Today is Guruvayur Ekadasi, a very auspicious day at the Sri Krishna Temple, Guruvayur, Kerala. Ekadasi is the 11th phase of the moon and the Guruvayur Ekadasi falls in the Malayalam month of Vrichikkam which coincides with November 15th to December 15th of the English Calendar. Being devout bhakthas of Lord Guruvayurappa, it is but natural that all of us observe the Ekadasi rituals and abstain from consuming those articles considered taboo. Since a trip to Guruvayur is impractical, the best that I could do was to go to the local Guruvayurappan temple and offer prayers. I am not sure of the reason for the celebration of this Ekadasi or the legend behind it, however from the time I can remember, it has been the norm in my household for the ladies to observe this day.
The reason why I write this article is because; the day has become synonymous in Guruvayur with the memorial day of Gajarajan Guruvayur Kesavan. Guruvayur Kesavan as most Malayalis would know is an elephant that belonged to the temple for sixty years from 1916-1976 and he breathed his last on Guruvayur Ekadasi day. It is said that he fasted the whole day and towards the evening just collapsed with his tusk held high and facing the deity. A death any Bhaktha of the Lord would yearn for. To commemorate the life of this greatest of Bhakthas of the Lord, a life size replica of Kesavan stands at a vantage point in Guruvayur and his tusks encase his photo at the entrance to the Sanctum Sanctorum.
Kerala is the land of coconut palms, backwaters, beautiful temples and wonderful temple festivals. If there is one animal that plays a significant part in the day to day functioning of the temples, it is of course the mighty pachyderms. It is the pride of the temple to own a Pachyderm and there are those temples which own more than one. Sri Krishna Temple being one of the oldest and most revered temples of Kerala; it is but natural that the temple has been gifted with elephants right through its history. At present the temple has over 100 elephants. These elephants are sheltered in a sprawling venue called Punathur Kotta situated about 3kms from the temple. With the temple having enough funds, the elephants are cared for very well and every year they are given a month’s rest when they undergo ayurvedic treatment.
Kesavan the pachyderm belonged to the Nilambur royal family and was donated to the Guruvayur temple in the year 1916 when he was about 12 years of age. His majestic appearance and his fine temperament must have earned him that extra edge for very soon he was brought into the temple for the daily activities. It was just a matter of time before he replaced the erstwhile head Pachyderm Padmanabhan. In his 60 long years of service to the Lord, he has had the privilege of heading all the temple processions and of taking part in the innumerable Sribalis (circumambulation of the sanctum sanctorum) with the Utsava Deity on his back. I don’t think there has been any elephant in the history of the temple or for that matter in the State of Kerala that was as popular as Kesavan. Since he was almost always present in the temple courtyard, a visit to the temple ensured an interaction with Kesavan too. Those were the days when the temple was not as crowded as what it is today and we as kids would place some banana or few coins on the tip of his trunk and he would in turn bless us by placing his trunk on our head. A trip to Guruvayur always seemed incomplete without seeing Kesavan and most devotees would make it a point to go and see him in the grounds adjacent to the temple where he would be tied. Thus Kesavan had become an integral part of the temple and by being so had also become a legend in his life time.
How often does this kind of reverence happen? I am yet to hear of an animal gaining in stature to such dizzying heights so as to be considered as someone next to the Lord. The Hindu puranas have always worshipped animals and all the Gods have had as their vahanas/ vehicles an animal. This is the greatness of the religion which sees all living things in the same light. Thus if Siva has a bull, then it is a mouse for Vinayaka, a peacock for Muruga, a garuda for Vishnu and thus the list goes on. If our ancient scriptures can extol the virtues of these animals and if our religious beliefs can make us accept them as being holy, I see no reason as to why Kesavan the pachyderm cannot be considered in league with the other revered animals which are the vahanas of specific Gods. If in future the historians consider writing once again the history of The Sri Krishna Temple and that of Lord Guruvayurappan, I am sure they would refer to Kesavan as the vahana of the Lord. Sixty years is not a small duration and I am sure there will not be another elephant that will be get this opportunity.
If the 16th and 17th Centuries produced two of the greatest devotees of the Lord, namely Poonthanam who wrote the Njanappaana and Melpathur Narayana Bhattathiri who wrote the Narayaneeyam, it is my strong opinion that the 20th century has had only one undisputed devotee and that is none other than Guruvayur Kesavan. The two above mentioned poets have been honoured with their statues inside the courtyard of the temple and in case of Melpathur; the Narayaneeyam is played every day in the morning. Kesavan is omnipresent in Guruvayur and from every nook and corner his picture on wall hangings calls for our attention. Kesavan’s picture adorns the walls of so many Malayali homes and his story is something that every school going child knows. If the talk is about elephants, (which is a common topic of conversation in Kerala) it is sure to steer towards Kesavan for all Pachyderms are always compared to the mighty Kesavan.
It is 33 years since his death, but his legend lives stronger than ever before. He is definitely the Gajarajan (King among elephants) a title endowed on him for his fifty years of service to the Lord. His life was special and the grandest finale to life which is death was even more stupendous. The multitudes of true bhakthas who live on this planet cannot even dream of a mukthi like the one given to Kesavan.
It is very rare for someone to be earmarked for something special and in keeping with the Hindu belief, it just shows that that someone need not always be a homo sapien, the so called highest of creation. I consider myself blessed to have lived in the era of this Blessed Bhaktha.
Posted by Usha Kumar at 2:15 AM
4 comments:
Mohan Kumar said...
Very Enlightening even for some for some of living in Kerala. Incidentally, we will be going to Guruvayur next week and will certainly this perspective in mind.
December 3, 2009 12:38 AM
Sankaran said...
I am aware that elephant is considered as a holy animal and it is a common sight in Tamilnadu and Kerala to find one or more elephants in all big temples. I never thought that Guruvayur elephant had gained stature to such dizzying heights so as to be considered as someone next to the Lord.
December 5, 2009 12:31 PM
Geeta said...
Another thorough research, Usha. Great info!
December 8, 2009 5:35 AM
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
A Rip Off that Ripped Off.
Just yesterday, I was trying to update the phone book on my mobile as there were far too many numbers which were either defunct or belonging to people whose specific purpose is over. Thus I came across the only celebrity number in my list and pondered as to the need the number will have for me in future. I was sure there will not arise any need for that number, but then one can never say for if that be the case, how did the number find a place in my scheme of things? Anyway I have retained it for the time being and will consider deleting it after having a word with my niece for it was she who was responsible for the number finding a place in my mobile phone.
The number belongs to a so called top designer of Chennai and the story of how I found myself in his studio makes interesting reading. I may sound over enthusiastic when I write about my niece Preetha. But then I have to be because she is one over enthusiastic person. The summer of 2008 saw her spend two months with me in India. This was something she wanted to do and so she made the journey by herself and gave us the pleasure of her company. She is a vivacious youngster so interested in all that happens around. She loves Chennai and she loves all the people who frequent the house. She enjoys meeting people and she loves getting to know them. She totally involves herself in all the happenings and to put it in a nut shell, it was a wonderful treat having her here with us.
Most of her needs were simple and things I could fulfill. However there was this one thing she wanted and for that I was at a total loss, not knowing whom to turn to. She wanted to make a party dress for her upcoming Junior Prom party and since she was in India, she thought it a good idea to have one tailor made with an Indian touch. Now the tailors I know are my blouse and salwar suit tailors and both of them have no clue of anything beyond their expertise. I tried asking a couple of friends and they too were very vague of how to go about the same. Preetha felt that for the money she would spend in the US for an off the rack dress, she could get something personal and one of a kind from here. Finally we nailed the person whom we felt would have an idea of such matters. Our guess was correct and the said person had the names of a list of designers. Since it meant Greek and Latin to me, I told the friend that I would leave the choice to her. Thus on a Friday afternoon after fixing an appointment, the three of us went to the exclusive studio of the designer.
The studio was a three storey building and it was done up in a way that I did not think much about. It reminded me of pictures of boudoirs that I had seen in movies. The colours too were garish to go along with the boudoir theme. There were pictures of his star clients dressed in his creations and thus I came to know as to whom among the glitterati of Chennai turned to him to look their “best”. On the first floor was his office and we were ushered in by an assistant and there perched on the table was the designer. To me he seemed more a model for other designer products, what with a Gucci eyeglasses resting on his head and a designer belt to hold his designer jeans around his 24inches waist. The white shirt that he wore I would like to presume was his own creation, for isn’t it right to assume that a top designer will sport at least one piece of his own creation?
Had I been given a choice, I would have walked out of that studio at that point. But the only reason I stayed on was because I trusted my friend in these matters. Preetha at that point was so excited and thus without giving scope for looking around or making a decision, the dress was ordered. Measurements were taken and a date was given for the trial. I was happy, because by then my sister Latha would be in town and thus the responsibility would not be mine any more. Although we had set a limit on the cost, no questions were asked and thus we came out not knowing what we were in for.
On the trial day Latha too came along. The dress looked gorgeous, however it was not fitting and hence some alteration was called for. The designer was in a haste to catch a flight and thus we were left with his Mom to take care of our needs. The mother as advised by the son handed over a bill which exceeded our budget by more than a couple of thousands. Since the designer had left, there was no one we could question and thus came out paying the amount. At that point I felt like the prey in the spider’s web. The sweet talk and enthusiasm that was in plenty during our first trip had dissipated. One reason for this could be the fact that we were one time customers.
Preetha got over her initial shock at the cost and fortunately seemed happy at the outfit. She promised herself that she would lose some weight before her Prom date. The Prom was more than 6 months away and every now and then when we spoke the talk of the dress would come up. Thus the date of the Prom arrived and Preetha’s excitement knew no bounds. When the zip had to be fastened, it refused to budge and on using force the fastener just gave way. It seemed for a few minutes that total chaos reigned. Preetha was shattered and she had to in the eleventh hour look for an alternative. Latha who is very deft with her hands, saved the day and thus the evening went off without any wardrobe malfunction. I really wish that they would send the dress back, for then I could go and meet the designer. Although I have met him twice, I never had a conversation, for he may have thought me not worthy of his time. This would definitely be my chance to pin him down.
Preetha’s senior Prom is fast approaching; however she is dead sure about not ordering another outfit. The prêt a porter dresses though not personal are surely dependable. In the meantime I see pictures of the designer regularly in the papers and the latest one was of his birthday bash were he along with his famous clientele were posing in Victorian/Tudorian outfits. They looked ridiculous and I had a hearty laugh recollecting the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes.
PS. The number will be retained in order for me to have the last word.
The number belongs to a so called top designer of Chennai and the story of how I found myself in his studio makes interesting reading. I may sound over enthusiastic when I write about my niece Preetha. But then I have to be because she is one over enthusiastic person. The summer of 2008 saw her spend two months with me in India. This was something she wanted to do and so she made the journey by herself and gave us the pleasure of her company. She is a vivacious youngster so interested in all that happens around. She loves Chennai and she loves all the people who frequent the house. She enjoys meeting people and she loves getting to know them. She totally involves herself in all the happenings and to put it in a nut shell, it was a wonderful treat having her here with us.
Most of her needs were simple and things I could fulfill. However there was this one thing she wanted and for that I was at a total loss, not knowing whom to turn to. She wanted to make a party dress for her upcoming Junior Prom party and since she was in India, she thought it a good idea to have one tailor made with an Indian touch. Now the tailors I know are my blouse and salwar suit tailors and both of them have no clue of anything beyond their expertise. I tried asking a couple of friends and they too were very vague of how to go about the same. Preetha felt that for the money she would spend in the US for an off the rack dress, she could get something personal and one of a kind from here. Finally we nailed the person whom we felt would have an idea of such matters. Our guess was correct and the said person had the names of a list of designers. Since it meant Greek and Latin to me, I told the friend that I would leave the choice to her. Thus on a Friday afternoon after fixing an appointment, the three of us went to the exclusive studio of the designer.
The studio was a three storey building and it was done up in a way that I did not think much about. It reminded me of pictures of boudoirs that I had seen in movies. The colours too were garish to go along with the boudoir theme. There were pictures of his star clients dressed in his creations and thus I came to know as to whom among the glitterati of Chennai turned to him to look their “best”. On the first floor was his office and we were ushered in by an assistant and there perched on the table was the designer. To me he seemed more a model for other designer products, what with a Gucci eyeglasses resting on his head and a designer belt to hold his designer jeans around his 24inches waist. The white shirt that he wore I would like to presume was his own creation, for isn’t it right to assume that a top designer will sport at least one piece of his own creation?
Had I been given a choice, I would have walked out of that studio at that point. But the only reason I stayed on was because I trusted my friend in these matters. Preetha at that point was so excited and thus without giving scope for looking around or making a decision, the dress was ordered. Measurements were taken and a date was given for the trial. I was happy, because by then my sister Latha would be in town and thus the responsibility would not be mine any more. Although we had set a limit on the cost, no questions were asked and thus we came out not knowing what we were in for.
On the trial day Latha too came along. The dress looked gorgeous, however it was not fitting and hence some alteration was called for. The designer was in a haste to catch a flight and thus we were left with his Mom to take care of our needs. The mother as advised by the son handed over a bill which exceeded our budget by more than a couple of thousands. Since the designer had left, there was no one we could question and thus came out paying the amount. At that point I felt like the prey in the spider’s web. The sweet talk and enthusiasm that was in plenty during our first trip had dissipated. One reason for this could be the fact that we were one time customers.
Preetha got over her initial shock at the cost and fortunately seemed happy at the outfit. She promised herself that she would lose some weight before her Prom date. The Prom was more than 6 months away and every now and then when we spoke the talk of the dress would come up. Thus the date of the Prom arrived and Preetha’s excitement knew no bounds. When the zip had to be fastened, it refused to budge and on using force the fastener just gave way. It seemed for a few minutes that total chaos reigned. Preetha was shattered and she had to in the eleventh hour look for an alternative. Latha who is very deft with her hands, saved the day and thus the evening went off without any wardrobe malfunction. I really wish that they would send the dress back, for then I could go and meet the designer. Although I have met him twice, I never had a conversation, for he may have thought me not worthy of his time. This would definitely be my chance to pin him down.
Preetha’s senior Prom is fast approaching; however she is dead sure about not ordering another outfit. The prêt a porter dresses though not personal are surely dependable. In the meantime I see pictures of the designer regularly in the papers and the latest one was of his birthday bash were he along with his famous clientele were posing in Victorian/Tudorian outfits. They looked ridiculous and I had a hearty laugh recollecting the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes.
PS. The number will be retained in order for me to have the last word.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Phenomenon
As an Indian I could as well have committed hara-kiri than make the statement that I am about to make. But then each human being is entitled to his or her say and thus I continue to make my statement, which is that “I am not a fan of Sachin Tendulkar.” You can for instance not be a fan of so many things which are patriotic and yet go scot free but to not to be a fan of Sachin and still be a true Indian may be something unheard off or practically impossible. That is the sweep this 36 year old Indian cricketer has on the 1.1 billion cricket crazy Indians living in India and on most of the diaspora spread all over the world. This phenomenal rise of a middle class Mumbaiiker is unmatched and beyond any comparison.
India has been a cricketing nation for over a hundred years and the country has in the due course produced astounding batsmen and bowlers. However there have been limits to their reach and accordingly to their popularity. Sachin Tendulkar’s rise in the world of cricket can be compared to mythological phoenix which soars high and lives for over 1000 years. To hold centre stage in the competitive world of today’s cricket for 20 years is no mean task. The form in which he is now definitely ensures many more years of mesmerizing cricket. I am not here to write about the records created by Sachin, for he has broken all the previous records held by various batsmen in the different cricketing countries and is now the holder of all records put together. Ask a ten year boy in India as to how many centuries Sachin has scored in tests and pat would come the reply. Or ask another 10 year old of his ODI centuries and without batting an eyelid, they are out with the answer.
The youth of today are in so much of awe of the one and only Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, who they have seen right from their infancy to their adulthood. I am sure his must be one of the faces they would even associate with the television. Some of his present day team mates come from this generation and from what we hear, he shares an excellent rapport with them. It is said that he is a TEAM MATE. He has won all the cricketing awards many times over and as far as his career goes there is only so much more he can achieve. The back breaking T-20 format would definitely be a bit hard on him; however there is nothing to stop this cricketer from pursuing excellence. The fire that started burning very early in his life continues to do so and I wont be wrong if I say that that fire is at its brightest now. Does that mean we will have Sachin playing for another twenty years? Much as many big names like Lata Mangeshkar and Amitabh Bachan would want that to happen, the truth is that it will not be so for like in all things in life, changes are inevitable.
I too must have heard the name Sachin Tendulkar during the year 1988 when two 15 year old school friends took the cricketing world by storm with their histrionic performance of scoring a mammoth unbeaten 664 run partnership. The other friend was Vinod Kambli who also wore the India cap. I did not get to watch his first series in Pakistan nor his second one in New Zealand. Both these series as far as the player went, were nothing great to write home about, however the third series he played was in England in the year 1990 and as luck would have it, I was there that summer holidaying with my sister and brother in law and thus got to watch most of the matches on television. What made the experience worthwhile was the fact that my brother in law is an ace cricketer. There was this one point in his life when he was contemplating between a career in medicine and cricket. I don’t know if cricket’s loss turned out to be the medical world’s gain; however what I can say is that he is a great doctor and has been judged as the best teacher in MUSC, US for a record number of times. Now coming back to the game of cricket at Old Trafford in August 1990 - the two of us would watch it together; I had to remain a mute spectator, for he did not like any distraction while watching. However during the breaks, he made sure he explained the nuances to me. I grabbed in a lot from him during the few summers I spent with them in the UK. He was keen on watching Sachin, for he too was seeing him in action for the first time. Another player whom he was interested in was Anil Kumble. Two reasons for the interest were, one the fact that he was a spinner (which my brother in law too was) and second he came from the state of Karnataka (my brother in law’s home state)
Thus that summer via the small screen I imbibed a lot of cricket, I also learnt the social ethics of the crowd, the enthusiasm of the Indian supporters, and so on and so forth. Although the match ended in a draw, the feather in the cap was the Man of the Match being awarded to Sachin Tendulkar. This did not come as a surprise for he had scored a half and full century and had also taken a couple of catches. It was indeed a moment of pride for us Indians to see the cherubic teenager come over and collect his award. What left us feeling sad was the fact that he was too young for the big bottle of Champagne that went with the award. I am sure he must received hundreds of awards later, but what makes me happy is that fact that I witnessed live his first test century and clapped till my palms pained when he received his first International Award.
Among the many things he holds precious which I am sure will include his various cricketing memorabilia, the innumerable awards, the raciest cars that are his passion, the thirteen one rupee coins given to him by his mentor Ramakant Achrekar, and the heartfelt good wishes of his country men, I wonder whether that unopened bottle of “Bubbly’ finds a place.
God Bless this great man, God Bless his parents who brought him to this world and God bless all those who were instrumental for the cricketing world to have a Sachin Tendulkar. One thing I hope I have made myself clear, by not being his fan, I was not trying to say that he is not good enough. I don’t care for the fan concept and to me unnecessary adulation only results in a person’s downfall.
I wonder how much longer we will have to wait before a similar phenomenon to the one that occurred on 24th April 1973 will recur.
India has been a cricketing nation for over a hundred years and the country has in the due course produced astounding batsmen and bowlers. However there have been limits to their reach and accordingly to their popularity. Sachin Tendulkar’s rise in the world of cricket can be compared to mythological phoenix which soars high and lives for over 1000 years. To hold centre stage in the competitive world of today’s cricket for 20 years is no mean task. The form in which he is now definitely ensures many more years of mesmerizing cricket. I am not here to write about the records created by Sachin, for he has broken all the previous records held by various batsmen in the different cricketing countries and is now the holder of all records put together. Ask a ten year boy in India as to how many centuries Sachin has scored in tests and pat would come the reply. Or ask another 10 year old of his ODI centuries and without batting an eyelid, they are out with the answer.
The youth of today are in so much of awe of the one and only Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar, who they have seen right from their infancy to their adulthood. I am sure his must be one of the faces they would even associate with the television. Some of his present day team mates come from this generation and from what we hear, he shares an excellent rapport with them. It is said that he is a TEAM MATE. He has won all the cricketing awards many times over and as far as his career goes there is only so much more he can achieve. The back breaking T-20 format would definitely be a bit hard on him; however there is nothing to stop this cricketer from pursuing excellence. The fire that started burning very early in his life continues to do so and I wont be wrong if I say that that fire is at its brightest now. Does that mean we will have Sachin playing for another twenty years? Much as many big names like Lata Mangeshkar and Amitabh Bachan would want that to happen, the truth is that it will not be so for like in all things in life, changes are inevitable.
I too must have heard the name Sachin Tendulkar during the year 1988 when two 15 year old school friends took the cricketing world by storm with their histrionic performance of scoring a mammoth unbeaten 664 run partnership. The other friend was Vinod Kambli who also wore the India cap. I did not get to watch his first series in Pakistan nor his second one in New Zealand. Both these series as far as the player went, were nothing great to write home about, however the third series he played was in England in the year 1990 and as luck would have it, I was there that summer holidaying with my sister and brother in law and thus got to watch most of the matches on television. What made the experience worthwhile was the fact that my brother in law is an ace cricketer. There was this one point in his life when he was contemplating between a career in medicine and cricket. I don’t know if cricket’s loss turned out to be the medical world’s gain; however what I can say is that he is a great doctor and has been judged as the best teacher in MUSC, US for a record number of times. Now coming back to the game of cricket at Old Trafford in August 1990 - the two of us would watch it together; I had to remain a mute spectator, for he did not like any distraction while watching. However during the breaks, he made sure he explained the nuances to me. I grabbed in a lot from him during the few summers I spent with them in the UK. He was keen on watching Sachin, for he too was seeing him in action for the first time. Another player whom he was interested in was Anil Kumble. Two reasons for the interest were, one the fact that he was a spinner (which my brother in law too was) and second he came from the state of Karnataka (my brother in law’s home state)
Thus that summer via the small screen I imbibed a lot of cricket, I also learnt the social ethics of the crowd, the enthusiasm of the Indian supporters, and so on and so forth. Although the match ended in a draw, the feather in the cap was the Man of the Match being awarded to Sachin Tendulkar. This did not come as a surprise for he had scored a half and full century and had also taken a couple of catches. It was indeed a moment of pride for us Indians to see the cherubic teenager come over and collect his award. What left us feeling sad was the fact that he was too young for the big bottle of Champagne that went with the award. I am sure he must received hundreds of awards later, but what makes me happy is that fact that I witnessed live his first test century and clapped till my palms pained when he received his first International Award.
Among the many things he holds precious which I am sure will include his various cricketing memorabilia, the innumerable awards, the raciest cars that are his passion, the thirteen one rupee coins given to him by his mentor Ramakant Achrekar, and the heartfelt good wishes of his country men, I wonder whether that unopened bottle of “Bubbly’ finds a place.
God Bless this great man, God Bless his parents who brought him to this world and God bless all those who were instrumental for the cricketing world to have a Sachin Tendulkar. One thing I hope I have made myself clear, by not being his fan, I was not trying to say that he is not good enough. I don’t care for the fan concept and to me unnecessary adulation only results in a person’s downfall.
I wonder how much longer we will have to wait before a similar phenomenon to the one that occurred on 24th April 1973 will recur.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
A Joyful Duty
I am tired. Yes, I am tired; tired of doing all the things I enjoy doing. This statement in itself seems so contradictory and almost impossible. People may want to know as to what I did that has made me so tired. Well, I did the following, I chatted up with innumerable number of people, went around the city doing things I love to do, dressed far too many times in whatever finery I possess and finally dined and feasted to my heart’s content. Perfectly pleasant tasks which I enjoy utmost and hence should never ever complain. However when they come in overdose, it definitely makes one tired. The reason for this overdose which just concluded last night was the wedding of my good friend’s daughter. My involvement began right from the word go which was about 15 months ago and lasted till the very last dinner connected with the marriage which happened last night. I know for sure the celebration as far as this wedding goes is over for the boy and girl are now air borne and by the time they come back, they will no more be the newly married couple.
I have heard of the Big Indian Weddings; however t his was the first time that I was closely connected to one. Much as we claim to be modern and our generation even boasts of doing away with stereotyping, one thing that has not changed is the urge of the parents to see their little girls married. The marriage age may have pushed upwards from the 18-20 years bracket to the 23-25 year bracket, but nevertheless it is very much there and the concept is as strong as what it was from time immemorial. I have seen mothers whose daughters have crossed the imaginary 25 years deadline remain remorse and depressed. I don’t blame them a wee bit for I am sure I would be in the same boat when my time comes. Thus my friend had started the spade work a couple of years ago and by God’s grace she could find the suitable boy for her daughter before the imaginary deadline loomed large. It must be said that her daughter who was well placed in a career outside India was willing to relocate when made to understand the importance of matrimony. There is nothing that the children of today are unaware off and the fact that she did lend an ear to her parents advise in itself calls for a celebration. It could also be that the boy had swept her off her feet and thus made her want to spend the rest of her life with him. I doubt very much as to any sweeping happening, for one thing that I have realized about modern day marriages is that there is no room for unnecessary ROMANCE. There may be plenty of courtship, but as far as romance and chivalry goes, it takes a big backseat.” He came, he saw and he conquered” kind of marriages seem to totally be a thing of the past. Girls these days are so practical and know exactly how they want their lives to be. So if they agree for a marriage, they make sure that at least 75% of what they have in mind is met in the groom.
Thus the wedding was fixed and the planning began. My friend is a great planner and an even greater executor. Since she had a 15 month period to go about her meticulous execution, I must say that she made full use of the time and as a result did a wonderful job of it. The first thing on her itinerary was to fix the marriage hall, for if getting a groom is a difficult proposition, getting a good wedding hall in Chennai is something even more difficult. With the hall in hand she began going around looking for caterers, the back drop, the marriage card, the never ending guest list and so many nitty gritty things of which I was not aware. Slowly the silver was purchased and then the gold and then the give away saris and other mementos to go with the wedding card. Trips were made to “TOWN’ (areas in and around Parry’s Corner is still referred thus) to procure things in bulk. I was amazed at all the happenings for I had not witnessed anything thus in close quarter. In my community weddings are a simple 10 minute affair which does not call for anything so elaborate. The only weddings I was involved were that of my sisters and since my parents were still in the midst of things, they took care of all the arrangements. My job was to take part in the shopping which was nominal and the invitation distribution. Thus I would keep asking her as to why she was in a hurry to get so many things done and she would say, well you don’t know as to how much of a rush there would be at the last minute.
How true her words turned out to be. Prior to the wedding there were four functions (in total six) and then the big wedding which was attended by about 1800 people. Venues had to be decided for the smaller functions and caterers had to be arranged, invitations had to be distributed and so on and so forth. My physical presence in all these activities were minimal however I was kept in the know how during our daily phone calls. Most of you may not be aware that my friend and I go back a long way. We have known each other for more than four decades. We meet at least once a week and talk to each other for a minimum period of thirty minutes daily. I was indeed proud of my friend when on the day before the first function when the silver and other things had to kept in the respective trunks, she had them all ready. She had also designated specific jobs to the close circle of relatives and friends and thus had covered all avenues. There was absolutely no confusion on the day of the marriage; everybody went about the work they were entrusted with. The whole ceremony went off so beautifully and I really wonder even if the presence of a much hyped wedding planner would have brought about so much of efficiency.
Now I realize the meaning of the age old saying which goes thus, “Try building a house, try getting your daughter married”. I have in a decent manner finished the first task. I think age was with me for it happened 27 years ago. It almost seems like child’s play when compared to the second one. I truly wonder as to how I will go about orchestrating so many people and before things reach that stage, I wonder as to how I will convince my little one of the importance of matrimony or of having found the perfect match. I still have at least a decade to go and in the meantime let me get tutored from my friend a second time around for she is planning to have her son’s marriage in a year’s time.
I will leave her in peace for a couple of days for I am certain that she needs that rest to pull herself together for a repeat performance.
I have heard of the Big Indian Weddings; however t his was the first time that I was closely connected to one. Much as we claim to be modern and our generation even boasts of doing away with stereotyping, one thing that has not changed is the urge of the parents to see their little girls married. The marriage age may have pushed upwards from the 18-20 years bracket to the 23-25 year bracket, but nevertheless it is very much there and the concept is as strong as what it was from time immemorial. I have seen mothers whose daughters have crossed the imaginary 25 years deadline remain remorse and depressed. I don’t blame them a wee bit for I am sure I would be in the same boat when my time comes. Thus my friend had started the spade work a couple of years ago and by God’s grace she could find the suitable boy for her daughter before the imaginary deadline loomed large. It must be said that her daughter who was well placed in a career outside India was willing to relocate when made to understand the importance of matrimony. There is nothing that the children of today are unaware off and the fact that she did lend an ear to her parents advise in itself calls for a celebration. It could also be that the boy had swept her off her feet and thus made her want to spend the rest of her life with him. I doubt very much as to any sweeping happening, for one thing that I have realized about modern day marriages is that there is no room for unnecessary ROMANCE. There may be plenty of courtship, but as far as romance and chivalry goes, it takes a big backseat.” He came, he saw and he conquered” kind of marriages seem to totally be a thing of the past. Girls these days are so practical and know exactly how they want their lives to be. So if they agree for a marriage, they make sure that at least 75% of what they have in mind is met in the groom.
Thus the wedding was fixed and the planning began. My friend is a great planner and an even greater executor. Since she had a 15 month period to go about her meticulous execution, I must say that she made full use of the time and as a result did a wonderful job of it. The first thing on her itinerary was to fix the marriage hall, for if getting a groom is a difficult proposition, getting a good wedding hall in Chennai is something even more difficult. With the hall in hand she began going around looking for caterers, the back drop, the marriage card, the never ending guest list and so many nitty gritty things of which I was not aware. Slowly the silver was purchased and then the gold and then the give away saris and other mementos to go with the wedding card. Trips were made to “TOWN’ (areas in and around Parry’s Corner is still referred thus) to procure things in bulk. I was amazed at all the happenings for I had not witnessed anything thus in close quarter. In my community weddings are a simple 10 minute affair which does not call for anything so elaborate. The only weddings I was involved were that of my sisters and since my parents were still in the midst of things, they took care of all the arrangements. My job was to take part in the shopping which was nominal and the invitation distribution. Thus I would keep asking her as to why she was in a hurry to get so many things done and she would say, well you don’t know as to how much of a rush there would be at the last minute.
How true her words turned out to be. Prior to the wedding there were four functions (in total six) and then the big wedding which was attended by about 1800 people. Venues had to be decided for the smaller functions and caterers had to be arranged, invitations had to be distributed and so on and so forth. My physical presence in all these activities were minimal however I was kept in the know how during our daily phone calls. Most of you may not be aware that my friend and I go back a long way. We have known each other for more than four decades. We meet at least once a week and talk to each other for a minimum period of thirty minutes daily. I was indeed proud of my friend when on the day before the first function when the silver and other things had to kept in the respective trunks, she had them all ready. She had also designated specific jobs to the close circle of relatives and friends and thus had covered all avenues. There was absolutely no confusion on the day of the marriage; everybody went about the work they were entrusted with. The whole ceremony went off so beautifully and I really wonder even if the presence of a much hyped wedding planner would have brought about so much of efficiency.
Now I realize the meaning of the age old saying which goes thus, “Try building a house, try getting your daughter married”. I have in a decent manner finished the first task. I think age was with me for it happened 27 years ago. It almost seems like child’s play when compared to the second one. I truly wonder as to how I will go about orchestrating so many people and before things reach that stage, I wonder as to how I will convince my little one of the importance of matrimony or of having found the perfect match. I still have at least a decade to go and in the meantime let me get tutored from my friend a second time around for she is planning to have her son’s marriage in a year’s time.
I will leave her in peace for a couple of days for I am certain that she needs that rest to pull herself together for a repeat performance.
Monday, November 2, 2009
An Averse Acceptance
Ever since it was advertised that KFC-the American fast food restaurant was opening shop on Nungambakkam High Road at a short distance from my house, my daughter’s joy has seen no bounds. She is a great fan of the KFC chicken and not a day would pass without her peeping in to see if the shop had opened. The shop did finally open and Sridevi may be one of the initial customers to make a purchase. I did not accompany her on that day; however I went in a couple of days ago to order a meal for her. As I was coming out of the shop, I started thinking of the metamorphosis the road had undergone. Here was KFC at what used to be the house of one of our school mates. It had long ceased to be their house and was sold to other establishments before the latest occupant moved in.
With these thoughts in my mind, I tried to remember the glorious era of Nungambakkam High Road (NHR) during the 60’s and 70’s when I was a student of the Good Shepherd Convent. This road which takes off from the arterial Mount Road is less than two kilometers in length and ends at the Village Road (Now Valluvar Kottam High Road) junction. It was then a truly majestic road, with beautiful houses which boasted of well manicured gardens. It had a serene atmosphere and during the evenings when the sea breeze set in, both the sidewalks were perfect promenades. We as children would have criss-crossed that road a thousand times. It would either be to Sudha’s house to finish a project or to Lalitha’s house to pick up some things for a dance practice or to Meera’s house just to spend the day or to Madhulika’s house to clear a doubt. All these houses cease to exist now. For that matter there are no more independent houses on NHR. It has now become a hub of commercial activities what with the latest branded arrivals to the city making a beeline for it or to it’s off shoot the Khader Nawaz Khan Road. Between these two roads there is everything that the rich and the elite need.
The only commercial establishments on NHR of the 70’s were Gift Land and Shastri Enterprises. Two Mom and Pop stores whose mainstay was the students of Good Shepherd. It had all the stationary we ever needed and also innumerable comics and story books of the times. All our gift requirements were met in these two establishments and a birthday meant that we would dive in and after some negotiations come out with a perfect bargain. Gift Land closed shop a couple of years ago, however Shastri Enterprises still exists without much change to its old avatar. It is now a haunt frequented by Sridevi and her generation. To me it feels as if Shastri Enterprises is something personal which I bequeathed to my daughter. The first time something big came to NHR was when the Taj Group of Hotels decided to open their first property and thus was born Taj Coromandel. It was something Madras had not seen. Its more regal cousin (much later) the Connemara was the only elite hotel in the city and thus the new arrival was seen with awe. Its stately façade still gives it all the respect it deserves.
Gemini studios which occupied one of the corners of NHR and Mount Road was a leader when it came to the Indian Film industry. However with location shooting gaining popularity, they too had to shut down and in its place sprung a few hundred commercial establishments and residential apartments. Now the compound boasts of a series of Parsn Buildings. The latest to be included to this conglomerate is the Park Hotel – the most happening place for the hip hop crowd of Chennai. Another institution to have burgeoned on NHR is the MOP Vaishnava College for Women - a new entrant in women’s education. The fact that it is on NHR gives the girls that not so needed uppity attitude.
The road is now studded with far too many commercial establishments and with a new mall all set to make its appearance, a hundred high end stores can be expected. All the international sportswear brands have an outlet on this road and this includes Reebok, Adidas, Puma and Nike. Then there are the Marks and Spencers, United Colors of Benetton to name a few of the international brands. As for the made in India variety, there are far too many, what with Raymonds, Park Avenue & Louis Phillipe, Wills Lifestyle, Auroville and Cotton World all having their flagship stores. As for the trendy traditional wear, all the happening stores are situated in this stretch starting with Evoluzione to Rehane to Erum Ali to Satya Paul and ending with the much hyped Man Mandir and Signoraa. With so many stores one would think that all the clothing needs of the family would be met, but that is not to be. For to find a matching blouse fabric or a child’s daily wear clothes or a simple home wear outfit, the residents have to burn the precious fossil fuel and travel a few kilometers to the neighbouring T. Nagar. Even the Cottage Industries Exposition situated on NHR can only be frequented by the crème de la crème thanks to its exorbitant price tags. Of all the stores on the road, the one I walk in the most is the Landmark Book store, (although a bit pricey) which made its entry in 1987. It is ultimate to any book lover. When I talk of NHR, I do have to mention the pride of place which the Government Offices occupy. Like the affluent shops that are situated on the road, the two Central Government Offices which function here are also rich with income for they are the Income Tax and Central Excise offices.
The road has had a complete makeover and is now devoid of any past vestiges. The break from the past is total, for officially too its name has changed. It is no more NHR, but instead on a patriotic note, it has been renamed as UTTAMAR GANDHI SALAI which when translated loosely means Flawless Gandhi Road. It is really ironical that this High End Road should have been christened thus for the name seems to be in total contrast to all the establishments present here. But then who am I to complain on such a matter, for if MONT BLANC can have their most expensive pen named after one of the most simplest men of our times, it seems just fine to have this up market Chennai road named in honour of the same simple man. The fallout of this christening may take a positive turn when the future generations while in the midst of their shopping and other activities take a second off to ponder on the origin of the name. Until then my generation has no choice but to put up with this incongruity.
With these thoughts in my mind, I tried to remember the glorious era of Nungambakkam High Road (NHR) during the 60’s and 70’s when I was a student of the Good Shepherd Convent. This road which takes off from the arterial Mount Road is less than two kilometers in length and ends at the Village Road (Now Valluvar Kottam High Road) junction. It was then a truly majestic road, with beautiful houses which boasted of well manicured gardens. It had a serene atmosphere and during the evenings when the sea breeze set in, both the sidewalks were perfect promenades. We as children would have criss-crossed that road a thousand times. It would either be to Sudha’s house to finish a project or to Lalitha’s house to pick up some things for a dance practice or to Meera’s house just to spend the day or to Madhulika’s house to clear a doubt. All these houses cease to exist now. For that matter there are no more independent houses on NHR. It has now become a hub of commercial activities what with the latest branded arrivals to the city making a beeline for it or to it’s off shoot the Khader Nawaz Khan Road. Between these two roads there is everything that the rich and the elite need.
The only commercial establishments on NHR of the 70’s were Gift Land and Shastri Enterprises. Two Mom and Pop stores whose mainstay was the students of Good Shepherd. It had all the stationary we ever needed and also innumerable comics and story books of the times. All our gift requirements were met in these two establishments and a birthday meant that we would dive in and after some negotiations come out with a perfect bargain. Gift Land closed shop a couple of years ago, however Shastri Enterprises still exists without much change to its old avatar. It is now a haunt frequented by Sridevi and her generation. To me it feels as if Shastri Enterprises is something personal which I bequeathed to my daughter. The first time something big came to NHR was when the Taj Group of Hotels decided to open their first property and thus was born Taj Coromandel. It was something Madras had not seen. Its more regal cousin (much later) the Connemara was the only elite hotel in the city and thus the new arrival was seen with awe. Its stately façade still gives it all the respect it deserves.
Gemini studios which occupied one of the corners of NHR and Mount Road was a leader when it came to the Indian Film industry. However with location shooting gaining popularity, they too had to shut down and in its place sprung a few hundred commercial establishments and residential apartments. Now the compound boasts of a series of Parsn Buildings. The latest to be included to this conglomerate is the Park Hotel – the most happening place for the hip hop crowd of Chennai. Another institution to have burgeoned on NHR is the MOP Vaishnava College for Women - a new entrant in women’s education. The fact that it is on NHR gives the girls that not so needed uppity attitude.
The road is now studded with far too many commercial establishments and with a new mall all set to make its appearance, a hundred high end stores can be expected. All the international sportswear brands have an outlet on this road and this includes Reebok, Adidas, Puma and Nike. Then there are the Marks and Spencers, United Colors of Benetton to name a few of the international brands. As for the made in India variety, there are far too many, what with Raymonds, Park Avenue & Louis Phillipe, Wills Lifestyle, Auroville and Cotton World all having their flagship stores. As for the trendy traditional wear, all the happening stores are situated in this stretch starting with Evoluzione to Rehane to Erum Ali to Satya Paul and ending with the much hyped Man Mandir and Signoraa. With so many stores one would think that all the clothing needs of the family would be met, but that is not to be. For to find a matching blouse fabric or a child’s daily wear clothes or a simple home wear outfit, the residents have to burn the precious fossil fuel and travel a few kilometers to the neighbouring T. Nagar. Even the Cottage Industries Exposition situated on NHR can only be frequented by the crème de la crème thanks to its exorbitant price tags. Of all the stores on the road, the one I walk in the most is the Landmark Book store, (although a bit pricey) which made its entry in 1987. It is ultimate to any book lover. When I talk of NHR, I do have to mention the pride of place which the Government Offices occupy. Like the affluent shops that are situated on the road, the two Central Government Offices which function here are also rich with income for they are the Income Tax and Central Excise offices.
The road has had a complete makeover and is now devoid of any past vestiges. The break from the past is total, for officially too its name has changed. It is no more NHR, but instead on a patriotic note, it has been renamed as UTTAMAR GANDHI SALAI which when translated loosely means Flawless Gandhi Road. It is really ironical that this High End Road should have been christened thus for the name seems to be in total contrast to all the establishments present here. But then who am I to complain on such a matter, for if MONT BLANC can have their most expensive pen named after one of the most simplest men of our times, it seems just fine to have this up market Chennai road named in honour of the same simple man. The fallout of this christening may take a positive turn when the future generations while in the midst of their shopping and other activities take a second off to ponder on the origin of the name. Until then my generation has no choice but to put up with this incongruity.
Monday, October 26, 2009
An Inspiring Story
I am at a loss for words when it comes to writing about our one and only Dominic. I can only say that he is so pivotal to our being and thus is an integral part of us. Although we had no role in his initial appearance, now we cannot imagine our lives without him. I always knew that when we plan something, it never works to plan, but on the other hand when things happen by accident, they become the perfect foil. A look at Dominic’s association with our family will make the latter seem so true.
When we began the construction of our house in 1983, Dominic was brought in by the contractor as a watch man. He was a young lad then and his job was to take care of all the building material stored in the venue. Since there was an existing building half demolished, he spent the nights there and managed his meals in the most rudimentary fashion. I would like to elaborate on his background. He has schooled only till the 5th standard and came from the village of Vedanthangal. This was his first exposure to the city and he had no clue of how to tackle life in Nungambakkam. While he was a watchman, I vividly remember him falling ill and his coming to see us with his head and body covered in fine red dust from the bricks stacked in the premises. He just seemed like the thousands of migrant workers who dot the various construction sites. At that point I never ever dreamt that he would have a future worthwhile. It seemed to me then that his life would also take the same uneventful course of the millions in India who come from similar background. How wrong I was to be proved and how glad I am about that.
Once the house was completed and his tenure with us over, he was asked to go to another site by the contractor. It was at that point that Dominic asserted himself and told the contractor that he would like to stay back. My parents were willing to have him, but they were not in need of a watchman. Thus my mother found him a job at a friend’s nursing home just a stone’s throw from the house and Dominic was retained. The association between the family and Dominic was symbiotic. He found a home in our house and we found a help, a watchman and a gardener in him. In short all I could say was that he became indispensable. Another relationship which nurtured at that point was between Dominic and my cousin Raju. Although Raju is a few years younger, they became good friends. This friendship almost took Dominic to another plane. He must have when he took the decision to stay behind with us decided to change his life style. Nungambakkam must have had its effect and he wanted to see himself in better light. Raju taught him all that he needed and thus Dominic learnt to speak and read basic English. He also began to follow sports including Cricket, Football and Tennis on television. During each of my trips to India, I could literally see the blossoming of Dominic.
In 1993 his marriage was fixed and after the same he moved to a place two streets from our house. However his association with us continued in the same manner and he made sure that he came over thrice a day, at morning, evening and night and anytime in between when he was needed. Just a phone call and Dominic was with us. His professional skill by then had gone up in leaps and bounds. He had started of as an errand boy at the Nursing Home, but his initiative and hard work saw him climb the ladder and in a few years time he had become an accomplished technician. Thus Dominic was the assistant at the Pathology Lab, as well as the X-Ray and ECG technician and a theatre assistant whenever required. He could perform these various roles with precision and panache. His knowledge too improved and he was up to date on all world happenings. He could decently carry out a conversation in English and it seemed as if nothing would miss his senses. When we heard good comments about him from our friends, we were indeed so proud. It was as if the accomplishments of one in the family were being praised. Coming to think of it, we cannot think of him as not being one of us.
Now Dominic is the father of two adorable daughters – Monica and Martina (I don’t have to tell you as to how those names came about) who are studying in the 11th and 7th grade respectively. In the mean time he continues in his role as a competent technician not in one but in two nursing homes. He has an additional responsibility in our house and that is taking care of our Prince. His day starts at 5 in the morning and ends at 10.30-11pm. He works hard and he strives to give his family a good living. Although he could have at any time asked us for help to make ends meet, he has never ever done so. He carries his responsibilities as if they were gifts from the Almighty and he carries them well. There is many a lesson for all of us to learn from him. I admire the way he runs his household. He meets the needs of his wife and children to the best of his abilities and he also makes the lives of those in his family comfortable. He is source of solace to many and is able to carry on in his grinding cycle with the most pleasant temperament. Our children are so fond of him and he plays with them as a youngster would do absolutely without any inhibition. Even in the most crucial moments of his life, he has been able to remain stoic. I wonder how he can do so, it could be his faith in his Gods, or it could be the respect for his elders or it could be the dedication to his work or it could be his gratefulness for what he has been blessed with.
Dominic continues his routine on his cycle and is a very popular figure in the Nungambakkam area. Much as we offered to get him a motor bike, he was against it for he feared he may not be able to afford the prohibitive fuel cost. There is many a thing that the youngsters of today have to learn from him. To me he is perfect role model to emulate and much more than that he is truly a blessing to Sowparnika (our home) - a place he has been associated with for the last 27 years.
When we began the construction of our house in 1983, Dominic was brought in by the contractor as a watch man. He was a young lad then and his job was to take care of all the building material stored in the venue. Since there was an existing building half demolished, he spent the nights there and managed his meals in the most rudimentary fashion. I would like to elaborate on his background. He has schooled only till the 5th standard and came from the village of Vedanthangal. This was his first exposure to the city and he had no clue of how to tackle life in Nungambakkam. While he was a watchman, I vividly remember him falling ill and his coming to see us with his head and body covered in fine red dust from the bricks stacked in the premises. He just seemed like the thousands of migrant workers who dot the various construction sites. At that point I never ever dreamt that he would have a future worthwhile. It seemed to me then that his life would also take the same uneventful course of the millions in India who come from similar background. How wrong I was to be proved and how glad I am about that.
Once the house was completed and his tenure with us over, he was asked to go to another site by the contractor. It was at that point that Dominic asserted himself and told the contractor that he would like to stay back. My parents were willing to have him, but they were not in need of a watchman. Thus my mother found him a job at a friend’s nursing home just a stone’s throw from the house and Dominic was retained. The association between the family and Dominic was symbiotic. He found a home in our house and we found a help, a watchman and a gardener in him. In short all I could say was that he became indispensable. Another relationship which nurtured at that point was between Dominic and my cousin Raju. Although Raju is a few years younger, they became good friends. This friendship almost took Dominic to another plane. He must have when he took the decision to stay behind with us decided to change his life style. Nungambakkam must have had its effect and he wanted to see himself in better light. Raju taught him all that he needed and thus Dominic learnt to speak and read basic English. He also began to follow sports including Cricket, Football and Tennis on television. During each of my trips to India, I could literally see the blossoming of Dominic.
In 1993 his marriage was fixed and after the same he moved to a place two streets from our house. However his association with us continued in the same manner and he made sure that he came over thrice a day, at morning, evening and night and anytime in between when he was needed. Just a phone call and Dominic was with us. His professional skill by then had gone up in leaps and bounds. He had started of as an errand boy at the Nursing Home, but his initiative and hard work saw him climb the ladder and in a few years time he had become an accomplished technician. Thus Dominic was the assistant at the Pathology Lab, as well as the X-Ray and ECG technician and a theatre assistant whenever required. He could perform these various roles with precision and panache. His knowledge too improved and he was up to date on all world happenings. He could decently carry out a conversation in English and it seemed as if nothing would miss his senses. When we heard good comments about him from our friends, we were indeed so proud. It was as if the accomplishments of one in the family were being praised. Coming to think of it, we cannot think of him as not being one of us.
Now Dominic is the father of two adorable daughters – Monica and Martina (I don’t have to tell you as to how those names came about) who are studying in the 11th and 7th grade respectively. In the mean time he continues in his role as a competent technician not in one but in two nursing homes. He has an additional responsibility in our house and that is taking care of our Prince. His day starts at 5 in the morning and ends at 10.30-11pm. He works hard and he strives to give his family a good living. Although he could have at any time asked us for help to make ends meet, he has never ever done so. He carries his responsibilities as if they were gifts from the Almighty and he carries them well. There is many a lesson for all of us to learn from him. I admire the way he runs his household. He meets the needs of his wife and children to the best of his abilities and he also makes the lives of those in his family comfortable. He is source of solace to many and is able to carry on in his grinding cycle with the most pleasant temperament. Our children are so fond of him and he plays with them as a youngster would do absolutely without any inhibition. Even in the most crucial moments of his life, he has been able to remain stoic. I wonder how he can do so, it could be his faith in his Gods, or it could be the respect for his elders or it could be the dedication to his work or it could be his gratefulness for what he has been blessed with.
Dominic continues his routine on his cycle and is a very popular figure in the Nungambakkam area. Much as we offered to get him a motor bike, he was against it for he feared he may not be able to afford the prohibitive fuel cost. There is many a thing that the youngsters of today have to learn from him. To me he is perfect role model to emulate and much more than that he is truly a blessing to Sowparnika (our home) - a place he has been associated with for the last 27 years.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Fly On The Wall
It goes without saying that I am a history buff. My trip to any place remains incomplete, if I have not seen sights that pertain to its history. This being the case, most of my holidays are planned to include places of historical importance. Of all the places I have visited, the one that has made me gawk and look up in awe is definitely Rome – The Eternal City. Almost every building had a story to tell and most of them have stood the test of time. The Roman Forum, Coliseum, Pantheon and of course the Vatican, were mind boggling. As for the catacombs which have been in existence for more than two thousand years, the feel was one of being spell bound. It was during that trip that I first felt as to how nice it would be if I could go back in time. Rome made me want to go back in time by two thousand years whereas each time I read the history of the city of my birth; it brings in me the urge to go back by a few hundred years. Chennai or Madras is a city founded by the British in the year 1639. Prior to the arrival of the British, Madras was a group of villages which were ruled by the kings of the Vijayanagar Kingdoms. I have never passed Fort St. George and the stretch of beach in front of it, without wondering as to how it must have been on August 22nd 1639 when Francis Day landed at that spot. The Luz Church which has been in existence from the year 1516 is another monument that always excites me. I have read and re read the tombstones which date back to that time frame. I have wondered as to how it must have been to those Portuguese sailors who landed at Mylapore on a stormy night and who were led by a divine light to the spot and where they deemed it fit to build a church. The latest in a long list of instances when I wanted to ride the time machine was on a holiday to the south of Tamilnadu namely Tranquebar or Tharangambadi in local lingo.
The name Tranquebar does have in it a sense of tranquility. Definitely the name must have been derived from the local name Tharangambadi which means the “singing waves”. It must be these singing waves that would have lured the Danes to lay anchor there. Tranquebar situated on the East Coast of India about 300kms south of Chennai was a Danish Settlement from the year 1620-1845. It was one among the half a dozen Danish settlements in India but it was also the most prominent. When India was the treasure trove and all the nations were plundering it, the Danes did not want to be left behind and thus Captain Ove Gjedde along with his men set foot on our soil at this very place. The King of Thanjavur was magnanimous and thus handed over the land for the settlement. The Captain set out on the first task which was to build a fort and thus Fort Dansborg was built as the Governor’s residence. The fort still stands good and can be seen from far. In fact the yellow colour of the fort shines like a golden structure on a bright sunny day and cannot be missed. Being away from the British and the French colonies on the East Coast, the Danes were not involved in the bickering that always took place between the English and the French. Tharangambadi has the distinction of being the centre for the Lutheran Movement in India. The first Protestant missionaries to set foot in India were two Lutherans from Germany, Bartholomäus Ziegenbalg and Heinrich Pluetschau, who began work in 1705 in this settlement. They translated the Bible into the local Tamil language, and afterwards into Hindustani. Tranquebar also has the distinction of having one of the earliest printing presses in India. It was from here that the Bibles were printed and sent to the rest of the country. Thus this miniscule place on the map of the country has played a very significant role in its history.
Most of this I had read prior to my visit to Tranquebar. I was keen to remember as to when I first heard about Tranquebar and realized that it was in the early 80’s when we had bought the plot of land to build our present house. Two houses down the road was a Boys’ Home and this was run by the Danish Lutheran Mission. I was curious to see the name Danish and on reading the board, I came to know that the mission was head quartered in Tranquebar. This came as a real revelation for me. The only colony to my knowledge which the Danes possessed was Greenland. I had not known of them as sea farers who came as far as the East Coast of India to colonize. The information was immediately stored in my grey matter. Recently, I met a gentleman who works for the Lutheran Church and is in India to oversee the fund distribution to their various projects. He told me in detail the importance of Tranquebar as far as the Lutheran church went. He also mentioned that most of the help provided by the mission was for work in and around Tranquebar. This information helped to resurface the little I knew about the place and thus when an opportunity came my way, I decided to include Tranquebar as part of the trip.
Tharangambadi cannot boast of a European design or architecture. It is a small town with a reasonably broad road which is flanked by buildings most of which are churches or other religious buildings. Some of the old buildings that have survived have an imprint of the colonial era. The main attraction is the fort. It is considerably smaller than the various other forts that I have come across. However it is very well preserved and is definitely a beauty. Sitting on its rampart and looking at the sea would turn anyone into a litterateur. I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed the walk of the fort and of the storehouses on the ground floor. The fort also houses a small museum which showcased coins and other articles of that period. We had our lunch at the restaurant called Bungalow on the Beach, which I learnt was the living quarters of the British Governor. In 1845 after the Napoleanic War in Europe, the Danes sold all their holdings in India to the British and thus from 1845 – 1947, the place was ruled by the British. The Bungalow has been tastefully restored to its old glory. The Danish governor’s Bungalow which is older is being renovated now.
I enjoyed the couple of hours I spent there and I relished the exotic sea food that I had for lunch. However I had a hundred questions which I wanted answered. First and foremost I was keen to know as to why the Danes did not expand their territorial hold. Since they had a lead over the British in terms of their arrival to India, why did they not utilize this advantage? Were they keen on respecting the agreement with the local rulers? Were their intentions only to get a foothold in the country for purposes of trade or was there a religious connotation to it? At that moment, I really wished I could go back in time and thus get the answers to all my queries. Oh how I wish I could have in these instances at least been the FLY ON THE WALL.
Friday, October 16, 2009
On Higher Strata
I fully agree that life is full of coincidences; however I was not prepared for the one that happened to me recently. I enjoy reading fiction and I have a set of authors, whose works I try never to miss. Jeffrey Archer belongs to that genre and I am on to his latest novel “The Paths of Glory”. The protagonist of the novel is a mountaineer and the story I believe is loosely based on the life of Sir Edmund Hillary, the first white man to conquer Chomolungma the Tibetan name for Mt. Everest. The novel was a sure page turner and I got immersed in the character of the hero George Mallory whose mission in life was to only conquer heights both natural and man made. This was the first time that I was reading about man’s passion for heights and his pursuit of the same. Since Jeffrey Archer is a writer who can span the divide between fiction and real life with accuracy and authenticity, the novel gave an insight into the travails, sacrifices and happiness that makes up the life of a mountaineer. I wanted to know more and hence was determined to move from fiction to real life and read the Biography of a mountaineer.
Little did I realize then that I would within a fortnight be meeting a mountaineer/summiteer in flesh and blood. This truly seemed a coincidence for a mountaineer does not belong to that category of people whom we meet on a daily basis. He or she belongs to an exclusive club by virtue of there being very few pursuers and achievers. The person I met belonged to the elite of the group for he had just climbed a peak which stood above the 8000 metres mark. The number of peaks belonging to this group is few and almost all of them are situated in the Himalayan Range. His latest in a string of achievements was reaching the summit of Cho Oyu 8201m-the sixth highest peak. This I learnt was a prelude to the Mt. Everest expedition which he proposes to undertake in March/April of 2010.
So here was Sandhosh all of 28 set to conquer the highest peak on Earth and I for one was baffled. I had known him as the son of a friend and had earlier met him while he was pursuing his engineering at NUS in Singapore. He seemed then like all lads of his age, with the usual interests. Here I was seeing him in a different light. He had achieved something which the majority of us could not even dream off. He had beyond doubt become a hero. I had a thousand questions to ask him and considered this a godsend opportunity. My age came as an advantage, for I cornered Sandhosh with a barrage of intelligent/stupid questions, and he answered all of them patiently.
I came to know that his introduction to heights was through trekking a pass time he undertook while holidaying in Indonesia. He told me as to how he had no clue about the physical fitness level required for climbing and as to how once he started enjoying his treks/climbs, he decided to tone his body and mind. He told me all about the faux pas of his initial climbs, as to how he was caught on the mountains poorly clad and of the various stumbling blocks he had to overcome before claiming any success. Once he had decided to pursue it as a hobby, he realized the cost involved as the gears used were world class and each expedition was undertaken under the expertise of an established company and a substantial amount had to be paid to them for their guidance and groundwork. He told me that his job in the United Kingdom helped him meet with most of these expenses. Being posted in the UK also made it convenient for him to access the Alps and thus he has to his credit Mont Blanc (4410mts) and other lesser peaks. He also told me that once the urge had set in, there was no looking back and that he did not miss out on any given opportunity or to put it better, he made sure that he was always presented with an opportunity. He enlightened me on his achievements and I came to learn that he had reached the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro (5895 m), Mount Kota Kinabalu (4095m) and of course his most recent summit Cho Oyu at 8201m. No mean achievement considering that all this has been done in a span of eighteen months.
I learnt from him as to how the group works. He told me that there was always a leader who would have done the peak earlier and that the group normally consisted of 6-7 climbers and an equal number of Sherpas. He told me of how a base camp is set up at a height of 5000m and as to how there are three other camps set of at different levels. It amazed me to learn that the requirements are first carried from the base to the various camps in the order of their heights. He said that the climb from the base to Camps 1, 2 and 3 in that order was more like a reconnaissance mission. He told me as to how there was one Sherpa who played the role of a cook and as to how he made something special at the end of each of their climbs. I was impressed to see the pictures of the food available at the base camp. The climb to the three camps before the final push was also a test in endurance and physical fitness. I learnt a lot that day which also included trivial things taken for granted in most instances like the shower arrangement at the base camp, the special stove that would burn at 5000m and above, the time taken for water to boil and of the first aid available.
The Cho Oyu summit was a must for Sandhosh for without it he would not have been included in the Everest expedition for it is mandatory by the professionals guiding the Everest expedition that the participant have to his credit a summit over 8000m. I was told that the final push is always done at night because the snow is hardest then. Thus he reached the peak of Cho Oyu at around 4 am in total darkness only surrounded by the white expanses of snow. That must have truly been an awesome sight. He told me as to how his camera froze at that height and that he was dependent on his coclimber who had a camera for the weather to take the pictures. I must have seen at least 200 pictures of the expedition. This definitely gave me an idea as to how a mission of this magnitude operated.
I wish Sandhosh the very best for his Mt. Everest expedition. What makes it special is the fact that he is doing the climb for Awareness of Child Abuse and plans to leave behind on the peak a special banner relating to the cause. I wish him all success in his future endeavours, which also includes the Seven Summits. I see in him that burning light which I hope will continue to burn and blaze. I wish to see his name splashed in the papers and I wish to see him recognized as the best in his field. When all these recognitions are his, may be I can sit back and say that the little I know about reaching a summit is whatever I learnt from the master.
Little did I realize then that I would within a fortnight be meeting a mountaineer/summiteer in flesh and blood. This truly seemed a coincidence for a mountaineer does not belong to that category of people whom we meet on a daily basis. He or she belongs to an exclusive club by virtue of there being very few pursuers and achievers. The person I met belonged to the elite of the group for he had just climbed a peak which stood above the 8000 metres mark. The number of peaks belonging to this group is few and almost all of them are situated in the Himalayan Range. His latest in a string of achievements was reaching the summit of Cho Oyu 8201m-the sixth highest peak. This I learnt was a prelude to the Mt. Everest expedition which he proposes to undertake in March/April of 2010.
So here was Sandhosh all of 28 set to conquer the highest peak on Earth and I for one was baffled. I had known him as the son of a friend and had earlier met him while he was pursuing his engineering at NUS in Singapore. He seemed then like all lads of his age, with the usual interests. Here I was seeing him in a different light. He had achieved something which the majority of us could not even dream off. He had beyond doubt become a hero. I had a thousand questions to ask him and considered this a godsend opportunity. My age came as an advantage, for I cornered Sandhosh with a barrage of intelligent/stupid questions, and he answered all of them patiently.
I came to know that his introduction to heights was through trekking a pass time he undertook while holidaying in Indonesia. He told me as to how he had no clue about the physical fitness level required for climbing and as to how once he started enjoying his treks/climbs, he decided to tone his body and mind. He told me all about the faux pas of his initial climbs, as to how he was caught on the mountains poorly clad and of the various stumbling blocks he had to overcome before claiming any success. Once he had decided to pursue it as a hobby, he realized the cost involved as the gears used were world class and each expedition was undertaken under the expertise of an established company and a substantial amount had to be paid to them for their guidance and groundwork. He told me that his job in the United Kingdom helped him meet with most of these expenses. Being posted in the UK also made it convenient for him to access the Alps and thus he has to his credit Mont Blanc (4410mts) and other lesser peaks. He also told me that once the urge had set in, there was no looking back and that he did not miss out on any given opportunity or to put it better, he made sure that he was always presented with an opportunity. He enlightened me on his achievements and I came to learn that he had reached the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro (5895 m), Mount Kota Kinabalu (4095m) and of course his most recent summit Cho Oyu at 8201m. No mean achievement considering that all this has been done in a span of eighteen months.
I learnt from him as to how the group works. He told me that there was always a leader who would have done the peak earlier and that the group normally consisted of 6-7 climbers and an equal number of Sherpas. He told me of how a base camp is set up at a height of 5000m and as to how there are three other camps set of at different levels. It amazed me to learn that the requirements are first carried from the base to the various camps in the order of their heights. He said that the climb from the base to Camps 1, 2 and 3 in that order was more like a reconnaissance mission. He told me as to how there was one Sherpa who played the role of a cook and as to how he made something special at the end of each of their climbs. I was impressed to see the pictures of the food available at the base camp. The climb to the three camps before the final push was also a test in endurance and physical fitness. I learnt a lot that day which also included trivial things taken for granted in most instances like the shower arrangement at the base camp, the special stove that would burn at 5000m and above, the time taken for water to boil and of the first aid available.
The Cho Oyu summit was a must for Sandhosh for without it he would not have been included in the Everest expedition for it is mandatory by the professionals guiding the Everest expedition that the participant have to his credit a summit over 8000m. I was told that the final push is always done at night because the snow is hardest then. Thus he reached the peak of Cho Oyu at around 4 am in total darkness only surrounded by the white expanses of snow. That must have truly been an awesome sight. He told me as to how his camera froze at that height and that he was dependent on his coclimber who had a camera for the weather to take the pictures. I must have seen at least 200 pictures of the expedition. This definitely gave me an idea as to how a mission of this magnitude operated.
I wish Sandhosh the very best for his Mt. Everest expedition. What makes it special is the fact that he is doing the climb for Awareness of Child Abuse and plans to leave behind on the peak a special banner relating to the cause. I wish him all success in his future endeavours, which also includes the Seven Summits. I see in him that burning light which I hope will continue to burn and blaze. I wish to see his name splashed in the papers and I wish to see him recognized as the best in his field. When all these recognitions are his, may be I can sit back and say that the little I know about reaching a summit is whatever I learnt from the master.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Spectacular Jewel
Who am I to write about this Edifice? But then if I don’t write, I will not be doing justice to my latest passion which is to put pen on paper or as per the modern parlance, to run my fingers over the key board. The urge to write is so intense that I have decided to shelve my ignorance and to go ahead. The Edifice I am talking about is the Brihadeeswarar Temple which is better known as the Big Temple of Thanjavur. I have had the opportunity to visit this marvel in 1977 when my father was transferred there for a brief period. That trip in 1977 was the first holiday that we had had as a family and it was also the first sight seeing trip for all of us. Thanjavur was the first halt in a long list of places which we visited during that trip and the Big Temple was the first site we saw. That being the sequence of events, The Temple held a special place in my heart.
The fact that it dominated the skyline and stood as a silent sentinel just made it awesome. Not having studied the history of the Cholas or for that matter of any of the Southern kings of the earlier centuries, I visited the temple in total ignorance. The little I learnt about the place was from my father who having been in Thanjavur for the preceding couple of months, had picked up from hear say. Thus I was told of the 80 ton single piece of granite that was placed on top of the Gopuram with the help of no machines and just by the perseverance of man. I had looked up to the heavens to see this monolith perched high above. Until then the only Gopurams I had seen were the much painted and ordained ones of the Kapaleeswarar and the Parthasarathy Temples, both contemporaries of the Big Temple. However it could be the colour of the stone or the natural finish that made the one at Thanjavur stand apart. This also gave it a rugged feel, a feel of raw and unbridled strength. I also got to see the magnificent Nandi that graced the courtyard of the temple. It was carved from a single piece of granite which had been brought from far. These points were noted and stored in one of the crevices of the grey matter, only to resurface in the most unimaginable surrounding. Why I call it unimaginable is because the next time that I heard the Big Temple being discussed in detail was in a programme on National Geographic Channel, and this I got to view while on a holiday in the picturesque Island of Bintan, Indonesia. I viewed the whole programme with utmost interest and learnt many of the salient features of the temple and also about the great King Raja Raja Chola who built this edifice. He did not stop at that, but also got together a Navy which went far and wide and conquered lands including some of the islands of Indonesia. This was an achievement without any parallel in the 10th Century AD. He was also instrumental in spreading Hinduism in the lands he conquered. If the world has an Angkor Wat, I believe that the seeds were sown by King Raja Raja Chola. It is indeed strange and coincidental that I had to learn about him while I was in Indonesia.
Last week saw me visit Thanjavur for the second time. The only reason for Thanjavur to be included in the trip which was otherwise a mini pilgrimage was to show my family The Big Temple. On arriving there, I realized that I had forgotten almost everything about the place. The only thing that was vivid in my mind’s eye was the temple. There was an urge to revisit the citadel,(it truly is one, what with a moat all around and enough place for the local population of the 10th Century to take refuge) however at the same time, I was afraid that I may be in for a shock. The reason for saying this is because, many a time it happens that what impresses one as a youngster, may not have the same effect later on in life. As I mentioned earlier, Brihadeeswarar temple was the first site I saw in my first site seeing trip and thus the impression I carried was exaggerated a thousand times. In the last 32 years I have travelled and have had the privilege to see some of the Wonders of the World and thus I wondered if the Temple still had the magic to bring in me the emotions which I experienced during my first visit. Also I had spoken so much about it to my family and friends that I did not want to disappoint them.
The moment we entered the UNESCO World Heritage Site, all my apprehensions just disappeared and once again I was a naïve person totally mesmerized by the glory of the past. I won’t be wrong if I say that I enjoyed the site far better the second time around having acquired some background knowledge of the place. Right from the imposing entrance to the cavernous and magnificent courtyards to the heavenly gopurams to the gigantic Nandi to the symmetric corridors and finally to the mammoth Lingam everything was perfect and just the way I remembered. This time around I had with me a camera with which I could capture some of the physical aspects of the place for posterity. I really wished there was a way by which I could carry with me the majestic essence of the place and also the sense of history that pervades the air.
How glad am I that I made the trip. It not only rejuvenated the first impressions but also proved that the second impression can be even better. Here was something that had weathered nature’s fury and man’s destructive nature and still managed to remain almost unscathed. Even after 1000 years, it exudes a magical power which forces even the mightiest among the mighty to cow down with respect. I came out feeling totally awestruck and apart from uttering the Lord's name, wondered for how many more centuries this Spectacular Jewel of the Chola Crown would continue to amaze and enthrall mankind.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Celebrating A Life
The moment we hear the word death, our minds are conjured up with thoughts of bereavement, sadness and grief. However when a person has led a full life and he or she dies of old age, then the grief becomes momentous and what replaces this grief is a cheerful journey down the well travelled road of the deceased. There is no doubt that the person will be missed, however to me it is a time to recollect and remember the milestones and immortal moments of the mortal being and thus indirectly celebrate that life. It is also the time to offer our thanksgiving both to the almighty for bringing into our lives the said person and also to the mortal soul for being a part of our lives and for all the positive energy he radiated during his tenure on Earth.
I just returned from Kerala after a condolence visit. The person who died was my good friend Sarah’s father – Rtd. Lt. Cdr. W. C. John. He was 86 years old and had led a full life on his very own terms. Much as I wanted to attend his funeral, I was unable to do so. However having seen him twice earlier this year, I had good memories of him and thus thought it not necessary to see the mortal remains before the burial. Another reason why I delayed my visit was because I wanted to spend the time with the family and wanted to reminisce on the wonderful life that Uncle John had led and this would not have been possible had I gone in the midst of the funeral.
I spent two whole days with Aunty, Sarah and her brother Roy. It seemed like the old days when we were children/young adults with no families of our own and no care in the world. I was taken back in time to the late 60’s when I first came to know the family. Sarah joined our school in the 4th standard and instantaneously we became friends. It did not take long before our friendship spread to the families and thus we became family friends. Living in the vicinity our families saw a lot of each other and this strengthened the bond. I vividly remember Uncle in his white naval uniform, so crisp and starched and as to how dashing he looked driving his white Herald car. Unlike the other cars of that period the Herald had a style of its own. I remember Uncle taking us to see the only aircraft carrier of the Indian Naval Fleet, the INS Vikrant. He also took us to see an American war ship and even now I remember the jelly I ate from there. These visits were lessons which no text book ever taught. It meant a lot to a young girl. Uncle almost seemed like a hero.
Indeed he was a true hero having joined the Imperial Navy at a tender age of 16 as a young sailor with absolutely no clue as to what the world offered. Having come from a village in Kerala, he had not seen the outside world. His grit and determination saw him rise quickly and it was not long before he was sent to England for training. He was a self made man who came up the hard and tough way. His penchant for punctuality and perfection was very well known and it really needed guts to face him for a delayed appointment. I have had the joy of staying with the family when Uncle was posted in Cochin and was witness to one of the official parties he hosted in his residence. I won’t be wrong if I say that I have never ever seen brass more polished nor have I seen cutlery more shining and glasses more sparkling. The house was immaculate and the whole event was planned and executed like the preparation for battle. What I mean to say is that every tiny detail was taken into account and no leaf was left unturned. I had never seen anything like this before and I was truly impressed. I won’t be wrong if I say that that party kind of set a standard in my mind. Although I have not been able to maintain the high levels I saw that day, I do try and see that I put up an overall good presentation when I invite guests to the house.
Uncle followed the benchmark he had set for himself all through his life. He tried his best to impart to those who came to his life the importance of godliness, kindness, love, affection and all the virtues with which he was bestowed. His last official posting was as a NCC commandant and this post saw him in his elements as he could mould the lives of the young boys and girls who joined the Corps. With his son employed and daughter married, it seemed to him that the right thing to do was to get back to his roots and this saw him settle down in Malappally in Pathannamthitta District of Kerala. He had his aged parents to look after and he did everything in his means to make their old age comfortable. To him being of help to others was topmost in his priorities and this was a quality he wanted to imbibe in those around him. Thus he was instrumental in starting the Rotary Club of Malappally.
He fought every illness that came his way and did not slow down until it was absolutely beyond his control. He had had three heart attacks and in the year 2000 was diagnosed with malignancy of the colon and had to undergo a colostomy. The doctors had given him only a few months or maximum a couple of years to live, but he lived and lived well for over nine years. Uncle believed that life was a gift from the Almighty and he did whatever it took to relish and enjoy it. The heart which became weak having suffered three attacks, had to pull itself together to keep pace with the dynamic body in which it was housed. In Uncle’s scheme of things, there was no question of it giving way. Thus all his illnesses had to give way to the mighty juggernaut that he was.
The two times I met him this year, was once in March when he came to Chennai for his younger brother’s funeral. Although his body was weak, and he was in not in the best of health, he had insisted being there for the funeral, for his brother being much younger than him was almost like his eldest son. I am happy that I could be of help to him as he stayed with me for three days. I knew then that the light within him was slowly fading and that he was moving to the twilight zone. I was blessed to see him once more in April when I went to Hyderabad to attend his grand daughter’s marriage. No other human being with the prevalent health condition would have dared that journey, but not Uncle John, who was so definite about being there. As a memento of that happy occasion, he gifted me with a silk sari, a gift that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
There is much more than that sari for me to treasure. His life was astounding and a role model for all to emulate. His life was one which truly calls for a celebration. Thus it was in that celebrating mood that I spent the two days with the family. We did everything that would have made Uncle happy. As much as we prayed for his soul, we also toasted his life. This is something not possible in most cases. But then this is Uncle John’s life and it had to definitely be different.
Long live Uncle John!!!
I just returned from Kerala after a condolence visit. The person who died was my good friend Sarah’s father – Rtd. Lt. Cdr. W. C. John. He was 86 years old and had led a full life on his very own terms. Much as I wanted to attend his funeral, I was unable to do so. However having seen him twice earlier this year, I had good memories of him and thus thought it not necessary to see the mortal remains before the burial. Another reason why I delayed my visit was because I wanted to spend the time with the family and wanted to reminisce on the wonderful life that Uncle John had led and this would not have been possible had I gone in the midst of the funeral.
I spent two whole days with Aunty, Sarah and her brother Roy. It seemed like the old days when we were children/young adults with no families of our own and no care in the world. I was taken back in time to the late 60’s when I first came to know the family. Sarah joined our school in the 4th standard and instantaneously we became friends. It did not take long before our friendship spread to the families and thus we became family friends. Living in the vicinity our families saw a lot of each other and this strengthened the bond. I vividly remember Uncle in his white naval uniform, so crisp and starched and as to how dashing he looked driving his white Herald car. Unlike the other cars of that period the Herald had a style of its own. I remember Uncle taking us to see the only aircraft carrier of the Indian Naval Fleet, the INS Vikrant. He also took us to see an American war ship and even now I remember the jelly I ate from there. These visits were lessons which no text book ever taught. It meant a lot to a young girl. Uncle almost seemed like a hero.
Indeed he was a true hero having joined the Imperial Navy at a tender age of 16 as a young sailor with absolutely no clue as to what the world offered. Having come from a village in Kerala, he had not seen the outside world. His grit and determination saw him rise quickly and it was not long before he was sent to England for training. He was a self made man who came up the hard and tough way. His penchant for punctuality and perfection was very well known and it really needed guts to face him for a delayed appointment. I have had the joy of staying with the family when Uncle was posted in Cochin and was witness to one of the official parties he hosted in his residence. I won’t be wrong if I say that I have never ever seen brass more polished nor have I seen cutlery more shining and glasses more sparkling. The house was immaculate and the whole event was planned and executed like the preparation for battle. What I mean to say is that every tiny detail was taken into account and no leaf was left unturned. I had never seen anything like this before and I was truly impressed. I won’t be wrong if I say that that party kind of set a standard in my mind. Although I have not been able to maintain the high levels I saw that day, I do try and see that I put up an overall good presentation when I invite guests to the house.
Uncle followed the benchmark he had set for himself all through his life. He tried his best to impart to those who came to his life the importance of godliness, kindness, love, affection and all the virtues with which he was bestowed. His last official posting was as a NCC commandant and this post saw him in his elements as he could mould the lives of the young boys and girls who joined the Corps. With his son employed and daughter married, it seemed to him that the right thing to do was to get back to his roots and this saw him settle down in Malappally in Pathannamthitta District of Kerala. He had his aged parents to look after and he did everything in his means to make their old age comfortable. To him being of help to others was topmost in his priorities and this was a quality he wanted to imbibe in those around him. Thus he was instrumental in starting the Rotary Club of Malappally.
He fought every illness that came his way and did not slow down until it was absolutely beyond his control. He had had three heart attacks and in the year 2000 was diagnosed with malignancy of the colon and had to undergo a colostomy. The doctors had given him only a few months or maximum a couple of years to live, but he lived and lived well for over nine years. Uncle believed that life was a gift from the Almighty and he did whatever it took to relish and enjoy it. The heart which became weak having suffered three attacks, had to pull itself together to keep pace with the dynamic body in which it was housed. In Uncle’s scheme of things, there was no question of it giving way. Thus all his illnesses had to give way to the mighty juggernaut that he was.
The two times I met him this year, was once in March when he came to Chennai for his younger brother’s funeral. Although his body was weak, and he was in not in the best of health, he had insisted being there for the funeral, for his brother being much younger than him was almost like his eldest son. I am happy that I could be of help to him as he stayed with me for three days. I knew then that the light within him was slowly fading and that he was moving to the twilight zone. I was blessed to see him once more in April when I went to Hyderabad to attend his grand daughter’s marriage. No other human being with the prevalent health condition would have dared that journey, but not Uncle John, who was so definite about being there. As a memento of that happy occasion, he gifted me with a silk sari, a gift that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
There is much more than that sari for me to treasure. His life was astounding and a role model for all to emulate. His life was one which truly calls for a celebration. Thus it was in that celebrating mood that I spent the two days with the family. We did everything that would have made Uncle happy. As much as we prayed for his soul, we also toasted his life. This is something not possible in most cases. But then this is Uncle John’s life and it had to definitely be different.
Long live Uncle John!!!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Tsunami in a Tea Cup
Ever since our Finance Minister came up with the idea of the austerity drive, there has been enough and more fodder for the print and electronic media. This has in turn produced free entertainment for the reader/viewer and has become the butt for so many jokes. I really wonder if the honourable minister had any clue as to what kind of hornets nest he was stirring. He had only hoped that the extravagant spending culture of our netas would be curtailed thus reducing the strain on the otherwise stretched exchequer. The tamasha began when the said minister travelled in the economy class of an airline from Delhi to Kolkatta. The minister must have done it in all sincerity being a man who believes in simple living and high thinking. However having stirred the otherwise placid waters, it was inevitable that a tsunami followed.
I am sure there were no compulsions from the high command, but then our shrewd ministers must have realised that when the number 2 in the cabinet can make do with economy class travel, they too had to do their bit to earn the said brownie points. Thus the next minister namely the Food and Agriculture Minister decided that he should lead by example and this saw him take another economy class flight from Mumbai to Delhi. He went a step further to issue a statement saying that he would have only travelled economy class but for his big frame. Now what I would like to know is as to how his frame shrunk in a couple of days so as to enable him to travel economy class. The third to do so was the big boss herself. This act of hers sealed the choices for the entire Indian National Congress ministers and Members of Parliament. How could anyone even think of travelling in Business class anymore? Overnight, this class became the pariah much to the chagrin of the airlines whose main source of income came from this category of travelers.
The prince in waiting went a step further and decided that the chair car of the Shatabdi Express was good enough for him to travel. Thus he covered Delhi –Ludhiana-Delhi by train much to the delight of the press and his followers. This provided the right moments for the perfect picture pose as well as a chance to deify the otherwise highly spoken of “youth leader” and strategist. I wonder as to how much of planning would have gone into that short train ride. The security and the railways would have been on tenterhooks till the said journey was over. When this topic came up for discussion in our midst on the very same day, I mentioned that henceforth ordinary citizens could be assured of better service in the trains and on economy class. A friend of mine had another take. She felt that by travelling with such VVIP’s, we were putting our lives in stake. She felt that if the terrorists had the VVIP’s in mind, we too would perish along. How right her words seemed when the same evening the said Shatabdi Express was stoned by miscreants. Would the cost of the repair to the bogies be part of the austerity?
Thus every leader who has a public standing is trying to do his bit to prove to the world that he is an austere person. The funny thing is that most of them may have not even heard about the word until the Finance Minister’s remark and thus are oblivious to its meaning which is rigorously self-disciplined and severely moral; ascetic; abstinent; grave; sober; solemn and serious. Would travelling in economy class change our leaders and make them austere? Is there one leader in this country who fits any aspect of this meaning for austere? Our Prime Minister may be the closest we have to fit the bill, but being the head of the country he has to maintain his status and dignity and thus his life is too precious to be wasted in a chair car ride. Apart from October 2nd and January 30th of every year, we hardly hear the name of the Father of the Nation being mentioned, however with this austerity drive, words like “Gandhian” seem to make it in print. The world respected Gandiji for his austerity and was willing to accept him as “the half naked fakir”. Since our present day leaders lack the austerity otherwise, I do hope that better sense will prevail and that they will not try and emulate him on the dressing front!!
To every flip there is a flop and in this case that has been brought about by the savviest of the ministers in the cabinet. When he was asked to move to humble dwellings from the five star hotel in which he had been staying, he was not a happy man at all. He felt he needed his privacy and his gym. He was vociferous in his protest and thus every follower of his tweets got to know of how exactly he felt. The powers to be let him off for the simple reason that he had paid the bills which mounted to Rs. 40,000/- daily from his own pocket. The said minister has been in the said hotel for three months and thus has spent approximately Rs. 36,00,000/- (take a few lakhs for the days when he is not in the capital) on his stay in the capital. There cannot be a bigger embarrassment than this for the government. Our country ranks 142th in the world when it comes to the per capita income which is less than Rs. 50,000/- annually. The straw that broke the camel’s neck was when the same minister again tweeted that he considers travelling in economy class as being part of a cattle herd. The cattle herd the minister is talking of is the privileged less than 10% of the population who can afford air travel. How did this man ever get to be the minister when he even considers travelling with a privileged group of citizens as being demeaning? Does the fact that he has the money make him in a class of his own? The moneyed class should remain the moneyed class and not enter into the job of serving the people and become politicians. I am at times made to feel that this minister has said in the open what others have had difficulty to pronounce for fears known/unknown. In that manner I appreciate the Minister for his truthfulness. Politics to this elitist may be just an additional feather to his otherwise plumed crown and austerity far from his last thought.
I really wonder what the final outcome of the Finance Minister’s drive is going to be. As I see it nothing will ever change. Austerity would be for that majority of our population who cannot afford the materialistic luxuries. Much as we live in a democracy and have a government which is “of the people, by the people and for the people” and which proclaims “Satyameva Jayathe”, our leaders will remain ignorant of these basics and the tsunami will be curtailed to just the tea cup.
I am sure there were no compulsions from the high command, but then our shrewd ministers must have realised that when the number 2 in the cabinet can make do with economy class travel, they too had to do their bit to earn the said brownie points. Thus the next minister namely the Food and Agriculture Minister decided that he should lead by example and this saw him take another economy class flight from Mumbai to Delhi. He went a step further to issue a statement saying that he would have only travelled economy class but for his big frame. Now what I would like to know is as to how his frame shrunk in a couple of days so as to enable him to travel economy class. The third to do so was the big boss herself. This act of hers sealed the choices for the entire Indian National Congress ministers and Members of Parliament. How could anyone even think of travelling in Business class anymore? Overnight, this class became the pariah much to the chagrin of the airlines whose main source of income came from this category of travelers.
The prince in waiting went a step further and decided that the chair car of the Shatabdi Express was good enough for him to travel. Thus he covered Delhi –Ludhiana-Delhi by train much to the delight of the press and his followers. This provided the right moments for the perfect picture pose as well as a chance to deify the otherwise highly spoken of “youth leader” and strategist. I wonder as to how much of planning would have gone into that short train ride. The security and the railways would have been on tenterhooks till the said journey was over. When this topic came up for discussion in our midst on the very same day, I mentioned that henceforth ordinary citizens could be assured of better service in the trains and on economy class. A friend of mine had another take. She felt that by travelling with such VVIP’s, we were putting our lives in stake. She felt that if the terrorists had the VVIP’s in mind, we too would perish along. How right her words seemed when the same evening the said Shatabdi Express was stoned by miscreants. Would the cost of the repair to the bogies be part of the austerity?
Thus every leader who has a public standing is trying to do his bit to prove to the world that he is an austere person. The funny thing is that most of them may have not even heard about the word until the Finance Minister’s remark and thus are oblivious to its meaning which is rigorously self-disciplined and severely moral; ascetic; abstinent; grave; sober; solemn and serious. Would travelling in economy class change our leaders and make them austere? Is there one leader in this country who fits any aspect of this meaning for austere? Our Prime Minister may be the closest we have to fit the bill, but being the head of the country he has to maintain his status and dignity and thus his life is too precious to be wasted in a chair car ride. Apart from October 2nd and January 30th of every year, we hardly hear the name of the Father of the Nation being mentioned, however with this austerity drive, words like “Gandhian” seem to make it in print. The world respected Gandiji for his austerity and was willing to accept him as “the half naked fakir”. Since our present day leaders lack the austerity otherwise, I do hope that better sense will prevail and that they will not try and emulate him on the dressing front!!
To every flip there is a flop and in this case that has been brought about by the savviest of the ministers in the cabinet. When he was asked to move to humble dwellings from the five star hotel in which he had been staying, he was not a happy man at all. He felt he needed his privacy and his gym. He was vociferous in his protest and thus every follower of his tweets got to know of how exactly he felt. The powers to be let him off for the simple reason that he had paid the bills which mounted to Rs. 40,000/- daily from his own pocket. The said minister has been in the said hotel for three months and thus has spent approximately Rs. 36,00,000/- (take a few lakhs for the days when he is not in the capital) on his stay in the capital. There cannot be a bigger embarrassment than this for the government. Our country ranks 142th in the world when it comes to the per capita income which is less than Rs. 50,000/- annually. The straw that broke the camel’s neck was when the same minister again tweeted that he considers travelling in economy class as being part of a cattle herd. The cattle herd the minister is talking of is the privileged less than 10% of the population who can afford air travel. How did this man ever get to be the minister when he even considers travelling with a privileged group of citizens as being demeaning? Does the fact that he has the money make him in a class of his own? The moneyed class should remain the moneyed class and not enter into the job of serving the people and become politicians. I am at times made to feel that this minister has said in the open what others have had difficulty to pronounce for fears known/unknown. In that manner I appreciate the Minister for his truthfulness. Politics to this elitist may be just an additional feather to his otherwise plumed crown and austerity far from his last thought.
I really wonder what the final outcome of the Finance Minister’s drive is going to be. As I see it nothing will ever change. Austerity would be for that majority of our population who cannot afford the materialistic luxuries. Much as we live in a democracy and have a government which is “of the people, by the people and for the people” and which proclaims “Satyameva Jayathe”, our leaders will remain ignorant of these basics and the tsunami will be curtailed to just the tea cup.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Golden Girls
As with most people, I too have my friends in groups. These groups range from my school friends to college friends to Middle East friends to Inner Wheel friends to Family friends and finally the group about which I am going to write today. All the above mentioned groups have featured in my blogs in some way or the other. The group about which I am about to write has somehow slipped the net and the reason could well be because I get to meet them only once a month. For that matter, some of the other groups I rarely get to meet these days. But what puts them at top priority in my memory bank could well be the proximity I enjoyed while those friendships were forged. The monthly meeting with this group is a joyful one. We meet, we greet, we interact, we eat, we deliberate and finally we exit. It may sound clinical in print, but I can assure you that it is far from that. There is a large dose of bon homie and camaraderie. This meeting is a great stress buster apart from being a forum to share the latest in the world of music, movies, fashion, people and last but not the least the main element that binds women together – GOSSIP. I must elaborate on the kind of gossip as I don’t want the reader to think of us as run of the mill characters. Our kind of gossip is not one that would hurt a friend or family but mainly consists of the inside knowledge available with regard to some interesting headline news. We consider ourselves different and would love the world to accept us that way.
In few hours from now, I would be meeting this group. I have been associated with them for the last 12 years however I must say that there is a lot about their family and background of which I am not aware. Here we meet as individuals with no strings attached. The two characteristics of our group is that we are all from Kerala and the second and most important is that we belong to the Golden Age of 50years and there about. These two characteristics make it wonderfully easy for us to vibe. I wonder as to how many of you have guessed the identity of my group. For those who have not, well I am talking of my kitty group. The kitty culture is nothing new as it has been an important instrument in the socializing network in India. I guess in its early stages, it must have started among the upper class women as the time relegated for playing cards or for simply having a coffee morning. Somewhere down the line the element of a kitty was added and this I’m sure must have given the event the required commitment. As the years went by the kitty party culture began to percolate and became a part of the burgeoning urban middle class.
The first time that I was associated with a kitty group was in Jeddah where my good friend and neighbor Usha put me on to the kitty of which she was a part. That kitty was different from the ones in India for the simple reason that it involved the whole family. One reason for this could be due to the immobility of women in Saudi Arabia in the early 90’s. After my return to India, my friend Latha Mohan set about planning a group to which she graciously invited me. She must have chosen the members with care, for we hit it off pretty well from the word go. The original group has seen many mutations what with people having to leave Chennai or moving away for personal reasons/commitments. Our present group consists of eleven members. We do not want to increase the number for the simple reason that a cycle finishes in one year as May is taken as the annual holiday for the kitty. The only rule that we follow in our kitty is that we meet for lunch. All of us being food connoisseurs, food does play an important part and I must say that we enjoy feasting on a well laden table. The venue of the kitty is left to the discretion of the host and thus can be at their respective houses or at a restaurant of their choice. Most restaurants in Chennai owe it to the kitty groups for their lunch business during the week. 75% of the lunch crowd at most of the restaurants is made up of women belonging to the various kitties. Some of these restaurants even offer deals to the all women groups. Being good homemakers we scout for the best deals and thus get to visit many of the new eateries and at times even make it to pubs were they serve a good pub meal.
The real kitty of the kitty is not a big sum, however it does make us ladies happy as it is more than sufficient to see us through some good shopping sprees. Also it is that part of the kitty which makes the experience wholesome. With women’s groups making a foray into the world of travel, my kitty members too do not want to be left behind. Thus I have been entrusted the job of finding the ideal destination for a 2/3 day break. If it happens, I am sure it will be one of the most memorable holidays that I have ever had.
The kitty groups remind me of the Hen parties of the west, of which I have read and have also seen during my travels. The ladies in those groups were so enthusiastic and seemed to enjoy as if there was no tomorrow. Being part of the kitty makes the two to three hours spent together work as an antidote to the otherwise mundane goings on and the mood at the end of a session is truly one of elation. My only sense of regret is that with most young girls seriously pursuing a career, it won’t be long before the kitties become a thing of the past. I wonder how we can save it for posterity for like us I wish for the future generations to enjoy and be the GOLDEN GIRLS that we are.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Dubai Gold
When Marilyn Monroe, sang “Diamonds Are A Girls Best Friend”, in the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, the whole world agreed. Although it is 56 years since the movie was released, every word still holds good and there is no contradiction as far as that goes. However I would like to bring to notice, that as far as Indian Girls (read women) are concerned especially the ones from the southern most state of Kerala, the lure for the yellow metal far out beats that for the carbon rock. May be they have not heard of Marilyn Monroe or the song. This being the frame of mind of the Malayali women, one can imagine what ecstasy they would be in when they land in the Sands of Arabia.
Much has been written about the Gold Souks of the Middle East. Gold is sold by the Kilo unlike in India where we still believe in the poor Grams. Every Malayali woman who has lived in the Middle East is sure to be a proud owner of at least a couple of kilos of gold. (I may be one of the few exceptions.) The excuse was always that we have a daughter to get married. Now since I had no children, my lips were tongue tied at that. However I would tickle them by asking if they were going to weigh their daughters against gold at the time of marriage. I have lived in all the major cities of Saudi Arabia and irrespective of the city, the topic at any get together eventually turned to the yellow metal. May be the bright sun and the yellow sands of the region gave an extra sheen to the metal. The only disappointment among the friends was that the designs available were not very fine. The jewelry was chunky and more to the Arab taste. This was however very particular of Saudi Arabia. On the other hand Dubai boasted of some of the biggest names among Jewelers from India, and hence it was mandatory that a trip there was not complete without coming back with booty.
It was in this context that I happened to go to Dubai along with my husband. We were there for a couple of days and then got back to Jeddah. A week or so after my return I had invited a fairly large group of friends for lunch. As expected the talk steered to my just concluded Dubai trip. Next came the question about what jewellery I had purchased. Before I could give an answer, my good friend and neighbour Usha who was well aware of all the nitty gritty about my trip, promptly replied that the booty was in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. All the ladies trooped into the kitchen and with great apprehension I opened the freezer door and took out a well wrapped bag which seemed to weigh a kilo. I could hear the murmurs, of how much gold has been purchased etc. Knowing me some of them were even surprised that I had splurged so much on something I deemed a waste. With 10 pairs of vigilant eyes staring, I calmly opened the bag and took out the contents. I cannot really put into words the reaction of my friends in the ensuing couple of minutes. However I can tell you that it was one of severe disappointment, for like a magician what I pulled out from the bag were packets of Kerala Pappadam (Made in Dubai). These shared the colour of the said metal and also when fried had a lovely golden sheen. What most of you may not know is that my husband’s love for the KERALA PAPPADAM far out beats the Malayali women’s love for GOLD.
The women must have considered me as an outcast; however they were decent enough to keep that feeling to themselves. I am sure that they must be having the last laugh, what with the price of gold spiraling to new highs every day. They are indeed sitting on the GOLD MINE. When I look back I can only say, “THOSE WERE THE GOLDEN DAYS.”
Posted by Usha Kumar at 5:42 PM
3 comments:
chickushyam said...
LOL...As a person who is not very fond of the yellow metal,I found this article very funny.I must agree,Pappadam,anytime.
February 19, 2009 9:11 PM
Geeta said...
haha. Wish I had a kilo of it. Dubai should make a doghouse for me to hide in- the only gold-less Mallu female in Dubai. Maybe that's why my daughter married an American, and she says- Don't buy me gold,mama, I cannot wear it here! Phew!
Thank you God for small mercies.
February 21, 2009 8:49 PM
Much has been written about the Gold Souks of the Middle East. Gold is sold by the Kilo unlike in India where we still believe in the poor Grams. Every Malayali woman who has lived in the Middle East is sure to be a proud owner of at least a couple of kilos of gold. (I may be one of the few exceptions.) The excuse was always that we have a daughter to get married. Now since I had no children, my lips were tongue tied at that. However I would tickle them by asking if they were going to weigh their daughters against gold at the time of marriage. I have lived in all the major cities of Saudi Arabia and irrespective of the city, the topic at any get together eventually turned to the yellow metal. May be the bright sun and the yellow sands of the region gave an extra sheen to the metal. The only disappointment among the friends was that the designs available were not very fine. The jewelry was chunky and more to the Arab taste. This was however very particular of Saudi Arabia. On the other hand Dubai boasted of some of the biggest names among Jewelers from India, and hence it was mandatory that a trip there was not complete without coming back with booty.
It was in this context that I happened to go to Dubai along with my husband. We were there for a couple of days and then got back to Jeddah. A week or so after my return I had invited a fairly large group of friends for lunch. As expected the talk steered to my just concluded Dubai trip. Next came the question about what jewellery I had purchased. Before I could give an answer, my good friend and neighbour Usha who was well aware of all the nitty gritty about my trip, promptly replied that the booty was in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. All the ladies trooped into the kitchen and with great apprehension I opened the freezer door and took out a well wrapped bag which seemed to weigh a kilo. I could hear the murmurs, of how much gold has been purchased etc. Knowing me some of them were even surprised that I had splurged so much on something I deemed a waste. With 10 pairs of vigilant eyes staring, I calmly opened the bag and took out the contents. I cannot really put into words the reaction of my friends in the ensuing couple of minutes. However I can tell you that it was one of severe disappointment, for like a magician what I pulled out from the bag were packets of Kerala Pappadam (Made in Dubai). These shared the colour of the said metal and also when fried had a lovely golden sheen. What most of you may not know is that my husband’s love for the KERALA PAPPADAM far out beats the Malayali women’s love for GOLD.
The women must have considered me as an outcast; however they were decent enough to keep that feeling to themselves. I am sure that they must be having the last laugh, what with the price of gold spiraling to new highs every day. They are indeed sitting on the GOLD MINE. When I look back I can only say, “THOSE WERE THE GOLDEN DAYS.”
Posted by Usha Kumar at 5:42 PM
3 comments:
chickushyam said...
LOL...As a person who is not very fond of the yellow metal,I found this article very funny.I must agree,Pappadam,anytime.
February 19, 2009 9:11 PM
Geeta said...
haha. Wish I had a kilo of it. Dubai should make a doghouse for me to hide in- the only gold-less Mallu female in Dubai. Maybe that's why my daughter married an American, and she says- Don't buy me gold,mama, I cannot wear it here! Phew!
Thank you God for small mercies.
February 21, 2009 8:49 PM
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Shubha Muhurtham
My idea was to publish this piece on the 3rd of September that being a very important date in my life. But it did not happen. The 3rd of September may not mean anything to the majority but may mean the world to a minority. I belong to the second group and if you are thinking that it was the day I got married, you are most certainly wrong. My marriage was on the 22nd of June 1977 a day chosen after reading horoscopes and consulting the astrologer. On the other hand 3rd September was a date that was decided at random. It was a date decided for convenience and not one of those termed “auspicious” by the Pundits.
When we got married, Kumar was working in Muscat and so I could not accompany him on his return. There was the formality of getting my entry permit and other papers in order and hence it was decided that I would follow him at the earliest. He left for Muscat by the end of July and within ten days got my papers ready. However he wanted me to be in Chennai until Onam was over and so asked me to travel to Muscat on the 3rd of September 1977. If I remember right, it happened to be a Saturday. This was the time before Chennai was directly connected to Muscat and so I had to take an Indian Airlines flight to Mumbai and from there I flew on a Gulf Air flight to Muscat. Thus my first proverbial crossing of the seas happened on that date. I was in no way to know then as to how many criss-crossings of the various Oceans and land masses I would make. I grew up in a simple and humble family and as I have earlier said, flying in an aircraft was something we did not even think about. For us it was always terra firma and the greatest joy we had as children was the annual trip to Kerala by train.
In the first three years of marriage, my travel only pertained to the annual vacations to India. The so called barrage gates in terms of my travel were let open in November of 1980 when we took a trip to the Far East. This was my first to places other than the Middle East of which I had reached Saudi Arabia earlier in 1980. During this trip we covered Hong Kong, Thailand, Philippines, Singapore and Malaysia. After that Hong Kong became a part of my yearly routine. Kumar was working for Cathay Pacific Airways and whenever he went on work, I too would accompany him. I won’t be wrong when I say that at one point I knew Tsim Sha Tsui (the shopping district of Hong Kong) like the back of my hand. This summer when we went to Hong Kong after a gap of 15 years, I was indeed proud that I could still find my way around and in fact floored a friend with this knowledge.
1987, is again an important year for me as it was in September of that year that I made my first visit to the United Kingdom. Although I grew up in the post colonial era, the fixation with the Raj was strongly within me. This may be one trait I picked up from my father. He had his reasons as he studied in an European High School and his father worked for the Imperial Army. Anything British he adored and he did not mince his words when he spoke about it. As for me the United Kingdom also meant the Western Hemisphere and visiting that part of the world was definitely the dream of a travel bug. My first trip to the UK was indeed memorable and I made sure that I visited the most prominent of the historical sights. Visiting the Lake District and seeing the Dove Cottage was an out of the world experience. William Wordsworth is my all time favourite poet and I am happy to say that two of his poems “The Daffodils” and “The Solitary Reaper” are etched in my mind. We also made a side trip to Amsterdam and seeing the windmills, canals and the dykes were so wonderful. The first time I had seen a picture of the windmill was in my 5th standard social studies book. It was a sketch and we had to colour it. The picture is still so vivid in my mind’s eye. When I went into the windmill, I thought to myself, where have I reached. Am I worthy of all this. It is embarrassing to write this, but UK became a part of my yearly trip what with my sister Latha having moved there after her marriage. Thus in a year there was a trip or two to India, a trip to Hong Kong and a trip to the UK. This period saw Geetha move to Brussels and that made Belgium too became a part of my yearly routine. It was during that time that we visited France, Germany, Italy and Turkey. Italy was a once in a life time experience and what made it outstanding was the fact that the three sisters with their spouses made it together.
1989 was when I made my first trip to the US. I was frankly not very enthusiastic about making that trip for the simple reason, that the travel involved was far too much. Also the Lockerbie disaster had just happened and hence it was not very appealing. The three cities I visited were Los Angeles, San Diego and New York. All the cities had so much to offer and that made the trip truly rewarding. Then in 1992, Geetha moved to Boston thus US too became a part of the circuit. Thus every other month saw me packing my bags and going on a jaunt within Saudi or the Gulf or elsewhere. Thus when we had to leave Saudi, one of the few things I was sad about, was my travel. I thought that being back in India meant a total full stop to all the wonderful over seas trips.
It is 14 years since I am back and I am indeed happy to say that but for the initial three years when we were busy finding our mooring, the following years have seen us go on a holiday. Thus we have visited Sri Lanka, Australia, Singapore and Malaysia (2000 & 2007), UK, Switzerland, USA (2002 & 2006) and of course our very recent trip to Hong Kong and China.
Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that I have seen so many places and have had such wonderful experiences. As I keep telling people, most of what I know is not what I learnt from the text books but whatever I have picked up during my travels. I am grateful to God and thankful to Kumar for making all this possible. It also makes me strongly believe that September 3rd 1977 was a spectacular Shubha Muhurtham - one that changed a young girl’s life in more ways than one.
When we got married, Kumar was working in Muscat and so I could not accompany him on his return. There was the formality of getting my entry permit and other papers in order and hence it was decided that I would follow him at the earliest. He left for Muscat by the end of July and within ten days got my papers ready. However he wanted me to be in Chennai until Onam was over and so asked me to travel to Muscat on the 3rd of September 1977. If I remember right, it happened to be a Saturday. This was the time before Chennai was directly connected to Muscat and so I had to take an Indian Airlines flight to Mumbai and from there I flew on a Gulf Air flight to Muscat. Thus my first proverbial crossing of the seas happened on that date. I was in no way to know then as to how many criss-crossings of the various Oceans and land masses I would make. I grew up in a simple and humble family and as I have earlier said, flying in an aircraft was something we did not even think about. For us it was always terra firma and the greatest joy we had as children was the annual trip to Kerala by train.
In the first three years of marriage, my travel only pertained to the annual vacations to India. The so called barrage gates in terms of my travel were let open in November of 1980 when we took a trip to the Far East. This was my first to places other than the Middle East of which I had reached Saudi Arabia earlier in 1980. During this trip we covered Hong Kong, Thailand, Philippines, Singapore and Malaysia. After that Hong Kong became a part of my yearly routine. Kumar was working for Cathay Pacific Airways and whenever he went on work, I too would accompany him. I won’t be wrong when I say that at one point I knew Tsim Sha Tsui (the shopping district of Hong Kong) like the back of my hand. This summer when we went to Hong Kong after a gap of 15 years, I was indeed proud that I could still find my way around and in fact floored a friend with this knowledge.
1987, is again an important year for me as it was in September of that year that I made my first visit to the United Kingdom. Although I grew up in the post colonial era, the fixation with the Raj was strongly within me. This may be one trait I picked up from my father. He had his reasons as he studied in an European High School and his father worked for the Imperial Army. Anything British he adored and he did not mince his words when he spoke about it. As for me the United Kingdom also meant the Western Hemisphere and visiting that part of the world was definitely the dream of a travel bug. My first trip to the UK was indeed memorable and I made sure that I visited the most prominent of the historical sights. Visiting the Lake District and seeing the Dove Cottage was an out of the world experience. William Wordsworth is my all time favourite poet and I am happy to say that two of his poems “The Daffodils” and “The Solitary Reaper” are etched in my mind. We also made a side trip to Amsterdam and seeing the windmills, canals and the dykes were so wonderful. The first time I had seen a picture of the windmill was in my 5th standard social studies book. It was a sketch and we had to colour it. The picture is still so vivid in my mind’s eye. When I went into the windmill, I thought to myself, where have I reached. Am I worthy of all this. It is embarrassing to write this, but UK became a part of my yearly trip what with my sister Latha having moved there after her marriage. Thus in a year there was a trip or two to India, a trip to Hong Kong and a trip to the UK. This period saw Geetha move to Brussels and that made Belgium too became a part of my yearly routine. It was during that time that we visited France, Germany, Italy and Turkey. Italy was a once in a life time experience and what made it outstanding was the fact that the three sisters with their spouses made it together.
1989 was when I made my first trip to the US. I was frankly not very enthusiastic about making that trip for the simple reason, that the travel involved was far too much. Also the Lockerbie disaster had just happened and hence it was not very appealing. The three cities I visited were Los Angeles, San Diego and New York. All the cities had so much to offer and that made the trip truly rewarding. Then in 1992, Geetha moved to Boston thus US too became a part of the circuit. Thus every other month saw me packing my bags and going on a jaunt within Saudi or the Gulf or elsewhere. Thus when we had to leave Saudi, one of the few things I was sad about, was my travel. I thought that being back in India meant a total full stop to all the wonderful over seas trips.
It is 14 years since I am back and I am indeed happy to say that but for the initial three years when we were busy finding our mooring, the following years have seen us go on a holiday. Thus we have visited Sri Lanka, Australia, Singapore and Malaysia (2000 & 2007), UK, Switzerland, USA (2002 & 2006) and of course our very recent trip to Hong Kong and China.
Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe that I have seen so many places and have had such wonderful experiences. As I keep telling people, most of what I know is not what I learnt from the text books but whatever I have picked up during my travels. I am grateful to God and thankful to Kumar for making all this possible. It also makes me strongly believe that September 3rd 1977 was a spectacular Shubha Muhurtham - one that changed a young girl’s life in more ways than one.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Recognition
With, Onam, the biggest festival for the Malayalis having just got over, I made some observations, which I felt I should share with my readers. The thought that first came to my mind as a resident of Chennai Metropolis, is that “well Onam has finally arrived”. There is more than one reason for this. In 2007, the Chief Minister declared Onam as a Government Holiday for the district of Chennai along with the Districts of Kanyakumari and Nilgiris both of which have a large population of Malayalis. This in itself was news of great significance for all the Malayalis of Chennai. The other reasons are comparatively trivial and are more of marketing gimmicks, but nonetheless they seem to add a lot of colour to Onam and also bring about a mood of festivity to the city and to the minds of the Malayalis. The Onam season which traditionally lasts for ten days saw the papers flooded with wonderful discount offers by most of the leading jewelers and textile stores. The papers also seemed covered with advertisements from restaurants and hotels trying to promote the much acclaimed Onam Sadya. They also featured interviews with the leading Malayalis of Chennai. It was interesting to read and I would be lying if I stopped from saying that I was not just happy but indeed elated. For the thousands of people in my category who are both staunch Malayalis and true Chennaiites, we could not have asked for more. It also got me thinking back in time to the many Onams that we celebrated while growing up.
When we were children Onam was just a celebration in the family. The Malayali families living in Chennai like their brethren the world over celebrated Onam with gusto but just within the walls of their house. The outside world (read city) did not know of the festival, or in case they did, there was hardly any recognition. The only community celebrations that took place were held in the evening when most of the Malayali Social organizations would have a cultural meet. Since my mother was a member of one of these organizations, we girls would participate in some of the events that were put up. Thus that was the only highlight of our Onam. As for a holiday on Onam, it was unheard off since at most times there would be an exam on that day and hence it was compulsory to go to school or college. On reaching college, to mark the occasion, some of us would wear a Kerala sari or a two piece “set mundu”. But these things were far and rare. The sari or the Mundu had to be purchased from Kerala during our trips earlier. It was never ever available in any of the leading textile kingdoms of Chennai. Like Onam, the Kerala Sari too has come a long way and is freely available. I won’t be wrong if I say that it has become a fashion statement to be seen in one of these saris on Onam day. This Onam when I went to the office, I was surprised to see all the girls attired in Kerala Saris. On the other hand, I felt odd having worn a colourful Andhra handloom sari. I realized then the reach of the media and the awareness among the people. Thus Onam has got its due in the Chennai of the 21st Century.
It has taken more than a couple of centuries for Onam to get a foot hold in this Cosmopolitan city. The association of the then Madras and that part of Kerala called Malabar go a long way. Malabar was part of the Madras Presidency during the British Rule in India. For the people of Malabar, Madras was the capital and they were governed from here. This was the arrangement till the state of Kerala was formed on November 1st 1956. Madras has always been home to the Malayali and many a wanderlust Malayali has found his livelihood and established himself in Madras. The list is so long that I would not be doing justice by trying to give names. Since the best of education and medical facilities were only available here, the people from Kerala were always present in large numbers in Madras. They held and still continue to hold high positions in government, public and private sectors. The total lack of industry in Kerala in the early and middle 20th century saw the Malayali come to Madras in search of greener pastures. The formation of the state of Kerala has not deterred this movement as youngsters either educated or not, still make that journey to ensure a better future. I am sure that till date the Central Railway station must be witnessing the arrival of youngsters with fire in their hearts and stars in their eyes. “Stars” is the right word to use, for till the end of the 20th century, Madras was the home to the Malayalam Film industry. Thousands of Malayalam movies have been churned out from the various studios that used to dot the Kodambakkam/Vadapalani areas. The whole Malayalam film fraternity were residents of Madras. It was common to come across some green horns hoping to become a future Sathyan of Prem Nazir (Lead actors of yore) roaming the streets in the vicinity of the studios. With Madras/Chennai playing an integral part in the lives of so many Malayalis, it goes without saying that the Malayalis form a high percentage of the city’s population. The demography of the city of Chennai shows that Malayalis are the third biggest group just after the Tamilians and the Telegus.
This holiday declared for Onam is definitely a long overdue recognition for the Malayalis of Chennai. Their contribution to the development of the city and the vital roles they have played in various sectors are worthy of more than a mention. Life has not always been a bed of roses and there have been times when the going was tough. They have had to face the wrath of anti social elements who wanted to dislocate them. This was in the early 70’s and I vividly remember how slogans were written on walls of homes were Malayalis lived. Our home too was at the receiving end. Unlike the Anti Hindi agitation of the 60’s, better sense prevailed and the whole issue was quashed before things went out of hand.
I wonder why it took so long for this recognition to happen considering the fact that the leader/demi-god of the masses and the most popular and loved person in Chennai or for that matter in Tamil Nadu for the past 70 years has been Maruthur Gopalan R……………..
When we were children Onam was just a celebration in the family. The Malayali families living in Chennai like their brethren the world over celebrated Onam with gusto but just within the walls of their house. The outside world (read city) did not know of the festival, or in case they did, there was hardly any recognition. The only community celebrations that took place were held in the evening when most of the Malayali Social organizations would have a cultural meet. Since my mother was a member of one of these organizations, we girls would participate in some of the events that were put up. Thus that was the only highlight of our Onam. As for a holiday on Onam, it was unheard off since at most times there would be an exam on that day and hence it was compulsory to go to school or college. On reaching college, to mark the occasion, some of us would wear a Kerala sari or a two piece “set mundu”. But these things were far and rare. The sari or the Mundu had to be purchased from Kerala during our trips earlier. It was never ever available in any of the leading textile kingdoms of Chennai. Like Onam, the Kerala Sari too has come a long way and is freely available. I won’t be wrong if I say that it has become a fashion statement to be seen in one of these saris on Onam day. This Onam when I went to the office, I was surprised to see all the girls attired in Kerala Saris. On the other hand, I felt odd having worn a colourful Andhra handloom sari. I realized then the reach of the media and the awareness among the people. Thus Onam has got its due in the Chennai of the 21st Century.
It has taken more than a couple of centuries for Onam to get a foot hold in this Cosmopolitan city. The association of the then Madras and that part of Kerala called Malabar go a long way. Malabar was part of the Madras Presidency during the British Rule in India. For the people of Malabar, Madras was the capital and they were governed from here. This was the arrangement till the state of Kerala was formed on November 1st 1956. Madras has always been home to the Malayali and many a wanderlust Malayali has found his livelihood and established himself in Madras. The list is so long that I would not be doing justice by trying to give names. Since the best of education and medical facilities were only available here, the people from Kerala were always present in large numbers in Madras. They held and still continue to hold high positions in government, public and private sectors. The total lack of industry in Kerala in the early and middle 20th century saw the Malayali come to Madras in search of greener pastures. The formation of the state of Kerala has not deterred this movement as youngsters either educated or not, still make that journey to ensure a better future. I am sure that till date the Central Railway station must be witnessing the arrival of youngsters with fire in their hearts and stars in their eyes. “Stars” is the right word to use, for till the end of the 20th century, Madras was the home to the Malayalam Film industry. Thousands of Malayalam movies have been churned out from the various studios that used to dot the Kodambakkam/Vadapalani areas. The whole Malayalam film fraternity were residents of Madras. It was common to come across some green horns hoping to become a future Sathyan of Prem Nazir (Lead actors of yore) roaming the streets in the vicinity of the studios. With Madras/Chennai playing an integral part in the lives of so many Malayalis, it goes without saying that the Malayalis form a high percentage of the city’s population. The demography of the city of Chennai shows that Malayalis are the third biggest group just after the Tamilians and the Telegus.
This holiday declared for Onam is definitely a long overdue recognition for the Malayalis of Chennai. Their contribution to the development of the city and the vital roles they have played in various sectors are worthy of more than a mention. Life has not always been a bed of roses and there have been times when the going was tough. They have had to face the wrath of anti social elements who wanted to dislocate them. This was in the early 70’s and I vividly remember how slogans were written on walls of homes were Malayalis lived. Our home too was at the receiving end. Unlike the Anti Hindi agitation of the 60’s, better sense prevailed and the whole issue was quashed before things went out of hand.
I wonder why it took so long for this recognition to happen considering the fact that the leader/demi-god of the masses and the most popular and loved person in Chennai or for that matter in Tamil Nadu for the past 70 years has been Maruthur Gopalan R……………..
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Homage
I had planned for this trip to Bangalore to be different from the usual trips that I make. For one thing I knew it would be different as I was travelling alone and hence there would be no compulsions both from Kumar and Sridevi to do the usual rounds. Also I had made sure that no one except the people in the two houses I proposed to spend time knew of the trip. Since I know a lot of people in Bangalore, the social pressures are too much and thus end up spending more time on the road enroute to visiting people. As most of you are aware the traffic in Bangalore is chaotic and not being up to date on the latest traffic regulations can make any journey a nightmare. The only planned engagement was the betrothal ceremony of my friend’s son – the reason for the trip. However the trip turned out to be one of those where one goes down a not so pleasant memory lane. It evoked a chapter lying superficially hidden in a corner of the grey matter.
I would like to go back to the year 1996, when my only sister in law was admitted to the Air Force Command Hospital in Bangalore. She was diagnosed with a lump in her breast and the biopsy had shown that it was malignant. Hence the only option was a mastectomy and thus the admission. Her husband was a retired Colonel and they lived in Hosur, Tamil Nadu. Since Bangalore was just an hour’s drive from Hosur, it seemed the most natural thing to admit her at the Command Hospital. I reached Bangalore a day after her surgery and got to spend the days with her. She being a very lively person with a very positive attitude, we would chat and while away the time. She had known of the malignancy and of the unexploded bomb that she was carrying. But somehow she never made a mention of it and she carried on with her sweet disposition. As for me, I put up a brave front but at the same time was appalled and upset at the conditions that prevailed in the Command Hospital, which was considered as the top medical facility in South India for the army personnel. Stray dogs would roam around the campus and the toilets were in shambles. The nursing staff were so discourteous and the doctors were just not reachable. My sister in law endured the treatment meted out to her with tenacity. I did not hear her complain even once. Well that was how she was. I have always appreciated her good heartedness, but this I thought was stretching it a bit too far. She came out of the hospital scathed but cheerful. Things continued to be fine for the next eight months after which she again fell ill. This time it was with severe head aches something she just could not take in her stride. I must credit her her sagacity because her threshold of pain was far higher than the normal Indian woman’s. Thus she was brought back to the Command hospital for further tests and treatment.
The diagnosis was not what one would want to hear and as for the prognosis we knew would be in the negative. She was asked to take the usual MRI scan to get the internal picture. The result of the scans was not at all good and all of us were stunned by what we heard. In 1997 when the CAT and MRI scans were normal investigative tools, it was shocking to know that the Command Hospital did not have the required machines. Each of these procedures had to be done at a scan centre outside the hospital premises. Thus after a couple of visits, she was asked to start on chemotherapy. She would get herself admitted for a day and get the medicine into her body. Her conditioned turned from bad to worse and finally she reached a stage when it was thought that she needed to have radiation as well. Radiation treatment was not available at Command Hospital and thus had to commute between Command Hospital and KIDWAI Memorial Institute of Oncology. I was really upset to see her being taken to the KIdwai centre in one of the huge Military trucks. It was the most insensitive happening. The family could not stand this demeaning act and thus from day 2 arrangements were made for a car to pick her up and bring her to the KIDWAI centre. This routine was short lived as her condition seemed to take such steep turns that every day brought her condition down by more than 10%. Thus she had to be shifted to KIDWAI Centre were luckily a room was available. In less than two weeks time she became a person who could not see or take any food orally and who had lost all movement. She had also lost her speech and thus there was nothing left of her. It was sad to see this fast downhill route that she was taking. There was only so much we could all do about it. After a two week struggle we lost her on June 12th 1997.
Death as we all know is inevitable. But to lose a loved one while still young is devastating. What to me coupled the tragedy was the insensitive medical treatment that she underwent. Had I then known of organizations that helped to cope with the dreaded cancer, I would have made sure that she received some kind of solace from them. This disease is one were the rate of mortality is high; however it could have been brought about in a dignified manner. It is twelve years since she has left us and the void created only seems to grow. What triggered this thought process was an unexpected visit to the Command Hospital during my just concluded trip. The reason for the visit was to look up on my friend’s brother who had met with a road accident and was thus admitted for medical investigations. He is a serving officer and thus belonged to the privileged group. His room was in a cottage like building and this made me think that the amenities too would match the ambience. I was in for a shock when I went in and saw that nothing much had changed. If this is what is provided for a serving officer, I dread to think as to what the conditions of the wards would be. The stray dogs still had a field day.
On looking back, I think the trip to the hospital and the revival of this chapter was definitely inevitable. The reason why I say this is because just before my departure to Bangalore, we had a small get together of my husband’s side of the family. It was not planned but it just happened that both his brother and nephew were with us and thus we reminisced on all the happenings. A lot was spoken about my sister in law who was a good human being, a wonderful wife, a loving and caring mother and a darling sister. I must have gone to Bangalore atleast 15 times during the intervening 12 years, but it had to be only this time when I got to go to the Command Hospital. Did it happen because she was more in my thoughts this time? I conclude by terming this revival as a humble homage to an endearing human being.
I would like to go back to the year 1996, when my only sister in law was admitted to the Air Force Command Hospital in Bangalore. She was diagnosed with a lump in her breast and the biopsy had shown that it was malignant. Hence the only option was a mastectomy and thus the admission. Her husband was a retired Colonel and they lived in Hosur, Tamil Nadu. Since Bangalore was just an hour’s drive from Hosur, it seemed the most natural thing to admit her at the Command Hospital. I reached Bangalore a day after her surgery and got to spend the days with her. She being a very lively person with a very positive attitude, we would chat and while away the time. She had known of the malignancy and of the unexploded bomb that she was carrying. But somehow she never made a mention of it and she carried on with her sweet disposition. As for me, I put up a brave front but at the same time was appalled and upset at the conditions that prevailed in the Command Hospital, which was considered as the top medical facility in South India for the army personnel. Stray dogs would roam around the campus and the toilets were in shambles. The nursing staff were so discourteous and the doctors were just not reachable. My sister in law endured the treatment meted out to her with tenacity. I did not hear her complain even once. Well that was how she was. I have always appreciated her good heartedness, but this I thought was stretching it a bit too far. She came out of the hospital scathed but cheerful. Things continued to be fine for the next eight months after which she again fell ill. This time it was with severe head aches something she just could not take in her stride. I must credit her her sagacity because her threshold of pain was far higher than the normal Indian woman’s. Thus she was brought back to the Command hospital for further tests and treatment.
The diagnosis was not what one would want to hear and as for the prognosis we knew would be in the negative. She was asked to take the usual MRI scan to get the internal picture. The result of the scans was not at all good and all of us were stunned by what we heard. In 1997 when the CAT and MRI scans were normal investigative tools, it was shocking to know that the Command Hospital did not have the required machines. Each of these procedures had to be done at a scan centre outside the hospital premises. Thus after a couple of visits, she was asked to start on chemotherapy. She would get herself admitted for a day and get the medicine into her body. Her conditioned turned from bad to worse and finally she reached a stage when it was thought that she needed to have radiation as well. Radiation treatment was not available at Command Hospital and thus had to commute between Command Hospital and KIDWAI Memorial Institute of Oncology. I was really upset to see her being taken to the KIdwai centre in one of the huge Military trucks. It was the most insensitive happening. The family could not stand this demeaning act and thus from day 2 arrangements were made for a car to pick her up and bring her to the KIDWAI centre. This routine was short lived as her condition seemed to take such steep turns that every day brought her condition down by more than 10%. Thus she had to be shifted to KIDWAI Centre were luckily a room was available. In less than two weeks time she became a person who could not see or take any food orally and who had lost all movement. She had also lost her speech and thus there was nothing left of her. It was sad to see this fast downhill route that she was taking. There was only so much we could all do about it. After a two week struggle we lost her on June 12th 1997.
Death as we all know is inevitable. But to lose a loved one while still young is devastating. What to me coupled the tragedy was the insensitive medical treatment that she underwent. Had I then known of organizations that helped to cope with the dreaded cancer, I would have made sure that she received some kind of solace from them. This disease is one were the rate of mortality is high; however it could have been brought about in a dignified manner. It is twelve years since she has left us and the void created only seems to grow. What triggered this thought process was an unexpected visit to the Command Hospital during my just concluded trip. The reason for the visit was to look up on my friend’s brother who had met with a road accident and was thus admitted for medical investigations. He is a serving officer and thus belonged to the privileged group. His room was in a cottage like building and this made me think that the amenities too would match the ambience. I was in for a shock when I went in and saw that nothing much had changed. If this is what is provided for a serving officer, I dread to think as to what the conditions of the wards would be. The stray dogs still had a field day.
On looking back, I think the trip to the hospital and the revival of this chapter was definitely inevitable. The reason why I say this is because just before my departure to Bangalore, we had a small get together of my husband’s side of the family. It was not planned but it just happened that both his brother and nephew were with us and thus we reminisced on all the happenings. A lot was spoken about my sister in law who was a good human being, a wonderful wife, a loving and caring mother and a darling sister. I must have gone to Bangalore atleast 15 times during the intervening 12 years, but it had to be only this time when I got to go to the Command Hospital. Did it happen because she was more in my thoughts this time? I conclude by terming this revival as a humble homage to an endearing human being.
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