Great Search and Greater Resolve

When we  landed in the city of Chennai from Calcutta there were many surprises and the first in this series was the house hunting which I have shared with you in a blog and next one was concerning the servants. The ten long years' stay at Calcutta was a golden age in this regard. Though the place was the mother of all sorts of trade unions this sector of domestic servants was untouched  I think for ages the servitude of this class was visible  to the naked eyes! I would like to give a small example. If the servant was sweeping around the compound and if the land lord who lived upstairs used to pass through she had to drop the broom to the side and holding her sari close to her body with both her hands she had to bow her head till he was safe inside to the stairs!

 Even though I never expected this servility Chennai maids, it was utterly different from their counterparts  at Calcutta. They were very different....... more democratic to assert their rights and in comparison. the role were reversed. Instead of I specifying the duties it was they who were  specific of their duties  and the timings and stressed my duties towards them.

"I should have my morning hot  tea before I can start any work amma..... No left over things for me please... You can provide me the breakfast later.....I will bring my vessel for fresh lunch.  I will mop the house on Tuesdays and Fridays....... and   I will not do the washing..... blah..... blah ..blah" I was stunned. At Calcutta all the house work including washing was taken for granted and our house used to be mopped twice daily which was the norm. 

In this conditioned and democratic ambience I tried many a specimen.

A new one sort of satisfied our needs. If ever I tell her to do a work there never was a negative reply and it was just a nod. She was more like a western cow boy we see in the old time movies who has his revolver in his holster!  She had a similar gadget like the hip sling where she carried  a small treasure trove of a bag attached to her waist  filled with betel leaves betel nut tobacco ammunitions. Sitting on the floor she would diligently prepare with her little mortar and pestle before she started the work. Once this was done she would fill her mouth with the mixture and would be full of zip like our cow boy till she sat for the next session of ammunition filling!  Our whole house gained a permanent aroma of tobacco and we decided that this atmosphere was indeed a health hazard to the family.

Another specimen was tried out and she was not satisfied with my food. "It is lifeless " she complained and left.

And with another I acted like the Bishop Myriel in the great novel 'Les' Miserable' ignoring the small disappearances in the kitchen but when the silver rosary gifted by my mother in law did the vanishing act  my benevolence took a departure and that was the end of another story! 

And it turned out to be a continuous litany of woes with dirty uniforms, dusty shelves, unclean vessels  what with  late comings and absenteeism and the  attrition rate was unbelievably higher than a sophisticated IT organisation!

"Why is this happening to me who had a comfortable time with a single servant in a land of foreign language?" I wondered!

And one particular day I spelt out my melancholic tale s to my sister in law, who was then the mother superior and she consoled me that she would pray to our Lady to find a solution to my problem. And true her powerful prayer and focused intention she indeed came out with a solution.

"There is an young girl in a family known to me....." she said " Her father is a cancer patient with one of his leg amputated and the mother is an agricultural labourer. Her elder brother is doing some technical course and the younger one is in the elementary school. The parents are looking for a good house where she can work and have  three square meals and earn something which can be saved for her marriage. What do you think about it?" she enquired

Having a house bound servant was indeed a new model for me. How do I accommodate her and what sort of influence she would be on my two children? My mind out rightly refused this paradigm shift.

"Give it a try..." my hubby said " Worse come worse we can send her back."

With reluctance we decided to go ahead

So for the first time we had a house bound servant!

"Child labour" my conscience pricked me

"But you are helping the girl and the family" the other side of mine tried to convince me.

This new recruit landed in our house as a little girl probably 10 or 11, even though she smiled at me I could feel that she was frightened. I patted her and asked her to eat the lunch.

As soon as she finished her food she collected all the plates and the vessels cleansed them and the kitchen too!

The girl got up before me for her bath, collected the milk and got things ready for breakfast. The kitchen was spic and span with all the vessels washed the night before and mopped thoroughly. With her pleasant face she endeared herself to our foursome house hold!

She loved to cook and learnt the tricks of the trade fast.

"Shall we prepare some snacks this evening akka?"

This smiley request was a bonus  which I couldn't refuse. For the children coming back from school the pleasant  anticipation of a good evening spread instead of the boring biscuits had become a habit now! We celebrated Tamil New year's day  with a sumptuous banana leaf feast with kolams drawn in the village style. Deepavali and Christmas were celebrated with equal fervour!

With this kind of  non-monitoring and non-supervising happy addition to the family, it had created plenty of leisure time for me.

Then I took the decision to teach this wonderful girl. She knew the Tamil alphabets.  We progressed through various stages of reading and writings and being a quick and enthusiastic learner. Over a year she improved so much that I contemplated on sending her for her 10th standard government exam privately.

One more thing I found special in her was that she was fond of reading Tamil poems and Bharathiyar was her favourite.  Both of us enjoyed  singing along the women liberation songs by that great man!

The proverb "Good things don't last forever" proved true in our case. One fine day her parents landed up in Chennai.

"Amma...... "he said "we want our girl to get married......."

"But she is too young to get married....."

"Amma ......the  government has announced scheme for the poor girls who are getting married....."

 I was angry

"But I am having a plan to make her do the 10th standard so that she could get a job..... even a government one...... and mind you she is not yet 18, the marriageable age even according your calculation.."

"But amma where do I go for an educated bridegroom for my girl...?  A person who has done his 10th standard and unemployed  demands a big motorcycle and a gold chain..... The VAO of my village will definitely help me regarding her birth certificate......"

I looked at her mother's face. It was expressionless.

Our girl was crying copiously. All my arguments to defend her stay proved futile in the face of his helplessness and poverty.

Then there was  no contact except the wedding invitation. Our gift went in the form of money order. One or two letters I had written went unanswered.

Then the miracle happened. After many years we were attending a function at Madurai and there I met my girl. She looked sad.

I hugged her and enquired about the general wellbeing.

"Everything fine akka....." But the enthusiasm was missing 

A son and a daughter was the fulfilling  events in her otherwise listless life.

Just to keep the conversation going I asked her the name of her daughter.

"Sakthi Bharathi, akka....."  The way she announced the name took me by surprise with her determination reflected in each syllable of that name.

"Come what may I am there to create a hybrid class of  my girl child with the  best of  education which I missed in my life and I would  make sure that none can interfere in this my decision." is what I gathered from my assistant's tone and the memory of the afternoons came flooding back when we used to sing together our dear Bharathiar's poems liberating women from the traditional house bound variety!
At that very moment I reminisced my mother who in spite of having 6 daughters in the family of 10children resolved to educate all of them living in a society where elementary education was the highest qualification for any female child. That she didn't bother about the sarcastic comments and  the accompanying mockery made her a heroine amongst the family at a later date when they followed her foot steps !!

The Tree of Life

Some years ago I met a cousin of mine who was a lorry driver with two daughters. When I congratulated him on giving a good education to both of them which landed them in very decent and well paid jobs he told me "Akka (sister) it was not easy ... with a single earning we managed the show how to lead a frugal life. You know there were times when we could not even afford proper vegetables and  my wife used to cook either Murungai (drumstick) leaves or the fruits for days together."

I was sad that the family had to get along with such meagre food. As young children we too used to murmur and mourn over the repeated use of the various parts of the Murungai tree in the cooking whenever we visited the village during the summer vacation!

We were living in Calcutta for about ten years and unlike Chennai the fish and vegetable  markets comes alive early in the morning and unlike Chennai it was the gentlemen of the family who evaluated and justified  the quality of the fish and bargained over them. Apart from this wonderment (of male dominated shopping for fish) another revelation for me was  the murungai. I was astonished  at the heaps of the creamish white murungai flowers and the very tender of murungai fruits filling the market and the demand for them equalled that of the fish!

     Back at Chennai the land of murungai we were on a visit to St. Anne's convent at Vettuvangeni. The time was around eleven in the morning and the mother superior invited us  for a cuppa. In the centre of the dining space was a big vessel containing some watery hot soup. I was  curious . "This is drumstick leaf soup my dear...." The superior quenched my curiosity!  Heart in heart I wondered " Can't the convent afford some nice juice to energise the nuns who rushed from their various work place during the short morning break instead of this  measly soup? Should they be so miserly? "

I visited one of my friend's house unannounced and  there I watched in wonderment at her little girl straight from school in her uniform with a plate full of  drum stick pieces  from the sambar (dhal gravy) relishing it to her heart's content by chewing each piece till the last bit of juice oozed into her system! "Poor child, my friend could go for good snack instead" I was upset!

But I needed great lot of personal learning to the  recognize the value of frequent use of drumstick in the village, the drumstick leaf soup on the convent's dining table and of those pieces of drumsticks on the child's plate  and say a 'mea culpa' on the unnecessary pity I had for my cousin's family!!

 And here it goes:

For so many years, the thrice a year, my blood test which we took for granted as a routine exercise was not giving the right indication this time.  My RBC count fell below normal and we were taken aback. On the advice of a research doctor in pharmacology, I reluctantly started consuming drumstick leaf soup and lo behold after a week's consumption the blood analysis revealed that my count hath indeed climbed up!

Moringa Oleifera, the name derived from our own murungai tree,  a native of the southern foothills of the Himalayas contains more than 92 nutrients, 46 types of anti-oxidants, 36 anti-inflammatory agents as well as vitamins A, B1, B2, B3, B4, B7, C, D, E, and K. Another amazing benefit is that, since it can retain high concentrations of electrolytes and minerals, it allows the body to remain internally hydrated even in very dry conditions.

This apart, the leaves can provide us with around 125 per cent of our daily requirements of calcium as well as 61 per cent of our daily manganese needs; given that these two minerals have to be taken together for better absorption, the leaves majorly enhance bone and teeth health.

The very high iron content, 24 times higher than spinach, makes the murungai a strong ally against anaemia!

It is no wonder that the tree is known as the "The Tree of Life, Mother’s Best Friend, The Miracle Tree, The Auspicious Tree."

Whenever I travel I used to wonder why the slum areas  flourish with murungai trees and wonder of wonders they seem to proliferate in these locales so much that they bear hundreds of these luscious long green beauties than in any other region !!

 Is it nature's balancing bounty of supplementing  the poor man's diet?!!

I would love to end this thesis on murungai on a very interesting and highly nutritional note

Fidel Castro, the past president of Cuba who passed away recently, is known as the connoisseur of 'fine food and good wine' enjoyed the murungai soup. When he was down with stomach ailment considered to be cancer 2012  he credited his recovery to murungai. He had got his aides to bring him drumstick seeds from Kerala and Tamil Nadu, and had them cultivated for his daily diet and called the plant the “miracle” from India.

The combined wisdom  which made our ancestors grow  a  drumstick tree at their back yard ensure nutritional security, the perception of the mother superior and my friend to carry through this ancient wisdom to this modern day astounded me  and even though I have a few murungai trees at my backyard  never once in my life I thought that I have a treasure trove for good health at my beck and call.

p. s:

Like everything else  in life moderation is the essence in this heath giving tonic.

To give lusciousness to the cooked fruit  please don't remove the outer skin when cutting it into pieces. The taste is in the outer skin!

Herbal concoction and the Allopathic Mixture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doctor Right

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Contagious compassion

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

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

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

This is her narration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But that doesn't justify his present position"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Gold rush

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you buy some gold..?."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Vibrant Highway of Many Dimensions

What is there in a road you may wonder?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not yet....."

"They are not good.."

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

"I want to you to open one..." 

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

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

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

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

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

Revolutions Par Excellence

A little girl leaves her village to take up a challenge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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