Worth Emulating

 “Lalitha Akka and Sundaram Athimbar, you must stay with us for a couple of days,” insisted Kannan and Chitra, as they bade farewell to us after attending the Sampoorna Narayaneeyam the other day.

Kannan is Mami’s only brother, and Chitra, his wife. They are a fine Finance team – one a Chartered Accountant (among other qualifications), and the other a Cost and Management Accountant. They divide all their work at home – one prepares the worksheet for income-tax return, and the other checks it. One tallies the total in a bill, and the other pays. Even in the case of an edible item that both equally relish, one divides and the other gets the first choice. 

This spirit extends beyond home. Kannan called it a day much before actual retirement time, after wearing MD, CFO, COO and other hats in international firms of repute. The driving force? His constant desire to pursue greater purpose and happiness. As for Chitra, she gave up her lucrative job just for upbringing her two boys, both of whom are doing well in life in the States.

Kannan now runs a Trust which focuses on upscaling the skills of the not-so-well-to-do boys and girls of merit pursuing their engineering degrees in colleges of Tier three cities like Mandya, Maddur…These colleges seldom attract campus interviews. Kannan’s Trust adopted a two-pronged ‘attack’. First to upscale the skills of these bright ones to be picked up; second, to negotiate with firms of repute to either extend campus interviews to these colleges, or to contact his Trust to recommend to them suitable candidates. Thanks to this, as many as 100 boys and girls have found jobs, with attractive salaries, more than trebling their family incomes in many cases. An equal number has managed to get jobs on their own using the upscaled skills.

Kannan and his Co-Trustee funded the first three years of the Trust’s operations. However, enthused by the impact of the initiative, a few companies have now come forward with CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) contributions. The Trust  now runs from an office in Rajajinagar with staff and the necessary paraphernalia. In addition, some like-minded persons and institutions also are collaborating with him with technical assistance. In a nutshell, these genuine efforts from all around keep Kannan busy – and, to say the least, happy at the end of the day having given something back to the society.

As for Chitra, after seeing off both their children for Master’s in USA, she drove straight to the Spastics Society of Karnataka and registered herself for a post-graduate diploma course. She came out in flying colours. These past few years she works there as a  psycho-education consultant. She listens first to the parents and then conducts an educational assessment of the affected child’s problems and suggests possible remedies. Their recommendations for suitable accommodation are accepted by all the education boards like IB, CBSE and ICSE. For example, should she recommend that the child’s thinking and writing capacity are not properly aligned and hence he/she should be given ten minutes extra time or be provided with the services of a scribe in the examination hall, these Boards would consider it seriously. 

This is what we were able to decipher from the two days we spent with them, aside from visits to Chula Chauki da Dhabba, Orion mall, snacks stalls... As we got ready to return to SFV, we observed Kannan carrying two or three earlier model Apple laptops and chargers to the car. “Kannan, but you need only one laptop?” “Yes, Athimbar, these are for office staff.”

“Saravanan,” Kannan requested his driver as he got down near his office, “please drop them at Sobha Forestview Apartments – the place we went for puja the other day.”

A few minutes of silence in the car. We then looked at each other. “I think we too should also do something similar,” my wife said with a look that suggested that my actions in life left much to be desired. “By all means,” I reassured her. “However, for now, we shall add it to our “To-Do, Later” list and tick off our “To Do, Now” list:  Before Going to Coimbatore list; prepare and probate Will; Aquaguard – buy new or renew contract, update KYCs of banks or…

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Football Final, and old Recollections

‘Football’ is perhaps the word that was most in circulation ever since the FIFA World Cup started – be it in the lift, park, shop, or even after our Vedic chant. Unfortunately, like the ‘red-eye flight’, as they are called for flying late nights, watching football too became a red-eye activity because mostly it started at 12.30 am. Thus, we watched only the match between Brazil and Japan which started at 10.30. But we felt a void every time we read the hype in next morning’s newspaper. Oh my God, we missed it. So, we decided, come what may, we will watch the final. 

First the strategy to stay awake till 12.30. We completed the movie that we had seen half. It was 10.30. We watched India chase England’s formidable score of 387 in the 3rd and decisive ODI match. The going was good till Rohit Sharma was at the crease. He got out; our hopes shattered and thought we would as well hit the bed, because it was just 11.10 pm – and 12.30 was way off. 

I woke up at midnight; it was 1.33 am. I thought I would walk stealthily to the living room and watch the football final, keeping the volume low. But alas, hardly had I readied myself when the lady of the house got up too and asked the time. Suddenly she jumped out of the bed and asked, “Shall we then watch the rest of the World Cup final?”  We watched the second half. The score then was 0 – 0.

The match was one-sided with Spain dominating. Earlier, newspapers had rated the winning chances of Argentina at 70%. Messi was waiting in vain in Spain’s court hoping that his teammates would pass the ball, for him to shoot it to the opponent’s goal post in a jiffy.  Not that day. The ball was all the time in Argentina’s court. Messi was looking aghast. One felt he was making a guest appearance. Argentina’s goal-keeper did an outstanding job. He saved many and missed only one goal. The score could otherwise have been 3 or 4 goals. As for Spain, their indomitable spirit, outstanding passing of the ball - all deserved praise. 

Watching football and cricket took me to my own village days. We teens of the village would walk up to Ramu Anna’s house at the fag-end of the village. He would fill air in the football. He had a cycle pump. We would play in the Ammu fields, a patch that had been left uncultivated in the paddy field. At the end of the game, fully thirsty we would rush to our tiller’s thatched cottage and drink water from the pitcher that was in his front yard. We dared not tell this to our parents. Sometimes in a moment of weakness I would whisper it into my mother’s ears. On way back home whosoever had an Anna or two in his pocket would volunteer to buy peanuts and share with all.

As for cricket, for bat we had one made out of the ‘stem’ that holds the leaves in the coconut tree. Balan would bring what was once a tennis ball. We had a set of what would pass for ‘wickets’ from branches cut from trees. Regardless, our team was fairly good – at least a shade better than our neighbouring village Puthur team. Inhabited by fairly well-to-do families, their team had a good cricket kit. We would invite them in what broken English we were capable of then. “We wish to play a cricket match with you, with your ball, with your bat, and in your ground. Ball go, no ball.” The last sentence meant that in case the ball was lost in the adjacent paddy fields while hitting hard, we will not replace it. And they would readily agree. If my memory serves me right, in about eight games we played, we won roughly five.

I did umpire-duty as well couple of times. Truth be told, I favoured my team in the decisions once or twice. Later when we boys met at the village pond for bathing, some from the opposing team would hail me, ‘hello impartial umpire”.

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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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