We the crazy bunch

A visit to UK for a month is our annual pilgrimage time when our daughter puts up a brand new Indian mythological Bharatanatyam dance drama at the Playhouse of Norwich, a highly anticipated one amongst Indian dance lovers and usually a sold out one!

An eye opener during this year was a visit to our niece’s house in London where we had an unique experience. As we entered the house, she came running to the door greeting us with her eight-month-old baby and said in Tamil " Thatha and Aachi have come. Will you clap your hands baby?" to which she responded with a gusto of clapping! 

"What is the big deal?" You may think. But my niece had married into an English family and there was no need for the baby to learn Tamil. We were surprised to know that her extended family desired that the child learnt another language to enhance the fertility of the mind!

"Do we ever think like that?" My own question hit me like a bolt from the blue!!

We crazy Indians are crazy about that foreign language English!

Even when we meet a Tamilian friend we tend to have the conversation in English feeling proud of  our apparent command over that language!

We make our children jokers when a visitor comes home. We coax them to sing the slavish "Bah Bah Slack Sheep "rhyme proving the prowess of our progenies in English.

Do we want to compensate what our forefathers lacked? But even they didn't lag behind in their craziness for English. At this juncture I would like to share with you a funny incident in my dad's life.

 My dad was the first child in his big joint family to attend a school where English was taught. For this purpose, he had to stay with his married sister's family in a cosmopolitan town. The sister wanted a cow for herself and on the pretext of providing genuine cow's milk to her brother asked my dad to write a letter to their father to send a cow.

Accordingly, a post card was sent.

And it was indeed a very special post card!! It contained just a single sentence!!

When the post man delivered the letter to my grandfather he was thoroughly confused. The address written in Tamil was right but the message was illegible. He couldn't make head or tail of it.

He returned the letter to the post man the single literate man in the village who knew English, and asked if he could understand the message. He announced that his son from the town had sent a letter in English.

"A letter for me in English!! That too from my son?! "My grandfather was in cloud nine!! He jumped with joy and requested the post man to sit properly in the verandah a courtesy never offered and asked him to read it.

" I want a cow." The post man read " Your obedient son Michaelsamy." and he did the much-awaited translation too! 

For the exhilarated man this process of reading once was not enough and desired that the letter be read several times along with the translation!!

The reverberating repetitions filled him and the villagers with boundless bliss! A measure of rice was gifted to the post man for this special service.

The words 'Your obedient son ' warmed the cockles of his heart.

"Even though my son knows English he is still my obedient son."  The very thought engulfed him with soothing warmth!!

But he was a bit upset that his son had been drinking mediocre milk so long which was likely to spoil his health.

The best cow in the shed along with the calf were dispatched immediately through reliable servants to that progressive town! 

 As I reflected over this oft repeated event in the family circle I tend to think "Is this craziness, for the English language, genetic?!

Through our multifarious endeavors we want to degrade our own mother tongue! In our lives 'Amma' had metamorphosed to mum or mummy and 'appa ' to dad, daddy or pappa ! Grandmothers and grandfathers are the happiest and the proudest when they are addressed as 'grandma and grandpa' instead of the archaic "paatti and thatha and its varieties!!"  At this point I have to confess that I am also a sinner and my 'mea culpas' at this juncture are useless as my children are steadfast in their anglicized callings.

We go on boasting about this language proficiency of our children "She is just three but can write ABCD in capital and small letters! That school is indeed very good!  The incredulity and ignorance of Indian parents!

"And what happens to our Tamil alphabets?" we dare not ask lest we hurt their feelings.

When I was in HR manager in an organization, the staff used lament "Mam! the little one brings a lot of complaint from the school."

"Too mischievous I suppose?" I said smilingly

"No mam it is an entirely different story. The complaint is that he refuses to write. Can I send him for tuition? My friend's child in the opposite house goes for tuition as soon as he comes back from school. Of course, she gives him snacks before he sends him off."

"Is that child happy?"

"No, never mam. He returns home literally in tears and to add fire to the fuel his mother does a thorough interrogation of the lessons done at the tuition."

"Would you love to have a happy baby?" I asked

"Indeed mam, but what about his future...." she replied

 I ignored her 'but' and asked how her child’s handwriting was.

"Somewhat ok. Got one or two prizes for handwriting at school."

"Now I would suggest that you to change it into bit of a scribble and do the home work along with your child."

My statement indeed threw her off the balance! She was shocked by my dubious integrity!

I smiled at her and said "My dear girl do you know the fact that the fingers of the children are not yet capable of systematic usage? They can draw and scrawl at their own will but never at the command from elsewhere.  The whole life is in front of them to do all the writings in the world!"

"Is this true mam?"

"You can go through any child psychology book to learn this truth." I said and continued “For the best education system Finland tops the world and do you know that the children there go to school at the age of seven? But what do we do?  A two-and-a-half-year-old child is admitted in the school on the great day of Vijayadashami and asked to write the alphabet on a tray filled with the auspicious yellow rice.  We justify this infant abuse by the statement " He will adapt and prove himself for proper schooling next year!!" 

I continued “I had the opportunity to go with my daughter to a UK school where she was invited to talk about Indian culture for the primary section in a school.

She created an ambience of bonhomie among the children by asking them to help in decorating the room in the Indian way. Flower Kolam filled the frontage and thorans and Indian posters were hung around the room. In this Indian ambience the curious children settled down expecting the lady to go the podium and talk about India. But instead my daughter asked the children to form a circle and seating herself at the centre began the session with a little prayer for the universe and continued with an easy yoga session all the time explaining the process all through.

She went on to the Indian mythological stories enacting as the story proceeded.

A small session of Bharatanatyam with the beginners' steps was an opener for the children.

Taking out a patch work spread from her bag she requested four children to come forward and exhibit it around for the children to look at the simple yet exquisite artwork.

Then she explained that this ecofriendly spread was made from waste bit of clothes in Rajasthan and one among them was asked point out the place in the huge map.

With the group following her she went through the posters, giving the gist of varied cultures of India.

The children's' enthusiasm knew no bound! There were too many inquisitive questions! They actually made a patch work carpet by sticking variety of colour papers with their own designs in them and proudly exhibited it her!

My friend was enthralled." Mam this is way the children should be taught."

"Yes my dear friend, a mere talk show on India would not have struck to their mind  and  instilling  the creativity in them is the right education." I said

Coming back to my role as HR manager, a convinced mother and employee,     thanked me and left my place and  I was sure that she would  make her house a joyous experience for the child!

 I want to end this with an interesting real-life event from our friend an orthopedic surgeon. This is his narration:

"One evening a worried father and mother came to my clinic along with their three-year-old child for consultation. They said "Doctor, the right hand of our girl is always folded at the elbow. Our efforts to straighten it, ends up in painful cries. We have to feed her at home but she cannot eat anything at school. While the other children are active, she sits quietly in a corner. What would happen to our child when she reaches the marriageable age? Should we go for a surgery?"

I pacified them. Tests were done accordingly and I found no fault with her bone formation. I was confused.  I sat with the parents for a discussion and in the course of which I found out there was no problem with the hand when she was sleeping.

On an intuition I asked the name of the school where she was studying.

When they named the school, I was convinced that the little girl is having psychological problem rather than a physical one.

"Change the school immediately and she will be ok." I told the parents emphatically. I have heard of the school which was notorious for its ‘mug and vomit' methodology with the final aim on marks and marks only and the tyrannical training starts in right earnest from LKG!  There was no space for the creativity and imagination of the children to play a role. This resourceful child took her recluse with an imagined crippled hand!

I told the parents that if their daughter still had a problem after this exercise, they had to come back to me. Otherwise a phone call from them about her welfare would suffice. And as anticipated I received a joyful thank you call from the parents!"

 And I know this incident would be readily waiting to be narrated when someone comes to unload the 'child worry' with me!

Parental Value Encounters

This blog is a life experience of my younger brother, a teacher of great repute, who lives in Kumbakonam and I am giving this in his own words. The blog is written as though my younger brother is narrating it.

Please enjoy!

Any get together at Kumbakonam is an anticipated one for me, where unexpected meetings happen with one or two old students sharing their progress in professional life and happenings in their families to enhance my happiness!

That day was special one as one of my students was getting married and in addition his father was a close associate of mine in various social activities. It was a pleasant affair with plenty of friends around. As we were chatting, a well-dressed man approached me and said “Sir I have seen you somewhere. Your face is so familiar.” I replied that I too have similar feeling. With mutual pleasantries, we parted our ways and as I came out after the festival lunch, he approached me again and emphatically said "You are very familiar. May I know your native place?”

I said “I belong to Edanganni, a village nearby.”

 The man exclaimed “I too belong to the same place and by the way do you remember the three brothers Ponnan, Maruthan and Kuttaru, who worked for your parents? Slowly I recollected. As young children we know Ponnan who was looking after our fields and know him better because he was in charge of the bullock cart which brought us to Edanganni from Kumbakonam the day our vacation started. Our joy knew no bound the moment Ponnan stopped the cart in front of our Kumbakonam house.  And we were the saddest when he dropped us back from the village at the Kumbakonam house. Thus, Ponnan was an inseparable entity in our mixed sentiments.

As I shared this information he said “ I am Maruthan’s son and remember all of you. All the three brothers worked for your mother who was a revolutionary, a good paymaster and the first woman who had the courage to manage the fields in the male dominated terrain, an inspiration to our poverty ridden, low caste family. It was she who insisted that all of the three brothers should learn to read and write but they scoffed at her impossible idea. They thought that they were too old for such an undertaking! But she insisted that at least they should learn to write their name and never again put their finger prints in any document and helped them in the process to learn to write. She repeatedly told them that their children should be sent to school and a proper education alone could guarantee a better future for the family.

On that day my household was wonder struck when the brothers came home and did the magic of writing their names in the bit of paper provided by the lady! And that little act of care and concern for the down trodden became the load star of our family to guide us towards the great gift of education. Today I am a retired man from a prestigious government job married well and my children too are highly qualified. At this moment, I cannot forget that inspirational loving lady, the root cause for our upliftment.” So saying the man shook my hands with great fervour and walked towards his waiting car!

Another incident also happened in another prestigious wedding at my place in Kumbakonam. A distant associate of mine came home one day to extend the invitation for his son's wedding. I was not at home and my wife who received the invitation was told that he knew the family well especially, her husband's father, the great teacher, and her husband an equally good teacher and their sons too. The invitation he said was for all the three generations.

On the morning of the wedding as I parked my scooter amidst the row of cars at the marriage hall. Our man in his resplendent creamy silk dhoti and shirt came running to receive me as if he was awaiting for my arrival. He took me straight away to the couple for my blessing. As I tried to introduce myself the bridegroom said "Don't bother about it uncle. Day in and day out we hear about you and your father from our dad!"

 Holding my hand all through he took me aside and putting one hand inside his silk shirt he said "Today I want to show you something very precious to me." As he reverently took out a small item, I was indeed dumbfounded!! It was a laminated photo of my dad!!  I was flabbergasted! What could have a simple teacher given to this man? He continued "Sir your father is always in my heart. I may change my shirt daily but I make sure he is always close to me to guide me, enlighten me. And today the first and foremost thing for me was to make sure that your dad is with me to give his blessings to the newly married and I consider your presence as the pinnacle of my son's marriage." As he held both my hands in reverence, I could feel his sincerity flowing through my veins!!"

This was the sharing done by my brother from Kumbakonam when we returned home after a month-long vacation. I was overwhelmed and speechless. I was in tears.

What a great gift the lady had given to an ordinary family"

Had the three brothers heard the story of my mother who made an illiterate village into an enlightened one where my dad was the head master before he shifted to Kumbakonam?

"What could my dad a simple teacher who retired from school more than half a century back had given such a precious gift to a man who cherishes it still?! 

Was this man one of the students who was tutored by my dad in our verandah?

Was he the one who was fed by my mother knowing that he was on an empty stomach?

Was he the one who was lucky enough to listen to dad's easy way of learning maths through songs at Kumbakonam railway station, waiting for his train to nearby village after my dad's game of badminton with the railway officers?

Was he the one who was a witness when dad brought about a great reconciliation between his parents which he did to many families in and around Kumbakonam?

Was he one of the persons who landed on a good job through dad's recommendation?

Had he imbibed all the goodness through the words spoken by my dad?

Two weddings in the season with these strange meetings was an eye opener for us siblings!! What do our parents want to convey to us? Are they sending us signals and reminders that our contribution to the society could be much more than what we are giving now?

With these value encounters we the children of such a wonderful couple who bequeathed great values throughout their lives are honour bound to enrich those values. And each of us in our own way strive towards the same and our effort towards that goal will definitely be more fervent and their good vibrations flow ceaselessly in our lives and through our generations to benefit the society at large!

A Medley of Feasts

Our car driver switches on the FM channel whenever we travel long distance. The deejays, the word magicians capable of innovating the old and repetitive into brand new material with the glib of their tongue sometimes produce interesting conversations. One such discussion on that day was with a man who loves to enjoy wedding feasts uninvited. Dressed neatly in 'Minister White' dhoti and shirt he would enter the venue according to the dictates of his taste buds which can be North Indian banquet or a mouthwatering Mughlai biriyani or a tasty vegetarian meal.

 The 'Minister White' dress code, the universally accepted as a ‘reverence invoking’ costume of South India is sure to get a welcoming reception for all occasions irrespective of caste community and religion. As he entered the venue our man would  happily nod to the welcoming committee of girls smear a bit of auspicious sandalwood paste on his forehead shake hands with a few important looking people go to the decorated stage of the bridal couple, and with a congratulatory hand shake with groom and a reverential ‘vanakkam’ with folded hands to the bride, pose for the photo shoot and graciously accept the invite from the host standing at the edge of the exit point of the stage to partake in the dinner or lunch according to the time of the day!

"Don't you have the guilt feeling?" asks the deejay

" Never" the man replies. "The feast is for a large crowd and a single addition is not going to make a difference. Further I never go there to steal or ogle at the well-dressed girls. My purpose is very clear. Enjoy the feast in a pleasant ambience on the inviting banana leaf spread and end it with paan."

"How did you get into this habit?"

"From young age I had a fancy for eating on banana leaves and ached to have all my meals in those eco-friendly chlorophyll plate. This luxury was impossible in my big family where each one of us had a porcelain plate allotted and since it was a big family of 10 children my parents used to take us for weddings and functions only in turns. But now things are very different for me and my childhood wishes are doubly fulfilled.

"Have you ever been caught?"

"Why should I be?" The man was nonchalant" As I leave the venue, they present me with the coconut and paan gift bag with great reverence or request me to choose a nice plant for my garden."

This dialogue kindled my thought process when we had the opportunity to attend a close friend's wedding in England. As soon as the church ceremony was over and the newly married were congratulated with the bubbly champagne and congratulations, we were asked to proceed for the feast to a white marquee erected nearby. Usually in Indian Christian weddings the church would not see that much crowd as the reception.

 As we were looking for the place where the reception hall could be, we noticed the guests walking towards a white marquee. We followed the crowed. As we entered ornately decorated marquee, we saw a board where the guests going through the contents. We too queued up wondering if that was some sort of congratulatory note or a welcome for the couple! But to our amazement the list contained our names with a corresponding table number. Fortunately, we were allotted a table close to the bridal couple in that unknown gathering. Guests ambled along to their allotted table with a pleasant chat. 

 I couldn't believe what I saw. This is impossible. How could the wedding guests be contained in a white board? Were there many more similar marquees? But it was just a single marquee and only those many guests that could be allocated tables were invited. But care was taken that the allotment of tables was always with close friends or relatives who would enjoy the day!

Having witnessed thousands of weddings with thousands of guests in my nation this miniscule size was an unacceptable factor to the heart. The scrambling rush for dinner seats after the felicitations, a la Indian style, was missing here.

I laughed thinking about our poor Indian 'Minister White' who would have cut a very sorry figure in this British ambience!

It was the year 1976 when emergency was declared in India by the great lady Indira Gandhi when Fakhruddin Ali Ahamed was the President. During that period a guest control act was also promulgated to avoid ostentatious spending on occasions like weddings when millions of poor people went hungry. Like our English experience Indira Gandhi should also have undergone a similar one and the same should have affected her psyche and made her promulgate this austerity measure.  Luckily or otherwise my younger sister was getting married then and even though we lived in a town where the wedding was to take place our rustic back ground was deep rooted and it was a near impossibility to control the guests to 150 persons where the wheat and rice serving should be limited to 150 grams according to the dictates of the guest control act. A wedding without a proper dinner with abundance of rice along with various curry servings sweets and payasam would mean a humiliation to the village people. We were in a dilemma. Our amma got a bright idea. She could pin point a loophole in the guest control act. The rule controls only rice and wheat.  If rice and wheat were not involved the assumption is that we could call any number of guests. She said it could be a two-venue wedding! Since it was an evening wedding the general invitation would be in a big hall where a feast of tiffin items without involvement of rice wheat could be served to any number of guests and the town people would enjoy this feast better.  And for the villagers it would be an invitation plus! the villagers were usually invited in the traditional paan supari style and amma said that along with the invitation there could be an additional card giving the address of dinner venue. Apart from the 150 guests a hundred plus would not be a problem even if the checking officers come along since they were also Indians and would understand that the proper treatment of wedding guests is an unbreakable sacrosanct institution of “Aththi Devo Bhava” in our beloved country!

Our Amma was indeed a clever lady. And during that period many a wedding followed amma's tactics satisfying the guests with a different culinary experience!!

Enjoying our 'moon meals' during our summer holidays was not only a much-anticipated feast of our childhood days but even after we grew up with a family of our own! It was an ambrosia beyond compare! My mouth salivates as I type this blog!  But my prelude should not give you a wrong impression of a great feast under the moon. The left-over sambar of the afternoon would be mixed with rice in a big vessel and curd rice with a rich seasoning of mustard and finely chopped green chilies and ginger and the additional summer bonanza of delicious mango pieces would get ready in another vessel.

While the sambar rice and curd rice adorned the centre stage we sat around in the open verandah for the feast in anticipation irrespective the moon's presence! (for us moon was just a bonus.)

Beside the main vessels there would an additional bowl of fried crushed appalams and pickle container. As one of the hosts made a ball of the sambar rice and served it on one of the extended palms another would generously spray the crushed appalams on the ball of rice. The process continued till the members were satiated or the vessel went empty and usually it was the second option that was the case! Then the curd rice course would start in right earnest with a bit of pickle adorning it's top like a ruby crown! Indulged and saturated we would happily run to the tank at the back of the house only to play in the water again on the pretext of washing our hands!!

While this simple meal metamorphosed it into heavenly food there was an occasion when we had a big feast which could easily be forgotten than remembered.

He was a close friend who invited five of us, his close friends for a lunch in his house the next day after an official meet. He welcomed us at the gate of his ancestral house with beautiful terracotta flooring and took us in. A big library announced his scholastic competence. After introducing his wife, we were taken to the dining room where big banana leaves in Chettinad style were spread out. After washing our hands as we took our seats the lady of the house started serving. Our friend left the venue informing us that he would eat later. Performing her duty perfectly the lady too went inside the kitchen and we were left alone to partake in the 'feast'! Our friend never entered the place even though we expected him to give company though he might not be eating!  His wife darted between the kitchen and the dining space to keep feeding her guests. All my efforts to create a small talk to enliven the ambience proved futile with her monosyllable replies.  We literally hurried through the act of eating missing the very important factor of bonhomie that could have made it into a very pleasant occasion!

At this juncture I remembered another time where had our food alone but had the very opposite effect from our friend's place. It was an Anglo-Indian family and we were invited for lunch on the occasion of their son's first communion. The guests were many but their quaint little house was not as big as their heart. We were seated in the front portico of the house. As we wondered how they had planned to manage the crowd they invited our family to come inside for the meals. They expressed their regrets for lack of space but told us that the food was served in the room and requested us to enjoy their sumptuous spread. After this, they pulled apart the curtains that separated three rooms, with a request once more to relish the food.  The three little rooms were thus converted to a single dining hall. I thought what a contrasting experience we had with our in the house of our scholarly friend and this little place filled with cordiality.

My thought process which started with the FM stopped with the Anglo-Indians and with a single exception, I realised that the whole show of feast in our lives had indeed been an enjoyable merry go round!

Elders of Yester years

People tend to ignore them though they pretend to listen. After sometimes they become restless. Too many questions these old people have. With abundance of time at their disposal they take life out with their queries and stories. In India the retirement age should be enhanced to 80!

One young chap had the misfortune to undergo this unique experience on that particular day!

"We never wasted things. My father used to collect the jute thread used for tying groceries in newspapers."  The old man who entered the shop tells the first sales person he meets. The new generation man at the other end was flabbergasted. "What is this......  jute thread and why should the old man's father amass this junk?! Has he brought it here to exhibit? "

"The Philips radio bought when I was a kid is still operative. Are you producing similar long-lasting products nowadays? " he persisted.

How could he tell him that even Harrods the king of all global shops with the headquarters in the prestigious location of London buys it's products from China with the label " Made in China for Harrods"! How can I convince this oldie that the society had changed and hence and the slogan of the day is " Use and Throw"

 "I used to shave with a single blade for six months and do you know the secret young man?" The young man with his own gala itinerary with his cell phone till early morn and who hurries through this obligatory process doesn't even know the brand of his bladeless shaving apparatus leave alone retaining it in a pyramidal structure! His feigned astonishment invigorated the man further to continue with his magical process of preserving the blade like Egyptian mummies!

"With a thick paper you create a pyramid and after each shave wipe the blade clean and keep it inside and lo behold the beauty shines on as a new bride."

The young one continued his nods eagerly anticipating a decent purchase from the man and hence determined not to antagonise him. 

 The old man opened his bag and said "My remote doesn't work." In his hand was a remote which had lost its facial imprints!

Just then the realisation dawned on the salesman that this lengthy discourse was nothing but a prelude for replacing his remote.

"I tried the same pyramid trick with it but zilch it was. This remote came along when I bought the TV "

The salesman heart went for a jolt but restraining himself carried on. "When did you buy the TV from us sir?" "Five years and twenty days back." This smart reply from the old man shook him once more. As if adding insult to injury the man pulled out a folded bill well preserved in his purse!

The salesman was a thoroughbred in warranty and extended warranty system rules which never goes beyond two years protecting the seller in all its legality rather than the poor buyer! But this man stood before him with his measly remote and an outdated bill!

" Sir there is no guarantee for the accessories. You have to buy a new remote. "

"What has life come to? the old man sighed. "All your guarantees are written in the least readable font that none of us could comprehend even with our magnifying glasses. I say give out your guarantee in bold letters if you are a honest manufacturer! I can challenge you with a real proof of this honesty. You are welcome to my house where you can witness a wonder clock running in tip top condition for the past 60 years! Are you listening young man? 60 years of perfection! And do you know it's warranty period? It is 50 years and the clock has run 10 years above the warranty. And do you know another thing? The warranty is printed right on it's very face! " The salesman was dumbfounded and dazed.

" How am I going to deal with this epitome of guarantee? Can I buy him a Chinese remote sold in dozens at Mercy Electronics with its proliferating branches throughout the Chennai city? But there is a hitch. What if the product failed after some days? 

"I dare not face this Calvary once more!" he mumbled to himself.

To convince the man and get him out of the shop became a Himalayan effort indeed!

I would like to share with you yet another historical event.

Her thatha was proudly showing her the monthly household expense book. "Well organised and efficiently kept book with perfect straight lines thatha." the granddaughter applauded. (The family knows that he would not buy the readily lined accounts note book from the market since it is expensive.)

" My dear girl the lines I draw in my account books in my working days was the talk of the town! My petty cash voucher is a thing of beauty..... perfect lines my dear girl.... perfect lines without an eraser!!  With such disciplined organised system I along with my assistant could tally the monthly balance sheet to the single paisa just in an afternoon!!"

Grandpa was trumpeting to his granddaughter who had come out of her C.A. exam with flying colours. She didn't want to hurt her thatha with the fact that the advent of computers has long ago killed the art of drawing lines just like the art of letter writing is bulldozed by the cell phones! And tallying the monthly balance sheet was an automated one today!  For her part she gently wanted to push her clever thatha towards modern system and make him computer savvy.

'Computer for Dummies' was bought accordingly and a computer was set up in his room. But for her thatha the pride was still his own mental abilities and in his view the computer is a useless thing undermining the working of human brain and in the long run create a society full of zombies!

He would go at length about his math teacher at school who made the foundation strong for the students with the repetition of mathematical tables and starting his every day classes with a set of mental sums! 

He would go back to history!!

"In those days there were just three matriculation schools in the state.  Math was the prime subject. We had to do three papers of math! And paper correction was very strict then. Even if you get centum, they would sieve through the paper again to find a silly mistake to give them the chance to reduce one mark! And in my batch, I can proudly say I was the state topper in math!"

"That's why thatha I want you to go into computer. You can learn it in a jiffy!"

The man was fed up to the back tooth after two classes. And heart in heart there was an inbuilt animosity against this competitor who can etch lines with least effort

"My dear girl I tell you that these computers are just creating lazy louts throughout the world. You step into the bank and the chorus is "Server down sir." The same is true when you go to pay your electricity bill.  They sit munch snacks and gossip!"

 However much the granddaughter tried to convince him the end result was sarcastic smile and patronising pat at her back!

The same was true with his art appreciation.

"What sort of dance performance they give today? There is no live orchestra on the stage to play the instruments like veena flute and mridangam along with the musician and nattuvangam.  Every damn thing is recorded! And look at the dancers! They look like over made up dumb miming dolls! You should have watched Balasaraswathi dance! Do you know that she sings while dancing?!! Such a confluence of emotions and abhinaya you would never have witnessed anywhere! When she performed for the song "Krishna nee begane baro" singing along in her majestic voice one can witness the miracle of Krishna descending down from heavens to join in her dance!"

"Set ideas chiseled in hard rocks impossible to penetrate." The granddaughter was sure of it!

And whenever there was a gathering at the house the cursory "Hi thatha, how are you?"  was the only conversation the grandchildren preferred to have with their granddad! They don't have the patience to listen to his utterances which usually commences with the single phrase " You know in those days...........!"

 " Repetitions, repetitions and more repetitions"

"That's what thatha does all the time." They grumble.

 But they never know that his active mind would never be touched by old age diseases like Alzheimer and thus he would never be a burden on the family!

Why do we study history? To know the past events. To understand appreciate and learn. To throw away the negative factors. With Mahatma we Indians learnt how best to get things done and achieve. With Hitler to avoid tyrannical negative thoughts by all means, with Nero to get rid of sadistic intentions, the cruel monarch who waxed the prisoners to use them as mobile torches during nights. In our own family history plays an important role. My great grandfather was a drunkard and my own thatha learnt a positive lesson from his dad's negativities and with his equanimity and positive acts became the village leader!

 So young people please listen and learn that family history is part of yourself and let not the generation gap hinder you from learning life lessons.

We the golden oldies for our part must extend our hands in bridging the gap by appreciating the multifarious technological artistic talents of the new age sans comparison with the past!!

Cultural Conundrums

Cultures differ. Languages differ. A chalice of great golden wine could mean a cup of poison in another. This happened to us the South Indians, the crazy fans of cricket, during the world cup matches.  It is the ‘in-between” advertisements eager to attract the audience which to us is the centre of this controversy.  The advertisement is like this. As a famous Bollywood cine actor holding a cricket bat comes forward to play  there appears a storm of dusty orange strands and the actor tells us in Tamil "If there is saffron in the tongue and enthusiasm in the heart  team India is sure to win." at the end he again stresses the focal point of advertisement "saffron in the tongue". I still cannot fathom how "saffron in the tongue" can enable a cricketer to perform better.

In the Tamil version of the advertisement he pronounces it as 'Kumkum on the tongue.'

As regards the second part of the ad we fully agree and can boldly say that there is no dearth of enthusiasm among our players as well as we the cricket fans! In our own circle my 81-year-old sister along with her teenage grandchildren watches the matches fervently burning the midnight oil!! And to crown it all we witness a 87 year old Indian lady watching the match in Manchester stadium blowing a trumpet whenever there was even a minor achievement in the batting of our players! Her excited smile became contagious that the crowd erupts into a big applause!

The problem with us south Indians is in the phrase " Kumkum in the tongue "!

The word for saffron in our language is Kumkum, a reddish powder usually found on the forehead of our ladies as a beauty mark. In our historical movies, we have watched the queen applying Kumkum as a mark of auspiciousness on the forehead of her beloved king going for a battle along with the brave words for all success.  But 'Kumkum in the tongue' is an unheard-of factor. In our part of the world Kumkum is never an edible one. When the longer use of Kumkum is capable of messing up the forehead skin you can imagine the devastation it might cause to the 'tongue' and down to the internal organs!

While most of the south Indian people might not have seen the stuff saffron at all, todays culinary TV programmes of the south add up this stuff in the cooking as if it's an ingredient used by us from time immemorial! "Put some strands of saffron in water and add it when the payasam is done." they say!!  But for generations our payasam had nothing to do with this alien stuff while one or two crushed cardamom is enough to make it a delicacy!!

At this juncture I would like to share with you a grandma's tale persisting in the minds of Indian people with regards to this stuff saffron. The belief is that any pregnant lady (even a Dravidian one at that) who consumes few strands of saffron along with milk everyday during this period is bound to get a fair skinned child, defeating the very basics of genetic science! The fairness plays such a maniacal role that people have become bonded slaves to this 'saffron' craziness as long as the child begotten is bound to be fair!!

Some advertisements literally frighten us! Luscious mouthwatering yellow mangoes are shown on the screen and as a sequel those mangoes transform as juice in a bottle.  This juice is held by a young lady with great enthusiasm.  We fall in love with that elixir vitae tempting us to salivate! As the dancing girl with the bottle jumps unto a bean bag to enjoy her golden liquid in comfort, white thermocole pellets spring forth from the bean bag filling the whole space with showering snow effect. Your horror show begins when the girl starts drinking the mango juice amidst those pellets and at any moment the danger of her swallowing few of those and getting chocked is imminent. And you feel like shouting for an emergency ambulance!! The whole idea of promoting the ad is lost and instead it persuades you to change channel!

In the similar way there are many such advertisements capable of irritating you.

During the year end, it is customary for the banks to give away diaries and calendars to the customers and for the special customers they visit their house for a ‘tete e tete’ with an ulterior motive ofcourse! Being a long-term customer, we too enjoy this privileged visit!

I opened the roll of calendar after they left and found that there were two of them.

The calendar was indeed a beauty! Twelve glossy sheets with equally beautiful sceneries will be thing of joy once it is hung on the wall. I presented one of them to my flower man, a person with an artistic inclination in all he does!

The next day as he stopped to give me the usual flowers, he was scratching his head stood sheepishly. I wondered what was aching him. "Ma" he said "I want to tell you something but you should not get upset." As I encouraged him to spill out the beans, he said "Amma the calendar you gave me yesterday was beautiful and decorative as my own daughter in law but both are useless. It does not indicate the important astronomical events such as new moon and full moon eclipse days etc. Leave that amma. We are oldies looking for unwanted things. But my grandson who pulled from my hand the first calendar to the house to find out whether the festival days, like Diwali and Pongal are coinciding with the week end to enjoy longer holidays. He came back running to me telling "Thatha you keep your calendar to yourself. There is nothing in there."

Usually I open the calendar only on the New Year’s Day early morn when the whole city starts the celebrations with welcoming cracker sounds.  But this day I went through the stuff hurriedly after my man left. He was indeed right. There was nothing in the calendar! Leave alone the essential deficits he had mentioned, there was no indication of even the bank holidays which are very essential for personal reference! Then why call it a calendar at all? I wondered!

A chance meeting with the manager gave me an opportunity to vent out my feelings with regards to the calendar. He smiled sheepishly and said " It is the decision of the headquarters mam." I was not ready to leave him at that. " But you, local heads, could put it forward to the right persons and make it even as a customer complaint."  " You are right mam." so saying he opened his diary to note down the point. I was exhilarated by this quick response!

I was ready and ever willing to remind the man with regards to my grouse but what do you do when the managers thrown around the country at the drop of a hat?

Year on year I am destined to receive the same type of denuded calendar accompanied with the same courtesy and the similar ‘tete et tete’ from the new set of managers!!

For my part I do a good deed during this period. I never antagonize the rapport I have with my flower man by presenting him the 'bank calendar'!

A Fortress Unique

Kings built fortresses to protect and safe guard their kingdoms and its citizenry from enemies.  Moats, draw bridges and heavy front doors unbreakable even by a battalion of elephants were the precautions in the same direction.

Today these fortresses of yesteryear are delegated to the tired tourists after heavy shopping pretending to listen to seemingly enthusiastic guide who must be equally tired after the thousands of repetitions of the same story unless he weaves a new one to add a zing to this every day routine!

 The innate desire and the inbuilt genes to protect and guard the property runs through us also if not to the extent of the royalty. We create umpteen number of gates and doors buy the best of locks including the world renowned ‘Dindugal’ multi levered ones to secure our houses. The process of quality checking of these contraptions against the illusory enemies happens day in and day out. The computerised locking system is the latest addition.

But this brand of fortification takes a different avatar in my house. We don't bother much about our locking system since anyone who enters the house would just find treasure trove in the form of books whose ultimate value in the weighing system of the old paper man might be a measly amount and for the greedy burglar it might be a disappointing  endeavour  where his love's labour is lost!!

While we might be bit relaxed about our locking-system we are very meticulous about another defence where the quality checking starts in right earnest around the month of October for any given year.  It is against an enemy who doesn't want usurp our kingdom but rather wants to be part of us, to live with us and like a calculative and cunning financier strike at the right moment at the very core!  Yes it is the blood crazy winged insects, the modern day Draculas’, our beloved mosquitoes who begin to proliferate as the rainy season starts in Chennai.

For us this season is indeed a double whammy. Apart from the multiplication in mosquitoes the city of Chennai turns into the cultural centre of the world with its grand sessions of music and dance and the foreigners who pay through the nose to travel here for this convergence also multiply like mosquitoes!

Our house too dons the festive mood during this time as people land here with great enthusiasm to enjoy the show and the warmth of the place. While protecting ourselves from mosquitoes is just one part, safe guarding our foreign friends from them is a very intricate part. Like the Indian mentality of "craziness about anything foreign "our very own Indian mosquitoes never want to lag behind in our idiosyncrasies. When the foreigners arrive home, they become indifferent to the desi blood and avariciously fall for the foreign one, a supposedly greener pasture!!

And that is the main reason why we start our quality check of our mosquito-netting in right earnest! Our house being an old construction when people believed in an airy dwellings the doors and windows  abound. As if this wasn't enough for the inflow of oxygen there are ventilators high above the windows. The toilets with Venetian blinds and exhaust fans are the vulnerable ones too.

The whole set of nets are brought down checked for wear and tear meticulously

Promptly a word file is created aptly named 'Mosquito Menace' and kept handy on the desk top and ticked off as and when the repair or replacement takes place.

As my paradesi friends arrived, I announced my commandments with all seriousness of the grand old man Moses with his ten commandments.

Keep your room door shut all the time

Keep off the mosquitoes

Keep the bath room door shut all the time

Keep off the mosquitoes

Keep your room door shut all the time

Keep off the mosquitoes

Keep the bath room door shut all the time

Keep your room door shut all the time

Keep off the mosquitoes

Keep the bath room door shut all the time

Keep off the mosquitoes

This precious mantra is repeated till it touches the right cord!

But what can I do when these people starving through their lives in the 'cold sun' love to go in full swing for a sun bathe in the terrace and appease their 'heat' hunger and in the process invite our mosquitoes with open hands for a grand feast?!

And the house which becomes busy during this period the opening and closing of various netted doors become imperative and the mosquitoes waiting for the right opportune glide in gracefully.

It is then that my house turns onto a shuttlecock court (of course with entirely different rules) when bats, local and foreign (very effective!!) are brought out and we could witness very many persons jumping around and smashing with maximum speed as the mosquitoes act as elusive and invisible shuttlecocks. The proof of the job being done was the crackling sound from the mosquitoes emanating from the bat and the victorious cry " I caught it ...I got it."   If some intruding individual is caught in the process a similar ear-piercing scream is a sure thing!

Despite all these preventative measures, one among our friends was severely bitten and the redness and the bulges and spurs on various parts of her body was the proof of the pudding. The bites were so severe that they were oozing out at some points.

On that fine morning, I saw her sitting in the hall wearing a coloured bangle similar to the friendship bands the youngsters wore in dozens! She took the clue from my surprised look and whimpered " Yea this is also an additional precaution against mosquitoes."  And the tea table in front of her was laid with various lotion and sprays! Apart from our own Odomos Morteins All Out and the Fab India and Himalaya herbals and were accompanied by foreign assortments of repellents.

She complained "I don't know how they enter my room even though I make sure that my door is always closed the gadgets work day in and day out." she was pathetic indeed. Then I thought there must be minuscule space between the door and the floor and started pondering how best this gap could be arrested.

All of a sudden, an idea struck me. During the dance programmes season at the prestigious Kalashektra of Chennai, the team in charge had a ploy for chasing away the mosquitoes from the aesthetically decorated open theatre. Mud pots filled with coal fire were set in various places. Indian neem leaves along with the Chinese chaste tree leaves (nochi in Tamil) were added to the fire creating an aroma and smoke to which the mosquitoes were averse to.  Like the chariot festival of Mylapore these pots are taken around the rows of seating in a procession and with the misty smoke in place a full sleeve tops or a thick silk sari as a cover for the upper part too one is sure to enjoy those superior and worthy shows in peace.

Thiruvanmiyur market's vicinity provided me the needed pots and the Chinese chaste tree leaves were collected from the next street. There was no dearth of neem leaves as my house is surrounded by these friendly trees. The needed coal was provided by the iron man aka our street dhobi. Thus equipped, my house was in its incensed glory by the evening and as a further precaution against the minuscule holes I left incense pots each in front of various rooms.

Next day morning my shocked and incensed, husband was raging and fuming. "What sort of silly idea got into your head? You could have set the whole house on fire. What if some stupid person tripped over the pot in darkness? What if a rat or a cat turned turtle over the pot? A little spark is enough to set a disaster show."

Guilt ridden over my moronic and dangerous idea, I hung my head down in shame!

Every show must end with a climax and my mosquito chapter is not the one to lag behind!

 We usually land as a gang on the sabhas of Mylapore for all the programmes after a sumptuous tiffin and coffee at the world famous Karpagammal mess. Thus satiated, the shows became the crowning glory for the day

 Usually as we walk out of the theatre after the show, we could overhear comments from the connoisseurs of the art which are as worthy as that of a great critique. But on that day it was indeed a very different  ball game when an old  Mylaporean was not in a mood for the customary and routine thing of the best and worst of the programme. The lady was chatting with her companion thus. "Usually the foreigners who attend the programmes emanate nice fragrance of perfumes and I enjoy the smell but of late I am scared to pass near them. They smell of our nasty odomos."

Coming back home I shared this with the gang with great merriment.

Should we blame our mosquitoes as the root cause of this evil comment?

Should we blame the inventor of the smelly odomos?

Should we blame our dear friends who believe in a generous splurging of multifarious liquids and sprays whenever they start out of the house?

We had a hell of a laugh over this critical surveillance a cultural paradigm shift worthy of a great research paper!!