Herbal concoction and the Allopathic Mixture

The one thing  that is viewed with contempt in my household is sickness in any form! When I come back from school with burning eyes and the whole body  slumping to the ground unable to carry the  yellow cloth school bag and the heavy brass tiffin box, aching for the much needed solace, my  father, with the badminton racket in hand  (a great believer in  outdoor activities!!!) would say " Go play for some time.... you will be fine." Angrily throwing my bag I would curl myself  at the corner of the room . But this indication would not shake him to utter a few comforting words. With a happy tune on his lips, and a thoughtless utterance " You will be ok before I come back" he would ride off in his bicycle for a game or two with his gang!   Mother who was always busy would come to me with concern with the routine question "Did you hurt yourself in the school?" If I nodded to indicate 'no' the next will be a more sensitive one hurting  your conscience "Did anyone buy you the stick ice?" I would  shake my head vehemently looking a bit hurt that mother should ask such a question bordering disobedience to  one of her many commandments. 

You may wonder why the question was that someone should buy rather than "Did you buy a stick ice?"

"The no money with the children" was one of her prime policy in our household. She would discourage the guests coming home from giving cash gifts to the children. But if some insistent guest thrusts the cash  with us " the immediate surrender of the same" was the prevailing unwritten rule!

 Coming back to our main story after this initial interrogation  the great specialist (of course my mother)  would begin her in-depth analysis ! With her helping hand she would make  me to stand up and touch my forehead  and say "Yes...... the fever is high....."  After this pronouncement I would automatically lift my blouse to show my tummy for the next scrutiny. She would slowly go through each segment to identify any spot in the region.....This  test is done to make sure that I didn't have measles or chicken pox...... Any one of this starts with an indigestive stomach. Satisfied and thanking God that it was neither of those contagious variety lest it spread to the other children she would ask me to lie down and provide the mat a pillow and a bed sheet and sleep till she prepared her tested and proven herbal concoction.....  She had the pending duty of a night meal too!

The only concession during this phase was that you were not asked to participate in the hour long night prayers." Lie down and listen piously." would be the generic command

 On ordinary times where a strict vigil over the younger siblings was the responsibility of the elder ones who engaged themselves in this duty with a dictatorial vehemence!

The herbal medicine is the colour of a rainbow. a conglomeration  of odd tastes heavily tilting (like the violet shade)   towards bitterness . An unavoidable vomiting would result in a hard slap since the preparation in itself was a time consuming tedious process. 

The belief system that an empty stomach is the primal point of a curative process  made sure that no food was  available for the patient except  for a  twice cooked thin watery rice porridge once a day. Rest of the day was literally filled with the boiled water in the wood burnt stove with its smoky smell which was another  punishment for the sick person.  Added to that as his contribution to curative process my dad would annoy you with a stern statement " Yes my dear girl, you can go to school tomorrow isn't it? "On the whole the system staunchly stood like the formidable Goliath against the sickness in the family!

There is a saying in Tamil that any feast or any medicine should not last beyond three days. If the herbal decoction consumed for three days wouldn't prove to be effective  the next option was to go the doctor for allopathic medicine.

Our doctor was not a specialist in any field of medicine. In fact he was not even an MBBS! He held some licence to practice medicine. This dark, plump  five foot man with a slight filarial swelling in one leg wearing white dhoti and  shirt  with an angavasthiram (A pristine creamy white silk towel with gold edging and folded like a fan) was indeed like a majestic king for us with his greatest gift of a big smile and a healing touch! His clinic always overflowed. Even today  I can relish his smile with all his teeth placed at a distance from each other. Since he was our distant relative he fondly called him thatha (grandpa)!

Early in the morning he used to come to a clinic two street away from ours. As the bullock cart turned to our street we could make out that theta's vehicle was going by the distinct jingling sound of the bells of the bullock. If anyone of us was standing outside he would give his big smile and wave his hand. If he was not in a hurry he would ask the cart driver to stop the vehicle. This was a big excitement for us.. As he came inside the house and if  we were standing half dressed in the process of getting ready to school, we would rush inside to put on a dress. All of us including mum and dad would kneel in front of him to get his blessings. He would enquire about our studies and made us feel at home without going into the silly details like marks, rank, et,. which is today's fashion. On ordinary days, he was too busy to eat but when he came home during Xmas season he would enjoy eating amma’s ghee laddus and praise the taste sky high!

I am not very sure why we didn’t visit his clinic which was close by to our house. May be that was someone else’s clinic where he was working  for some hours every day. Whenever we became extremely sick and incurable by mother’s home made concoctions thatha’s clinic  was the last resort. His clinic was at the other end of our busy town . As we were very young father would make us sit at the back seat of his Hercules cycle and fold our legs and tie them up lightly with a towel lest we fall asleep and tumble down on the road.

A visit to thatha’s clinic always carried a mixed feeling. While the boiling injection needles in a basin (That was the time when disposable injection needles were unknown and Theo’s needle industry at Ooty was doing a roaring business.) and the exhibits of big bottles of liquid medicine in a row and the compounder seriously powdering the pills in a big pestle and mortar would terrorise  you creating fertile goose pimples all through the system. The big smile of thatha pacified you and his sprawling palatial house ( our house can easily fit in a corner) excited you!!

"Please go inside and say hi to ammachi." he would say

 His wife whom we called ammachi with her soft spoken affectionate nature was a person God had rightly chosen for thatha. She would welcome us with a cute smile and  Ovaltine  an elite drink unavailable in our house!

 As the crowd got leaner we go into the clinic. Thatha would examine me with his stethoscope "Can I give you an injection....." He would say.  With the speed of light I hide myself behind father.

"I was joking my dear, come here" he would beckon me and call the compounder and instruct him about the medicine which invariably was a liquid which we called  'mixture'.  We bade good bye to thatha without paying a fee which was the norm!

Though thatha's medicine was not  bitter as mother's herbal one  it had  a very bad taste. But mother would make sure that we swallowed the dose indicated by a paper marker on the medicine bottle. With three doses  the sickness story should come to an end  and it was back to the routine!

 I want to  end this sick story on a pleasant note. We were in Pondicherry for a wedding. Wandering along through the various phases of life I lost touch  with the olden golden days and was pleasantly surprised when a young man who recognised me and introduced himself as the grandson of my doctor (thatha)  and his wife and the little son standing nearby smiled at us.  It was lunch time and was a buffet. After all of us settle down at a table  I continued to reminisce about our dear doctor thatha.....

"Your boy is missing..."I tell them

But he was coming from the buffet spread holding two bowls of soup in his hands!

"Poor boy...... should be very hungry....."

"This is for you both....." he smilingly placed the bowls in front of us both.

I was taken aback......what am I witnessing now....? Is it a miracle....?!!  The biggest smile of dear old doctor (thatha) was beaming in front of my eyes!

And I lost control of myself.......! I hugged the darling boy!!

Doctor Right

It was 15th July  2013. When I read the news of Dr.  Rangabhashyam’s  death my eyes swelled up in gratitude and great love and I remembered the surgery done on me by him four decades ago at his Ramana clinic.  For that great man  I might be just one among  his patients but the esteemed  place  he occupies in my heart is beyond words.

The incident is often narrated by me to friends who have medical conditions as a way of consolation and motivation.

The story goes like this: Except for my dear little girl who was all excited with an unexpected holiday in the midst of the year and  a bonus of a travel to Madras from Calcutta  to  grandpa’s place informing the same to all and sundry neighbours in her babyish Bengali and the infant baby boy with cherubic smile the whole house hold was in a shock.

 I had a lump at the left side of my breastt closer to the shoulder and it seemed to be getting big and pained some time. As an young engineer, new to Calcutta, my husband didn’t know to which doctor this condition should be referred to. The tested and proven place was Madras and that is  true even today what with Bengalis crowding Chennai for any major treatment. So with an infant in hand and his little elder sister, we travelled  in Howrah mail. My brother who was working as a doctor at Madras got an appointment with a well-known surgeon, a friend . He examined me in his consulting room and came back to his place and declared to my brother; "your sister has a cancerous growth and a suggested a surgery should be done at once and then by radiation  and then a test.....and then chemo....." he was going on and on.

 My brother, being a doctor, asked for more details  to make sure that the man was going in the right direction.

We couldn't believe our ears......... Cancer at 29...? There was no family history......And 1971 cancer was indeed a hideous word.....

We were so jittery that we didn't know how we reached home and shared the information with the family. Our family doctor who happened to be at Madras at that time came home and together we sat to decide the course of action. "He might be famous surgeon but he can also be wrong at times. How can he decide that the lump was cancerous without a biopsy? Let us go for a second opinion."My brother said.   Our family doctor proposed that we could go to another  well-known surgeon in the city  even though he didn’t know him personally. It seemed that he took cases by appointment. Arrangements were made and we got the appointment to see this surgeon a few a days later. The receptionist informed us “Please make sure that you are on time, the doctor is very  particular about timings and missing it makes you to get wait-listed and next appointment may not happen soon.”

Our  appointment was at 8 p.m. and we were promptly there at 7 p.m. There were not many people and we thought our call would not be far off.  We were used to the  of the crowded clinic of Dr. Banerjee at S.P. Mukherjee Road and got accustomed to how quickly he disposed of his patients. But that was not to be in this place.  The person who went inside the consulting chamber at 7.00 p.m. came out around 7.30 p.m. and similar was the case with the next patient too! This process astonished us.

Then it was our turn to go inside. I walked in as a sacrificial lamb. With his big smile in his big eyes he made me lie down on the examination table and the lump was analysed from various angles. Coming back to his seat he enquired the about the time the lump started forming . After some more questions he told us that it would be a minor surgery and if we wished we could have it the next day. The word ‘minor’ had a great connotation for us and then and there we decided to go through the surgery the next day.

The surgery was successful and when he visited me the next day he enquired about my health and informed me that my lump had been sent for biopsy and told me not to worry about it.

He came in the next day with a paper in his hand and asked me if I had fallen down somewhere or had violently hit myself or someone had hit me. Then I told him about  my train travel as I was carrying my three month old baby from my mother’s place in Kumbakonam to Calcutta . In the Howrah mail I had taken the middle berth with the baby beside me. At the middle of the night I woke up and turned myself suddenly to the other side imagining that I have pressed the baby but the baby was sleeping perfectly well. In the process of turning I had hit myself on the steel chain holding the berth and my left side was paining. And then there was the lump. Back at Calcutta I applied ointments, tried hot water bag but the lump seemed to have bulged and there was intermittent pain.

He asked me why I hid this fact from him. Again I did another explanation. I told the episode of  the doctor we first met (I didn’t  mention his name, neither did he ask for it) when I tried to tell him about the hit in the train  he laughed sarcastically and said the lump had nothing to do with the hit and that it was cancerous.

“Then it is congratulations to you!” the doctor laughed ,“the lump was a just a blood clot and now that it had gone out for good you can go back home a happy person. Go back to your Calcutta and enjoy the rasgolla (the celebrated Bengali sweet) !

He patted my hand with a smile and walked out. Those words and the pat was not just treasured by me but the whole household was filled with the good tidings  and the ambience was filled with uncontaminated joy!!

From then on if any one comes out with health problem at MTL we always referred them to that great man! A winner of the prestigious Padma Bhushan award and yet highly amicable to his patients  this man is a gem creating the needed confidence and who can easily earn a doctorate psychology too!!

Contagious compassion

"Good morning ma’am........ may I come in for a few minutes please. I thought I have to share it with you.." This was an event when I was working as General Manager – HR in a company.

One of our technical staff was standing at the entrance of my cabin.

"Please do come in......." The open office system didn't require any knocking.

This is her narration.

"My mother had been complaining of pain in both her knees and I had been postponing the visit to the doctor as time was at a premium with two managing small children and their home works and projects..... Come what may I decided to take my mother to the hospital.

"It was a famous hospital and we were waiting outside the orthopaedic specialist's cabin. When mother's name was called we went inside but I was shell shocked and confused when I saw a paraplegic sitting in a wheel chair in doctor's place. As both of us hesitated  the nurse invited us and seated my mother near the doctor's seat."

 My goodness he cannot even open his mouth..................."  I was miserable.

When both of us explained about her pain he listened with great concentration and then signalled the nurse to direct his hand to the knees. The tests varied  with the man's hand touching and pressing various parts of her knees and the surrounding areas and all the time he was watching my mother's face for any pain symptoms.  The whole affair  reminded me of my village puppet show! 

When everything was over the nurse brought out a medicine list and as the doctor nodded his head as she ran down the medicine list and ticked the medicines and wrote down the same in the prescription pad along with the dosage indicated by the doctor. The doctor did a final verification of the prescription and handing over the prescription sheet to us the nurse requested us to take the medicine regularly and gave the date for the next appointment. That was just the last straw on this camel back ..... no x ray, no scan and with some fiddling the medicine was prescribed. My pressure was up! As I was in two minds regarding the purchase of the medicine when I heard a voice from behind with a "Hello how are you? And how are you amma (mother)?"

She was an acquaintance of our family working there as a doctor.

 "She was a God sent manna....." I thought and  poured my heart out regarding the doctor and his diagnosis or the lack of it.

"Can we sit somewhere" she said pointing to some seats "amma cannot stand for a long time."

"It is  a long story my friend........." she said   The doctor who examined amma is  a brilliant doctor who specialised in accident orthopaedic  medicine at Liverpool and while he was working there he got into a car accident. He was in coma for two years and after lot of surgery combined with physiotherapy he regained his hearing while he lost the movement of his legs and hands. After he recovered he resolved to himself that whatever he had studied should not go to waste and he wanted to forget about his disabilities too. He wanted to serve the people.

"But that doesn't justify his present position"

"Please listen ...." she said Patients come in large number to take his consultation and he can diagnose as well as any other expert doctor without burdening the patients with unnecessary expenses. Amma should be lucky to get an appointment from him.

I was loosening up. His simplicity was misconstrued by me as inefficiency.

"And do you know that he does all these work on an honorary basis and not only that he had created a special ward for people who had lost the use of their limbs below the waist due to  accidents. It is free of cost and many a poor people have benefited and are leading a life where they are able to manage their livelihoods by themselves." my friend was eulogising  

"I was ashamed of my wrong judgement madam.." she told me

"Most of us tend to form opinions before we give a deep reflection of the situation" I tried to soothe her misery.

"While I learnt a lesson" she continued "there is a miracle happening in my house...... There is paradigm shift in my mother's attitude. She says when a hapless man could do so much for the society  why should I burden myself with minor things as a knee pain. Now she runs around the garden watering the plants and fills the neighbourhood with  her bonhomie.

"Life is a continuous process of learning and counting the blessings my dear girl" I said and we shook our hands nodding in agreement.

The Gold rush

It was not very often that people go abroad in the 1980s. It was my first trip abroad. I still remember the dates 4th to 8th October 1980. I have flown a few times between  Calcutta and Madras ."Lucky lady..... she is  going to Singapore... the paradise on earth..!!! She would definitely bring in lot of gold and plenty of saris to fill her house.." This was the general idea about a traveller to Singapore. But they didn't know that I might be a weird exception to that rule!!

 We were going to Singapore looking for the prospect of a collaboration. The custom procedures for international travel was  new to me.  At the customs I was asked to account for my jewels, a chain two bangles and a pair of ear stud and asked to sign the document. I was worried ... what are they up to ? As I came out and confided to my better half. He told me not to worry and it was just to make sure that we did not bring  in additional gold from Singapore,  where gold was supposed to be cheap, by exchanging our small chains and bangles  into  heavier ones and thus create a loss of revenue to the government.

 "Let us not worry about it. Our budget is worse than the Indian one and any illegal means are not at all in our books" We laughed!

When we came back after the trip my gold was verified and I was questioned about  any extra gold  to which I answered in negative.

"But you should have brought lot of saris madam.. "The officer asked. Again it was a negative answer

I can't believe you... not even a single sari .....?! Going to Singapore and coming back without even a single one...?! Impossible.....

Possessing a Singapore sari was  deemed to be of high standard in the good old days and the body hugging quality of the Japanese georgette silk was an envy of the have nots and a gift of a Singapore sari was perceived as a great honour and always received with  great reverence!

 I was not against buying those revered saris...... but where do you get a sari sitting in the meetings (just an observer and nothing more!) and rest of the time being driven around to see the Singapore sights  and a big dinner with our prospective collaborator at the revolving restaurant at Mandarin Hotel..? Revolving restaurants were a rarity then and rotating around we were bewildered  to see borders of Indonesia and Malaysia

When I related this back home a Singapore relative who was  listening laughed.

"Listen to my part of the story. Whenever I come from Singapore I want to bring the maximum items including gold as my tribe here is really big. For instance I used buy beautiful georgette materials that can make for three saris and tie it as a single sari when I board the plane. I can bring in lot of gold but there was a limit. I used to wear a long sweater and hide some bangles as arm bands above my elbow. The bangles and other jewels I wore were legal while the 'armbands' weren't! The modern metal detecting machines were absent then. A good rapport with the customs would get me through most of the times. My obesity due to the big sari and the haggard gait and my age and my endearing approach would smoothen  the ambience and gift of few saris will push me right royally to the exit gate" She declared triumphantly!

I gaped about the nexus between the saris and gold and not very happy about the state of affairs.

While a Singapore citizen can sail through the customs with arm bands of gold we Indians like third grade citizens were asked to affix our signature for the gold we are wearing and account for the same when we returned.

Except for the revolving restaurant story I didn't have much to offer to my friends and relatives!

I thought that I could  at last  say by to  golden story. But my golden  destiny  thought otherwise!

The two decades in between the millennium and the eighties  brought in lot of changes.  Better saris were available in India and the customs' trite with   checking your gold  with signature affixed was a thing of past and it never bothered much with the small gold items brought into India since prices compared well between the countries and with clever machines to identify any excess smuggled gold  hidden  cleverly in the bags and baggage,  all was well with the nation!

 Then it happened! We came into a collaboration.  Singapore became the Asia hub for the operations. We were properly settled there and it was my first trip back to India. I had duly bought some gifts for the MTL family  at Chennai.

As we were about to collect our baggage  at the Anna International Airport Chennai we were stopped with one our suit cases marked with white chalk with the big multiplication mark! My man was called aside. I was worried. I didn't know what expired between him and the customs. He came back to me, a worried man!

"Did you buy some gold..?."

"No.........." A vehement protest from me!

"But there seems to be lot of gold in our suit case....."

"May be someone had pushed in....."

"But the lock is intact ........."

Then I realised that I had bought 150 odd key chains with the Singapore lion gold gilded emblems.

"I think I  bought  a good amount of key chains in gold colour."

At the end the case was solved.  The bag was never opened. Our words held good!

 If anyone of you guys in the MTL family still possess one of those golden key chain or remember getting one of those  this story is dedicated to you and only  you!

A Vibrant Highway of Many Dimensions

What is there in a road you may wonder?

NH 45, the highway between Chennai and Trichy, is an entirely different experience for us, the regular travellers!

NH45's starting point is Chennai and it extends up to Theni  though our journey ends at Trichy, the Rockfort city.

Those were the days of narrow roads when without breaking a coconut to a small but powerful temple in the where about of Chengalpattu,  a safe journey was never assured.  Our driver would collect these the needed items for pooja even if he forgot to fill the tank and the  additional  can of petrol ( when petrol pumps were almost non-existent and even the measly ones didn't have the stock!)  It was another story that once in the process of filling up the tank from can he sucked in quite an amount  petrol (used to suck the petrol with a small hose) which created an emergency situation and we had to rush him to a clinic which was hard to find in the god forsaken place! But the good news is that he survived the ordeal of pumping out that precious liquid off his tummy (not usable anymore!)  and today lives healthy and happy with his cattle and children! 

Coming back to the small yet powerful temple, the thronging crowd of devotees made up of the vehicles queue up till the obeisance was done by each driver to the fullest satisfaction of the goddess.  In spite of this time tested ritual one can witness five to six trucks turned turtle  to the accompaniment of  occasional smashed up smaller ones on a journey!  'Dangerous curves slow down please' and ''very dangerous' curves slow down please' created no fear unto those drivers minds. Like the ten commandments of the Lord these were ignored by all and sundry  and instead  steadfast  hope was positioned  in the tested and proven Indian fatalism!

 There were plus points too. Though the yesteryear roads were narrow the age old tamarind  trees  formed  beautiful welcome cave  all through the journey so much so one can wind  down  the car windows to get the assured cool breeze. And a small picnic among the groves of either a breakfast or a lunch or a snack and coffee was an enjoyable event!

On that particular day as  we traveling from Chennai my eyes couldn't believe what they witnessed.  Those huge tamarind  trees being  sawed off with the help of big machines! I was in tears . It was atrocious. It was similar to the shivers that ran   through my nerves when I watched in the TV the cruelty at  Bamiyan in Afghanistan  where those beautiful Buddha statues were dynamited due to religious orthodoxy.

It was  little solace when my dear husband pointed out to the saplings being planted off the roads with proper tree guards and the explanation that sacrifice in some form had to be made for growth and development. In this case it was a four lane roads for our comfortable travel!  That trip was indeed a sad one!

Now we go through the luxury of four lane roads paying through the nose at the toll gates of NHAI. It is heartening to see the  plants growing up to  trees. The median is a blossom of  red pink and white  oleander  plants.  And since the saplings were just growing up  the other items by the roadside attract me.

For one thing the name of the hotels throughout the journey fascinate me. Apart from the ubiquitous  Vasantha Bhavans, Sangeethas, Balaji Bhavans and the mushrooming Adayar Anandha Bhavans, the creative and the imaginative ones thrill me. Starting from hotel Pattikadu. saappida vaanga , Mappillai hotel, (bridegroom hotel ) keda kari virunthu, (young lamb feast) naattukozhi samaiyal, (country chicken cooking) Mamiyar hotel (mother in laws hotel) Sona Meena  3 idlis ( what if you ask for more than three?! will they come in threes only nothing less or nothing more?! ) Haritham hotel at the 100th km and the all-pervading Kumbakonam degree coffees in their various avatars  make the journey appealing .One lodge in particular near Perambalur is named ‘Rani Thangum Edam’ (place where the queen stays) and I wonder whether the king can stay along with the queen.

Religious fervour abound throughout our journey. The first striking point as we travel from Chennai is the   Melamaruvaththur Adhi Parasakthi Peetam, with  its own reddish tinge. During the festival season we have to anticipate a heavy traffic jam amidst the  sea of  the red saris and  dhotis  which could beat  a trade union congress of  Kerala in that vibrant shade! Adjacent to it is the  mazhai malai madha koil (which literally translates as "Our Lady of rain hill") with the big Ave Maria sign etched in the local lingo on the hill side facing the road . The winding steps leading to the church atop the hill is a view worth a watch.  On full moon days people go for catholic version of 'Girivalam' (perambulating the hills as at Thiruvannamalai)  Continuing with the temple story at the 100th km to Chennai one can witness a grand and mammoth Siva's statue  adjacent to an equally big Hanuman one! We also witness small ones like a Christian denomination chapel called  ‘Philadelphia samaadhana  sabai’. (Philadelphia Peace Congregation) You may wonder what  could  possibly Philadelphia  do to make peace at NH45? Mind you we  Tamilians  are indeed highly imaginative as far as naming everything including our gods and goddesses !  The ‘Vallalar Thirumana koodam’ (Wedding hall with the name of an ascetic saint)  tickles you as equally as the Mother Theresa Thirumana Nilayam (match making centre)!

The ‘Thiruvaachur Madura Kaliamman’ temple (Madura means 'endearing') depicts a study in contrast of  Kali's natural terrorising iconic symbolism!

In contrast to the Melamaruvathur  red  we witness pilgrims in their yellow attire as we approach Trichy walking sans chapels to the Mariamman temple at Samayapuram.  "My problem will be solved or my problems had been solved by the dear mother and I have to play my part properly" is the staunch belief  of these walking pilgrims!

Apart from these, one can witness people going in groups in their saffron attire during the months of August and September to Our Lady of Good Health's church at Velanganni,  pilgrims in green attires during second half of January to Lord Muruga's temple at Palani hills and sabarimalai Ayappan pilgrims all through the year. I am sure all the good vibrations emanating from these pilgrims will reach the travellers of NH45 too!

Another interesting God awaits us in the midst of the South Pennar river at Karadipakkam near Vizhupuram. You won't believe when I say the gold painted statue of Buddha is giving away His blessing to all those who take the effort to turn  to the river and pay their respect to Him!

There are some forts too on your way. The invisible 'Elavanasoor Kottai ' after Ulundurpettai though not  visible  from the high way the name board  kindles ones imagination.

'Ranjan Kudi kottai  which is visible from the road at Mangalamedu stirs up the interest in history."

But I feel guilty  writing about it  since we are always in a hurry to reach Trichy never ever taking the short detour to have a closer look at that dilapidated yet historical fort!

Further down  near Perambalur we take small detour to visit  the National  fossil wood park board, proving that these places were part of the sea eons ago and the marine calcium deposits has indeed made this district the cement  production region of Tamil Nadu.

I will end my NH 45 story with an equally interesting story. At Vikaravandhi cutting, the NH45 parts way with Kumbakonam and Thanjavur road and once we were obliged to take the road to attend a function. The road was narrow and goes via Pantruti, the cashew centre of Tamil Nadu. As we approached Pantruti there were innumerable stalls on either side of the road selling cashew nuts and I started salivating.  Promptly the vehicle was stopped and  I got down. Those packages did not belong to the broken variety but the cashew nuts were in their full beauty and majesty! I  enquired the price. It was way below of what we pay in Chennai. But still I bargained . Why not? They can share some of their profits with me! Elated at my bargaining prowess I became generous and unlike Aleksandr Solzhenisyn didn't stop with 'The First Circle' but continued with the  second circle too and bought one packet for my driver and my cook.

Back in Chennai the first distribution was to my driver and the cook.

"Ma.. did you eat the cashew nuts?" the cook asked  sternly asked me after two days.

"Not yet....."

"They are not good.."

I know that she belonged to those clan of critics  who can find fault with the best Mysurpa sweets from the famous  Sri Krishna sweet stall in Chennai!

"I want to you to open one..." 

I didn't want to.......   but to prove a point  I took one from the shelf.

"A full cashew is a beauty to behold isn't it.....?" I wanted to impress upon her mean self with the right attitude.

But she was already  there with the kitchen scissors. I took it from her and opened the pack. It was an effort to open the tightly packed plastic. I was aghast when  I tipped the contents into  a tray. Apart from the few full cashews artfully arranged around the pack the rest were.... what could I say... the rest  were the trash of  cashews which no one would touch  with a barge pole even  for free.... !

The victorious look on the cook's face didn't bother me. For once she was right.

And I learnt a life lesson  that day. Except for the fresh and loosely sold guava  at Ulundurpettai toll gate I scorn any packed item, however tempting  it is, at NH45 and its surrounds!

Revolutions Par Excellence

A little girl leaves her village to take up a challenge

 She was a new bride of  15 when she landed in the village where her husband was the headmaster of the middle school. She was also a village girl but her background differed. Her father sent her to a town school to learn  a bit of English. When she started the school she was ridiculed by the town girls, who thought that they were of a superior class.  But the girl challenged herself to learn the language within three months and became such a star that the bewildered principal took her around the classes to demonstrate to the other students what a determined mind could achieve! Though her father took her off the school before she could attain puberty in accordance with the village custom her thirst for books never ceased. She knew by heart most parts of  Constantine Beschi's  great Tamil literary work 'Thembavani'

After the harvest season, when the villagers were relaxed,  the nights in the veranda of her house would be a gathering place for the village people interested in listening to the stories from  Indian mythologies and from the very young age and either her elder brother or she would be the readers of those stories in their ringing and clear voice. The audience got so thrilled with the way the story was read out that they would carry her on their shoulders praising the father for having such a wonderful daughter!

But this village was utterly different. While the men toiled in the lands the ladies apart from the household work  engaged themselves in gossiping and whiling away their time in the board game known as dayam.  The girls who were not sent to school after certain age merrily joined this gang whiled  away their time!

Even though there was a chapel  bigger than that of her village was there in her new village where she settled down with her husband, the involvement of the village community who were all Christians, was zilch and  it was left to the sacristan to take care of the Lord with just the obligatory  obeisance  carried out by the villagers.

Teachers were a respected lot in those days and the teacher's wife was given equal importance   and that too the 'head teacher's wife' had a prestigious place what with people coming in to help her out  bringing with them small eats like roasted ground nuts. One thing led to the other and the bride started with new songs to be sung in the church.

 The enthusiasm caught on and the singing ladies turned out to be the  amazement  of the congregation. Taking a detour from their routine  the ladies gathered in  her house in the afternoons where she would entertain them by reading bible and magazines with good values.  But there was opposition to this change from the people who were content with the prevailing laissez- faire system. One day as they were reading the bible  missiles of cow dung landed inside the house and the children who were accompanying their mothers got the fright of their lives and said" From tomorrow we will stop reading." But these threats were no deterrent  to our lady's determination and courage  and the priest who came to the village once a week  condemned the miscreants from the pulpit and the missiles stopped .

The girls who had  done their elementary education were asked to read for the group; no problem if there was a going to be wrong pronunciation or a mistake. Encouraged thus  the illiterates too wanted to learn and read. So groups were formed and sand was spread in the big portico in the middle of the house and a mini school came into existence. Slowly a talent pool was created. Those who knew stitching helped others. Good recipes were shared. Small plays with great ideals were enacted by the accompanying the children. Harmonium was brought out, new songs were composed, annual day in the school became grand success. The ladies formed a group and named it as " Sacred Heart of Jesus ." Small contributions were collected and a president and a treasurer were elected which they decided would go on rotation on an annual basis so as to make each one of them learn the management skill and responsibility . Birthdays and wedding days were celebrated with small gifts and sincere wishes.

The preparation for the biennial 'picnic to the nearby forest started days ahead with the preparation of sweets and savories. Old folk songs were revived for the occasion and once "the ladies and children alone" party reached the vantage point in the forest the place was indeed filled with free spirits beyond their imagination with everyone giving full vent  dancing and singing with gay abandon. After sharing the goodies the group went on to collect the bounties of the forest land. The shampoo leaves, varieties of berries for pickling  and a rare jack fruit if they were lucky were packed for common distribution!

This bonhomie  and the positive vibrations flourishing  among the lady members slowly encompassed even the cynical family members to the extent that they willingly came forward  to send their girls for higher studies  instead of an early marriage, they volunteered to send them to the town to qualify themselves for jobs!  After many a decade those girls are now retirees drawing  pensions and gratefully remember the miracle pair of the 'big teacher and his intelligent wife'  but for whom they would not  in the position they are today. It was a revolution of sorts with an innate beauty that emanated from the petit bride of fifteen!

Another young girl leaves India to take up an international challenge.

She was a girl of 21 and after obtaining a postgraduate degree in Chennai was on a flight to England to pursue her doctoral studies. Never ever out of home with every little need taken care of by the family, the alpha and omega of survival was hers alone. The yearning for something more than the study course was  ever present in her sub conscious mind. It was a chance meeting with a colleague that proved to be the trigger point.

 "Can we do a Indian fashion show?" was how it all started.

 "Why don't we give a little Indian dance performance for this occasion?" was the next step.

"Can I teach you ladies some steps to join me on the stage?"

With willingness and perseverance  she indeed gave the first regular performance in the international women's club in Norwich, UK. With just four dancers she had coached, she enacted the part of Ramayan starting with Sita's abduction changing rolls in a flash! The rhythm, the technicality of the steps and the emotive skills became  her trade mark. Slowly and steadily the group started to grow. A room in the university for the practice session was an unexpected boon. The once a week session was not just for dance practice but sharing the good vibes too.

"With my whole heart I am giving you my precious art  and  your willingness to learn will be my only expectation and it is up to you grab it and enjoy " was her motto !

"Don't  be discouraged if you are not getting the steps right..... with a bit more  concentration you will be my competitor!"

 Vinayaga Chathurthi, Saraswathi Pooja  was celebrated with more enthusiastic performances  and so too was Diwali and Christmas. Indian sweets were shared along with the western delights. Their fame slowly spread and they danced for the mayoral procession in the centre of the city, many a prestigious village and town halls  of United Kingdom and Indian weddings happening in that land . A church invited them to give their performance to the congregation!

The bonhomie created by the bride of 15 was witnessed in this far away land too! This young girl who left the shores of India at 21, has created an ambience  togetherness,  sharing the happiness and sorrows with equal grace. The annual picnic to the forest by the bride is continued here too when the group of  " dancing ladies only" chose a location for the week end  dancing to their heart’s content with gay abandon and sharing the joy being together and cooking many  a meals together!

"I am what I am today because of you and our dance group." is the equivocal comment by every member of the dance group.

The above two stories, the first being the story of a young new bride creating a big revolution in a tiny little village is none other than my dear mother's life story and the second part is about my dear daughter. The self-confidence created by the village bride which encouraged  the girls to come out of their cocoons exhibits itself here too when Bharatanatyam, a professional art form, which most people find difficult to master, has been taught and mastered by an international community consisting of Chinese, Indian and British girls.

As we witnessed Natya Priya's  (this is the name by which this dance group is known,20th year performance I was moved to tears with this unimaginable semblance in the attitude of the grandmother and the grand daughter and I standing as a mute witness with both the shows!

Determination and Beyond

We were watching an interesting programme in Tamil, compered by a famous actor. One of the participant asked  if he could ask him a personal question. With the 'go ahead signal' he asked what he thought was his special attribute or trait. Taking a few minutes before he answered he replied "My father is an industrialist and going by Indian standards the son naturally follows suit. But when a chance offering came across to act in a movie I said I give it my full effort and I think I had succeeded. Take for example this particular show. I don't have great proficiency in Tamil and by nature I am a reserved person; look at me now....... I conduct the show meeting and interacting with people who are fluent in Tamil. If I think I am incapable of a particular job, I go with double vigour and determine that I should achieve it by hook or crook!" 

As I listened, I remembered our dear friend who used to share his life events with us. He was an eminent man holding high position in the government. A good leader who led his team with aplomb. But come to the family front, he was a zilch. It was his gracious wife who had to organise even his daily chores to make sure that he had his pen filled with ink (It was those days of ink pens!) his clean handkerchief was in place, he put the right shoe in his right leg and doesn't forget his attaché case! If his personal life was so dependent on her we need not go into the social front. Even after he retired as he was immersed in his own books and writings and there was no respite in her assignments. The man was as usual was living in cloud nine as a care free bachelor boy. But that particular day  dawned differently.  She passed on to her next life and she was no more there to run the errands. It hit him like a bolt from the blue. He so dumbstruck that he couldn't even cry. The dazed look on his face made the people and relatives who came over to pay their condolences think that he was going go mad.

His three sons and their families  were discussing about their dad's future. They tried to talk to him." Dad please come and stay with one of us. Even if we cannot match mum's standard we will try our level best to keep you happy. It is also perfectly alright with us if you decide to stay alternately with us." At last the man opened his mouth. "Can you give me some more time to think over?" They were delighted that he had at last opened up a bit.

The expectant family gathered again awaiting dad's decision.

"I have decided to stay alone." These words from their dad's mouth "I have decided to stay alone." shocked them beyond measures. Never in their dreams they anticipated this answer. When he asked for time they were under the impression that he was considering his choice of place. Now it was their turn to think that he was going mad. He would definitely make a mess of himself. But the man continued "I know the love affection you and your families shower on me. But I would  like to learn my basics. Our gardener's wife had promised to take care of the house. I can help in educating their children. I may not do a perfect job, I may falter and fail, I may be gullible still I want to learn. When my gut feelings tell me that I am a chaos I will not hesitate to seek your help.

"It going to be a financial and psychological disaster I say....." one of the sons commented

But others wanted to give him a long rope. Keeping their fingers crossed they left the man to his own fate.

That ignorant man tabulated everything starting from his daily menu, the works to be done with timings; an account book was created and each and every paisa was accounted for; he made it a point that the servants' children read the English newspaper for him daily morning to increase their proficiency in the language.  He knowingly or unknowingly followed the Japanese quality way of KAIZEN (continuous improvement).

He entertained his guests with fresh cool juice from his kumquat tree sprawling over his front garden. One day he surprised his sons and their family by inviting them over for dinner! It was indeed a revelation! In addition he threw in a shocker too when he said that they were welcome to this house as if their mother was alive!

This was the man who was considered a dud in his brilliant family and his mother's only prayer to God was that this son should pass his school final examination. and get a clerical job in the government to have financial security in his life. When he passed his school final and wanted to continue his higher studies like his elder brothers, his parents obliged him. But once he was in college there was no stopping him. He came out with flying colours and not just that but won a scholarship to go US to further for his Doctorate!

That  person is none other than  dear uncle, B.W.X. Ponnaiah, whom we call our "Morale Booster".  We might read many such wonderful things in news or in the media but when it happens close to us it touches the heart and enthuse us to follow suit! Thank you uncle!

Et tu, Brute – You too Brutus

If you go through the matrimonial columns in the newspapers as well on the internet the bride grooms invariably seek for fair tall and beautiful brides of equal status. The yearning for a  fair skin is a sub conscious itch solidly residing  in Indian mind set. This addiction to  ladies' fairness  had been in existence from time immemorial in our country.

 If a  girl in the family is fairer than the other sibling the comparative  analysis is an unending  process by relatives and even by the parents. And the jealousy among the cousins based on skin colour sometimes turns into a horrible  family feud.

This had happened in one of our friend's place in the late sixties. The bride viewing  was to happen in that house that day and the bride's parents were worried.

"Their elder daughters in law of the house are fair but our girl is dark." the mother of the girl lamented.

The girl was beautiful in her own way and had done a degree which was mandatory qualification for a bride prevailing at that period among the middle class families.

 One of the aunt who usually acted as a beautician for all the weddings in the family circles consoled the mother and told her not  to worry  about the  girl and that it was her responsibility  to make sure that our girl went to that house  as a happy bride.

The  groom's family arrived on time for the customary evening tiffin and coffee  and it was the bride who served the coffee after wishing every one and have  a sly look at the groom!

The bride being displayed, the question whether the groom liked the girl would be shot at the boy. But this day it was not happening. The elders of the boy's family were talking among themselves which never augured well.

The bride's side  waited with bated breath for a 'yes' from the  guests. After a long murmured discussion the boy's mother stood up and asked the girl's mother if she could have a word with her. She called the  mother and girl  aside into a room and  making sure that the door was locked told them  that they came for the girl after knowing about  their family but the problem was that the girl seemed to be having some skin condition and that she was very sorry to refuse  her. Instead of getting angry  at such a reproach on her daughter the mother of the girl fell on  the groom’s mother feet and started crying. 

" Please..... don' do it ....... get up please. " the boy's mother was embarrassed . 

"Amma I told you never to do such things. See where it has landed you now." Lifting her mother the girl started explaining  the whole story.

 "Auntie (to the groom’s mother) they wanted me to look as fair as your other daughters in law and would you believe that  a tin full of Ponds powder was not only applied on my face but on all other visible parts of the body and both my hands became the first victims" she laughed " Sorry auntie for this gimmick  and you can look for a fair bride . Forget about this  fancy show and we will not mistake you."

" But we didn't want a fair brides. We wanted a child from a good family to come into our house and if my other daughters in law are fair it happened  so"

" In that case  you please wait." The girl ran inside the toilet and had a thorough wash of the whitish powder and  with a bindi on her forehead she came out. Instantaneously her would be mother in law smiled and hugged her. Out from the room she majestically asked " When can we fix the marriage?" to the bewilderment of the gathering!!.

If this  was one part of the fairness story I would like to share with you another one. The marriage for another of my friend's daughter had been fixed and days before the marriage the girl was tempted and fell for an advertisement where  after a phase of four shades,  a black skinned  girl on the TV  metamorphosed into a fair looking one. The desire to be the fair caught hold of her fancy and that very night she having purchased the advertised costly beauty cream, and applied it generously on her face. The family got the fright of their life when they saw her swelled up face in the morning! She was rushed to a hospital and it took almost a fortnight to get back her normal decent face  and luckily it had  regained its original condition just before the wedding!

" You were looking good on the engagement day...... has something gone wrong in the interval?" was the husband's first question on their busy wedding day. In the process of making the bride fair and lovely the beautician had turned her into a red faced simian! The rouge on the cheek ........Is it ever needed for an Indian girl?!

A funny thing  happened roughly a decade ago. We were waiting in the church along with the priest and the wedding was behind schedule.  Usually it was the bride who was the root cause of delays for the whole show but to the amusement of the gathering the news was that the bridegroom was delayed in the beauty parlour! Whatever  had happened to the genre of bride grooms! we wondered.  Those were the days when they didn't bother much about their appearance and after an intensive card session with friends through the night they lazily got up for a bath and lo behold  got ready in a jiffy  for the great day!

But we didn't realise that it was the beginning of big  IT money  and the commercialisation hath indeed  extended its tentacles to  ensnare that  gullible innocent male ego! And our men too love to be fair and lovely!  

Et tu Brute?

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P.S. An information that you can share and enjoy in this regard with our friends. Genetically Dravidian  complexion was never fair. You may wonder that why some of them are fair. The kings of Tamil Nadu are the culprits. When they invaded North India and won the wars the higher officials like treasurer used to marry the petty princess and hence the mixed race. If we are not fair we are the originals!

This info was shared by late Dr. B.W.X. Ponnaiya a horticultural scientist par excellence who also had great passion in knowing about the caste and tribes of South India  and on his passing at the ripe old age of 90, he bequeathed his seven volumes "Castes and Tribes of South India" by Edgar Thurston. Now it sits my husband’s library.

My cheesy adventures

I am compelled to go back to my origin very often and this week is no exception. It was a time when Edanganni prospered with cattle of all sorts and  cows. Invariably  there would be plenty of new born amongst them in a season and whenever it happened the first milk from the cow supposed to be very nutritious  would be distributed to who so ever was present at the venue. Through enthusiastic word of mouth we the young gang  would be present there intensely watching  the birthing process. But after  witnessing the sodden shivery calf I would run off and hide myself into a depths of secrecy even before anyone could see me. once bitten twice shy I hated that  first milk, the curdled up creamy variety!

My dad  was a very pious and sincere person used to be the guide for the cloistered Carmelite nuns whenever the need arose. He did it as a service to the Lord with no monetary benefit involved in the process.   As days passed the mutual  affection grew and the mother superior who was a Belgian lady used to share the goodies she got from her native place with our big family too. Those were the days when the Suez canal was open and any amount goods could reach India very quickly by ship. The giant sized slabs of chocolate bars, milk powder and bulgur wheat were indeed a treat for us who were used to ground nuts  and their ilk. The milk powder could licked from the hand as an evening Tiffin and with no refrigeration the chocolate slabs were gobbled up as quickly as they came. Once dad brought in a very strange item from the convent. It was a  rectangle shaped huge chunk wrapped in a white paper

"Was it butter?"

 "No it was too thick and brittle to be that ."

"Was it some sweet milk preparation?" We tasted it. It was salty and had a stench and a smell very similar to the first milk of Edanganni cow. The only difference being that they add jaggery at the village whereas  they have boiled it with salt. we knew it should be  a good stuff since it was from mother superior.  As we were wondering what to do with it we heard a call from the night beggar. At once we decided to present this unnamed item to him. Wrapping it in a paper we happily gave it to him. Ours being the house at the end of the street the beggar usually sat on the nearby canal to have his supper. That chap should also have been as curious as ourselves. (My elder brother followed him on the sly!) No sooner than he sat he eagerly opened the parcel; he smelt it; tasted it. He was in a dilemma . And then cursing all of us he threw the bundle right into the canal by which time my frightened brother had ran back home.

Cheese...... that was my undoing!!

We were in England. After dinner the lady of the house brought out a platter full of cheese that was greeted with   culinary  adulations   from the guests. "The best collection of cheese..." my husband salivated! 

"Why didn't they bring out nice cakes or muffins as Nigella did in the TV shows?" I wondered!

Years back my close friend , my darling daughter and I were on a tour of Italy.  It was an  era in India  when pizza, pasta, McDonalds, KFCs and other  foreign cuisine were unknown entities. We started our itinerary from Venice, sailed their Gondolas, the making of glass sculptures and buying the mandatory masks. It was indeed an enjoyable touristy routine till I saw  big red apples in a store !! As I was wondering what sort of hybrid variety that could be my friend  clarified that it was cheese. Accustomed to our miniscule Amul cheese this was  an unbelievable  size in my sight.  I accepted it's presence with a Laissez-faire (let the sleeping dog lie")  attitude not knowing the efficacy with which it was going to attack me!

It was dinner time. The ante pasta  was a brinjal (which they call aborigine ) soaking and fried in olive oil and it was delicious .  It was more like a Bengali feast for me where they start with a fried brijal (of course in mustard oil) as an auspicious beginning. May be these Italians  had some connection with our Bengalis in their previous life!  But that was not to be! The main course was a  steaming hot item in a white coloured sauce." mm...... pasta in a white sauce" My companions salivated.  As soon as it was served the server took  a  jar with a big hole from the table and started sprinkling copious amount  of some white powdery stuff (parmesan cheese I learnt later) over it . The general mood  was that of bonhomie with the best of wine  in crystals  And the man wished us  bon appetite and  left us to enjoy the meal. With my first  spoonful of Italian food  unto my  mouth and I was out of my senses! The Edanganni experience of once having the curdled milk filled my stomach and I wanted to spit it out..... I excused myself to run  towards the toilet. When I came back both my companions were worried.

"All of a sudden I developed a head ache."

I bluffed

"Mmm.. this migraine ......we don't know when it will attack you." my friend said  helpfully and was worried

But  the vigour with which I attacked my  gelato ( ice cream) made my companions to share  their portion which I shamelessly accepted. Their worries flew off.

From then on entering any food shop became an anathema to me. The stench of not only the big ones in toroidal shape in red wax covering but varied varieties and shapes of cheese  seemed to pervade the whole ambience.   As both my friends go inside the shops to enjoy the free samples of cheese I entertained myself in watching  the tall pines and the majestic cypress trees and with my vomiting spree! In my dictionary the very name 'food'  turned to loathing .The food was all cheesy!  Sitting down with the group for meals became a great effort and I  excused myself quite often. It was the gelato that turned out to be my redeemer and my subsistence for living!

Till the moment I got into my Air India  Maharaja  offering  me my own pulav and gravy the white giant assaulted me around  and gagged me!

My husband and I both usually never disagree over the channels we watch. Even if it was a science channel, which he dearly loves, I try my best to understand amidst my quaint naps.  But if ever he switched on a programme on cheese making  or anything to do with cheese I immediately excuse myself. I cannot digest the exalted heights the world has taken to this ...... cheese!

I think I belong to a very  odd generation. While people order around for pizza when they want a special treat my curd rice with pickle proves to be an ambrosia for me. The mucus like mozzarella cheese sitting on your pizza ...... never ever my cuppa!!

I thought I was a  loner... an extinct species  who hates the wonderful connoisseurs' dish till I found a dear companion, a relative of mine, (brother's son in law) a young chap who often travels abroad and hates cheese!

Just as I had finished my blog a  news item from Kerala in today's paper  excited me. The Kerala government had decided to levy a 'fat tax' of 14.5% on pizzas burgers, sandwiches and tacos in accordance with the advocacy of  WHO to promote healthy eating. Apart from pinching the purse of their parents, it is a  caution to them whose  children carry a pregnant stomach at the young age.

 'Go Local' let it be not just my policy but ours too!