Did Guruvayoorappan make a fleeting appearance in MPH2?

They say the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Given this to the Sampoorna Narayaneeyam chant yesterday in Club House, there can be no better truth. 

Lalitha Mami, or Guru, (I deliberately avoid the expression ‘lady of the house’ this time because that was far from the role she was at, then) had hosted jointly with one of her students Usha, the chanting of Sampoorna Narayaneeyam yesterday in Club House, lasting seven hours, with two breaks - 15 and 10 minutes.    

About thirty ladies and our solitary but solid male Sashidhar chanted in unison - achieving near-synchronization - reverberating MPH2 and bringing forth exalted moments to both chanters and onlookers. One wondered if Lord Guruvayoorappan descended to MPH2 for a fleeting moment to bless the proceedings. Yes, that is what you tend to surmise when you spot someone immaculately dressed, known to none around, arrives, makes a brief appearance and departs. That said, give me a week and I shall confirm if he is one of the mere mortals of SFV like us if I happen to cross shoulders with him. Till then it is Lord Guruvayoorappan.

For the uninitiated, Narayaneeyam is the condensed version of Vedavyasa’s Srimad Bhagavatam which runs into 18 000 verses in 335 chapters. Melpathur Narayana Bhattathiri (1560 AD), the author of Narayaneeyam, who suffered from paralysis and arthritis severely crippling him, sat on the side of Guruvayoorappan temple (the place is marked on the left of entrance) and prayed to the Lord in these lines in probably 41 days, got both darshan of the Lord and cure from his ailment. His composition runs into 100 chapters in 1036 verses. On her limited part, Lalitha Mami helped 60-odd members, mostly of SFV, to learn chant them. 

In order not to be left out and be part of the proceedings, each member volunteered to bring befitting prasadams for such chapters as Narasimha avataram, Rama avataram, Krishna avataram, etc. It was very nice to watch/visualize miniature versions of these milestones.

Prasadams that members brought included mysore pak, coconut burfi, maa laadu, nei appam, jaggery-avil (for Kuchela charitam), panakam (concentrated jaggery water), dry fruits, butter and milk (for Krishna avataram), pal payasam - not to speak of bananas from left, right and centre.

Kaleeswaran, of Ebony, performed what function our Naveen Kashyap does for pan-SFV functions - pujari. Viswanathan replaced him when Kaleeswaran went to do his daily puja at home. Muralidharan, of Cedar, helped with odd jobs assigned from time to time. 

Among the co-hosts, Viswanathan and Usha jointly did all the legwork. Mami attended to the nitty gritty to ensure that we miss nothing to the extent possible. while I did my role – look busy, do nothing.

Shekar Natesan, yes, my co-brother, is very helpful – if he and when he wishes so, that is. Otherwise, he gives directions – do this, do that. But this time seeing me move around with a walking stick, he took charge of most of the dismantling work – the one harder than assembling.

Normally the Hall is thrown open for use only at 8 am. But since the function had to start at 6.30 am the MC member in charge made sure it was open. And chairs and tables were in place on time. MC deserves compliments. Rest assured, I am not on any Vote of Thanks spree.

Luckily the ready-made prasadam-lunch that we had ordered on the caterer, such as sambar rice, curd rice, Sakkara Pongal, potato curry, raita, vadam, curd rice, pickles, etc., turned out well, and were in plenty. Normally there are shortcomings on occasions – less salt in one dish, too spicy, or quantity was found wanting, etc.

With everything going so well for both Usha and Mami, their sole grouse was that they had to confine the invitation to students – no more, no less. But then there is always a next time.

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Birthday Bash - Just-80 invites Seasoned-80s

There is a rumour that the seniors are emerging as the single largest population-group in SFV. Couldn’t agree more. 

And, among the seniors roaming around, if you happen to notice someone doing his rounds somewhat quietly, take my word, it is Dr Neelkant Panigrahi, of Maple 3. His children had organized in Club House a birthday bash to celebrate his 80th birthday. 

Every member of the family had invited his/her circle of friends. Dr Panigrahi, on his part, made sure none of his morning and evening walk friends, mostly in their 80s, were left out. 

I cannot claim to have known Dr Panigrahi for long, but what little association I have had, has been meaningful and qualitative. A very nice, sober, and unassuming person. 

Appearances are deceptive, they say. Seeing his innocent face one could seldom make out that he is an Obstetrician and Gynocologist and has done over 10 000 cesareans, let alone countless deliveries in Orissa. 

Post retirement he ran for years a full-fledged nursing home at Bolangir until he decided to lay down his forceps, clamps and scissors, in favour of chef’s knife, ladle, or vegetable peeler to help the lady of the house in the kitchen. But unfortunately, it did not last long. Reason? A la his operation-theatre style, he began stretching his hand and demanding his wife for: mustard, kari patta, lemon squeezer, grater, colander... The lady took it in the stride initially until one day she could take it no longer, and told him, “Stop treating me like a nurse? Either you do things yourself or allow me to do. This is nothing new for me; I have been doing it for decades.”  

He changed lane and began doing morning and evening walks befriending people of his age. Soon he became the centre of attraction among them, each hanging on his lips to listen to more of his experiences. Just one example. On one occasion he was watching a village drama where the bride and the groom were all set for the vara mala. Suddenly from nowhere the villain surfaces and shoots the bridegroom. The audience saw real fire-fly coming out of the pistol. It seems some home-made card-board item was inserted in place of pellets. But it did manage to fly-past and the groom started bleeding on his neck. Dr Panigrahi watching from a backseat rushed to the stage and barely managed to dig out the deep-seated card-board remnants from neck injury. Everybody applauded him.

A few days later the Chief Medical Officer arrived on the scene to scold him for having exceeded his terms of reference. How could the newly posted doctor  embark on such a venture. Later when the two were alone, the CMO took him aside and patted him on the back, “Good job, young man. You will make a good surgeon.” What could have brought an end to one’s hopes of entering the medical profession turned into a compliment. 

Now back to business - the Birthday Bash - the Club House hall was professionally decorated. A prominent display included, “You are not just 80; You are 80 years of stories, strength, and unconditional love; You are 8 decades of wisdom, wit and wonderful experience…” Just to break the monotony of arrive, hi, how are you… and head straight for the lunch queue, they had engaged a professional entertainer to keep the audience in good humour with a host of light but interesting activities all of which kept the audience fully entertained. 

Time for lunch. One saw everyone enjoy the food, the ambience and not to speak of the dessert. As I got up to leave, his younger son, who stays in Maple 3, came up to me to thank me for making it. “Your parents have only reasons to feel proud of you, young man. You had made such excellent arrangements.” “No uncle, we wanted to do it in Taj. But considering that Papa’s friends are the foremost and they might be dissuaded from making it that far, we decided to have it here.” “No less grand nonetheless,” I reassured him.

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Date with Senior-most of the family

Recapitulating the past has been my favourite pastime. So much so, sometimes the lady of the house would shout from the kitchen, “I say I hear you speaking to yourself. Your good old days, again?”

Against this backdrop when I got an opportunity to visit my mother’s youngest brother, (Mamaji as I call him - and ‘Ramachandran Anna’, my wife), the senior-most in our maternal family at 90, it was something that I really looked forward to. He is hale and hearty, does seven rounds of walk in his park morning and evening as he recites Vishnu Sahasranamam once Lalitha Sahasranamam later. Rudram, Chamakam, Suktams and Upanishads wait for their turn back home. 

For me, he is my friend, philosopher and guide, and mentor, though we were born just four years apart. He taught me how to swim, including do somersault jump into the village tank from the higher platform built.  He helped me learn how to ride a bicycle, including how to jump-sit on to the seat instead of balancing with the pedal. That is a different thing that once while attempting it in the presence of village boys and girls, my dhoti fell apart.

Mamaji is very good at pencil drawing and tried to teach me the art but gave it up. Futile.  Gifted with a good handwriting which drew admiration from both school and college teachers, he tried to extend this benefit too to me but stopped short of making sure my handwriting did not carry traces of doctor’s prescription - the best he could do. 

He and Angichi, his immediate elder sister - and the last two children of our grandparents - were very protective of me against the villagers in total disregard to who was right and who was wrong – me invariably. For them I was the youngest nephew living under the same roof and I had to be protected.

Mamaji was also the lead singer of the village Bhajan group. He played Ganjira simultaneously. When his hands got tired, or when he wanted to render a number rather at length, he would hand down the Ganjira to me with explicit instructions just to synchronize the beat and not attempt any nuances. I was happy; I was the owner of the instrument at that moment. And, when the attendance thinned, he would give me the floor for a lead song the highlight of which was often tempo rather than melody.

We also recalled instances when there might not be any prasadam-sponsor for the Ekadasi bhajan. On such occasions, our co-resident who ran a petty shop in bazar would agree to bring six bananas before closing shop – on condition that he would be the lead singer at least for six songs. The sad part was that his songs and taal were poles apart. We would put up with it. We wanted an uninterrupted Ekadasi bhajan. On such occasions the tacit agreement among the core group was that we would continue with the bhajan till the number of attendees reduced to six so that we did not have to cut the bananas for distribution. Each one would get one full. 

Veerumani mama (name changed), who normally hit the bed at 8.30 pm attended the session once. When it was way past 9.30 he slipped out. The number became just six. We sang Mangalam, did deeparadhanai on fifth gear, and were relishing the banana. He suddenly resurfaced and saw us mouthful. He had gone out to pee, and we mistook that he had gone home. He got very angry and swore to tell our parents of our misdeeds in the name of bhajan.

Back here, it was only 3.30 in the afternoon, the sky had already become cloudy alerting us that it might rain any time. Priya, his daughter, hurried to the kitchen and came out with snacks and aromatic coffee. We gulped and hurried to the taxi before it started drizzling. 

“I think hereafter we should spend time with them more often,” I told my wife as we got into the taxi. “Yes, like we tell when we leave Howrah or New Delhi station and forget all about it when we cross Burdwan or Nizamuddin,” retorted my wife, always on the prowl. 

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An Evening Well Spent

 Last evening we decided to return the visit of Vaidya and Shanti of Alder. They were the first to call on us after our first two-month trial stay in a retirement home in Coimbatore.

It had rained earlier, and the sky was still overcast. Regardless we made it. Vaidya prevailed he would walk up to Maple to accompany us to his home. I insisted that was not necessary as I do my morning and evening walks all by myself, aided by my walking stick. Fell into his deaf ears.

Shanti greeted us with her infectious smile - and so did a gentleman already there. Yes, he was Dr Dwaraknath, husband of Vasudha Sharma. “I have a nodding acquaintance with Vasudha ji, but did not have the pleasure of knowing you, sir,” I said as I shook hands with him. “Not surprised. I am a Cardiac surgeon stationed in Nellore, and visit here once a month,” he introduced himself. Soon Vasudha ji entered from her home next door. In the conversation it transpired that she was a dental surgeon, now enjoying being a homemaker. The chat got cut as Vasudha ji reminded her husband that she had come to remind him of their commitment to visit someone.

No sooner did the couple leave than enters another – in a one-at-a-time style. It was my friend, and Vaidya’s another neighbour, Venkatachalam mama holding a bag with contents. These days it is given that anyone coming with such a bag, is sure to be bringing mangoes plucked from his farm to share with friends. No, Venkatachalam mama was here with holy books for their weekly Rudram, Chamakam chant. I did not know this, until ten minutes later Vaidya got a call from Ramasubramaniam of Oak that he won’t be able to attend. 

“Oh my God, I didn’t realize I am stalling a Rudram-Chamakam chant session. Please go ahead,” I said as I tried to get up. In a bid to prevent me Vaidya reassured me that it had never been a solitary chant session. It was always a chant, chat and coffee session combined, often the last two overtaking the first in length.

The ensuing conversation covered Tamil Nadu under Vijay, Karnataka under DKS and Amit Shah, the Chanakya of central politics, systematically paving the way for a two-thirds majority in Parliament to enact certain bills that the party had promised the electorate.

Soon Shanti emerged from the kitchen with steaming coffee and snacks. That helped the discussion scale greater heights. Realizing that it was getting darker and the sky was still cloudy, I tried to get up to leave, but in vain. Both Vaidya and Shanti persisted we stay for a little while – more so since it was my first casual visit to their home. We continued the conversation – this time Venkatachalam mama taking the floor with the various serials they watch starting from 7 pm stretching up to 9 pm. “We just completed watching Harlan Coben’s ‘I will Find you’. spread in eight episodes – captured in roller coaster speed, the kind of ‘one more episode before going to bed’ type. I had watched his earlier one also – Fool Me Once,” I gave my input. Vaidya clarified he was a sports enthusiast – cricket and football, and was waiting for the Knockout in World Cup football – telecast way past midnight regardless.

I complimented Shanti for decorating the living room with exquisite Tanjore paintings, all done by herself. “Of course, I am sure the Mona Lisa and the Ravi Varma paintings over there, are copies of original, not painted by you” I asked. “No way, I painted them,” she corrected me.  I asked her if she could let me see her puja room of which I had heard a lot. She guided us and explained the significance of each item in detail. 

“An evening well spent,” we thanked the Vaidyas as we took leave, not before Vaidya insisted, once again, on accompanying us back home. So nice of them.  

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50th Wedding Anniversary, Grandson’s Poonal – Musical Extravaganza in the bargain

“Sundara Mama and Lalitha Mami…” we heard the vibrant voice as we answered the call in the usual speaker-mode. “This is Lekshmi… and Natarajan.” 

“From Geneva?” I guessed. “No, not this time. We are in Thrissur. Mahesh wants to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary coinciding with his son’s poonal,” Lekshmi corrected. 

“It will be a privilege,” she continued, “if you two could attend.”  Our plea of my mobility restrictions and a four-day stay in Thrissur fell into deaf ears. “We thought it would be a sort of Ram-Bharat Milap, but after 20 years,” argued Lekshmi. No doubt we had the best of time together during our tenure in Switzerland.

Mahesh, their only son, is a man of many parts – a loving husband, an affectionate father, a caring son and a person with an amiable disposition. To me, however, he strikes as Shravan Kumar in Ramayana – so devoted to his parents without simultaneously failing in his other obligations.  It was he who was behind organizing the 50th marriage anniversary of his parents. The mornings were devoted to spiritual activities - 108 learned pundits invoking the blessings of God on one morning, and 108 ladies reciting Lalitha Sahasranamam the next morning, etc. the evenings witnessed a gala musical extravaganza. 

Yes, musical extravaganza of the first order. On day one it was Manjapra Mohan enthralling the audience with Ayyappa songs. Three hours is a tall order, but he kept listeners’ attention unhindered. No wonder he is hailed Namasankeertanam Chakravarthy.  I enjoyed the best his number ‘Entha Malai Sevithalum, Thangamalai Vaibhogam, Engum naan Kandathillaye, Ayyappa…’ 

Day two was marked by Nadaswaram recital by a Haridwaramangalam Padma Shri Dr Palanivel and his team. Given the high decibel that go with Nadaswaram-Tavil performance, it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, more so for a longer duration. But not so in this instance. The team kept the audience captive. 

The famous violinist Padma Shri Mysore Manjunath and his team of percussionists, each one with a long list of his own accomplishments  took charge of day three. Thus, together they made the audience listen to them with rapt attention. Aside his professional acumen, Manjunath had the gift of the gab which kept the audience in good humour. Thus, as they say in North, it was sone pe suhaga.

The stay also helped me update myself with Geneva friends. After retirement Lekshmi and Natarajan keep themselves busy with charitable work – both with material supply and serving ready meals. Natarajan continues to teach Sanskrit. Murali and Prema enjoy life to the brim. During their couple of visits to India annually they financially help two or three girls from poor families get married. Siva and Bhuvana, the quiet-couple, returned to their base in Chennai a few years ago. They are happily settled in Mylapore. 

Mahesh is a mridangam artist in his own right. Kritika, his wife, an engineer by qualification, is a Bharata Natyam artist. Their son Shreyas did a solo on mridangam when his elder sister played violin during Dr Manjunath’s concert. It was very well received. Well rooted, in other words. 

As though all this is not enough, one early morning, at the persistence of the lady of the house we made an impromptu visit to Guruvayoor (45 minutes drive) disregarding the fact that it was a second Saturday with unmanageable crowd. Even the Rs 1000 ticket had a serpentine queen. Luckily, we had darshan quickly. Yes, for the first time my walking stick performed a little more duty than it was supposed to. A police officer on duty noticed it; he moved us away from the queue and took us up to the place where all queues converge to have Lord Guruvayoorappan’s darshan - which we had in full measure.  I told you everything is preordained. Man proposes, God disposes.

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To Relocate or not to. That is the Question

Any major move calls for weighing its pros and cons; more so when it is contemplated way past one’s prime.  

Two Paripalana Retirement Home families that I know of returned to Bangalore for different reasons. One, when he was hospitalized, his son in Bangalore told him that it would be difficult for him to make it to Coimbatore often and suggested his parents to move back to base.

The other responded in Shakespearean style, “Not that I like Coimbatore less, but that I love Bangalore more.” 

Against this backdrop we have equal number of families who moved permanently to Paripalana. One argued, “You know we were right in front of Forum mall, and just ten steps away from Konanakunte Metro station in Bangalore. Regardless we took the plunge for the Retirement home after a few last-minute back and forth stays in both the places.”

The other family had a sprawling house in a calm and serene locality where pollution-free air is the chief attraction. Still they decided to move here.

Comparisons are invidious. One can’t help doing it at times. In our case a permanent shift from Bangalore will mean moving from a 900-apartment complex, built in eight towers of 20 to 26 storeys where community living takes the cake. Name any festival, and it is celebrated – Ekatva, Rajyotsava (birth of Karnataka), all religious and regional festivals such as Onam, Christmas, Holi and what have you.

Next to our gated community is Madheswara temple on a hillock where mass catering for every festival is the name of the game. Turahalli forest, declared thus by an act of legislation, borders ours. Precisely why our complex is named Sobha Forest View. Chirping of birds and dancing of peacocks in merriment greet us every morning. 

“Small is beautiful,” on the contrary, describes aptly, as it is meant to, the life in Paripalana 3. Lord Guruvayurappan presides over the complex enjoying the best of breeze from the adjacent coconut grove, leaving the rest for the residents. In the last ten days that we are here we have been a party to Rama Navami, Panguni Uttiram celebrations, Lalitha Sahasranamam, Vishnu Sahasranaman, Pradosham Rudram chants, and practice sessions of Bhajan, Narayaneeyam, Bhagavatam…, and a day trip in two Tempo Travels to a Kerala temple.

You need to cover just four floors in the lift to reach to the ground, and not descend to earth from the 19th floor to buy vegetables. Sorry, no need for vegetables here. You just walk to the Dining Hall three times a day and enjoy your breakfast, lunch and dinner – all announced a week in advance. That allows one to take a call on whether to skip a particular menu and order from a private lady caterer nearby. 

Yes, the list is endless – on both sides. It is a tie, to sum up. But the scale at times tilts slightly towards the Retirement Home. The reason? Charity begins at home. I have enjoyed retirement for more than two decades, but the lady of the house never had a moment of respite. My retirement has only added to her woes, with my occasional hints: ‘how about a little second coffee - or even buttermilk?’ Or, “it’s raining outside, how about frying some pakodas to go with it?”  Otherwise during my working days, once off to work at 7.30 am, she had all the time for herself till 5.30 pm. 

“Be that so, but do you necessarily have to relocate just to give her respite,” confront me those who want us to stay back in Bangalore. “You can engage a cook, just order vegetables online, and enjoy the dishes of your choice,” they argue. 

As confused as ever.

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Marriages are Made in …Sri Sri Ashram Too

In Palakkad, my native place, one’s profession gets appended to his name:  Enna Kadai (Oil Merchant) Chuppamani, Pohela kadai (Tobacco merchant) Mani or Marundu Kadai (Medicine shop) Chellappa.

By this token my father should perhaps have been posthumously hailed “Pan-India love-marriage family” Samikutty. Yes, we have a boy or girl in marriage from Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra, Karnataka, or even the United States of America. And those to join the bandwagon include brides or grooms from…. I might as well wait till the status upgrades itself from ‘going steady to ‘taken the plunge’. There can always be a slip between the cup and the lip.

In our family the trend of selecting a partner by oneself was begun - you guessed it right – by me.  I found my life partner (from within the extended family) on my way to Dhaka on an assignment when the then East Pakistan liberated itself to emerge as Bangladesh.

Years later my elder brother’s son picked up the thread; he selected a girl from UP to lead a blissful life. My sister’s son followed suit to marry a girl from Maharashtra. His sister selected a boy from Karnataka. And three or four from the next generation are all set to formally announce their decisions – again belonging various States in India.

Today we had the pleasure of attending in Sri Sri Ashram the Tamil-Maharastrian couple’s son tying the knot to an American girl; the charming couple, both doctors from a top-notch US University. 

You get to interact with various people on such occasions. I got to chat with the guy who was arranging transport for the guests from one venue to the other. It was a vast area – one place for breakfast, another for lunch, yet another for dinner.  It transpired that as a baby he had acted in a few Hindi films. One such was in BR Chopra’s Baagban. Some of you might recollect the scene where the couple Amitabh Bachhan and Hema Malini by mistake break Amitab’s glasses. When they ask his son whom they had brought up so fondly, he declines for lack of funds. Next day his son loses or spoils his shoes, and the parents lose no time to buy a new pair…

“How come you didn’t continue”? That was not my cup of tea. My parents were eager. He is well settled in the hospitality industry in Vancouver.

One takeaway from these functions these days is that nearly 65% of the guests will be seniors with walking sticks, walkers… It would not be surprising if an outsider mistakes it for someone’s 60th or 80th birthday ceremony.

Most of the guests are likely to cherish, more than the attendance at the marriage, their good luck to meet Guruji, Sri Sri Ravi Shankar ji on not just one, but two occasions when he came to bless the couple. Yes, everything is preordained.

As we returned home happy at the stay in the Ashram for nearly three days, there was another co-resident couple alighting from a cab. They rushed to us: “Mama we are happy to announce that my son is marrying a Spanish girl. Our long-time hunt for a suitable girl is over.” They were thrilled.

It’s a small world. And small is beautiful. 

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Hail BBMP – Nay, our MC – Nay, Both

“Doorstep delivery from a Government body?”  ‘No way’, you might respond. Not any longer if we go by what is now happening in SFV. A team of BBMP officials were busy helping SFVians getting E-khatha or carrying out corrections to some of the earlier ones.  They did an extra day as well. Thank you BBMP and your staff.

No less gratitude is due to the members of the MC who did an outstanding job in organizing this. Some of them, and volunteers as well whom I spotted when I was in were Sajan, Chidambaram, Vaidya, Suma ji, Kiran… 

I had no plans to visit Club House for this. I was heading for my Vitamin D walk. It suddenly struck me that when I got my E-Khatha thanks to the then MC’s effort, I had it scrutinized word for word by my friend. He had pointed a small error in the Kannada version. He suggested it was not worth correcting it as the remedy could be worse than the disease. So I left it at that. 

“Why leave a legacy of problems? Who not try to sort it out? Take care of the penny, and pounds will take care of themselves…” wisdom dawned on me. I took just the E-Khata and went to Club House. “New E-Khatha or just correction?” asked our ever-smiling Suma whose indefatigable voluntary job to SFV is matchless. “Correction,” madam. She handed me a token. It called for some wait. But the volunteers guided me to the counter, spoke to some waiting guys whose turn it was before me. They all agreed, and I would be the next. What a wonderful camaraderie, many of whom I was not even acquainted with. Who says we are far from a well-knit family?

As I waited, I showed it to Mr Ramamurthy of Oak to detect that small mistake. He read through the document back and forth and said that the only mistake he could detect was that it reflected my carpet area as 0, and its figure had crept into the next column. “Maybe you would like to correct it, having come.” 

The BBMP official confirmed the mistake and asked me to show Sale Deed to verify. I had not carried it. The lady of the house rushed in with it, and with the MC volunteers vying with one another to help me dig out the sale deed, the relevant page, etc. it was all done in a jiffy. I thanked profusely BBMP officials and MC volunteers around. 

As I stepped into the lift with the lady of the house trying to stuffl in all loose papers into the bag to be sorted out back home, I hummed the old Tamil song, Kaatu vanga ponen, Kavitai vangi vanthen - I went in for something and came out with something else.

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Singing the Walk

SFV plays a mute witness to a host of activities. Hopefully, she enjoys some as puts up with others. 

Come morning, and she watches the disorderly haste or confusion of children not to miss their school bus. Some can be seen engaged in last minute preparations for possible questions, while in the lift. The parents are fully supportive. They hold their heavy-duty backpacks, run in advance to the lift that is working, hold the lift that is otherwise loaded with morning-walk crowd, and request them to wait for a second (read: a few minutes) as their child rushes in holding half bread in hand and struggling to gobble the other half. 

Then you have rehabilitative group – those with walking stick (the writer included) or walker doing their prescribed number of steps or rounds; others in wheel-chair accompanied by their caretakers. For the caretakers this is their most awaited morning meet. 

A little later assembles the ‘babies day out’ group with young attendant-ladies gently navigating the prams to a secluded place where they could give the babies juices, or cajole them to eat what they have packed for them from home. 

From 11.30 to 12.30 it is time for the Vitamin-D club (exposing to sun rays) – ladies on one side and gents on another. That particular day I counted ten ladies – some squeezing themselves in the two iron benches that they re-arranged to suit them, others content sitting on the cement park-boundary. Their occasional outburst of laughter indicated that they were having a blast.

The menfolk – around seven of them – busied themselves discussing, inter alia, diabetes, blood pressure, their present acceptable levels, the best medicine for these (the ones they were taking, that is); the happenings around; slowly meandering into politics – the suggestion of diverting of excess Ganges water into other states, and the assertion of an ex Chief Minister, now on bail, Ganga maiyaa ka ek boond pani bhi hum Bihar se bahar jane nahi denge… That trigers one member to hum, Tohre taal mile nadi ki jal mein, nadi miley sagar mein, sagar miley konisi jal mein, koi jaane na…  At this point Sivan (all names changed) makes a grand entry into the group raising his hands high and singing Hemant Kumar’s, Muj ko tum jo mile yeh jaha mil gaye, turning the meet into a singing session. Not to be outdone, Grover ji welcomes him, “Aap jaisa koi zindagi mein aaye…I joined the melee with the number, Aaja sanam madhur chandni mein hum tum mile…

A few more impromptu initial lines and the group choose to take a walk, continuing the singing session (unmindful of other walkers watching them) – a la a delayed start of an early morning Margazhi masa Bhajan in villages in South. 

“That is a nice way to pass the time,” commented one, as he walked past. The lady who participated in Antakshari in our one-day trip a couple of years ago, asked us, “Can the ladies also join?” We hesitated, because she beat us hollow that time. I saw yet another passer-by whisper something into the ears of his friend. Could it be, “if only they sang it in a moving train, they might have collected five or ten rupees.” 

The session went on for a round or two, and it was time to depart. Achha to hum chalte hain, hummed one. Phir kab milo ge, asked the other. Jab tum kaho ge, answered the first.

Yet another said, “Chalte, chalte, yaad rakhna, kabhi alvida na kahna. The third said, Oh jaane wale ho sake to lot ke aana, as each one of us branched off to our respective towers. 

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