekin koshish jaaree hain (efforts are on).

We were three senior couple, two from SFV. After a joint meet, we first considered and selected the place of visit - Coorg – because we did not want the tour to extend beyond three days. Then came the mode of transport – Innova Crysta, Volvo electric bus from Mysore Road Satellite bus stand, or through a tourist operator. Innova would mean two persons will have to sit at the third row, which could mean suffocating and squeezing. Eliminated that. Volvo would mean we would have to carry the luggage up to Gate 3 or 4 for taking Uber, then carry it to the Volvo bus, and then again take it to the taxi at Madikeri.  Gave up that too. And that gave us the tourist operator option - just carry the luggage upto SFV Gate. At Basavangudi, the operators would transfer them to the bus.

Then comes booking. The easiest way is to book online. But we are a moke hi talaash (looking for opportunities) group. We get away from home at the slightest opportunity and make a day of it. So, days in advance, all the six drove to Basavangudi, had lunch at the 100-year old Udupi Sri Krishna Bhavan, and booked tickets at the tourist operator’s office. 

As the date of departure neared, the weather began to play truant - red alert, orange alert, floods, landslides, safaris closed for tourists, roadblocks, deaths… For the first time we did a negative prayer: “Oh God, please have the operator cancel the trip. If we cancel, no refund at short notice. On top of it, all friends and relatives discouraged us to the hilt, just short of physically holding us back.

It is with such mixed feelings that we boarded the bus last Friday. It was a 35-seater. The bus was in good shape – 4 out of 5. When the boarding was complete, Santosh, the tour manager, welcomed us on the mic, introduced the crew – Lokesh, the guide, Prasanna the driver, and Diwakar to ensure upkeep of the bus (names changed).  He briefly apprised us of the day’s plan. He then asked passengers to introduce themselves. 

“I am …., I retired from…This is our fifth tour with this operator and hope to do several more.” Then the next, “I am …., I retired last year as Regional Manager of … bank. This is our maiden attempt at a long-term tour plan. We hope to continue with this operator if the going is good.” And so introduced everyone. It turned out that I was the senior most, followed by Ramesh at 80 – not happy at being second to someone.

Meanwhile the driver sped fast to take us to the designated restaurant for breakfast - idli, khara bath, kesari bath, vada, dosa, coconut chutney, sambar and coffee or tea - 3/5. Ambience could have been a little better.

Fortified, he drove us to Ranganathittu – the bird sanctuary and lake, with crocodiles moving freely. Strangely, children whom we thought would dread them, requested the boatman to get close to crocodiles. He just smiled. He showed us the migratory birds from Russia, North America, Europe, and several other countries. He pointed to a bird and said that its neck stays yellow for six months and changes colour the next six months. Santosh arranged fresh cane juice for everyone before boarding the bus.

Prasanna stopped at the hotel for lunch – 2.5/5. Then we were taken to the Tibetan Golden Temple. What was offered by the Government of Karnataka as a vast barren land for settlement in the 1950s when the Tibetans had to flee their country in the wake of Chinese invasion, this determined group has converted it into a compact township.  From there we went to Cauvery Nisargadhama (the bamboo forest) and finally to the hotel in Madikeri. Dinner at Shanti Sagar 4/5. End of Day 1. 

Mangoes and Pickles – Recollections

One sees several messages in SFV’s electronic groups: Mango seller arriving soon in Gate 4; tender mango chap now in Gate 5 till 11 am; freshly plucked Sindoori and Badami mangoes from our farm for sale... 

Even in lift one often hears, “yesterday I bought some Imam Pasand and Mallika from the Gate 4 guy - simply delicious”, or, “I bought Appemidi mangoes from Gate 5 for vadu mangai - the best...” 

As a child, I would watch eagerly with my siblings and others in the family as Patti cut the ripe mangoes and distributed equally to all. “You want one of the side portions or the seed portions? She would give us the option. Whatever I chose, I seldom felt happy as I watched others enjoy their selections. In Bangalore we keep trying Imam Pasand, Alphonso, Banganapalli, Badami, Sindoori, Mallika, Malgoa, by turn. As of now, we have called it a day for this season. Moderation is the name of the game, we remind ourselves but do just the opposite. 

My wife got an intercom call from her sister Shanthy, in Cedar: “Akka, this year I have made four types of mango pickles: Avakkai, Vadu mangai, Avakkai with ginger and garlic, and Kanni mangai (non-spicy, more in Kerala). I will send you some. “Don’t do that. I am coming to you with small sample-bottles. Will take just two servings each,” hastened the Lady of the house. 

For my friend in previous apartment, Radhakrishnan Mama, mango-pickle is an annual ritual. Come April or May, he would head to Malleswaram vegetable market with his ancestral mango-pickle cutter, a bucketful of water with lid, two hand towels (one for cleaning and the other for drying). Upon his return, Mami mixes the cut mangoes with the ingredients she had already prepared; treats it and transfers it to the ‘bharani’.  When fully marinated, we get a call for the tasting ceremony. Simply marvelous - unfailingly.

In our village house we had five different varieties of mango trees. Krishnan Kutty (KK), the man Friday to villagers, would climb the tall trees and pluck mangoes. Patti (grandma) would give him a sumptuous meal, four or five sample mangoes from each tree and an eight-anna coin. When Patti is not around, I would add to KK’s leaf a ladle or two of sambar, curry, or thick buttermilk and watch him eat with relish. 

The other person who got equally busy in the season was Paru Mami, wife of a elementary school teacher with five daughters and one son, barely subsisting. Most houses sought Mami’s services to prepare pickle. Every homemaker relied on Mami’s hand to add the final heap of salt or spice for two reasons. First, she moderated the quantities of spices depending on the blood pressure level, or ulcer or other problems plaguing members of the house. Second, the ladies believed that under any other hand the pickle would sour and develop fungus sooner than later. At the end they would give Mami a small bottle of the pickle, haldi-kum kum, a blouse piece and cash.

Decades later I visited one of Mami’s daughters in Kozikode while on a duty travel. She was doing lucrative business in pickles as a cottage industry. After offering me coffee and snacks, she expressed keenness to buy our vacant village- house and wanted me to put in a word with my uncles. As I prepared to take leave, she went inside and returned with a shopping bag full of assorted pickles. I had a tough time convincing her that it would be a problem for me to carry it either as a check-in, or cabin baggage. 

“The wheel of time,” I wondered. The family that had endured hardship in the village was keen to own a house to perpetuate memory, while we, who had nothing but pleasant times, were trying to sever all connections.

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Murali Celebrates 80th Birthday

Murali of SFV Vedic Group celebrated his 80th birthday today. It was neither a great pomp and show nor too modest. It was a very good gathering.

Murali by nature is very quiet, and his movements in the complex are calculated to attract the minimum of attention. A shopping bag is his inseparable partner. “You never know. Suddenly you might remember that Uma (his wife) had told me in the morning to buy something. So at least I should by evening,” he would defend. Yes, a walk up to Mariamart or nearby is a must – even if he has nothing to shop. He must get the aroma of vegetables, fruit, grocery, or hot chips.

Apart from being part of the Vedic Chant group, I knew Murali from his Brigade Gardenia days. During our senior group’s morning walks I have always observed him having an answer (more than basic) to all our doubts. So, I call him a Mr Know-All. But he insists it is Mr No-All. 

Back to the function, the japa-ganam, the team of purohits, was very good. The hall reverberated with their chants. Like when you watch a movie of say, Rajesh Khanna, Amithabh Bachhan, or Dharmendra, you tilt in favour of the hero whose movie you are watching right then. Similarly, when we heard their chant, we felt this was the best, as we thought of others on earlier occasions.

Pai Vista Hall near Banashankari BDA complex, may not boast of being the best in town. But in their segment, they are very good. Small is beautiful, if you want to get an idea.

It is on these occasions that you meet old friends from most unexpected quarters. And so we met a few and got updated. It is a small world. 

Both Murali and Uma were able to withstand the entire function which involved constant sitting, standing or moving around. More so Uma had a knee replacement not long ago. Also they braved the abhishekam (showering) of the sanctified water by each and every guest for nearly thirty minutes, and that too when the Pai Vista administrator had already set  the temperature of the 10 or 12 airconditioners at 23 degrees. A Sutti Podu (Drishti) by an elderly lady in the family at the end of the function would not have gone amiss. Kudos.

I considered it a privilege to be one of the three (and probably the eldest) to bless the couple as the priests chanted with aplomb, “Shatamanam Bhavatu,” and a host of other long-life chants for nearly fifteen minutes. Luckily my feet stood by me.

SFV Veda group gave Muralis a modest gift of Lord Ganesha mounted on a lamp – bought from Raga Arts. Kaleeswaran (7211) and Sashidhar (5103) nearly ransacked the shop before laying their hands on this – on a day when the city experienced torrential rain. Many thanks both of them.

The grandson and granddaughter of the Muralis gave a fitting performance on violin - to pay in their own way  obeisance to their grandparents on the occasion.

The food. It was very good, and neatly organized in a not too big a hall. As the foursome of our cab-pooling group returned home, a discussion on food was inevitable. On a scale of 5, one rated it at 4, the other at 3, yet another at 3.5 and the fourth at 4.5. Average works out good. 

A faux pas. After the food, I walked up to Uma who was sitting in the audience row, complimented her both on the religious part and the food. Right then I realized it was not Uma, but her sister. Wrong number, I realized. She had a good laugh. Then I went to the real Uma and conveyed it to her.

As is wont, car pooling is a must, and within SFV family we did it very effectively – some hiring cabs. Weather was very cooperative. In fact, felt a little warm waiting outside for the cab.

Once again, the customary farewell words were in free flow: ‘see you again,” “we must meet more often,” “we will plan something together.” None of them to happen by choice rather than by chance. 

Every guest was given, apart from Thamboolam, a Bhagwat Gita book for reading, assimilating and, hopefully, putting the words of wisdom into practice. “I will,” I swore to myself, this time a little seriously. 

Health, happiness and long life Muralis. 

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Exercise in Futility – or, not exactly perhaps

Three of us WHO retirees and our spouses headed Thursday evening to Hosur to attend a wedding Reception of the granddaughter of another retiree. The long- distance drive and the rush-hour traffic jam gave us ample time to reopen our hitherto buried project – two-three nights away from Bangalore. Yes, for ‘rest and recuperation’ at a resort. 

‘Rest? for seniors? What else do you do the entire day?” You might ask. Call it by any name, but we just want a get-away.

“How about Yercaud?” asked Ragu who, along his wife Padma, is just getting back to normal after a hectic schedule solemnizing their son’s wedding.

“Yercaud? Doesn’t it have too many hair-pin bends?” I asked, with a genuine concern. After all the senior most in the group.

“No worry sir,” interjected Manjunath whose Innova Crysta we had hired. “It is only the younger brother of Ooty; you can make it,” visualizing a prospective booking.

That gave Kaleeswaran a spark. “Speaking of Ooty,” he took over, “we can plan a visit to Ooty with a stopover in Coimbatore to see the progress of our retirement homes. Also, we could prevail upon them for the extra window in the corner bedroom that they had themselves hinted.”

“We both had gone to Ooty a couple of times, said my wife. “Moreover, my sister, now in Ooty on a holiday, says it is full of summer crowd.”

“Then we could plan Kodaikanal,” continued Kaleeswaran. “If Ooty is known as the queen of hills stations, Kodaikanal is known as the princess of hill stations.”

“Any other reason, Kaleeswaran?” I asked. 

“Just that Madurai happens to be nearby, and it is my native place. We can visit the Temple City also.”

“Good, but may be not now, during this hot summer. Perhaps later in the year.” I suggested. 

“How about a trip, say to Coorg or Chikmagalur?” I asked, not to give the rest a feeling that I scuttle all suggestions.

“Coorg is okay; but not Chikmagalur.  It involves jeep ride and ladder-type climbing. May not be okay for you old people,” quipped Manjunath, side-glancing me innocently, as I sat in the front row. 

I was the one who recommended Manjunath’s name for the Hosur trip because I liked him. But not any longer.  He could have said, “Chickmagalur involves jeep ride and steep climbing,” and stopped at that. There was no need to add, ‘for you old people,’ and add fuel to the fire by looking at me.” 

“How about Goa,” asked Ragu. “We can go by train, and after seeing Goa, we can take a cruise to Bombay.”

“No way,” hastened Koma, Kaleeswaran’s wife. “I was talking to my daughter in the US, and she said a Japanese lady had predicted tsunami in water-bound areas in June. No risks please.”

“Manjunath, you see the illuminated building over there,” pointed Kaleeswaran. “That is the Reception venue.” 

“I know; so it shows in the Google map, sir,” replied Manjunath simultaneously murmuring something. I don’t know if he said: “Don’t teach a fish how to swim. I am driving 24x7.”

“So, as of now we are back to square one. No decision. Stayput. Play the same old tune, Home Sweet Home,” I said. We got down from Innova, brought our legs to working condition, combed our hair for what little is still left of it and headed to the hall. 

This reminded me of something that can only be vaguely connected. Merchants selling fish wanted to put up a prominent placard in their section of the market. “All types of fishes are for sale here.” One suggested, “All types,” is not necessary. Just “fishes are for sale here,” is fine. Then another said, the verb “are” is redundant in an ad. Just ‘fishes for sale here” is enough. Yet another said, “here” is not needed. Buyers will read it only when they are here. So, just say, “Fishes for sale”. Not to be left behind, another one from behind said, “for sale’ is superfluous. Fishes are not for display. Finally, one said, “Fishes” is unnecessary too. People are already here, and they know what they see is fish and not crocodile or snail. Thus they decided to maintain status quo.

                        ********************

Wait a minute. I don’t know if I told you or not. We are incurable optimists. Nothing is final. Suspended animation is the name of the game with us. As I pen these lines 48 hours later, Ragu, the Action King of our group, confirms he has just paid advance for us to a tourist operator for a three-day bus trip to Coorg. He also alerts us that an overseas trip is on the cards – to Sri Lanka – by July for five nights and six days with 4-star arrangements.

‘We Also Paid Extra’; E-khatha in sight; Replenishment offsets Donation…

This is the talk in SFV, whether during morning walks, chance meet at Ratnadeep, Club House, or in the evening chats at the park bench (if you wangle a seat, that is). 

Yes, with digital payments ruling the roost, we tend to pay any bill at first sight in any format and be done with it – be it from Bescom, BBMP, telecom service provider, or DTH TV services (except perhaps for the Maintenance charge where it is in five digits). 

This is exactly what most of us did in Property Tax payment. The likes of ‘me-first’  paid it then and there. The wiser ones read all the clauses, studied the reason for the inflated amount, and found a way out. The former is thankful to the latter for their slow and steady wins approach. 

Thankfully Ms Sowjanya Athreya our Alder co-resident has kindly agreed to consolidate the grievance and take it up with BBMP. United we stand, divided we fall. All of us are now hurrying to send her the requested documents and information so that she puts up a brave fight till victory with BBMP, a la Jhansi ki Rani. Should her effort bear fruit – and there is no reason why it should not - we should raise a toast for her. Our grateful thanks meanwhile.

                         *******

E-Khata mandate, the dreaded nightmare that took Bangalorians by storm is the second most burning topic. For some the problem was solved thanks to MC getting an authorized representative visit the complex over a weekend, fill up applications and get e-Khatha in a jiffy. 

Cedar, Ebony and Alder friends have not been that lucky due to some technical snag. The never-say-die MC made contact with the right person, at the right place at the right time in a bid to sort it out en masse. That is exactly the process they are now engaged in. When MC is in picture it is like selecting an ‘Amazon-fulfilled’ item, sure of getting delivery of the product. We thus see an extra glow on the faces of Cedar, Ebony and Alder friends at the prospect of a solution.

                          *******

On a lighter side, the SFV-ladies’ clothes-donation drive came to a successful end. Kudos to them. Whether intentionally or by coincidence, a day or two later MC organized Sale of various international brands of T-shirts, track pants, shorts, and ladies garments as though to let the residents recompense the donation. Some of the brands included Nike, Reebok, Under Armour, US Polo, Arrow, Adidas, Puma…

I was one of the firsts to visit Club House - next only to another gentleman, to be precise. As we tried out a few T shirts in the Hand Wash room, we introduced ourselves (Mr Srinivas) more to be of help to each other if the product one tried was too tight, sagging, or fitted well, as there was no mirror. “Uncle, dark shades suit you better,” he said, disregarding the main issue.

After a near ransack, and with my arms just managing to hold a host of tentative selection of T shirts and track-pants, I walked up to him and asked if he has made his selection. “Yes, but I am waiting for my wife for a final word,” holding a still larger collection.  “Me too,” I said as my faced brightened up seeing the lady of the house making a grand entry. “Again, all dark shades,” she quipped. I looked back wondering if Mr Srinivas had overheard it.  She helped me to weed out some and picked up some salwar kameez for herself.

The next morning as I went for my walk sporting one of my new acquisitions, another Maple-3 resident joined me in the lift from another floor, lo, wearing the same maroon T shirt. Yes, everything carries a price. On such in-house sale, on the one side you might pay less; on the other there could be a semblance of residents moving around the complex in, say, DPS, NPS or Kumaran’s uniform.

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The SSLC Result Fever

The SSLC results were announced yesterday. That tempted me to dig out my old middle-piece that Hindustan Times carried in June 1989. Here it goes.

“With my office located not very far from that of the Central Board of Secondary Education, I cannot but sympathize with my neighbouring colleagues at the hardy annual that announcement of examination results has come to mean.

“Going down memory lane, I still recall vividly the anxious moments I had when the result of my SSLC examination was round the corner. Hardly had I disentangled myself from the examination fever to enjoy a few days of respite, when the result fever struck me. The unanimous forecast of the elders in the village was that all the five boys from the village would re-visit the examination hall later in the year. In the case of the two girls, the opinion was divided - would they pass with distinction, or just in first division?

“We had heard that the results would be announced in Chennai (then Madras) at 2 pm. They Madras office of Dina Thandi (Daily Telegraph) would teleprint it to their Coimbatore branch which would publish it in their evening edition to reach us in Palghat by seven the same evening.

“In preparation for the event, I got up early morning, bathed in the river, went straight to the temple and recited, slower this time, Vishnu Sahasranamam (the thousand names of Lord Vishnu - the rescuer, friend of the needy, protector of the weak…), and, for a good measure, chanted slokas in praise of Saraswati, the Goddess of Learning.

“Towards the evening, my friends and I left for the bazaar to wait for the Coimbatore bus. The bus which generally came in unnoticed, received a rousing reception that day. The evening news arrived, and in a few seconds the newspaper vendor displayed the board: "All copies sold out" and got busy tallying the day's takings. I managed to get a copy and we checked the results. Yes, the girls had passed. And so had I!

“The village boys were very joyous that it was after all not an 'all-girl' show and that one from the boy's groups had also made it. They collected some money, bought a garland, hung it around my neck, and raising me on their shoulders, took me to the village shouting, "hip, hip, hooray".

“As was customary, on the way home, I bought 11 coconuts (on credit - not customary), and offered them at the wayside temple to Ganesha, the Lord who arrests Obstruction, for having cleared my way.

“At home, my mother was immensely pleased to hear the news. She prepared some instant sweets and shared them with friends and family. My father happily accepted the congratulations of the villagers and discussed with them my future plans.

“Later, overcome with emotion, and responding to the enthusiasm of my friends, my mother unknotted her small savings from the tip of her saree pallu and handed them over to enable me to entertain my friends to a picture that night.

“Feeling on the top of the world, I went to bed after the show. My sound sleep was disturbed by a commotion early next morning. I rushed out to enquire but was greeted with sudden silence. They all had in hand different morning newspapers – Mail, Hindu, Express.

“When I insisted on knowing the problem, an elderly person took me affectionately to a corner and patted me: "Printer's devil does occur once in a while, as has happened in your case in yesterday's evening news. But let me assure you young boy, you will definitely pass in your next attempt."

(To keep records straight, the story relates not to me, but to my mother’s Chittappa. Though failed in matric, he attained greater heights in life and was even asked to contest Lok Sabha elections by no less than Rajagopalachari and Sir C P Ramaswamy Iyer, but he declined. As the Secretary-General for India of the Japan-based Universal Brotherhood Association, he invited to India Sir Clement Attlee (who later become British Prime Minister and passed Independence bill for India in July 1947).  It was during this visit that he insisted on Sir Attlee to try his home-made tooth powder made of burnt husk, black-pepper powder, salt, and a few spices. Sir Attlee tried it and, still to recover from swollen gums before his formal address, he swore never to touch it again even with a long pole.)

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Garments-donation and its side effects

With the deadline for the garments-donation project initiated by SFV ladies nearing, I embarked on it at home, combining de-cluttering of my wardrobe with philanthropy.

My hands dug deep on to some trousers that had piously waited a year or two for my much-publicized weight-reduction regimen to pay dividends so that their waist-ends could meet. No luck. The T-shirts, in turn, got blamed for having shrunk whereas it was my body-circumference that had grown unchecked.

I segregated the clothes into three categories: Retain, Donate, Undecided. While Retain and Undecided piles almost lost their balance, Donate looked with askance at his counterparts if he would ever open an account.  

Reason? Although many eminently qualified to the Donate category more because of owner’s indiscriminate growth than their wear and tear, each garment had a story to tell. “Oh my God, these were the ones Shankar-Sunita gifted me for Ashwin and Rohan’s (grandsons) thread ceremony. How can I part with them,” I said, temporarily halting their discard. “And lo, definitely not these,” I said looking at the shirt and trousers that the lady of the house (LOH) had gifted me on our 50th marriage anniversary.” And then there was another set which also I was about to hold back.  

“Arey old man, at this rate you will never part with anything; better wind up the operation,” came an inner voice. Better sense prevailed. Kept sentiments at bay and went about reshuffling them, this time fully cheering Donate.

On such occasions one often thinks of doing a comprehensive job and take up other postponed projects. I did exactly that.  Weeding out files – physical and electronic.  First, the sale of Delhi house file. “Oh my God, if only I had given the house on rent and sold it now, I would have made six times more the money as Batra did.” Then the Coimbatore plot. “If only I had retained it, I could have built a spacious bungalow with ground and first floors, stayed in one and rented out the other, rather than booking a match-box type retirement home in the same area, as I have done now.” 

The LOH seldom misses on what I am doing be she at one end and I at the other. “Enna, I don’t see you shredding papers. Again daydreaming? Come on, tell me.” She persisted. She has a knack of getting it out of me. “Stay happy that in both cases you got the prevailing price. Aage ki socho,” she said, and brought, as consolation, my second dose of coffee a little earlier.

Side by side LOH got busy sorting out salwars, kameez, sarees and other items for donation many of which brought back fond memories of shopping at Kolkata, Amritsar, Delhi, Ahmedabad…Luckily in her case it took her half the time to make up her mind. And in strict confidence, her Donate bundle was heavier than mine.

As I write these lines, I found her engaged in segregating utensils and household appliances including a few pressure cookers (some in working condition), cake maker, Kerala puttu maker (steamed rice cake), many of which had not seen the light of the day for years. 

“Some time later, not now,” she alerted me, “we shall take a call on furnishings - the sitting stools in the living room, the different sizes of coffee mugs we bought during outstation trips, the crockery and stainless steel dinner sets, bed sheets we are fed up of seeing day in and day out, pillow covers that looked fine at the shop, but any longer,  not to speak of the umpteen types of fancy cushions. But they can wait. They come handy for an afternoon nap.” 

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85 Visits the 90s

Padmanabha Iyer was past 90, but the Kanakabhishekam ceremony associated with it could be solemnized only in February. It was a gala function in their Jakkur villa with around 150 guests. The Airshow that week in Jakkur airport and the attendant traffic restrictions denied us the privilege to attend the ceremony. They understood our predicament and agreed to our visiting them later. And so we did - last month. 

Ramya, daughter in law was waiting at the main gate to escort us to their home – a lovely place made doubly beautiful by son Harish. “It was a near total re-modelling,” he confided, accepting our compliments. The sofas and other furniture were made to his specifications. Simple, elegant and tastefully done. 

Mama has not changed a bit since we saw him a year or two ago, except that we need to raise our voice to be heard. (In strict confidence, this has set in for us as well – for watching TV, for now). He dons the same grace, takes care of things himself, unaided. The baton that he used to carry for walk (which reminded me always of my father in law in his Calcutta days), has yielded place to a walker, purely as a matter of caution. Firm ‘No’ to sweets except when his son is not around. Yes, Harish was yet to return with his daughter Kanchana after tennis practice. Both Mama and Harish are good conversationalists. We had a good time both at the breakfast table and then at the drawing room recapitulating the times we spent together, living not very far from one another. Exchange of health bulletin is given - how some body components need to be goaded to listen to our commands, the tally of medicines… 

“Devanahalli, Brigade Paradise Retirement Home, please” we directed Manjunath as we got into the car, the present abode of Radhakrishnan mama and Raji mami.  We had spent several years together in the same apartment complex in Hebbal.  We moved in to Sobha here in 2016 and they to Devanahalli in 2017. Apparently, a fine morning, Mami then in her late 70s, raised her hands and announced, “No more kitchen work - enough of it.” And that prompted their move.

Both Mama and Mami are worth a thesis for a Ph D. I would call Mama a Mr Know-all, very disciplined, and a regular flute-player. Unwavering in his decisions, he gets up at four in the morning, runs around the complex for quite some time. He irons his clothes himself, the blade-sharpness of the crease very often an envy of the onlooker. At past 90, he still drives his car, of course respects Mami’s plea to do so within a radius of 5 km. He is thorough with Apartment bye laws and is now busy helping his co-residents to prevail upon Administration to levy charges for medical services on per person, and not on per square foot. “You give service to individuals, not to the area,” he argues. On the few occasions the couple decide to prepare food at home, he buys vegetables, cleans them, and cuts them to perfection. He washes clothes, dry them, fold them and keep in their respective almirahs at the designated places, as I watched him do so with precision. Perfection is his watch word. We had food in the dining hall – a four-star setting. Back in their apartment, we chatted recalling our ‘Srishti’ days. 

Time to return home – the 8-hour driver-time was ticking, also we wanted to get home before the rush hour.  “I will prepare some hot coffee for you. You seem too tired,” said my wife as she shook me from sleep in the car on arrival. A little later I heard, “I say, coffee ready, where are you?” “I am de-cluttering my wardrobe,” I said extricating my neck out of the deep shelf into which it had gone, in a bid to keep the full-sleeve shirts at the deep end, half-sleeves next and then T-shirts - an immediate impact to emulate Radhakrishnan mama, be it short-lived. 

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I came, I saw, I conquered - that sums up Robotic radiotherapy

It was 15 August 2002 - not sharing that year’s Independence Day celebrations. That was the day I was on the operation table for 5-1/2 hours in Geneva, Switzerland, undergoing prostate cancer operation. Luckily, I have had no significant problem all these 23 years. 

Slowly but surely a cell or two does manage to stay dormant to multiply and resurface, as a recent scan revealed. “Kill them, Sundaram,” ordered my Urologist/Oncologist. He didn’t mean to hand me sword to deal with it a la Rajanikant, in movies. He referred me to a radiologist-oncologist for that at HCG hospital. 

Radiotherapy has its attendant side effects. While attacking the problem-area, it has a knack of burning the adjacent organs and veins as well. Sometimes remedy could be worse than the disease, I feared. 

“No, not any longer, Mr Sundaram,” Dr Lohith, the radiologist-oncologist reassured on reviewing my recent scan- and earlier reports. “We will wage, not a war, but a battle for five days with our latest Cyberknife radiosurgery, engaging just a handful of soldiers (read: low dosage). Non-invasive, no blood, no this, no that…

“No result as well?” I quipped. “No way sir - 98% success-rate. After this, you don’t have to worry for some years,” he emphasized. “I will get back to you soon doctor,” I said as I made way for the next patient.

Back home I began to draft a letter to my relative, a leading Urologist-Oncologist in Delhi for his opinion. Came a voice, as usual, from the kitchen: “Don’t you think he is just another Urologist-Oncologist like the one we are consulting in Bangalore? Doesn’t our present concern lie primarily in the domain of a radiologist-oncologist? To me Dr Lohith appeared competent in his profession the way he fielded your volley of questions. I think we should go ahead with treatment straightaway,” the lady of the house prevailed.  I promptly deleted the draft, rang up Dr Lohith to draw the treatment plan. “Sure, I will ask Hindumathi, my Admin In-Charge to handle that.” (It is another story how Indumathi, fondly christened so by her parents, became Hindumathi).

Hindumathi re-arranged the schedule to start the treatment date we suggested (after eliminating Nakshatram day, Ashtami, Tuesday, etc.).

Earlier, when I was in discussion with the doctor, my elder son had rung me up to enquire. Doctor reassured him over the phone that the treatment was simple and did not warrant his flying all the way from US. He said yes to him, but landed in Bangalore in time for the treatment, missing only the previous day’s  pre-treatment investigation tests. My brother in law, Kannan, cancelled his duty travel to be with us for that. Shanthy, my sister in law, whose hands are full having to attend to the newborn grandson, prepared lunch on all treatment days – really delicious.

In the five-day continuous treatment thankfully Saturday, Sunday and Monday (Ramzan) intervened. Thus I had to cope with the hospital’s everyday Kumbh Mela rush only for two days. 

Starting from the attendant to the nursing staff, to the radiographic technicians to the staff at reception, Hindumathi, Dr Lohith and his fellow doctor Krithika, everyone was uniformly dedicated and polite. Three cheers.

Each session was in two parts lasting 30 minutes each. Lie still, don’t move, is the only request. The effect of air-conditioning, the cosy blanket they covered me with, and the silent ambience provided the right setting for a nap – however best I tried to stay awake to watch the proceedings. In fact, there was nothing to watch. The machine would just hover around me stopping at places to send beams to the designated area. 

A dreaded prospect that I feared was reduced to what I would compare with Julius Caesar’s  “I came, I saw, I conquered” feat. Completed the course yesterday, discussed discharge-summary contents today, and Empuran movie at Forum mall tomorrow.

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Mahakumbh Ends; SFV Festivity Continues

Mahakumbh ended on Wednesday, Mahashivaratri, 26 February. It is estimated that in Prayagraj more than 66 crores of devotees took a dip – snaan, to give it a religious tinge. Some say it is nearly twice the population of USA. No wonder many call it the event of the century, and world’s largest religious gathering. 

SFV residents did not lag behind in being part of it. Names that I heard include Preeti and Hari, Sudharshan and wife, Ravi Shankar and Shobha, Gururaj, Satya Prasad, Sanghamitra, Saroj, Srinivasan, Vishwas…Those of us who missed it could make-do by receiving bottles of the holy water from them, mix it while taking bath and receive blessings of powers that be. We sincerely appreciate their gesture. During the morning walks, some shared their accounts and literally allowed us to partake in the journey. By and large we heard only good things about their experience.

While the Mahakumbh has ended, the festivity in SFV continues unabated. Today the residents performed Thyagaraja Aradhana in Club House to a houseful attendance. Aside the established and budding artists of SFV, some accomplished artists from outside gave a programme in flute, violin and mridangam that enthralled the audience for nearly two hours. This was followed by Thyagaraja Aradhana recital jointly by SFV and outside artists. I was specially delighted to see my neighbour, Priya Anant, 3196, participate in it. Till now I meet her only in morning walks. Front-runners of the event I spotted included Dilip, Paneendra, Sudharshan, Gururaj and Vasuki, Ramasubramanya…  Kudos everyone. As usual, the prasadams were simple, but plentiful.

A few days earlier, Uma Maheswari of Oak 2011, had organized two separate functions in her house. One was Saptaham  - reciting Bhagavatam in the mornings and discourse in the evenings for seven days). The other was Navaham - Ramayanam slokam-chanting in the morning and discourse in the evenings, for nine days).   The chant and discourse were performed by learned pandits. The evening sessions were well attended where residents got an opportunity to refresh their memory on both Bhagavatam and Ramayanam. Thanks Uma and Dr Ramakrishna.

On the cards is another major event – Thiruppugazh– in praise of Lord Kartikeya. A team of 23 well versed men and women from Coimbatore will set foot in SFV in mid-March for a rendition of Thiruppugazh. Mythili Ravichandran, of 7242, ably assisted by a team of volunteers will spearhead the operations. If the corridor news is anything to go by, each of these 23 persons will be accommodated in one or the other SFV flats.  We look forward to a new experience.

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Changing with Changing Spirit of Time

One witnesses change in almost every walk of life to the extent that only change is constant. 

Brevity is the essence of WhatsApp communication. If you are in it, by now you would have uncovered that DM means direct message; DP means display picture, and GBU means God Bless You. However, the more difficult terrains, for me, are: TBH means To Be Honest, IDK means I don’t know. K means OK, and FOMO means Fear of Missing Out (Ex: You attend a function for FOMO). 

In medical parlance, you no longer refer to a person as physically disabled. It is outdated and amounts to looking at the darker side.  One should be positive, and use the term physically challenged. Speaking of staying positive, I had an English friend in Geneva. Even in day-to-day conversations, I never heard him speak in negative terms. Even to convey: “I don’t like him,’ he would say: “he is not among those whom I like the best.” No wonder he featured regularly in a Morning Pep-Talk Show in one of the Swiss radio channels. 

Change is no less in the cine field. Thriller, suspense, science fiction, action or horror have long eclipsed family dramas, comedies, historical or religious movies. In the 18 or so years that I spent in the village, it was full of them – and them only. The only occasions I can recall where ‘thieves’ figured in movie titles were: “Malai Kallan”, or “Kalvanin Kathali”. I am sure it must be so in other Indian languages as well.

Also, while buying readymade garments, I have to remember to specify, Regular Fit; otherwise, I end up getting a Slim- or Smart-fit trousers or shirts packed up – ideal for gym-goers. Don’t be surprised if the shopkeeper occasionally responds, “Regular fit out of stock sir.” It is his polite way of telling you that they are here to cater to the fashionable segments, and not the customers of yore.

In the electronic communication sector, E-invite is the order of the day. In olden days it used to be very much a guess work for the host on how many would attend Muhurtam lunch, how many Reception, and so on. Not any more. Now the e-invite incorporates bullet points to respond on what time of the day you would arrive – in the forenoon or afternoon and when you would leave (for hotel accommodation), how many persons would attend (1, 2 or 3 – which means the host does not ideally expect more than 3)… Stay tuned to computer applications, otherwise life will become something less. I shall deliberately skip the ‘e-Khatha’ (in Bangalore), to avoid earning the ire of many of my fuming co-residents.

I guess that the door-step delivery concept has made the fastest stride. From a one-time same-day-delivery, the promise has progressed to within-two-hours. As this piece goes to press, it stands at within-ten-minutes. Yes, in good old days we used to ask someone, “Would you like to join me for lunch at Volga?” Now it is, “I am ordering some dishes from ….. restaurant, and getting it delivered through Zepto, Zomato or Swiggy whosoever brings it fastest. Would you like to rush to my home and join the fun?”

To end the piece, I recall a filler I read in a magazine. It ran like this. One fellow told the other that very soon a day would come when at the press of a button while still lying on one’s bed, a tooth-brush would pop up, then the paste would apply itself on it, and a handle will brush it without your having to hold it in your hands…. So automated it is going to be.  “Good,” said the other, “but who will push the button?” Yes, for each technological progress, there will be an equal and opposite expectation.

Regardless, the moral is: change with the changing spirit of time.

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Hinduism Beneath the Surface – A family’s attempt to understand Sanatana Dharma - by Kannan K N)*

*(Kannan is a Chartered Accountant, Company Secretary, having worked as Head of Finance, Director, MD, Mentor... and now runs a charitable trust for upskilling financially challenged students from Tier-2 colleges in small towns and providing them with placement assistance.  Also my wife's brother.)

Happily, as the very title suggests this book is a fictional Rajan family’s attempt to understand Santana Dharma, and not a heavy-weight book that will demand repeated readings to get to the bottom, let alone its possible sedative side-effects.  Simple, straightforward.

To pack a subject that many would write in volumes, Kannan manages to do it in 315 pages - as they say, containing the ocean in the palm. हथेली में समंदर समेटे हुए - hathelee mein samandar samete hue. Full marks on this, Kannan.

Converting such a demanding subject into a lucid discussion point within the confines of 12 x 14 drawing room of a middle-class family, takes the cake; and the author does it with undiluted success. Simple, conversational style. Cheers.

The author makes no secret of the fact that very often he himself was unable to answer some of the spiritual queries of his children, and hence he did not want to broach the subject with them unless he was fully equipped to do so. Hence, over a period he read and assimilated several Hinduism books before embarking on the subject in the form of this book, so that the explanations reach way beyond his own sons. Well done.

Some of the fundamental concepts Kannan chose to deal with are: Is it Hinduism or Sanatana Dharma, Life’s Purpose, God and Godliness, Who Am I, Fate (Prarabdha) versus Free Will (Purushartha); the suggested paths for attaining bliss; Your Prakriti and Gunas Decide your Best Path; Duties are not negotiable though; Inaction Not an Option, Mind Management (for long I have been looking for something on this).

This book liberates readers from having to read it with a pen and pad to note down the key takeaways. Kannan does that with aplomb in a separate section on Takeaways and Conclusion – Atmano Mokshartham Jagat Hitaya Cha; The Ten Minute Summary, Takeaways for the Rajan Family, and A Festive Feeling.

Personally, on reading the book over thrice - earlier in manuscript and pre-final forms, and now in its finished format, I feel I lost a wonderful life-time opportunity from Kannan to be a co-author. But then, dashing the ‘t’s and dotting the ‘i’s, and adding no substance or content whatsoever just does not entitle one to co-authorship. First deserve then desire. 

A copy of the book rightfully deserves its place in every household for its simplistic, lucid explanations of all that one might have wanted more clarity on. But don’t take my word for it. Just see what some of the top echelons of the society who read the book have to say: 

“For a long time it was my fond wish someone would come up with a simple and concise book on Sanatana Dharma – not complicating it too much…This book exactly does all those and surpasses all expectations…” writes a retired senior executive from Tatas.

“It (the book) elucidates the core of Hinduism/Sanatana Dharma which focuses on attaining permanent Peace and Happiness by managing one’s own Mind, Energy, Body…Highly recommend reading this book and sharing with the younger generations so that they can manage their lives better holistically and create a better world order.” – opines a leader from India’s Tech industry.

‘All fine uncle, but how can we get a copy of the book?” Yes, you can buy it on Amazon India https://shorturl.at/9jOvy; You can buy it on Amazon USA https://tinyurl.com/2upduf5y; You can buy it on Amazon UK https://tinyurl.com/3jkupfju; You can buy it on Amazon Australia https://tinyurl.com/4aw9z3zt; You can buy it on Amazon UAE https://amzn.eu/d/ggPjFzs

The Author’s earnings from the book are pledged to Swapnodaya Charitable Trust (www.swapnodaya.com)

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Lucca’s World – Netflix Movie

Sometimes circumstances conspire to give you a good deal. Two or three months ago Netflix discontinued (detected?) the Add-on viewing facility that parents enjoyed (unauthorizedly?) against the subscriptions of their children abroad. Since then, we had been cut off from Netflix. 

Yesterday evening when we failed to identify a short movie to watch before going to bed, we asked ourselves: “Why should we deny ourselves the pleasure? Why not we subscribe ourselves to Netflix?.” And thus began our attempt to subscribe to it. But it was a tall order considering that all these platforms have an in-built AutoPay subscription for 10, 20 or 30 years – 30 years in the case of Netflix. I tried my best to meddle with it to make it for just one year but failed. So, I have made a note to take a call.

The reason why I mention all these is that our effort was well rewarded, to begin with. As we browsed the various options on Netflix, we chanced upon a clipping that showed a foreign family in an Indian temple and praying for their son’s recovery.

We picked it. Yes, it was Lucca’s World, based on a book by the same name. For those who have not either read the book or watched the movie, it is in Spanish, dubbed in English. A family from Mexico makes frantic efforts to find a cure for their son suffering from cerebral palsy. The mother feels guilty that she did not push well enough in the labour room resulting in a concussion. She swore to do everything to bring the baby back to normal.

She was working for a media channel interviewing eminent personalities. In one such pre-interview casual conversation the person to be interviewed observed that she was unduly tense and worried. She disclosed her problem. He shared with her of an institution in India, yes, Namma Bengaluru, where they have cured a few such cases successfully.

They were a middle-class family. Her husband, unemployed for months, had a leg amputation and had prosthetic steel leg for mobility. On top of that, they were paying back housing loan. In other words, a visit, and to speak of stay, in India was just unthinkable. 

Sorry, at this rate, I might as well end up telling you the story and deprive you of the charm of watching it. Were they able to make it to India despite the warning of the Mexican doctors of the risks involved in such a long-haul travel. Also, if the child gets an epileptic attack of longer duration. 

Did they make it to India? Did they find it an exercise in futility as they drained out their frugal funds, or was it rewarding? What are the procedural wrangles such a project involved. All these, and more, are what this movie is all about. In the event you decide to watch it, be sure that however best you remind yourself that after all you are watching a movie, you cannot help wiping a tear or two on occasions.

The movie is based on a true story.

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Air Travel – Expect the Unexpected

Chances are many of you might have undergone similar trials and tribulations while on air travel – a few to write off, and some to guard against.

I have had my own quota of good, bad and indifferent experiences ranging from airlines’ last-minute cancellation of flights, missing the connecting flight for no fault of mine, unaccompanied luggage, booking agents not complying with full documentation formalities…

The most recent one was last month.  We had our Boarding pass printed at home and were just twenty minutes away from the Bangalore airport to take off to Ahmedabad. Suddenly lands an email instead to say that for operational reasons the flight has been cancelled. It was one of the best-rated domestic airlines. Luckily, at the airport we managed to book in another airline leaving around the same time. Of course we coughed up three times more money. Yes, everything has a price – and all the more, the last-minute purchases.

This flight was Delhi-Chicago – a few years ago. Passengers had already lined up to board the flight – wheelchairs, babies in arms, seniors, Executive class, Business class…in that order, much to the dismay of the last two categories that they were sidelined. Suddenly the America-based airlines announced that the front door of the aircraft was not locking properly and hence the flight stood cancelled. “Please board the bus waiting nearby for overnight hotel stay,” reassured the airlines staff. Believe me, those till then in wheelchair for priority boarding literally ran to the bus with no less speed than P T Usha. 

We went to the airlines counter in the hotel for rebooking but were told that in our case the main ticket was issued by another airline. They were in the picture only for the Delhi-Chicago sector. Hence, we should go to the main airlines. Their office was elsewhere in Delhi. Luckily, as an ex-Delhi-ite, I knew the place. It turned out that the Manager of this airline was my cousin’s son. He offered not only upgrading but a night’s free stay in London if we wanted to have fun. We were anxious to get to US, and so politely declined his offer.

This one relates to our last US trip in 2022, the Bangalore-San Francisco-Phoenix travel via the airlines’ hub in Europe. Because of delayed departure from Bangalore and consequent delayed landing in the hub airport, we missed the connecting flight to US. We were dumped into an alternative see-the-world detour flight. Meanwhile both our mobiles ran out of charge. We could not contact our sons. Luckily the elder one suspected this and arranged with the younger one in SFO to meet us at SFO airport, which he did with our grandson. A bonus meeting, we were delighted. We spent the night with them in SFO airport and took the next early morning flight to Phoenix – minus our luggage.  Of course, we fought for and got compensation for all this.

In another flight, we missed the connecting flight from London and were accommodated in a hotel for one night.

Among the small incidents were one when my suitcase arrived damaged in Geneva. They promptly authorized us to get it replaced from the nearest Samsonite shop.

This flight was a flight from Delhi to Geneva via a Scandinavian country. We landed and were asked to sit in a corner in the Immigration section. Twenty minutes later we observed that all the alighted passengers had cleared immigration and gone; we were still being seated. “Any problem? We asked the Immigration official. “Yes, you are the problem, sir,” You had travelled without a transit visa. But you happen to hold a UN Laissez Passer (UN Passport). So, we shall accommodate you in the jeep along with aircraft staff that leaves straight from the ground to the aircraft. Yes, some agents do mislead passengers on visa requirements just to book business.” 

“So nice of you, sir,” we thanked them profusely for being led to the aircraft, instead of to a possible lock up.

(If you have any comments, please write them not in Telegram, WhatsApp or ADDA, but in the Post a Comment column of the Blog.  It then stays with the blog. Thanks.)