The Flex Boards of Tamil Nadu

I had a persisting doubt in my mind.

What is your great doubt that friends like us can’t sort it out for you?

 “Could you tell me the place of origin of this flex culture which had entered into the state of Tamil Nadu on the sly and, like "Vetal of the Vikkramadityan" story, holding it in its iron grip?

My friends looked at me sarcastically at my ignorance! But they did indeed explain to me in detail

 Most of our Tamil Nadu politicians were born out of our Tamil cinema and Tamil cinema had the culture of bill boards and when these politicians became our rulers they carried this powerful advertising tool with them and with technological advancements the bill boards metamorphosed into the cheap and best  flex boards and we the people of Tamil Nadu, the virtuous followers of these heroes and heroines followed them to the core and their accompanying flex culture naturally attached itself to us and  now we don’t know where to stop  and like a mangal sutra for a wedding it has become an inseparable and important element of  all our social get-togethers and  house hold functions and celebrations!!

We often traverse the Chennai-Trichy national highway (NH 45) and whenever a village approached we kept our fingers crossed anticipating the atrocious flex boards   of the day. We were never disappointed.

On that particular day there was indeed a huge flex with a baby faced girl inviting one and all for the celebration of her first menstrual cycle! Her makeup was terrible with rouge on her cheeks, green and pink mascara on the eye lids red lipsticks on her lips…… did they stop with that….? No way..!Like a bharatha natyam dancer she had her moon and sun brooches apart from the rakkodi and forehead chain and her long braid had flower decoration. As if this was not enough thanks to the influence of TV over her eye brows she had another row of white dots like the Bengali bride and sandalwood pottu like the Kerala girls!

There was a necklace and poothali closer to her neck followed by dollar chain, jasmine bud chain followed again by a coin chain. As a last straw she was in a big pattu sari gifted by her maternal uncle

Like a sacrificial goat she posed ……….

 Should we Tamilians not be ashamed of our unwanted publicity…… for an occasion which needed lot of education for the female child?

In those days when there was no four lane highway there used to be boards announcing the degree of danger on a particular part of the road like “Caution! Highly dangerous curve!” In the same manner on the same highway I saw a really frightful flex which I would love to share with you

 “Goat sacrifice for Lord Ayyanar and ear piercing for the children “announced the board.

 On one side of the flex Lord Ayyanar was sitting on a horse with frightening big red eyes and flying hair adorned with crown. While his left hand was holding the reins on the other hand was holding a shiny big sword which he was swishing around with vigour. On the other side of the flex there were three little toddlers with fright writ all over their face! The children’s photo could have been a separate entity but the combined effect was indeed a horror story!

We stayed for some days in the village and a visit to the village invariably entailed a visit to river Kollidam at the village of Thenkatchi. A tractor load of relatives of various hues and kinds were there with an interesting breakfast of idly and kesari after a dip in the flowing river.

As I was floating in the shallow waters I enquired my local cousin how his shop was doing. “These politicians are indeed creating ruckus around the place.” He started his lamentations. “On full moon days and new moon days people used to visit temples but today the culture is topsy turvy. On these days they hold party meetings and conferences all through the night. The other day a man was digging  holes in front of my shop and I told him that there was already a big hole dug by the panchayat aeons ago and still left opened and if he was to dig some more to fix the flex the business for small traders like us would be affected. “I am asked just to dig holes at this place” He shouted at me and throwing his digging implements walked away. After a while there was a burly party man who addressed me thus, “What do you think of yourselves? Don’t you know that our leader had the majority vote from here? And you had the guts to protest against his flex board? We have every right to fix it wherever we wish and we can even close your b..i..g… super market and fix the flex right on that spot” I knew that he was not a local person and had come here to show off his power. Local politicians usually created bonhomie of sorts with the local business community. I didn’t talk to him and taking my vehicle went away from that troubled spot.”

“What happened then?”

“When I went back they had left a small entry gap for my shop while completely hiding the next one!”

“I have an even bigger story that this flex had created in our place.” an uncle who was listening joined in.

“It was a bride’s side wedding and busloads of guests from the boy’s side were filling up the whole area. But all of a sudden people among them were agitated and soon it was turning into war of words. In the middle of this was an old woman whose voice was rising to great decibels by seconds.

She was the paternal grandmother of the boy and getting down from the bus the first thing she witnessed was the flex board wherein both the sides of the family from the grandparents of the bride and groom were welcoming all and sundry for the wedding. That’s a good idea but what was the problem? While the girl’s side female members were wearing jewels neck to neck in the flex the boy’s side members were adorned in measly single chain! The grandmother thought they were indeed humiliated by this unbecoming flex board. She exclaimed “What do they think of my grandson? For his qualifications and earnings people were queuing up in front of my door and these disrespectful people had the audacity to make this poster. At the height of anger she shouted at her son to cancel the wedding and go back home and conduct the wedding at their temple with another girl at the same auspicious time and hold a grand reception at a later date with big flex boards (putting these measly boards to shame) adorning the whole wedding procession route!

But the culprit of this whole proceeding was the bridegroom. When his would be in law asked for family photos for the flex he looked at the photogenic quality of the photos rather than the adorning jewels. Now he had to manage the show.  His grandmother was the eldest in the family and people respected her words. What if she had her way with his marriage? He was in a big dilemma. With the culture of cell phone flourishing the chat and the Skype adding vigour his marriage had blossomed into an ardent love affair from which he would not like to come out.

Instantaneously he place a quick call across to his would be partner explain the situation. She indeed had a plan!!

On the pretext of grandma needing some rest from this heat the grandson led  her into an air-conditioned place  where they would be bride was waiting As the lady entered the room she fell flat on grandmother’s feet with a visible single small chain around her neck and as a further precaution showered the old lady with kisses. The flabbergasted woman was beyond words except wishing her would be granddaughter in law all the best in life and also with a query why she hadn’t adorned herself with her jewels!!

While the psychological endearing was proceeding the  girl’s father  called on the friends who had affectionately placed those 10 calamitous flex boards which had the capacity to stop the wedding itself and told them that they had to manage and make sure that those boards were never in the vicinity of the wedding hall.

“I didn’t know how many workers they employed, how many banana plantations they destroyed “ continued the uncle “But before the bridal procession could start they whole path was adorned with  fresh and greenest banana trees intertwined beautifully with colourful serial lights. So all was well on that day that ended well. “

We joined in his laughter along with hand full of sweet kesari and with the determination never to go near the flex in our family function.

Fooled by Appearance

Super markets are not my forte. I prefer the grocery shops. The main reason is that they don’t pack every item in the polythene bags. You can take your own bags and from the jute sacks filled with condiments, your bags will be filled to the right measure. This way dust bins need not be stuffed with unwanted plastics  endangering our fragile eco  system. Secondly the imprint of the childhood days when every grocery purchase was accompanied by country sugar mixed with fried grams had still retained my soft corner for the shop owners even though they don’t follow the good practice now!! Thirdly we need not queue up for payment with the “no eye contact” zombie super market cashiers and if in a hurry you can make a request for a fast forward payment with the shop keeper who can manage the situation with other customers and oblige you.

That particular day as guests were to arrive at home I finished my shopping in a hurry and tried to lift the bags to the auto. But it was beyond me and the lady at the cash who was watching called a person from inside and asked him to put the bags in the auto. Sitting in the auto I thanked him and pressed a 5 rupee coin making sure that my action was not witnessed by the owner.

“No madam” he politely refused and hurried back to the shop.

“He must be upset. I should have tipped him a tenner” I told myself. Or the lady must be paying her assistants well to refuse a tip! Or it might be a business tactics to increase the sale. Whatever might be the reason I was happy about ladies setting up quality standards in all fields including a grocery shop!!

I missed the lady for quite some time in the shop. When I saw her again and enquired about her absence she informed me that her husband got into an accident and had fractured his leg. She had to be with him in the hospital and brought him back home just yesterday.

“That man does not listen at all……. I always advise him never to over speed in his bike which invariably falls on deaf ears …… now it is not just that he is mourning all the time but the whole family had to bear with all his lamentations……Even with a head ache he can make a big fuss and now with a fracture, it is the end of the world for all of us”

Next time when I happened to visit the shop she informed me that he was better but the bandage had to be still there and he would be back to normal very soon. I was happy for that lady.

When I was again in the grocery shop I saw the lady stepping out of an auto with a well-dressed man who was limping. She slowly guided him to the shop and seated him at the cash counter.

“Now don’t run around the shop.” She said to him “People are there to take care of everything. “Murugaiah…..you are responsible for him….Now I will finish an important bank work and come back soonl”

With intention of  wishing the owner's husband well when I went near the cash counter I had the shock of my life! The man who assisted me with my grocery bags the other day was indeed her husband and the co-owner of the shop!!

His folded lungi and the all-pervading pungent grocery smell hath indeed led me astray! What a silly person I was! Had the audacity to tip the owner with a 5 rupee coin!! And that man’s respectful reply to my misguided assumption taught me a lesson in magnanimity!

Most Precious Two Rupee

On 15 th July 2013 the international Airport at Chennai was opened on a trial basis and the

Passengers had to close their nose from the stench at the toilets! This was the newspaper report

I had an   even bigger adventure with the toilets in the new Bangalore Airport in the same month

These two occurrences may be unbelievable to you but this in truth is the Indian Quality Standard for you

 The story goes like this:

7 th of July 2013  was an early rise  day  for us both since my husband and I had to take the morning flight to Bombay from Bangalore and as everyone  know  the Bangalore airport lies at the far end of the city and consumes  nearly two hours to reach from Electronic city where we were staying. In addition we were planning to have the local culinary speciality of masala dosa at the airport for breakfast.  These two factors necessitated the early start. 

As a policy we adhere to the routine consuming one litre of water in the early morning and that day was no exception. My husband might falter on days but cleansing of my system with drinking   a mandatory litre of water was the first part of my ablution process. And hence when we reached the airport after an hour and forty five minutes, the urge for a visit to the toilet became imminent. Informing my husband to order for the dosa and reserve two seats in that crowded restaurant, I rushed across towards the ‘toilet arrow’ which righteously indicated the right direction. Satisfied with this information I happily walked forward but the path led me to the outside of the airport where vehicles were picking up and dropping passengers and security personnel were controlling the vehicles at the pedestrian crossing. Assuming that I had misread the indicator I walked back into airport but the arrow very rightly indicated the the direction I had taken! Taking the right turn I tried a small detour to the right at a junction but as we are used to in India,   ‘some work in progress’ was vigorously happening there. By now I was at the bursting point of nature's call! I hastily retraced my steps back to the indicator point and saw my redeemer in the security personnel there and he too directed me in the tested and proven direction on the ‘right!’ I rushed forward impervious to the vehicles and proceeded straight further. There among the bushes I saw some activities of men hovering around and now I was sure that the ladies' toilet would not be far off!

I identified the ‘lady in the frock’ sign easily but another surprise was awaiting me! A board at the entrance indicated that to use the facility a fee of two rupees is collected and the toilet papers cost another three rupees! And a lady sitting in a chair with a table in front was presiding over the collection process! Paid toilets?!! At the airport?!! We pay an exorbitant price for the tickets and is it not the courtesy on the part of the authorities to provide this basic facility to the passengers?!! I was fuming. Helplessly I wondered where I was to find this two rupee. Anybody might have easily suggested to me “Pull out your purse string lady and if you don’t find the coin take out a note and give it to the person concerned, rush across and get the change later or ask the person to keep the change.”

 I could understand your sarcasm. But my dilemma was of a different nature. Generally when both my husband and I go out my husband becomes my sole creditor and expense manager and service provider. I neither carry my hand bag nor my cell phone. Today I knew that this was my undoing! If I have to rush back to my husband who was at the other end of the airport the damage would have been done. Then I saw an elderly couple walking along the path and enquired whether they paid the two rupees. The woman was flabbergasted by my enquiry and in a pacifying tone told me “It’s just two rupees; keep it on the table and you can go inside”.  I asked the gentle man if he could lend me two rupees. He not only understood me but considerately gave me not two but four rupees and said “You

can use it if someone else is with you.” But luckily no one was accompanying me in this mad adventure! I took the two rupee coin from him and my request to return the same was refused with a benign smile by those lovely couple!

I paid and having relieved the internal pressures that was building up, I sheepishly returned to find my husband who was totally oblivious to all this adventure!!

And long live the generous couple in whichever part of North India they reside. (They spoke in Hindi to my English!)               

The Moustached Man

It was a cool and pleasant February early morning weather of Delhi. Our first walk at the Buddha Jayanthi Park was a pleasing and energising affair. As we were walking I held my hubby’s hand tight and stood still. He calls this tight hold and immobile pose of me as “The dog phobia” and as a responsible guardian turned around to look for dogs.

Seeing none he asked me “What happened now?”

“Look, I can’t believe my eyes!”

“Oh the pavalamalli, (a jasmine variety of white petals and orange red stem) we have seen enough of it in Chennai.” He said. 

It was a know it all statement and I didn’t like it at all.

 “But have you seen a fence made of pavalamalli?  Ever seen rows and rows of them welcoming you with their heady fragrance when even a single one is an intoxicating concoction! I can’t believe it! Why didn’t we think of this in Chennai?”

“You are right….. Why didn’t we think of this in Chennai?” A pleasant voice made us turn back.

A middle aged couple smilingly wished us with a ‘vanakkam’ amidst the “Ram Rams” of the park.

From then on the walk in the Buddha Jayanthi Park became a much awaited event of our morning life!

One thing led to the other and this bonhomie was a thing of joy for both sides and in those phoneless days the exchange of addresses followed suit. Was it a magic by those rows of jasmines (pavalamalli) ?!!

When we came to know that they were on the lookout for a groom for their daughter I considered it a miracle that there was a very suitable boy from my side. I told them that our family friend who was closer to us than our own relatives and was also looking for a bride for his auditor son and that I would send a letter immediately.

They were happy. Since the girl had done her studies on similar lines it would be a perfect match in their professional life too!

From then on their daughter joined with us in the ‘Buddha Jayanthi park walk’ and preferred my company to the others! “ The semester exams are over and I am free for some proper exercise!” she declared as a matter of fact.

“ A lovable liar indeed!”

I didn’t disappoint her; fed her to the brim about this handsome boy who considered me as his own sister and about his intelligence having his own business at this young age. I also talked about the boy's parents whose company was as delightful as her own parents’! And very much more…!

After a month a reply came from my uncle that there was a big calamity in the house when my letter was received. His son had fallen in love with one of his juniors but never opened his mouth, in spite of fact that his parents were on the lookout for a bride for him.

But a letter from me fixing his bride was indeed a serious one because the boy knew that his parents took me into confidence and my decision was respected always. So he told of his lady love.

I remembered my oft repeated advice of my mother “Maintain a balance in all you do.”

I had indeed committed the mistake of letting our friends daughter’s imagination run riot.

Yet the bitter pill had to be swallowed. I had to open this unhappy message to the family. In their goodness they tried to pacify me.

“Don’t you worry "Quod scribere script est"………. Whatever is written is written”

My husband said “Uncle I had to go on a business trip to Madras and my father is well connected and he would definitely find a better match. “

The family accepted this assurance gracefully though they knew it might be just a placebo.

 “Once bitten twice shy” was my status now and  before his trip I made sure that whichever boy his father was deciding on, the enquiry should be thorough and there ought to be double checking of facts and this process was utterly essential. In case any prospective alliance he came across during his stay he had to personally meet the boy to make sure that there was not an iota of doubt about the credentials of the boy.

Our morning walk that day was not just filled with fragrance but created a happy mood. My husband indeed was the bearer of good tidings!! The boy was an engineer and a gold medallist with a well-paying job and the family was highly esteemed for its good values and yes… they were interested in the alliance.

My hubby said “We will send the full size photo with all the details to my dad and in the same way they would be sending the photo and details to me. This way it would be an informal thing and the photos could be returned without any heart burn in case either party was not interested.

“And we will not talk about it till everything is finalised. Is it ok with all of us?”

It was a double ok from all of us!

The photo from girl’s side had been duly sent and we received the boy’s photo but my husband was not happy

First of all it was just a passport size photo while the boy’s plus point was his height which couldn’t be revealed in a passport size photo. Secondly even though his face was bony his nice moustache counter balanced the structure. But the boy in all his craziness had shaved off his moustache for this special snap!!

“It’s ok; we will pass on the photo to them.”

“No way! What if they reject him based on this silly photo? He is indeed a gem of a boy and very handsome unlike this portrait…”

After much deliberation he decided on a ploy to make the man look handsome. “Just two lines and what a difference it’s going to make!” my hubby told himself. During his college days his excellence in engineering drawings won him many a laurel. He still carried those implements with love and that day he took out his sharpest and the thinnest black pen. Sitting under his drawing table and keeping the snap under the bright lit spot he drew a moustache!! When he showed me his handiwork, I literally got frightened!! With his longish mush the boy resembled more of a bandit’s handy man than a gorgeous groom. My husband concurred that in his enthusiasm he had made the moustache too long and using an ink pen eraser made a reduction which turned the boy into Hitler junior with a caterpillar moustache!  My anguished cry was “Poor chap, please leave him alone”

But the artist never wanted to give up. And after a few more alteration which led to a complete disaster and the outcome was an unrecognisable 'smudged good for nothing' bit of paper.

Without revealing his goof up he quietly sent a letter to his dad asking him for a full size photo of the boy with proper moustache!

We didn’t inform any of these catastrophes to our friends!  They might take it as a not very auspicious sign!

Those were the days when a letter took its own time to travel. Even if the letter reached it would take some more time for the boy to grow a mush. After this process he had to go to the studio to take the photo and the studio owner would take his own sweet time to deliver the print with a mandatory minimum period of 8 days.

And for us to receive the photo would be another time lag.

For some time we avoided the fragrant Buddha Jayanthi park.

But they were worried about our wellbeing and came home one day. We smartly tried our best to conceal all our bungling and assure them that it might be just a postal delay.

 “Don’t worry; we understand that you are hesitant to tell us that they don’t like the girl. But let us not lose our precious friendship over this silly matter. Can you please tell your dad to send back the photo?”

Our dilemma was unbearable and for a second I thought of blurting out the whole story but what could we gain by this effort? I kept quiet.

At last the much anticipated letter from my hubby's dad arrived. With just a cursory glance we handed over the envelop lock stock and barrel to our friends and it turned to be a happy ending!

And our couple recently celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary.

But till this day the ‘secret of the moustache less man’ slumbers well only in our hearts!

The pill Phobia

The girl was newly married. She was happy to find that the customs in the new house were more or less the same as the one her childhood home. The family was big like hers and the house was similar to her ancestral one except that it was smaller and with just four coconut trees at the backyard. She thought about the big jack fruit tree at her garden. During the season the ‘smelling’ of the abundant jack fruits clinging to the trunks to identify the ripe ones was an ideal hobby for her and the siblings. That the season coincides with the summer holidays added zest to this ‘smelling show’ what with the additions of many cousins. She would miss all the fun in the new place or maybe they will allow her to go home during the summer vacation!!

As days went by she found out that this family carried an eccentricity of its own. It was the ‘Pill phobia’ which engulfed the whole ambiance of this house hold!

As they started their day either to go to school college or work the children made a bee line for their vitamin pills and it  was received with reverence and piety like the holy prasadam. They were indoctrinated on the efficacy of those pills so much that they could recite by heart all their goodness with the speed reciting an easy mathematical table!  It was a wonder for her when her husband had a medicine box in their room and every day morning before he stepped out of the house for work he would have second breakfast which she named ‘the pill food’! With an assortment of pills in colour and size laid on the lid he would savour each one of them. It was as if he was relishing the sweetest pink guava of her Thanjavur garden! Was he healthy person? If so why was he taking so many pills? In one of her rare calls home (when owning phone was a luxury) she murmured to her mum about this habit but mother warned her not to make a fuss about it and dad would sort it out when he visited her.

Adding more zing to her worries was that her father in law also followed the same routine and the father and the son duo discussed among themselves about the veracity of a tablet depending on the input from their ordinary friends, doctor friends and medical representative friends! They would discuss and argue about the composition of a pill and decided which brand met their standard.

One day when they came home from an outing she had a slight cold. “The evening chillness of December.” she thought to herself. “Things would be fine with the intake of plenty of water.”

 But her husband thought otherwise. He was a worried man. Being newly married he gently suggested to her to take a pill which would ward off her cold in no time! The girl was surprised. “Taking a pill for cold? You must be joking. I will be alright tomorrow morning. “She turned to the other side of the bed and slept off. The poor fellow was helpless!

In spite of her water therapy her cold persisted with a slight cough as an accompaniment. Now the whole family woke up to this emergency situation. Her MIL (mother in law) ordered her not do any work and never to touch water and neither take a bath.

She started laughing.” Amma, in our house” she said “the moment anyone gets a cold we would jump into the river at the back of our house and soak ourselves to our heart’s content. If I take a cold water bath I would be fine in a jiffy. Don’t worry.”

 “Muruga……..” she exclaimed in horror “Cold water bath when you are having a cough and cold?” MIL wanted to articulate so many things about her family and their customs but controlled her tongue. But she continued “Please listen to me. This cold and cough if unattended would create a thick layer of phlegm and sit in your lung and in no time you will develop TB. You are an educated girl and know the implications of TB. If you are not convinced with the medicines your husband suggests, go to your father in law. He has immense experience.” All these cajoling had no effect on her and she said that she would get well in a day or two. She knew that three doses of her ammachi’s (grandmother's) ‘Adathoda’ herbal decoction would make her alright. A piece of 'Adimathuram' (liquorice root) kept in the mouth and sucking its sweetened saliva would take care of the cough!

 Whether it was the psyching out starting first with her husband and spreading like a contagious disease to  the MIL and the FIL (father in law) and the younger ones too (who looked down  at her with pity ) that her cold and cough worsened. She was feeling guilty facing anyone; she was the adamant black cat in the family. She thought about it and as a compromise she said she would see a doctor.

The whole household literally rejoiced and suggested that she went to Chari, their family doctor.  “I will sit outside” said her husband “that chap is bit cranky.”

“Are you the new bride?”

“Yes doctor.”

“Mmmmm… congratulations. I was there for your wedding…… nice boy!”

“Now why have you come here? Is there any fever?”

“Doctor I am having a cold and slight cough.”

“Definitely your husband and father in law would have suggested many medicines to you?!”

 She was startled. Finding a kindred soul at an unexpected corner surprised her!

With lot of enthusiasm she agreed with him and told him about her house hold remedy for cold. A head bath in the river at the back of their house was the cure all solution for cold. Her side of the family indeed treated cold and cough with the needed contempt.

“Hey … that’s great…….. It was the same in Calcutta where I practised for some time. The moment a patient entered the hospital with cold or fever he would be taken straight away to the bath room and two buckets of cold water would be poured right from his head on. See this Thanjavur remedy had travelled a long… long…. Distance…..ha… ha…ha!!”

  He continued “Now listen to me carefully. Go home and make a decoction of dry ginger and pepper and drink thrice everyday with palm sugar. In the meantime I will give you some powdered pills to convince your family or they would be researching the tablets I had given….They are just placebos. Those educated jokers! They don’t know that with all their medications and vitamin pills they are filling their toilet with rich urine!

“Who can change a mind-set?” he sighed

 That conniving man indeed made her happy and whenever she wanted to escape from the family medication possibilities her asylum was ready and waiting with a laughing session as bonus! She would share with him the medical weirdness of the family. Whenever her professor husband went for paper correction he would swallow extra dose of Becosules (vitamin B12 capsule) to vitalise him! The father in law would gulp an extra spoonful of rejuvenating pasty herbal concoction much before his chess tournament in the club.

 “Need to fill the think tank to the brim!!”

All these had indeed become history now. The girl had her own grandchildren. But the husband’s phobia continued but at a different plane. With his heart problem  blood pressure and sugar, his recourse was to maintain a perfect routine with the prescribed medicines. Monitoring his wife’s recommended daily dosage of calcium pills was part of his every day routine. And the wife’s reluctance for anything to do with medicine continued unabated.

It so happened one day that in spite of umpteen numbers of reminders she forgot to take her calcium pill and last reminder from the husband was literally a threat. Irritated she hastily opened the box and popped in the pill and told him that her job was over. His night reminder too was adhered to.

 In the course of a conversation after the night meal she mentioned that she had swallowed two of his pressure pills instead of her calcium ones. That man couldn’t believe his ears! A normal person taking two blood pressure pills? It was indeed an emergency situation! A call to come home immediately to the daughter living close by was given after a brief explanation. She also got panicky and called her doctor friend to describe the situation. But her dad was not happy with all those introductory endearments with her friend. He pulled the phone from her and started giving details. “Doctor she had taken two pills……….. Two blood pressure pills and this is the power and this is its brand name” so saying he called his daughter “Please bring my spectacles, I want to read out to her the composition of the pill; the letters are small.”

 In all these commotion the culprit was sitting calmly! The doctor said “Uncle please don’t worry. I will take care of things. Please can you give the phone to Aunty?”

“How are you my dear girl?” the lady asked.

“I have to ask that question to you Aunty! How are you feeling?”

 “I am fine.”

Then the doctor said “Aunty, in case you feel weak mix some salt and sugar in a glass of water and drink it. But you should promise me to have a separate box for your tablets and never ever to take a mistaken pill.  I will tell uncle to send you to the clinic tomorrow morning for his satisfaction and please come early when there is not much crowd. We will have a nice chat. Is it fine with you?”

“Yes my dear.”

At this juncture that lady remembered dear Chari too and told herself

“Thank God, all through my married life the doctors are my only sane cahoots (partners)!

Lee Kuan Yew - An Eulogy

It was a friendship beyond compare. Some might say that it was an odd type of friendship.  But it is the one I relished most in my years of stay at Singapore starting from 1999. The moment I received a gift from a friend at our MTL office in Singapore the seed was sown. I am an avid reader of novels and not much interested in a biography and that too authored by the president of the nation and seen by the world as an autocrat.

Since Jackie, the Chinese Singaporean, who presented the book  had highly recommended it,  out of sheer curiosity I was driven to read it. It was a moment of revelation. “THE SINGAPORE STORY” written by it’s prime minister Lee Kuan Yew entwined me like a  ghost creeper and  wouldn’t  let go of it’s grip!

“THE SINGAPORE STORY”  starts with the partition of Singapore from Malaysia. Singapore was a state (like TamilNadu, a state in India) of Malaysia. It was just 2 years since this merger had taken place. But the incompatibility became so  unbearable due to the Malaysian prime minister’s biased agenda stick that he  didn’t want Singapore to be part of it anymore. The nation was just cut off and thrown away. Malaysia was the hinterland of Singapore with all the natural resources embedded in there and Singapore acted as it’s commercial and business hub. The leader of this unfortunate island state of Singapore Lee Kwan Yew was at a loss! What was he  going to do with this piece of land (with nil natural resources) as a separate entity? On August 9th 1965  Singapore became  independent. At the first live press conference convened for the occasion Lee Kuan yew  couldn’t control his emotions and excused himself for 20 minutes in the presence of a curious gathering of reporters lapping up  every word uttered and craving to know more. This first chapter of the book which covered this event touched my heart and the others just  followed suit!

After finishing the book I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to salute the man who had  done a miracle to this tiny place, thank him for his audacity in the face of so much animosity. I wondered at his leadership quality in uniting 65% Chinese 18% Indians and 17% Malaysians and other nationalities into one harmonious group and creating a bonhomie needed for an ideal nation!  But for his vision, grit and political sagacity, this third world nation would not have become one among the shining stars of  the first world nations!

I thought I have to do something for him for these and many other reasons. Whenever we fly from India (my hubby’s assignment was such that we spent 10 days of the month in India and 20 days in Singapore) and from the moment we took a taxi from the airport to our house at Orange Grove Road we literally felt like royals travelling in a chariot having a ‘Guard of Honour’ all through the  route ! The  varied flowering trees with their mild fragrance and the nodding bushes saluted us. I would like to raise my hand as a return salute but my smiling face said it all.

All this credit of making me queen belonged to my dear Lee! That impossible man envisioned a clean and green Singapore which will carry a competitive advantage!

 In one of his conversation he said “After independence I was searching for a dramatic way to distinguish ourselves from other third world nations. Greening is the most cost effective project I have launched.”

His passionate involvement in  greening of the nation earned him the pet title “The First Gardener of the Nation”! 

How do I tell him that he had done a wonderful job in not just greening the place but  making his nation one among the richest and powerful one  in the world? 

The urge to make a bonding with this friend was irresistible. With my known contacts I could have met him in one of the gatherings he attended. But it will be too formal with no depth, like meeting one of our famous actor to say that she had acted well in a particular movie. But I took a strange route. I started translating the Singapore Story into Tamil and I couldn’t stop it. As I went on with the job I felt that our friendship is in proper place and being strengthened every day. When his next book “ FROM THIRD WORLD TO FIRST” came out  I was one among the first to buy it and again went on with my translating frenzy.  I didn’t know why I did it. Do I want to publish it? I had no idea! I never even thought about it. But my inner satisfaction was beyond compare. Do you write “Ramajayam” countless times over years for any reward except for the satisfaction of supreme connection? Do you write “ Praise the Lord” for any other reason?

 On March 23 2015, my friend Lee Kwan Yew left this world at the ripe age of 91. There will be floral tributes and many words of praise from world leaders. The social media will overflow with tributes and eulogies but from this humble friend the befitting translation into Tamil, is offered as a tribute.

The Biblical Rite and the people of Edenganni

The revolution started on the holy week of 2013. That dude from Buenos Aires  Pope Francis who occupied the highest chair of Vatican on 13th March 2013, stepped out of his sanctum sanctorum on 28th of March, his first Maundy Thursday as pope and proceeded straight towards a youth detention centre where he washed and kissed the feet of young prisoners both men and women!

Why hath he come down from the throne? He had the privilege  of washing the feet of men in robes of varied ages and nationalities; equally qualified men would assist him in pouring the water from ornate pitcher and wipe the feet with the  best of linen!

But he is a man of the people who wants to show to the world that God is with the lesser privileged people and men and women are equal and  are integral part of his God’s kingdom!

Years ago when a lowly priest did it in his parish where he washed and kissed the feet of 6 men and 6 women on a Maundy Thursday hell broke loose in the town of Tiruchirapalli. Both the clergy and the lay people joined hands in abusing him. Wall posters were full of condemnation and sarcasm in an utterly male chauvinistic fashion. He was warned by the higher ups for his preposterous deeds. And his anticipated promotion in the hierarchy was held back for eternity.

This person is my uncle, a man of letters and still a man of the people. As a young lad in his village, my uncle had witnessed the washing of the feet by various families on allotted Thursdays of the Lenten season. How is it that this rite, a prerogative of the priestly class came to be conducted by the family people? That I think is what we call tradition. It should have been happening for some generation and had now become a custom to be followed!

 All the while my uncle should have been wondering “Why boys were invariably chosen as the 12 apostles  and never a girl? If each one of us was God’s children  why girls and people from other communities were never even considered?” When this man became a priest he decided “what my village could not do I will do it in my parish. In my place there would be no caste differentiation and my apostles would be both men and women.”

The little village continued in the same old ways but as days went by the ritual saw its own demise what with people moving to the city and the remaining  few, unenthusiastic to celebrate this ritual.

 For us children the festival of washing the feet at Edenganni  was in itself an oasis in the stark and severe Lenten season where fasting on all 7 Fridays, vegetarian meals for 40 days  and small Way of the Cross everyday and larger variety lasting for 2 hours on Fridays to contemplate on the passions of Christ on an empty stomach was the much adhered routine. When you are young your stomach rules over the mind. The fourth Thursday usually was our family’s turn. We were living in a small town  for our studies and with the arrival of bullock cart  early on the Wednesday inaugurated our own two day festivity till our return Home. In those days the school usually closed for summer vacation before the Holy Week.

The proceedings for Thursday celebration was indeed an elaborate one.

A minimum variety of 12 vegetables has to prepared signifying 12 apostles of Jesus. Apart from  the regular sambar, puli kuzambu, rasam and buttermilk, appalam and payasam and tomato jam would be prepared for 300 people. The cutting of the vegetables was a much anticipated affair among the relatives. After the night prayers in the chapel and the dinner in their respective homes, the  ladies would gather  in our house with their cutting implements. It was indeed a happy occasion accompanied with plenty of laughter and exchange of pleasantries. We children had the single devoted job of peeling the  beans soaked  earlier in the morning. It was a fun job where  we compete in getting  the peeled beans jump  high up and fall right into the vessel by pressing the beans with the thumb and  index finger.  This peeled beans with drumstick made into a kootu was my mum’s speciality!

Uncles would join us later to cut the big vegetables like pumpkins, an eagerly anticipated event for the children. As soon as the first  pumpkin was cut one among us would be quick enough to collect its innards intertwined with seeds and we would start the process of separating the seeds from the gluey stuff and ate the  slippery seeds by a perpendicular thrust in between two molars!

Mum and dad would fast on that day while we children were excused.

In the morning an elongated pit at the back garden would be dug up to serve as a huge stove where rows of big vessels would be kept under the log fire to cook rice, dhal etc.  Inside in small stoves (they too were log stoves) ladies would be preparing various dishes. At the stroke of 12, the 12 apostles would be ready  for the ceremony after taking bath in the tank behind the chapel called "Pappa Kulam". Dad would also be ready after his bath. In the mean time we would have plucked a variety of  flowers from the garden at Pillaiyar (Lord Ganesha) temple (which we called nandhavanam) and kept the stool, water and flowers ready for dad to start the process . With a small prayer the process of washing the feet would start. Even the naughtiest among the boys  would approach the stool with great reverence with folded hands. The whole congregation would join in singing a song specially sung for the occasion ( explaining the Biblical story of Jesus washing the feet but which is lost to the posterity except for the first few lines) The water thus collected was taken around the chapel with which we crossed ourselves and then along with the flowers it was reverently thrown back into the pappa kulam. Usually in the big city churches, as the priest washed the feet, the person who takes the role of the Apostle would receive a gift but not in Edenganni. For the 12 apostles a royal welcome with the royal feast awaited at home!

The apostles now followed dad  who led them to the main hall of the house where the best of the banana leaves will be placed on both sides allowing  a middle path way.

At the house  a person would be waiting with a white wet towel which dad reverently received. After the apostles were seated  rice dhal and ghee would be served but the apostles should resist the temptation of gorging on the food! They indeed had an important duty to perform. As they start mixing the dhal rice my dad would  kneel down  in front of the first apostle and  beg for food in his wet towel  and  would move on in the kneeling posture till he was done with the last  of the 12.  At times some of the apostles would start crying as they placed the food on dad’s towel seeing an elder kneeling for food! What a beautiful lesson in humility and  what a lesson to the children that the master should always be a servant  to his people! Once  the apostles are served the delicious food and the leaves would be laid for all the other guests.  A little quantity of the dhal rice would be placed in the leaves  as  a sacred dish to all the guests  and only after this was done they would start serving the food. Once the apostles finished their feast those leaves would be collected separately and  taken straight to the manure pit  where a  hole was dug in the middle to throw the leaves in and always with a prayer in the heart that the next year’s harvest should be as bountiful!

For the night  a special feast would be awaiting  just for the relatives. A blend of all the leftovers would be heated up  and this fragrant concoction would  be mixed with rice and served in the lotus leaves as big balls! My mouth salivates on the thought of this ambrosia!

Today for our part we are trying to revive this beautiful ritual and as  a tribute to our dear uncle  our 12 apostles are beyond caste and creed and belong to both sex. As regards ritual song we have composed appropriate words  and though we feel nostalgic and sad about losing the old one  we hope we to compensate!

Confluence of Buddhism and Marxism

Can you hear the tenets of Marxism and the chanting of Buddham Saranam Sangam Katchami in one place?

Is it a  contradiction worth analysing? I very much think so!!!!  

It is  a Communist country. But Buddhist monasteries abound, saturated with Buddhist monks young and old, men and women!!!

Is it  then a Communist Buddhist country? But  the name of a monastery in our vicinity is called a very Indian Vajramangalam, very much like our own  Needamangalam and Soolamangalam ! And the only theatre in Luang Prbhang stages  Ramayan  as an important production. April 14th is a very important festival for them too as in India and the festival is called Songkran, which coincides with the Tamil New Year in Tamilnadu and New Year celebration in 13 other states and countries in South East Asia. Once a French colony the remnants of it’s culture exhibits itself in the form of culinary flavours!

That country is called  Laos (pronounced as Lau), a neighbour of Thailand and and is indeed a conglomeration of Communist Buddhist and Indian ways, a happy place, a coexistence of varied cultures at its best!

Our visit was to it’s  old capital city of  Luong Prabang which is adopted by UNESCO as one of the world heritage centre was the delectable experience!

The Mekong, which has its source in the Himalayas like Ganga and Brahmaputra , is a very wide, deep and fast flowing river in Laos and most of the transportations is done through this river and the proof of this state of affairs was  the innumerable floating  mobile petrol stations filling up fuel for the needy vessels in the river.

A well laid bathing ghat with proper steps and  shady trees reminds us of our own Kaveri bathing ghats!! The only difference is the presence of the frolicking young monks with shaven heads and saffron robes fluttering in the cool breeze. As a side show we also witnessed  some young monks smoking sitting comfortably on the river steps!

Are they really monks? If so can the monks smoke?  Yes, they are monks indeed! In Laos even small children can become novice monks and it is considered a boon for the family if the children enter  the monastery.  While novices have  to follow 10 precepts, for a monk the number of precepts are an arduous  250!! But I am sure that smoking is definitely forbidden by one of these 10  precepts and the youngsters were indeed playing truant!  Young monks also have the option of walking out  if this ascetic life doesn’t suit them!

We stayed in a guest house by name Xieng Mouane opposite to a monastery which was named as Vajramangalam.  At the monastery the first multiple gongs  go at 4 a.m when the chanting begins. At 6.00 a.m, at the sound of a single gong, the Buddhist monks,  like an army of disciplined ants, pour out on to the streets with their begging bowls. I got up and peeped through my window. It was drizzling and there were no people around. I was worried. What if people don’t come around with food? After 15 minutes of wait I saw a lady hurrying across with food. She knelt down on the wet road and with great reverence offered the food. And the monks proceeded further into the next street.  It seems that the people of Luong Prabang are responsible for feeding the monks of the various monasteries and they consider this as their pleasant and revered duty. The monks of Laos belong to the Thervada Buddhism and is a non-vegetarian sect of Buddhism. Offering cooked pork to the monks is a common custom here. The food they collect is the only meal for the day and it is consumed around 11 in the morning.

 With so many comforts in life we grumble over imagined non-existent issues but these monks …. most  of them should be scholars in Buddhism…..  they come out for their food and they might not even know what would be on their plate for the day! What if they disliked the food of the day?  Their mind should have been highly conditioned and disciplined to reach this stage of maturity and detachment!

One evening,  we went to the theatre to witness the episode of Sita‘s request for the golden deer. The music though melodious may sound  monotonous to an Indian ears  used to the jugal bandhis of various artists  where reaching crescendo is the highlight of any performance. That verve and tempo are missing somewhere in this part of the world. It is like the mighty Mekong for if you look at the river you can sense  serinity and there is hardly any turbulence.

 Similarly their  dancing is very graceful with great costumes. But it is too very gentle to us Indians who are brought up appreciating the strenuous adavus and fast moving thillanas of Bhrathanatyam and the foot work of Kathak. But that day  in the theatre  I found a similarity with Tamil Nadu’s Theru koothu ( Street Theatre) in the style that in the middle of the drama the characters begin to sing for  long durations.

Except for the few red flags here and there I did not witness anything else about ruling communist regime.  It might be because I was just  a tourist. But the overwhelming effect of Buddhist philosophy had impressed me way beyond!

14th of April is a great day in various parts of India. So too in Laos. On that day the statues of Buddha in the temples are cleansed with water. After this the festival of Songkran starts. It is more like our Holi festival. Whereas Holi celebration involves plenty of colours, Songkran is more of a health conscious affair. Instead of colours, water is sprayed on all passerby without making any exception. We too were caught in this melee and though shocked  by the assault, enjoyed this street bath to the hilt!

Laos was once a French colony and the proof of it still exists in the culinary customs.  The French baguettes sell everywhere and the streets abound in variety of cakes like carrot cake banana cake apple cake etc. The Laos coffee is similar to the French one. Coffee is served in glass tumblers with a bottom layer of thick sweetened milk and a very thick decoction over atone has to stir it very gently and savour the ambrosia! (I don’t know if they serve this coffee in France today!) An evening walk along the main road with a cake to munch is a pleasant experience with the cool breeze of Mekong fanning you all the way.

Like India Laos also has many  tamarind trees  but the big difference is that Laos tamarind are very sweet  and can be eaten as fruit. Most of our boat rides were accompanied by this  delicious Victoria plum like tamarind snack! Usually when people go abroad they bring back chocolates but I brought  tamarind for distribution. Some people refused it saying that tamarind heats up the body and shrinks the blood.  But I didn’t bother. Their loss is my gain!!