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.

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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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