Metamorphosis

This afternoon I got to do something I really enjoy doing. I got to watch a good Malayalam movie Kamaladalam on television. I am not at home most afternoons and hence I don’t get to see the reruns that are telecast on various channels. I am a great buff of Malayalam movies and I try my best not to miss the good ones that get released in Chennai. I have seen Kamaladalam when it was released way back in 1992. Like most people of my age group, it was deeply embedded in my psyche that a Mohanlal or Mammootty movie should never be missed. The reason for this attitude is the fact that both these actors are very talented and so rarely disappoint.

I consider Mohanlal as an all time great actor. Being a Malayali actor, his reach is very limited and hence never gets to be appreciated the way he should. Yes, there is no doubt that four Bharat awards have come his way. However I feel his acting abilities should have seen him on the International stage. I have watched him like many other fellow Malayalis right from his first movie Manjil Virinja Pookal. His portrayal as the villain is etched in our minds. On seeing that movie, most of us were sure that he was here to stay as he outshone the sugar candy hero in all aspects. Then we were served with a barrage of Mohanlal movies. He has made us laugh and cry and go through all the other human emotions as is possible. What made him stand apart was his ability to become the character he played. Never did he make us feel that he was acting. The dancer in Kamaladalam would take ones breathe away and as for Vanaprastham, he has proved himself beyond doubt. Who can forget T.P. Balagopal M.A or the earnest landlord of Sanmannasu Ullavarkku Samadhanam or the failed NRI of Varavelpu? Three movies in which he played the man next door character with so much of panache. Then there were the Vijayan and Dasan CID series - two lovable police officers with whom we laughed and had a riot. Chitram was an entertainer through and through. Devasuran was power packed as was his first hit Rajavinte Magan. Kireedam and Chengol were fabulous examples of what fine acting was. As for his home production of His Highness Abdullah and Bharatham, they entertained with their fine acting and lovely songs. All this happened in the late 80’s and 90’s. Then came the new century and things took a turn. I don’t know where the great actor who elevated the standard of a movie disappeared. Of the many Mohanlal movies that I have seen in the recent past Thanmatra deserves a standing ovation. As for other worthwhile movies of the past decade a couple can be mentioned and they would be Vadakkunnathan and Rasathanthram.

It really upsets me to see this great actor portraying roles in a manner so demeaning to his abilities. The bus conductor of Vamanapuram Bus Route, made me hang my head in shame. As for Balettan it was hard to laugh at his antics. Then there was Kadha Ezhuthigeyannu and I thought to myself well what was the director or the actor trying to convey. Even the much acclaimed Udayanannu Thaaram, was not the man himself. It was as if things were blotched up together to make a movie. Although Red Chillies was running in Chennai last week, I dared not to go for fear of what I would have to see. Suited and booted and trying to look young to match the bevies all around him somehow does not bring out the natural flair in the actor. It only makes him look like a constipated person on screen.

No one likes to grow old, more so the Indian Actors and Actresses. Since Mohanlal is an Indian Actor, he is trying all the tricks in the trade to remain young by acting with kids who are young enough to be his daughter. When will our actors grow out of this syndrome? They try to ape Hollywood in all other aspects but this. This year the Oscars for the best Actor went to Sean Penn for his role in Milk. He portrayed a middle aged politician who happened to be gay and this stellar performance won him the award. It is not as if the Hollywood heroes get to do a movie every month but when they do, they see to it that they give it their best. Surprisingly Sean Penn and Mohanlal are the same age, both being born in the year 1960.

Mohanlal’s metamorphosis until now has been great and I wish he would finish the cycle in the natural way. I am willing to expunge the errors of this decade and am hoping to see some great roles in the final phase.

PS. Don’t disappoint us Padmashri Lt. Col. Bharath Mohanlal !!!

Vibes

I am the alumnus of one of the oldest educational institutions in Chennai, namely the Convent of the Good Shepherd. This institution was started in the year 1923 and is in its 86th year. What prompted me to write this article now is the fact that I joined a group of Good Shepherd Alumni on Facebook last evening. It thrilled me to know that this group had a membership of over 500. This may not seem a large number considering the fact that thousands of students have passed out of its portal. However one has to take into account the fact that it was only in the last 15 years that the computer has pervaded our lives and hence only a very small percentage of the alumni are tech savvy. Anything to do with GSC gets me all geared up. The reason could be the wonderful time I have had in the school. Even now I walk the grounds of the school with the same enthusiasm as I did in my school days which were from the year 1963-1973. I joined school in January of 1963 in the third term of Standard One. Mrs. Heart, was the class teacher and she surely had her heart on her sleeves. She was the epitome of all things good and kind.

Those were the days when GSC was a family institution. If the eldest child of a family joined Good Shepherd, then it could be taken for granted that the whole brood including all siblings and cousins would go there. Those were the days when seeking an admission for your brother (there were boys till Standard Four) or sister was not at all difficult as there was an unwritten rule that admission would be granted. I remember clearly approaching the office at the end of my third standard for an application for a seat for my sister. When the filled in application was submitted, the admission was assured. The same procedure I repeated in the eighth standard for my youngest sister. This being the case, we were sure to know most of the children in the school as they would be your classmates’ sisters or cousins or your sisters’ classmates. I never thought much about this familiarity till much later in life. It goes without saying that this great seat of learning would definitely leave an imprint on its students. There is a certain something that can be sensed among those who have passed through its portals. It could be a combination of what we learnt along with our teachers’ attitude or the sprawling campus or the games we played or the numerous ice creams we shared at the Buhari Ice cream cart or the visits to the chapel just prior to the exam or the good time picking tamarinds that fell from the trees and so on and so forth. Whatever the reason my antenna is up on hearing the name Good Shepherd Convent and surely I feel an ESP when I bump into another Good Sheperdian.

While visiting my sister in Boston Massachusetts in the summer of 1994, we went to the Hindu temple at Ashland. Like in most places in the US, situated at a stone’s throw from the temple was an Indian Grocery. It was customary to round of the temple trip with a visit to the Indian store. It was while walking the aisles, that I saw this young Indian couple enter the store. On taking a second look, I realized they were from South India. A third look and I confirmed to my sister that the girl was from Good Shepherd. My sister was not as excited as me and said a very vague, it was possible. On telling her that I was dead sure, she told me that I could go ahead and confirm. She did not want to have a role in the embarrassment that followed, if it turned out any other way. (I guess living abroad does take away the effusiveness or is it curiosity that is so pronounced in India.) I had nothing to lose and so went ahead with my query. How right I was, she was indeed from GSC and was about 4-5 years my junior. She knew my other sister very well as she had done her medicine in the same school as my sister. It also turned out that her husband and my sister and brother in law were class mates in the medical school. Telephone numbers were exchanged and the relationship continues between the friends. There was this other time in 2000 when I was traveling by train in Kerala. I saw this family in the next bay and again had this gut feeling that the lady was from GSC. How right I was proved when she answered in the affirmative. The rest of the journey just whizzed past as there was so much to talk. This lady lives in the US and I had to up date her on so many happenings in the school. She again happened to be my junior by 5-6 years. There have been many other instances when I have been correct and a few when I have goofed up. However that has not tampered my enthusiasm.

That certain something of which I mentioned earlier is what I call VIBES. I don’t need to see a Good Shepherdian to experience this vibe, just a hand written envelope is enough to set me thinking as to which of my classmates have sent it. Like the many imprints left by this Great Institution, our hand writings are one.

PS. May our tribe grow in the virtual world. Since I know most of my sisters’ friends and their siblings and also have with me addresses of more than eighty of my batch mates, I am really intent on getting them to join the Facebook group. The next time I visit a city or another country I hope to have a page full of addresses.

The Verdant Haven

The island city state of Singapore is situated at the tip of the Malay Peninsula and is home to 4 million people. It has one of the highest per capita incomes in the world. The impression one carries on a visit there is that of a prosperous, modern state where people live in harmony.

My first trip to Singapore was in December of 1980. It was a welcome change from the sands of Arabia. The road leading from the airport to the city was lined by trees on either side. There was nothing fancy or frivolous about the trees as most of them were fruit trees and had fruits in various stages hanging from them. I was impressed by the fact that no passer by was laying a hand on the fruits. I remembered the Jamoon tree in my house back in India and as to the number of hits it received when laden with fruits. It made me realize that there was discipline and purpose written hard in the minds of the people. What made that trip memorable were the visits to Jurong Bird Park, Zoological Park and the Tiger Balm gardens. Sentosa now the main attraction at Singapore was still in a very nascent stage. It was another twenty years before I made my next trip. Since this trip was with my daughter, like all tourists, we made sure that we did not miss any of the sights and sounds of the city Sentosa included. Being a keen observer of everything that meets my eye, I quickly realized that the scenic beauty of the city was evolving and changing. When most of the countries of the world were losing out on their natural wealth – trees and water, here was Singapore slowly but steadily increasing its green cover and thus making sure that there is plenty of greenery and thus water. I had pictures of the Jurong Bird Park taken on my earlier visit and when I saw the park during my second visit, I could see a world of difference. Earlier the birds were in cages like in most aviaries the world over, however this time the authorities had made miniatures of the rain forests and other jungle atmosphere in the park and thus presented the visitor with a feel of seeing the birds in their natural habitat. I also realized on this trip that the kind of trees that were lining the streets were all not fruit bearing ones. Flowers too seemed to have found a place. By the year 2000, Singapore had become a first world country and had left behind its third world country status. The authorities had decided that they could indulge in some beauty as well unlike the earlier years when importance was laid on utility alone. What a wonderful way to evolve!!

The third trip I made to Singapore was in the year 2007. I did the usual rounds of sight seeing and for the first time went for the much acclaimed Night Safari. It deserves every accolade heaped on it. What impressed me was the setting and the re-creation of the natural abodes of the animals. The authorities have surely gone through extensive research to create this wonder. As for the rest of Singapore, the green carpet was all over. With the exception of the buildings, roads and side walks, I could say that every other available space was rolling in green. I won’t be wrong if I say that even the English countryside (my favourite destination) cannot boast of so much greenery. With the constant equatorial rains, the greenery was so lush as if laden with dew and was a treat to the eyes. The humidity and heat of the region was well balanced by this canopy all around. I was told that for every resident of Singapore, there were four trees planted, providing them with fresh and clean air to breathe. It is an amazing ratio which I wonder even if the regions around the Amazon Basin can equal. I was awestruck at the consideration of the authorities on the welfare of the people. Wonder whether even an iota of this will rub off on our leaders!

Lee Kuan Yew, the first Prime Minister of Singapore had foreseen way back in the 1960’s that greening and gardening ones surrounding would gladden the heart and thus give a competitive edge. In his memoirs “From Third World to First: The Singapore Story 1965-2000” he says "To achieve First World standards in a Third World region, we set out to transform Singapore into a tropical garden city." This agenda was fulfilled with the forming of the National Parks Board in the year 1976. In the last 33 years this Board has achieved far more than was expected in keeping with all things Singaporean. In India on the other hand our leaders have worked their way into converting a Garden City to a concrete jungle!

I am no authority to write about the economic, industrial and other over all growth of this City state. Realms have been written by experts on all these subjects. As a novice I was stuck by the greening of the country and have not failed to mention this to who ever was willing to listen. What amazes me is that in the short span of 34 years a country with absolutely no wealth or resources could change its profile and become a leader. On hindsight, I am sure that Tunku Abdul Rahman would have regretted the decision he and his Parliament took on August 9th 1965. That was the day as Prime Minister of Malaysia; he decided to expel Singapore from the Federation.

Well as they say “After all it was ordained.”

The Quest

If you were to ask me if I am a foodie or a gourmet, I would undoubtedly go with the former. Not for me the epicurean taste of the gourmet who only believes in having the best, from the best place in town. (Cost inclusive). I enjoy food (as is evident from my physical disposition) and would love to try out whatever is new in the market. I keep track of all the latest restaurants and other eateries that open shop and at the first opportunity make it a point to patronize it. This is true whether it is the local Murugan Idli Shop or the ones in the very specialized genre like Benjarong or Cedars. For me to term a visit to a restaurant as being memorable, it needs to meet with most of the under mentioned criteria, (i) it goes without saying that the food should be good, (ii) the staff should be pleasing and the interior should be clean and should give a feeling of freshness; (iii) the company at the table should be to your choice and (iv) the meal should be value for the money spent. If I look back at the various dining experiences I have had, I can proudly say that 99.9% of the time, it has fitted the bill and thus been truly memorable.

With my husband’s penchant for Indian food, we have got ourselves into some tight spots when it came to Indian food outside the country. Like a fish to water, an Indian Restaurant name board draws him into the interiors and we have come out having hilarious experiences at times. Being a bigger foodie than me, (of spicy Indian cuisine) he has really left the waiters and the chefs in a quandary on more than one occasion. He expects a Saravana Bhavan style idli vada at an Indian Restaurant in Lucerne Switzerland, little realizing that the weather there does not allow for the batter to ferment. The fermentation of the batter is the secret to soft flower like Idlis. Food apart, the experiences at these eateries have always been very pleasant and we have come out wiser as to what we should order on our next visit to an Indian restaurant in a far off land.

Considering himself to be a veteran on tackling issues connected with food in Indian Restaurants abroad, he decided to take the whole brood, (me, my siblings and their spouses) to a said restaurant while on a trip to Italy. Little did he realize as to what was coming his way. He was forced to remain a mute participant and came out being a lot less of a veteran. Having enjoyed all the sights and sounds of the Eternal City of Rome, I could say that all of us were on a high. Imagine seeing something from the times of Julius Caesar and imagine kneeling on a step which is blessed with the blood of Christ. We had had so many memorable experiences on a single day and my husband thought he would end it on a high note with a visit to the Indian Restaurant. This restaurant was recommended by our friend who said that his friend was known very well to the owner who if I remember right was referred to as RR. It was also mentioned to us ladies that RR dealt with Italian Corals. Although there wasn’t complete consensus from the group, we still went ahead what with the corals giving an additional incentive.

Two taxis were flagged down and we braved the brazen Italian driving and almost heaved a sigh of relief on reaching the destination. The restaurant was a far cry from the local tea shops that we see in most parts of India. It was not air conditioned (July in Italy can be very stifling) and the only fan was mounted on the wall. Having seated ourselves, an old man in a lungi (checkered cloth worn around the waist like a sarong) and with a pronounced limp came to our table and laid out some plates and glasses. We enquired if the owner was available but it seemed to fall on deaf ears and he continued with his chores in a very very slow motion. After a wait of about 15 minutes, some bondas (batter covered potato balls) were placed on the table. Then after a long gap we were served poori and potato. Since no questions were asked and choices given, we assumed that the whole meal may be on the house. (We felt it must be the work of the elusive RR). If I remember right, I think the meal ended with a sweet made of semolina which we in the south call kesari. It is common for small way side eateries in India not to have a menu card. The bearer just reels out the names of the dishes available and the patron gets to choose. This joint in the heart of the developed world did not think anything about not giving a choice to its patrons. It was shocking as it was bizarre. As for the bill, well what can I say; it was a clean rip off. The taxi drive back to the hotel set us thinking about how we really were taken for a ride by someone whom we had never even seen. It dampened our moods and only a night cap in the room restored some of the earlier elation. Kumar I think felt defeated, and during the remaining days of THAT TRIP, there was no mention of another Indian Restaurant.

Both of us being foodies our quests are intertwined. We are always on the lookout for good food and most times concur on a specific address. However his leanings are still Indian and for him nothing can beat the feeling of having an Indian meal in the most exotic of places. As for me the cuisine is never an issue. I am looking forward to our forthcoming trip to Hong Kong and China. When I go to Landmark (the local book shop) to get a copy of Fodor’s (for what to see) you can be sure that there will be a copy of Michelin Red too (for where to eat). I hope that the Indian restaurants in China will only have Chinese name boards!!!! Cannot have another RR spoiling the quest.

A Rattled Juggernaut

Of the many things that the English gave to India what remains the most successful is surely the game of cricket. No where else in the world does the game enjoy the status that it does in India. Cricket began as a boys’ game in England in the middle of the 16th century and slowly became an adults’ game in the beginning of the 17th century. This makes the game more than 400 years old. However, it was in the last thirty eight years that the game began getting the present day viewer ship as it was in 1971 that the limited over version of the game was first introduced. Once the ODI’s gained popularity, there has been no looking back for the game. This is especially true in India as it coincided with the arrival of the Television broadcast. In the early days of television in India, the whole family was hooked to the screen (as there was only one channel the good old Doordarshan) and thus the popularity of the game of cricket soar. One of the fall out of this popularity was the conversion of good cricketers into Heroes, Super heroes, Royalty and finally to Demi Gods and Gods. Of all the Cricket Governing Bodies in the world it is said that the BCCI (Board of Control for Cricket in India) is the richest and hence the most powerful. The ICC (International Cricket Council) cannot move a finger without the consent of the BCCI. This being the case the elections to this body is closely contested and the one in the driver's seat considers himself to be the God of Gods. Nothing is impossible in their lexicon and like a juggernaut they crush what comes in their way.

This being the mindset of the rulers of the game in India, it came as a rude shock to them when the Home Minister stated that he was apprehensive about providing security during the second version of the Indian Premier League which is to be held in the months of April and May. The Home Minister had his reasons for saying so as the event coincides with the 15th Lok Sabha elections. With almost a billion people ready to cast their votes, it is indeed a very extensive and at times difficult exercise. The Home Minister requested the authorities to reschedule the dates or to hold the tournament after the elections. The BCCI was in no mood to relent. They did an eye wash of changing a few dates and venues to which the Ministry was not agreeable. And so suddenly out of the blue they announced yesterday that they were taking the tournament outside India. They are yet to confirm the venue. I call this attitude of the organizers as being very callous. By taking the tournament outside India, what are they trying to prove? That they are capable of hosting the event anywhere in the world with their money power? To them security means just looking after themselves, most of them have their personal security guards to whom they pay a king’s ransom. As for the owners of the eight IPL teams they live in their own worlds and have no contact with the man on the street. I sometimes wonder if they consider themselves as being part of the country. Yesterday I heard them say on TV that it was fine with them to move the tournament. Would any other body in the world hold a national sporting event outside its own country or would they be involved in some mega endeavour outside their country when the elections are happening in one’s country. To the BCCI and the IPL owners the security of the common man and the elections are of absolutely no importance. I wonder how many of them will even bother to exercise their franchise. To me casting the vote is one of the most important duty of any citizen. Definitely it will not be possible for the players to cast their votes, if the voting date coincides with their game. Looks like the organizers consider a game of cricket especially the IPL what with its shrewd business aspect, to be more important than exercising one’s basic rights. It is a well known fact that the summer of 2009 would herald the general elections. The organisers should have given it some thought before planning their IPL schedule for the year.

I was happy to read that Sachin Tendulkar termed it sad that the IPL was going outside India. As for the others no body has opened their mouth. They dare not open because they are afraid of what the outcome would be. Much as I know that there is more than what meets the eye in this confrontation, what makes me happy is the fact that the Home Minister stood his ground and got the juggernaut to rattle. I am now eagerly waiting for the day when the Juggernaut would be stripped down.

The Magical 52

Today is my 52nd birthday, but well I am not talking about my age as there is nothing magical about it. What I am referring to is a deck of playing cards which contains 52 cards. If you were to ask me which game has had the most reach, I would definitely say it is a game of cards. The games played would vary from place to place and people to people however everyone knows to play at least one card game. If Flash is for the gambler then Bridge is for the intellectual and between the two there are thousands of card games that can keep everyone engrossed and happy by their pursuit. I am yet to come across a person who has not touched a pack and played some kind of card game. Among all the games played on the computer too, I think the card game of Solitaire would be the most popular. The pack of cards that we use now is called the French Deck. This consists of 13 ranks of each of the 4 suits namely, Hearts, Diamonds, Spades and Club – the magical 52. It is said that the playing cards like most other things originated in China and India around the 7th century AD. I wonder if any of the earlier games are still in circulation.

My association with the pack started pretty early in life. My parents enjoyed playing cards and the arrival of any house guests meant that an hour or two after dinner was devoted to the game. The first game I have heard of was called Pontoon. On keenly observing the players, I had learnt how to play it. I remember vaguely that the number 21 was of great significance in this game. Also there was some petty change involved. As kids we never got to play it. By the time we were in our late teens, Pontoons seemed to have gone forever in our family’s scheme of things to be replaced by Rummy. Rummy for those who enjoy it can become very addictive. Luck and skill play equally important roles when playing Rummy. Again to spice up the game small change was involved. Rummy on a professional level means big money and it is said that men have become paupers playing Rummy. This is a setback to any kind of gambling but sincerely I feel that this should not go against the game. We all know that anything in excess will have a negative effect. In Tamil there is a saying which when translated means; even the nectar churned by the God’s when taken in excess can turn into poison. So where does a poor game of cards stand a chance!!! Alongside Rummy, a game of twenty eight was also popular in our household. As for this game, I really don’t know how international or for that matter national is its reach and appeal. I have heard of only Malayalis playing this game. Since there was no money changing hands (at least when we played), the youngsters were allowed to play it. It was a game where intelligence was involved. It sharpened your memory and helped you to focus a lot. Since it was played with partners, there was good rapport among the partners and this also led to bonding and friendships. I really wish the children of today would play some of these games as it would do them a world of good. It is sad that their only interaction is with cards of the virtual variety.

Much later I was introduced to a game called Fifty Six. This I am sure like the game of Twenty Eight mentioned earlier is confined to the Malayalis of the world. This is one of the best card games I have played. It is a game which requires very good skill, concentration and memory and the nuances are far too many. To master this game would surely take a very long period of time. Once you get hooked to Fifty Six, any other card game will seem like child’s play and the interest to play them would also wane. A game of Fifty Six needs six players who form two teams with three members in each team. My association with the game was very short lived. I have tried many a time to organize an evening of Fifty Six but my attempts have been futile. I am still on the look out for five players. Any takers please let me know!!! A game of bridge, it is said can be truly obsessive. The popular Casino card games like Poker, Black Jack and Baccarat have their own following.

With the proper company, any card game can be a pleasure. The power of the 13 cards while playing Rummy or that of the 8 cards while playing Fifty Six is truly amazing. I think these cards weave a magic spell on the players and keep them totally mesmerized. Thus is the magical charm of the 52 pack which no other board, indoor or outdoor games can match.

The Photograph

A photograph as we all know is a record of a happening which is preserved for posterity. Family photographs fit this bill perfectly. It was very normal in most Indian households to have the family photographs framed and displayed. The photos were mainly captured when the whole family met at the time of a wedding or other auspicious occasions. In most of the photographs, all the members are dressed in their Sunday’s best. There was a period when these photographs were pulled down and stored in the attics. Now people seemed to have realized their value and once again the photographs are out in the open for all to view.

It was the summer of 1991 and it was a very special one for my family. This was the first time that the whole family meaning the three sisters with their spouses and Father and Mother were together under one roof. It was also the first time that my parents were making a trip abroad. Much as I had wanted them to come and visit me in Saudi Arabia, it was not possible due to government restrictions. Latha was in Manchester, England and obtaining a visa was far simpler. The first leg of their journey was to Bahrain, were Kumar and I joined them. We were in Al Khobar at that time and had to just drive on the causeway. It made us happy that they could at least travel in our car. I accompanied them to the UK and later Kumar joined us. Geetha and Unni were stationed in Brussels and they took a week’s break and came over to Manchester. The last reason for elation was the fact that Latha was in the family way and the next generation of Variyath/Hebbar was on the way. All this must have gone through my mother’s mind, for out of the blue she said that we needed to take a family portrait. A lot of deliberation went into the subject and we decided we would go ahead with her thinking. There were cries of not having formal wear and proper shoes to pose in a portrait. Since the venue was England, we had to dress accordingly!!!

Latha fixed an appointment for a Monday at a studio in Timperley which was 2 miles from her house. On Saturday we came to know that she would be on call and hence there was a possibility that she may not be able to make it for the schedule. This upset my mother the most. Unlike in India were the neighbour would just come across and click a couple of pictures, this was not possible in the UK. Our worry was short lived because our friends from Birmingham called up to say that they would visit us on Sunday afternoon and would join us for dinner that day. So it was decided that we would get Mb to click a few pictures, just in case the portrait session did not happen on Monday. Being the unofficial cook at all the family gatherings outside India, I made some lamb biriyani for lunch hoping to carry it over for dinner. After a sumptuous meal of beer and biriyani, the men had just gone in for an afternoon nap, when the bell rang beckoning Mb’s arrival. He being more of professional on these matters said that the picture had to taken right away as the sunlight was perfect. He gave a well known lecture about the English weather. So with sleep written all over the face all of us got into whatever finery was available and arranged the seats on the patio and Mb clicked on three cameras as if there was no tomorrow.

Monday dawned and Latha could make it to the studio on time. We were in the same outfits as in the previous session and the professional being what he is got us to juggle around until he got the best pose. A couple of days later Geetha and I walked the distance to the studio to collect the proofs. The result was to all our liking and we zeroed in one particular picture and got the same enlarged. This picture finds a pride of place in all our homes. Had we procrastinated, and waited for the next occasion, I think it would have never happened. The truth is that in the next 18 years the eight of us were together only on two occasions and both were not conducive to take a family portrait.

Every time I look at the picture I treat it as history. To me it is one of a kind and something that can never ever be reproduced.

PS. Much as the family makes fun of me and calls me “Japanese”, I never miss clicking a picture. The things we take for granted may turn out to be just a fleeting moment.

Latest Contribution

Kerala’s contribution to the mosaic that makes up all things Indian has been enormous. History tells us that all the major religions of the world have found their way to India through the shores of Kerala. In the first century AD, St. Thomas landed at Kodungalloor in Central Kerala and in the 7th century AD, Islam reached Kerala through the Arabs who had flourishing spice trade with it. Surprisingly the Arabs too landed first in Kodungalloor. It is said that the Jews reached Kerala 2,500 years ago and settled in and around Kodungalloor. Vasco Da Gama the Portuguese traveler set foot in Calicut, Kerala in the year 1498 and as we all know the rest is history. All the above contributions have been noteworthy and historical. It must be the tolerance of the people to accept and try out something new that must have provided a fertile ground for the growth of these ideas and religions.

What made me write this article is the conversation I had with a friend a couple of months ago. While discussing trends in clothing, she suddenly came out and said, well, the Set Mundu/Kachimundu,Patturumala/and Chattayum Mundum seems to have been shown the back door in Kerala and it has been replaced by not the sari or the salwar kameez but by the maxi. It seemed really difficult to accept and digest. The mundu had started giving way to the sari about half a century ago however it was prevalent along with the sari. Today the set mundu has become a fashion statement among the youngsters. As for the traditional clothes of the Muslims and Christians it has I can say almost become extinct. In my childhood when I visited Kerala (read Calicut) we could see so many Muslim women wearing their Kachimundu and Patturumala and how graceful and beautiful they looked. The attire brought out the poet in you. It blended with the beauty of the landscape and was a visual treat to the eye. My trips to the Central Travancore regions were practically nil at that point and hence have not seen the Syrian Christian women in their Chattayum Mundum. However I am sure they must have looked really regal in these costumes along with their wonderful accessories.

Calicut is an overnight journey from Chennai and we usually go by the night train. When we wake up at about 6 am in the morning the train is normally at Shoranur (Valluvanad, the seat of Malayalam literature and culture and the land of the famous Bharathapuzha) and what greets us is the sight of the women moving about their daily chores wearing the maxi. This scene is repeated all over the state. The maxi seems to have invaded all the households like the rampant growing algae which destroy the water bodies they spread on. No one has been spared from this maxi culture as all strata of society have willingly become its captive. Nowhere else in India has the maxi made such strides. To see a lady in typical Kerala attire in the early hours of the morning has become a rarity and a treat. The maxi actually takes away a person’s personality as it leaves the wearer looking like a moving sack. The grace and the beauty are totally lost. I wonder what the Tamizh poet Bharathiar who sang paeans praising the beauty of the Malayali women will have to say if he sees them in their new avatars.

The origin of the maxi I think is somewhere in the Middle East. It is not a fall out of the Muslim culture as it has been around for a much longer period. Why I say this is because all the female Biblical characters in the Hollywood movies are shown wearing something similar to the present day Kerala maxi. Since Hollywood does a thorough research of what they portray, I affirm that the Middle East must be its place of its origin. Most concepts and ideas be it religious or otherwise emanating from the Middle East first set foot in India on the Kerala shores. The same I think goes for the maxi too. The only difference being that the maxi unlike the religions which set foot in Kodungalloor, has come in through Karipur, Nedumbaserry and Thiruvananthapuram!!(Three International Airports of Kerala)

PS. India can soon witness a maxi revolution. Manish Malhotra, Sabyasachi and others what are you waiting for?

Utopia

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought
and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

This extract is from the poem Gitanjali which was published in the year 1910. India’s first Nobel Laureate had dreamt that his motherland would be the ideal state once it attains independence from the British. I'm glad he died in 1941 prior to our country's independence for had he lived for another twenty years, he would have died a heart broken man. Far from his dreams, our country is moving in exactly the opposite direction. Most of us have even forgotten the meaning of Utopia and the only time we think of Rabindranath Tagore would be when we sing the National Anthem. Again I wonder as to how many of us know that the said Anthem was penned by this great poet. So much can be said about our patriotism and respect for the dreams of our founding fathers.

I have been a keen follower of politics especially what is practiced in our country. Even while in college, I used to keep track of the political happenings in the national and state levels through the print media. (TV broadcast was yet to come.) It always bothered me that the socialist state envisioned by our first prime minister was in no way close to becoming a reality. Far from an egalitarian society we were moving into a bipartisan society were the rich were getting richer and the poor poorer. Later, our move to Capitalism and open markets only helped to create the largest middle class in the world. The burgeoning consumerism became a heavy burden on the lower middle class and the poor. When I see the opulent life styles of our rich, it puts to shame even those of the Kings. Where else in the world would a city be home to a 27 storey private residence of an industrial family as well as to the world’s largest slum?
As for our politicians, the less said the better. Their only aim in becoming a politician is to fill up their coffers. They totally forget how and why they came to power. Not one of them is accessible to the common man who voted them to power. The other day I happened to read about the Iranian President and his life style. Much as I may not agree with many of the happenings in Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad really stood out as a sincere leader whose sole purpose was only to serve his country.
What made me write this article are the ridiculous headlines that don our newspapers these days. With the fifteenth General elections just a month away, our politicians are all out to woo the electorate. The promises they make would really make one think as to whether we are living in India or in a foreign land. The bounties promised are innumerable. One has to only wish for something and the next moment that is announced by one of the political parties. Just this morning I read in one of the newspapers that the farmers were being promised 12 hours of free electricity. Does this mean that they were given less number of hours of electricity earlier or were not given any electricity? When you read between the lines you will realize that the true beneficiaries of this scheme would be the rich landlords who enroll themselves as farmers to enjoy the government subsidies. The poor farmer still remains poor what with all his holdings in the clutches of the loan sharks!! The plight of the farmers in most parts of India is very pathetic what with the maximum number of debt related suicides happening in their circles. There has been a steep increase in this number in the last couple of years. I wonder if electricity is the answer to these suicides. The politicians are not interested to go to root of any problem nor do they have any intention of solving them. They only want to make these feel good statements which they conveniently forget once the elections are over. They along with the public know for sure that what decides the election is the money power. They make sure that they are loaded with money when they go to the face the electorate. To think that a couple of hundred rupees given to the members of the vote bank is what decides the future of our country is sad as it is appalling.
As a kid when I read this poem, I was truly filled with a sense of patriotism and thought that I would be living in an ideal state. Now Utopia is a mirage we see in the newspapers and the electronic media during election campaigning. So much for the great minds that sacrificed, struggled and gave up their lives so that we could attain Swaraj and live with our heads held high. Wonder when a Messiah will be born!!!

Catalyst

15th of March is an important day in my calendar and today happens to be that date. Two of my very good friends celebrate their birthday today but apart from that it is also the day I came back to India for good after living abroad for 18 years. The year was 1995. When it was decided in November of 1994 that we were returning to India after my husband’s job contract expired, I was perturbed about our future here. Madras is the city of my birth and the only city I know in India; however I had no clue as to how the two of us would spend our time there. Yes it was just the two of us in Saudi, but there we had a whole circle of friends and every few months saw me pack my bags and travel to India, UK or the US. I was sure that once we are back in India, these frequent trips were practically impossible. Anyway with absolutely no clue as to what lay ahead we arrived on a British Airways flight from Boston via London.

Fourteen years have gone by and indeed they have been very eventful. Life has been a potpourri containing events both big and small. There was joy and sorrow, achievements and disappointments and a collage of other emotions and happenings that makes up the fabric of life. However if I have to point out the biggest event of these fourteen years, there is only one and nothing can even come close to it. That is indeed the arrival of my daughter Sridevi into our lives. This event happened on the 27th of September 1997, which I remember so well was a Saturday. The thought of adoption had crossed both our minds on many occasions however we never had the guts to go ahead and at most times felt we were too old to nurture a baby. One day while I was with my friend Latha Mohan, I told her my feelings on the subject of adoption and as to how wonderful it will be to have a baby. It seemed as if Latha was just waiting to hear this from me. She had it all planned and said that we would be starting the rounds of the various agencies from the next day itself. I wasn’t prepared for this instant action. Having been used to a lackadaisical life style, hoping and wishing for a child was wonderful, but for the wish to turn into a reality was a totally different issue. I tried to procrastinate, but Latha would have nothing of that. So the next day both of us set out by car with me driving (I owe this skill also to Latha for it was she who sat by me in the early days and saw me through some of the worst traffic jams) and visited the co-ordinating agency and got the details. She, I think was more disappointed than me when we got to know that the whole process would take as much a period as gestation (40 weeks). Her thinking was that once we had made up our mind we should go about it at the earliest.

The next day saw Latha calling me early in the morning to inform that she had met a friend who in turn knew of someone else who had recently adopted. She had collected all the details and so the very same day the two of us went to the said place. We were asked to furnish some details by the afternoon as that would expedite the procedure. On reaching home, Latha got Mohan to go to the agency with the required documents. A few more trips were made with Latha in the forefront at every point. When I walked into the house with the baby, it was Latha who did the customary Aarthi for my daughter. She is the God mother to my daughter and without me having mentioned a word to Sridevi of all the prior happenings; she seems to have an intuition. She knows that Latha Ammayi is someone special in her life.
I have heard of catalysts in chemical reactions, but Latha played the role of a catalyst in the biggest event of my life. I am a firm believer of destiny and I feel it was destined that a child would come into my life. However I consider the impetus given by my friend as one of the main causes for me to take the plunge. I may not be exaggerating when I say that I owe a part of this motherhood to her. Much as I have thanked her, I always wanted it to be on record and now this blog has provided me with that platform. May she live a hundred years to bring a smile on many more faces.

The Edifice

Little would the group of middle aged Malayali men who started the Sri Ayyappa Bhaktha Sabha have realized what they were getting into? This was way back in mid 60’s when conducting an Ayyappan Vilakku in a locality was the norm. The Tamilians were new to this experience and they looked upon these villakkus with awe and respect. The organizers made sure that there was an elephant to grace the function and the magnificent drummers from Kerala performed the Thayambakka and Panchavadyam and kept the audience in rapt attention. And to end it all there was the Oracle. His special sword and bells along with the long hair and blood oozing from the forehead sent an element of fear among the congregation.The Sabha held the Villakku at the junction of Shenoy Road and Village Road (now Valluvar Kottam High Road) every year in the month of December and it was a two day affair. I think I must have gone for the first Villakku sometime in 1969/1970. We had moved to Nungambakkam in 1966 and our house was very close to the venue. With no television broadcast, this was one of the events that made us feel as if we were in Kerala.

The annual villakku being a great hit; I think the men started to think of having a permanent place. Their call was answered when Lady Madhavan Nair decided to hand them a plot of land in Mahalingapuram. For the next 2-3 years the Villakku was conducted in this plot. Apart from the elephant and above mentioned attractions, a cultural programme was introduced on both the evenings. Gana Gandharvan (K.J. Yesudas) himself would perform and finding a place to stand in the venue was next to impossible.In the meantime the group of men began raising funds to build a temple in the gifted plot.It was excitement for all of us, since a Kerala style temple was coming up in Madras and that too at a walking distance from our house. Every stage of its progress was carefully monitored by the community and finally the grand day or Pratishta Dinam was held on the 25th of March 1974. I was doing my Pre University Course and on that day had my French Public Exam. However I made sure that I went to the temple before going to college for the exam. Thus a temple was born and there has been no looking back.

In a matter of 10-15 years the adjacent plot was purchased and a Guruvayurappan temple came up. Now this complex is known as the Mahalingapuram Ayyappan Guruvayurappan Temple. The plot in front was purchased for the construction of a hall and also to make living quarters for some of the staff. A hospital was set up to cater to the needs of the lower income groups. Another bigger marriage hall was constructed and the Sabha became a force to reckon with. The Mandalam and Makara Villakku season sees the maximum crowd at the temple. I won’t be wrong if I say that the maximum number of pilgrims going to Sabarimala from a particular source would be from this temple. Throughout the year there are cultural programmes where the leading artists from the South perform. The Utsavams for both the deities are conducted for 10 long days. I wonder if even the temples in Kerala follow these routines. As for the daily poojas they are performed in the strictest of traditions. Nothing is missed and this adds to the reputation of the temple. With a revival in peoples’ beliefs irrespective of the religion, there is an increase in the number of faithfuls coming to this temple too.
My role has always been that of a bystander but a very active one at that. I can only think of the temple as being my very own. I take great pride in the fact that I have been with it from its inception to this very day. I go there twice a week on Thursdays and Saturdays and every time I return a less burdened person. I know all the pujaris very well as they have been there for so many years and as for the helpers they are all part of my temple family. An auspicious occasion in our family calls for a visit to the temple and the two Udayasthmana Pujas that we conduct annually are big days in our calendar.

I wonder how many of the first group of Malayali men are still around to see their baby turn into a GLOWING EDIFICE. If I could feel so much for this temple I cannot apprehend as to what their feelings would be!!!

The Hardy Women

Dr. Vipin Gopal may have had his reasons for giving Kerala the tagline “God’s Own Country”. Whatever his reason this tagline has been accepted the world over and has made this tiny state a Superbrand in Tourism. I agree with his tagline but my reason for doing so is something totally different from his. I assume the scenic beauty of Kerala must be the reason behind his christening the state thus. This scenic beauty is something I took for granted having spent the first 20 summers of life there. Now when people look at monuments and places which were to us just the neighbourhood in a different light, it sure makes me happy and proud that I am a daughter of this precious land. The word DAUGHTER is very special, because it is a privilege to be born a Nair girl in this corner of India. Now I come to my reason for calling Kerala God’s Own Country and that is the fact that God took special care of his daughters here by introducing the Matriarchal System (or Marumakka Thaayam in local lingo). Where else in India do people rejoice when a girl is born? The quest elsewhere is always for the male child. Here the family name is passed on to the off springs of the daughters who in turn inherit it from their mothers.

Having been raised outside Kerala, it used to be very difficult for me to explain the initial V which stood for Variyath the name of my mother’s tharavad (family/ancestral home) to my friends in school and college. They would automatically assume V stood for my father’s name which according to them could either be Venugopal or Vasudevan. Had I been born a century ago, I would, like my ancestors have lived my whole life in the tharavad itself, as marriage would not have taken me or for that matter my mother away from it. Instead the husband would have come and spent time in the wife’s tharavad. Much has changed from the olden days and the nuclear family has found its place among the Nairs too. However I must say that the psyche of most of the ladies remains the same. The freedom they enjoyed for so many centuries and the dominance and money power that came along with it is not very easy to erase from the mind of even the present day generations. The feeling of sisterhood among all the ladies of the tharavad was something very hard to fathom and there is no word I can use to describe this camaraderie. Although the tharavads have disintegrated, the bonding between the female members continues to be very strong.

The Variyath Tharavad of which I am a proud member is situated in Calicut, Kerala. The back bone of our side/part or line of the family are the families of my great grandmother and her six sisters. These seven ladies constituted a unit and all their children, grand children and great grand children are my great aunts, aunts, cousins and nieces and nephews. I remember my trips to Kerala when my great grand mother was alive. During the day most of her sisters and nieces would come to see her as she was the oldest lady of the tharavad. (By then the nuclear family concept had set in.) She was immensely respected and consulted on all important matters. Once she and her sisters passed away, the mantle fell on my grand mother who was a great lady. She lived to be 94 and led a very fruitful life. She was a teacher in one of the leading schools in Calicut of yore and hence well known in the society. She became financially independent at the age of twenty, something we cannot even dream off attaining at this day and age!! I have never seen my grandmother sad or depressed and she was always a source of strength. Her knowledge on all worldly matters far surpassed people even half her age. Her death in 2000 was a great loss to all of us.

Now the senior most lady of our tharavad is my mother’s cousin who is 90 and going strong. Her mental strength is amazing and she is a source of inspiration to anyone who has an opportunity to meet her. She is not tethered by petty talk typical of women her age and even now she looks forward and plans for forthcoming events. She is well traveled having been the wife of an army officer and this reflects in her thinking. A special mention has to made of my aunt who is a Gynecologist. The best way to describe her would be by calling her a ONE MAN ARMY. She is 65+ but does the work of at least two thirty year old men. I really wonder as to how she can keep her cool and go the way she does.
Most of the women of our tharavad have not crossed the borders of Kerala or shall I say South India, however they are so forward in their thinking and are capable of doing anything that a person of the opposite sex can do. The so called college education has eluded the older generation, but I feel they will give an MBA a run for his/her money. These women are not only great planners but also very good at executing the same. The word lazy finds no place in their scheme of things. I am sure these ladies would have enjoyed being matriarchs and would have played their roles to the hilt.


I enjoy being in the company of the Variyath ladies and on each trip to Kerala I make sure that I get to see most of them. My only source of regret is that this great system is slowly vanishing from the face of Kerala. I wonder if our children will ever get a taste of this great equalizing system. It may sound like a myth to them when these stories are related after 20 years. The next time you see a Nair lady, I’m sure you will look at her with a different light and you will see in her that grit and determination along with the dignity and stoicism. Let us all together say JAI HO to this fast dwindling tribe and pray that they never go EXTINCT.
Long live THE HARDY WOMEN.

Sari Snob

I may have been called names by different people. Well, who has escaped from that? However the last name I thought I would ever be called was a snob. Whichever way I look at it I don’t consider myself a snob and suddenly out of the blue my own niece who is the apple of my eye calls me a snob and she specifies it by calling me a sari snob. The dictionary gives the meaning of a snob as “a person who believes himself or herself an expert or connoisseur in a given field and is condescending toward or disdainful of those who hold other opinions or have different tastes regarding this field”. As far as I know I don’t think I fit this bill. My association with the sari has been very lowly for I have never walked into a high end boutique or purchased anything from Sabyasachi, Ritu Kumar, Satya Paul or their likes. Nevertheless I felt there must be some truth in my niece's comment for she never talks off the cuff and so I decided to go through my sari history.

My tryst with the sari began when I was around 15 years of age. I grew up wearing clothes typical of a South Indian girl of the 60’s early 70’s. I graduated from frock to half skirt to full skirt with a short stint in half sari and then finally THE SARI. My first official outing in a sari was for a wedding reception in Calicut. I wore my aunt’s pink Banares Sari and fitted perfectly well into her blouse. By the time I was in my final year at school, I had become an expert in wearing a sari. All the four years in college was just sari for me. Initially the saris were all hand me downs of which I had no choice. The fashion those days for girls and young ladies was to wear the Japanese made synthetic saris, of which there was nothing to choose as it was usually thrust upon by some relative/friend returning from the Far East. I think the first time I really got to choose a sari was for my wedding. In the 70’s, the Malayali wedding had not turned Big and Fat and so my sari was a simple Green Benaras sari which cost around Rs. 600/-. I also got to buy a couple of other saris for the occasion.

It was after my marriage that I got to buy saris. Having immediately gone to the Middle East, the place was flooded with the Japanese varieties and every year saw me buying 20-30 saris most of which I gave away when I came to India. It was during the short breaks in India that I would buy some printed silks and crepes to take back to wear at some social functions. My need for the Kanchipuram was minimal and thank God the so called designer sari had not yet arrived. I realized that my saris were being appreciated by my friends when I wore them in Saudi and many a time when I traveled to India, I was given a shopping list to take back. This being my life style till 1995, I wonder when I picked the tag my niece has bestowed me with.

My return to India seems to have coincided with the period when the consumer was the king. New shops began to come up serving all kinds of merchandise and this included a variety of sari show rooms too. I did my rounds and zeroed in on 3-4 shops to which I go when I want to buy a sari. (I like to be on my own when I buy my saris). My mantra for buying a sari is that it should be something I like. I never look at what is in fashion be it the colour or the design. I have a fixed notion that only few colours suit me and hence I land up buying only those colours. It is when I go with my sisters that I concede and get myself a bright sari, which at most times is a gift from them. The maximum I have spent on a sari is Rs. 4000/-. (The other day I came across a picture of a model wearing a heeled slipper costing Rs.5000/- and this was mentioned as being cheap!!! My eyes literally popped out. May be I am really not in sync with the present day happenings). The two expensive saris in my cupboard cost Rs. 7000/- each and both are gifts which I got to choose. I have never ever bought the so called designer sari what with their bright colours and all the dazzling work. I would run a mile if I were to be presented with one of those. It is not because I am a snob, but because I feel those flashy colours will not suit me and also because I don’t want to go around like a jewelled Christmas tree. My idea in life is to blend with the background. I would like to be recognized for what I am and not by the clothes I wear.

Since I have been buying almost the same colours and designs over the years with a few changes now and then, you could almost say that my saris have a vintage appearance. One can never mark the year in which a particular sari was bought. The goodness about this is that people have accepted my saris just like how they have accepted me. I can walk in anywhere and be comfortable in my beiges, creams, mustards and other earthy shades. I have set myself a trend which is more out of convenience than fashion and if this is what makes me a SARI SNOB, I am indeed proud to be one.

Thank You Preetha.

Creator in a Quandary

Almost a year ago I read the headlines of weekly column which said; today’s sixties are the forties of yore. I immediately rubbished it. Thought to myself, “what wont these society ladies say”? Justification for their wardrobes and attitude!!!! More so in this case as the writer was someone whose opinion I did not value. However for sometime now the headline kept coming back to me and I started giving it a serious thought and tried to equate it with my life.

I have almost a decade to go before I reach the respected 60, but however I did some calculations and came to this conclusion, if the modern day 60 is the 40 of the past, then today’s forties must be the twenties of yore. With this in mind I started recollecting all the major happenings in my life in the last decade and here is what I came up with. It really surprised me as it would any of you.

Life in the Middle East (read Saudi Arabia) forfeits one of many simple pleasures which we take for granted in other parts of the world. The simple joy of driving around with friends or visiting a movie hall or enjoying a coffee in a bar had eluded me in my 20’s and 30’s and this I wanted to make up when I got back to India in March of 1995. I know there is nothing new in all this as most of my friends end up doing just that on their return. Frankly speaking I do not know how to ride a simple, humble bicycle and with absolutely no road sense, I decided that I should be behind a wheel and zoom around. Apart from a professional instructor to put me on the right track, I had various members of the family sitting with me while I practiced driving. It goes without saying how everybody had their say and I was always at the receiving end. I was not perturbed and within a few months was a safe bet on the road. This is indeed a skill I am proud to have mastered.
When I thought the remaining years of my life would be with friends and family socializing and catching up on missed years, something really unbelievable happened. I call it the hands of destiny for into my life came my little daughter. She was all of 5 months when I got her and here I was 40 years and 5 months. It was truly a challenging proposition to bring up a baby. I decided not to waste anytime and got into the nitty gritty right from day one. I really didn’t know what I was in for. My passive life style took a U turn. My books, movies and everything else had to take a back seat. Initially my life revolved around changing diapers, waiting in the countless doctors consulting rooms and trying to catch up on missed sleep whenever possible. Later it graduated to standing in queue for school admission, going to the park, buying toys and clothes, attending birthday parties etc etc. Although I was a total misfit with all the young moms who had so much in common to talk to, I enjoyed being with them. These simple joys of another kind had eluded me. It really made me feel young at heart.
Having turned 40, I thought it was time I gave back something to the society and hence decided to join an Inner Wheel Club. This was also possible because of the sound support system I had at home in the form of the one and only NARAYANI. (Had I known about the modern day equation then, I would have waited for a decade before taking this plunge.) It did not take me long to become an active member and soon was involved in all the happenings of the club. This included taking part in various cultural programmes as well. I took part in many dance programmes and was also the master of ceremonies for many of the events at the club. As for the former I have had 8 years of training and as for the latter, it was a new talent that I discovered.
Feeling rejuvenated with all these happenings, I felt I could put my physical fitness to test. Without knowing what it meant, I took a vow to climb the Thirumala Hills. I’m happy to say that I accomplished this mission with ease and could keep pace with the scores of youngsters who were my co climbers.
When I analysed the above events and ones similar to them, I came to the conclusion that my forties were truly like the twenties of yore. I fervently wish that when I touch eighty, I should feel like a sprightly sixty year old. I summed up with a theory that if a non entity like me could just remove twenty years of her life without any trace, then the same must hold true for most inhabitants on planet earth. It is fine as far as the humans go, however, it does leave the CREATOR IN A QUANDARY.

PS.I have made it a point to read all the columns written by the said author. Who knows as to what other doors she may open!!!

An Involuntary Inheritance

My mother was blessed with three biological daughters and a long list of boys and girls for whom she was a mother at some point of their lives. To her they were not her wards by any standard but her very own. I have heard her say as to how she used to care for one of her cousin’s who was deprived of hearing and speech and how this person accompanied her when she went to live as a newly married bride with my father. The person was just 4-5 years younger than her. Again I have heard people older than her by more than a decade call her “Chechi” out of sheer love and admiration. I think she has made an impact on anyone with whom she had an interaction. She was a selfless woman always willing to give.

While we were growing up she was a mother figure to all our close friends. While we were still kids, we had a family friend’s son stay with us for 6 months to learn French. He became the elder brother we never had. Once her 3 girls grew up, she took it on herself to look after her nephew (Raju) right through his school and college education. From a puny little boy of five she nurtured him into a young man of twenty. Raju’s arrival and my leaving the family coincided. (This made me feel that I was never missed). Each time I came on vacation, I would meet new characters of whom she would have earlier mentioned in her letters. There have been vacations when not even once it would be just our family at the dining table. She would cater to the likes of each of her wards and would make them feel so wanted. If it was AVIAL for Sarah, it was Boost for Roy. If it was banana fried in ghee for Raghu, then it was idly and sambhar for Anjali and so the list went on. In between we have had the likes of Cuckoo, Mohan, Arun, Krishna Das, Pramod, Rajeev and many others flitting in and out. Apart from whetting their appetites, she would also be totally involved in all their problems and would try to help them out in whichever way possible. Class and status were absolutely of no importance to her. There was this boy who came in as a newspaper boy who my mother got to know had failed in his SSLC courtesy mathematics. My mother took it upon herself to teach him mathematics and help him clear his exam. Next she put him on to a right contact and saw to it that he started life on a good note. I am happy to say that he is a well known person in our community. (If I were to write of all the people who have been her beneficiaries, this would turn into a book. That gives me an idea, may be I will venture writing one!!!)

So many have benefited from her generosity and have come up well. Having said that I must also say that none of it would have been possible but for the silent support provided by my father. I think we children did not expect her to spend time only on us and took it in our stride that our world was full of people. What amazed me was how she made do with the limited resources that she had. Her idea in life I suppose was to spread it evenly so that it would cover the maximum area. The word EVEN played an important role in her life. She was never partial and treated everyone equally. I feel she would have felt embarrassed if some one had pointed out that she was siding up with one person against the other. I am so proud that I am the daughter of this wonderful person.

It is four years since my mother’s demise and it is not new for us to hear people sing her paeans. She must have touched them in her own marvelous ways what with her kindness and just attitude. However there is this little secret that I have been toying with. I am absolutely sure she was partial to me. By this I don’t mean that she showered me with more affection or left behind all her material possession. It is her knowledge that she has let me inherit. Most of you may not be aware that she was a wizard when it came to Mathematics and had done her BA Honors in pure Mathematics. Numbers and figures came automatically to her and she was in her elements when she imparted this knowledge to anyone willing to listen. Had she been in control of distribution, she would have spread this too evenly. However God had other plans and this I claim as my INVOLUNTARY INHERITANCE. Any challengers!!!!!