The Diagnosis

She was a fighting fit forty-nine when she had to have a hysterectomy. Hysterectomy cannot be considered an illness. Like menarche and menopause, it has become an accepted happening. Not so much now as it was in the eighties and nineties. The year was 1983 and the operation was scheduled for the month of May. The best gynaecologist in the City was consulted and he, assisted by a close family friend was to operate on her. The patient was not the bravest of women, but what helped was her implicit faith in the medical profession. She belonged to that category of humans who believed that a doctor can never go wrong.

The surgery went off without a hitch, however, there were a few post-operative glitches that had to be looked into. Once all of that settled down and her life became near normal and she started moving around, the family began to take note that her left hand was involuntarily held in a different way. Soon she started to complain of pain in her hand. A visit to the family physician demanded that she see a specialist. Again, the best in the specialty was chosen for a consultation. When the regular medication did not give any result, the said specialist asked for an injection which was then not available in India. The same had to be imported from Singapore and a full course was injected. The pain remained, but that did not deter her from her routine. Her girls had grown, one had left the nest, one was soon to become a medical professional and the third was doing her under graduation. But then she had taken the responsibility of her nephew who was then in middle school. She continued to run the kitchen with utmost efficiency. In the meantime, a full-time help was employed to ease the workload from her. Days progressed and 1984 dawned. The hand pain persisted and along with it on close examination there seemed to be a slight difference in her gait. We couldn’t find a reason and just assumed that the nerves were weakening. She was just fifty. By the end of 1984, there was a slight tremor in the left hand, it didn’t go unnoticed, and a neurologist was consulted. A course of Neurobion injection was prescribed and the same was taken.

1985, was a year of excitement, she was moving to a new house and was busy getting things done for the house. In fact, she was so involved in the construction and doing of the interiors of the house that all her ailments took a back seat. There was no one who could beat her when it came to dedication and hard work. She was indeed the epitome of beauty and intelligence among other fabulous qualities. The excitement of moving into the new house really worked as an antidote to her prevailing health conditions. In 1985, her youngest had finished college and her nephew was in high school. The live-in help was God sent. She had time on her hands and would indulge in watching television and movies. The physical conditions took a back seat and life seemed good to her.

In 1986, she made a trip to Kerala to be with her mother-in-law who was ailing. While there, her cousin brother seeing her mild but persistent health conditions, took her for a consultation with a physician of high repute. When the diagnosis was made on just examination and the same was conveyed to the family by phone, it did not mean anything. Nobody had ever heard of the condition and there was no Google/Wikipedia to enlighten. Even doctors in other specialties could not give a picture. Although the right diagnosis was made, it did not have any relevance to the patient or her kith and kin.

A medicine was prescribed and the same was not available in Kerala. On coming to Madras, it was available only at Narayanappah Pharmacy (a pharmacy that has a wide stock of imported medicines). Thus began her tryst with tablet Sinemet (a combination of carbidopa and levodopa). Yes, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, a brain disorder that causes unintended or uncontrollable movements, such as shaking, stiffness, and difficulty with balance and coordination.

Did the diagnosis set in any alarms? Definitely not. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.

As the years progressed, life moved on for her with the help of Tablet Sinemet. It helped that one of the daughters was able to source the same for her from abroad. The end of the eighties saw the marriage of her second daughter. She actively participated in the same, planning and executing the wedding. The early nineties saw the wedding of her third daughter. By then there was a marked deterioration in her health, however, she stood her ground. With the three girls having left India and her nephew moving out after completion of his college, it was just her, her husband, and the faithful help from 1983. The girls were not informed of every setback as the husband being strong mentally and physically took it all on himself. Her health followed a definite pattern. It would move in a plateau and then suddenly take a deep dive for the worst. Apart from the physical disabilities which were visible, her mental faculty was deteriorating at an even faster pace. Hallucinations were the norm and incoherent conversations were common. Her near and dear ones, although they loved and cared for her immensely, found this very hard to comprehend. There was no education/support available to the caregivers. Although it bothered the caregivers, there was nothing much that they could do.

Towards the beginning of the new century, when everything was Y2K, there was an intelligent lady who had lost out on everything. Since her agitation was mostly limited to her physical inabilities, really wonder how she coped internally. Did she miss her reading, did she miss her intelligent conversation, or even her ability to converse, did she miss her morning and evening prayers, did she miss going to the temples, did she miss meeting with her friends, did she miss writing in her beautiful handwriting, did she miss her passion for cooking, did she know of her family’s love, did she miss her occasional visits to the cinema hall, did she miss the way she called her husband, did she miss her love for the flora, did she miss the world around??

The diagnosis which did not have the desired gravity when it was announced, surely rang the death knell for her family as the years progressed. Wonder how her mind worked!! Without uttering a word for over six months, she breathed her last on March 5^th 2005 at the age of seventy-one. It was then just over twenty years since she had had the condition and less than that since she was diagnosed. When in 1989, a doctor mentioned to the family that the physical condition and the mental faculty of the patient would be beyond belief, nobody gauged the extent.

Its eighteen years since the loss, and still hard to cope. She was my dear Amma.

 

The Age Meter.

As we approach the 375^th birthday of our beloved city, I am left with a lot of doubt. I know for sure that my city is time immemorial having been a part of the rich history of the Cholas and the Pallavas and all the other war lords and chieftains who fought to lord over it. I know that it was always a great trading centre from where the brave sea farers went far and wide both for trade and for conquest. I know that it is home to some very ancient structures, bronzes and literature which could well go into the Before Christ Era. So when we are the proud owners of such a rich history, why do we want to call ourselves a young city which hasn’t even touched the magical 500 years? As a nation we are only over sixty years of age calculating from the time we got our freedom from the British. This is something that cannot be changed for it was only in 1950 that we became a Sovereign Democratic Republic. But then coming back to our beloved City, can’t we trace its origin to when modern habitation began? By this I mean, the time when the cave man ceased to exist. I am sure our archeologists given the right motivation can find the age of our city, the age when its people started living in communities and followed a way of life on the lines of a developed society. Who knows what surprises awaits us? What if we precede the Mohenjo-Daro civilization? Ever since I visited Lothal in Gujarat, it has bothered me that we have not gone deep enough into our past to fix an age to our beloved city.

Now coming to Madras’s 375^th Birthday, the date chosen is 22^nd August 1639; the day when Andrew Cogan and Francis Day with the help of Dubash Beri Thimappa signed a contract for a lease for a strip of land with the Raja of Chandragiri. On this strip rose the first fortified community of the British in the Coromandel Coast which they named after their patron saint as Fort St. George. It could very well be that it was the British who gave the settlement the name of Madras. Does giving a name alone qualify for fixing its age? I am sure that the said strip of land which was handed over to the British must have had a name earlier. In fact history says that that land was called Chennapatna after the rulers of the time. It saddens me to think that we feel it fine to ignore the past history of the fishing villages that constituted the Madras of yore and instead willingly accepted the date when we began the process of submission to a foreign power as the starting point of our city. Foreign powers have had a free ride in our land prior to the British but with over 300 years of submission, we cannot think in any other way than that of the Britannica. If proof is what matters, then there is abundant proof of settlements by the Western Powers in Mylapore, a place just less than 5kms south from the present Fort St. George. The Portuguese came there in the early 16^th Century and built the edifice which they called as Nossa Senhora da Luz. The said edifice also happens to be one of the oldest European Monuments in India. The façade of the building proudly displays the year 1516 and the serene atmosphere and the tomb stones it holds sure take you to an intriguing past. I make sure that as much as possible I take the quaint street which leads to this monument and I am being totally honest when I say that I am left with goose bumps each time I pass that way. For the truth is that, I am an hundred percent History Buff.  The way in which the edifice got to be built is indeed so dramatic that I never miss out on an opportunity to retell the same.

And so here goes the (or is it my) story: The year could be 1513 or may be 1514 and the place, the shores of the settlement of Mylapore which is now as we all know an integral part of the mega polis that is Chennai and the people in question a group of Portuguese soldiers in a sailing vessel. Caught in bad weather and totally lost with only a sliver of hope, the sailors were resigned to death. The only thing they could ask for was divine intervention. Their prayers were answered for a divine light guided them and brought them to the shore and led them through dense groves to an alcove where they felt safe. Thus in honour of the Divine Mother who guided them, they built a church in Mylapore, which is none other than the Church of Our Lady of Light commonly called as LUZ CHURCH, for luz in Portuguese means light.

Mylapore was a flourishing harbor of that period and was in all account superior to the useless land that was given to the British. Had the Portuguese been our rulers, maybe we would have called our Mega polis as Mylapore and we would have then been celebrating our 500^th birthday. Also had the Portuguese as the first Western Powers not come to Mylapore/Madras/Chennai, the course of our history would have been entirely different. Having preceded the British by over a 120 years, I am sure that it is the story of our wealth as related by the Portuguese soldiers that caught the fancy of the British. I know fully well that whatever dissection done on this topic cannot bring about any change in the course of history.

I cannot but end this note without wondering as to how long it will take before we start the birthday celebrations of our beloved Chennai which as of today is only 18 years and 25 days old for it was christened thus on the 17^th of July 1996.

Every year I enjoy Madras Day and make sure that I participate as much as I can. This year too I have earmarked certain events for which I will definitely go. This is a view I have been holding on to for a very long time and just thought this was the best time to air it.

The Survivor

I am hanging on to dear life with all the strength that I possess. The last few years have been filled with total uncertainity, a day survived is a day added to my life which if my memory serves me right will be touching 29 shortly. Most of you would think that I am young, in the prime of youth and ready to face any challenge and overcome it with panache. Well things are not like that in my case for I do not belong to the human race where longevity now touches 90 without much effort.

The first 10 years of my life was a total cake walk. I just stood still like a sentinel but for the occasional touch from a visitor. Those days even getting to move me was difficult for not many outsiders knew the secret of handling me. It served me well for I had to only answer to Narayani’s or Dominic’s command and both of them being my pals it was always a pleasure. Then came the year 1995 and with that things started taking a mega turn. I began being handled by more people all of whom were experts when it came to getting me to move. Till then my movements were always inward but now I had to do both the in and outward moves and this at times was not in the best of my interest. But then who am I to complain for I know where I stand in the priority list.

My sedentary life was shaken when a decision was taken to alter my looks. It was decided that I need to look more regal and thus some enhancements were made to me. I have earlier had makeovers with colour and brush but that was always comforting and I used to like the way I smelled immediately after that. But getting into an operation mode was not my idea of beautification. But then as I said earlier, do I have a voice?? And thus men came with equipments and I was fixed with some attachments which I totally loathed. As a result of a brainwave, it was decided that a bit of gold would add to my beauty. Here I am a simpleton and gold was a colour I detested, but there was nothing I could do. Luckily for me, God heard my prayers and the gold was taken away almost immediately. How I heaved a sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to look was like a Christmas tree. Things moved on quietly, until plans were made to shift me. At this point I thought it was sure death, for this was something totally unheard off. But then I survived and though it was an Herculean task, I was moved a couple of feet forward to make more room for newer and bigger objects.  Although this bothered me a lot, the saving grace was that I was given a roof over my head. Until then I was exposed to the elements and rain or shine made no difference to me.

Life went on in my new surroundings for some time before new changes were thought off.  I could hear talks about how immodest  I was and that it was time to rectify that problem. This I thought was going to be the end of me but luckily it was not to be for I was only covered with enough material and this time they made sure that the colour suited me well. After this mega makeover,  I had begun to think that things would be fine and that I had a permanent place in the scheme of things. But then that was not to be and I realised this when measuring tapes were brought out and the length and breadth of various spaces and objects measured. Within me the panic button was pressed. I thought to myself, here they go again and I wonder what plans they have for me? The moment I lay my eyes on Mr. Sampath, I always wonder if I will be his victim, for he has a terrible weakness for me and is so concerned about my appearance. This time the modifications took the longest but somehow  I wouldn’t call it beautification for whatever was done added to my utitlity value. The end result has made me so unique that I am sure that I am one of a kind. My value has appreciated and I have been the object of demonstration with regard to my uses. The good thing about this is that I have become complicated  and handling me is an art which only a hand full have mastered. This definitely suits me fine.

Now I am sure most of you will understand my concerns. Who wouldn’t feel petrified in my situation? My worry is two pronged, one is ofcourse all the changes that have happened to me and the other is the constant modifications to Sowparnika which have resulted in tons of debris being thrown out. When precious marble and granite have seen the dump, here am I just made of iron.

I am grateful to still be around and I consider myself a great survivor. I can’t take any credit for if I am around, I owe it all to Kumar. With the years my look has changed from being sleek, I have a girth which I must say I am not proud off.

So another precious day is coming to an end and in couple of hours I am off to sleep with the same Yale lock that has guarded me for the last 29 years. Tomorrow is another day and as always it should start at 5.20a.m. with Dominic bringing the milk.

An Unsung Gem

 Madras Medical College was her Alma Mater, Harrington Road, Chetpet her playground and the whole of India and South East Asia her stage. Born in 1914 to affluent parents, one of whom was an eminent freedom fighter, it was but inevitable that she grew up holding aloft the twin virtues of freedom and independence. This could be the reason why she endeared herself to the Indian National Army of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. She was made a Minister in the Azad Hind Government and was asked to form and head the Rani of Jhansi Regiment. Thus in 1943 at the height of the Second World War, with aplomb she led from Singapore a group of over 1000 women into battle against the British Army. She was captured near Imphal and put under arrest in Burma. As a woman of modern India, the prerogative to lead a regiment into battle has been hers and hers alone. How can it be otherwise, for it is said that she was Christened Lakshmi, after the valiant Rani Lakshmi Bai.

As a medical practitioner, Captain Lakshmi must have felt the pulse of thousands of her patients; however what is equally important is that she was there to feel the pulse and do her best during all the upheavals and catastrophes that befell India - Be it the partition, the Bangladesh War, the anti-Sikh riots, Bhopal Tragedy or the Gujarat Earthquake. She truly believed that women are the strength of any society and worked relentlessly for their empowerment. An Egalitarian society being her dream, she was easily approachable to the poorest of the poor and it is said that she had the ability to instill a sense of joy and possibility in all who met her. Being selfless, she never believed in accolades, nevertheless it was with utmost humility that she received The Padma Vibushan. Her brush with Politics saw her as a member of theRajya Sabha and as a Presidential Candidate. This Kohinoor is not in our midst having breathed her last in July this year.  Even in death she had the last word for she had donated her eyes and given her body for medical research.

Endowed with immense beauty and intelligence and passionately driven by social causes, Dr. Lakshmi Sehgal is indeed the Ratna that Bharat especially Chennai can eternally be proud off.

Liquor's Paradise

Today is the Malayalam star of Atham and the countdown to Onam has begun. Ten days from today will be the Onam festival which falls on the Malayalam star of Thiruonam in the month of Chingam. This festival is the highlight of life in Kerala as it is celebrated by all irrespective of class and creed. The flower carpet that greets one at the doorstep of all homes is laid out from this morning and reaches a crescendo as far as size and intricacy go by the tenth day. The preparation for Onam including the flower carpet, new clothes, kaikottikalli and the cuisine for all the days is something that has to be worked out in advance and gives so much of joy to all concerned. However the intention of this article is not to point out the highlights of the festival but to bring to attention of the reader another aspect of Onam, which is not so pleasant to read or to hear especially if you are a Malayali and a Marunaadan (someone who does not live in Kerala) Malayali at that.
To add to the already vibrant mood of the Malayali male during this festival is the intake of alcohol. It is but common all over the world to toast any celebration with alcohol; however to a Malayali the consumption of the same seems to be the main focus. I am forced to say this because records how shown thus. How can we otherwise justify the sales of alcohol during the Onam season in the year 2010? It is said that the sales reached a whopping 235 crores of rupees in that single week. Thus securing the first place as a revenue earner and surpassing the revenue from petrol and diesel!! Well one way of looking at it could be that alcohol is to the Malayali male what petrol and diesel are to the motor vehicles. Both in a way provide fuel, except that one can easily be done without. I wonder as to what records are going to be broken this coming season??
As a child when we used to travel by car from Chennai to Calicut, just on crossing the border at Walayar, there would be a vivid change in the landscape and in the midst of the lush green would stand out little huts which had large handwritten boards pronouncing Toddy/Arrack. The board would be both in Malayalam and Tamil. Since Tamilnadu was a dry state where there was prohibition, it was common for people to cross over and either become tipplers or turn bootleggers. I cannot remember the IMFL shops, but I am sure there must have been more than one in every hamlet. It is indeed upsetting to note that nothing has changed in the intervening decades. Instead there has been a progressive degradation with every passing year.
A stage has reached when the word SHOP or SHAAP has only one meaning. If Communism flourishes in Kerala, it can be seen in its true form outside a Liquor Shop. Here the rich and the poor and the old and the young are all equal and are ready to stand in a perfect queue and wait their turn. There is no chaos like what prevails in a bus stop or a train station or a movie theatre. The camaraderie is so perfect that if someone is in a hurry, he is allowed to cut the queue and make his purchase. It is said that on the day before a hartal or bandh the queue at the Liquor shop is so serpentine that it can easily be more than a 500 metres long. I wonder if the State provides as part of their Onam markets which cater to clothes and provisions, a separate market for Liquor. Otherwise how on earth can it be possible for liquor of this amount to be sold from the existing shops? It is mind boggling that a state with a population of 31 million of which anywhere between 5-10 million may form the targeted group can consume this quantity of alcohol.
Wonder as to what forms the basis of this trend. I think one of the main reasons could be the availability of easy money. With lack of industries, thanks to the prevalent policies, most of the youth are without any commendable jobs. At the same time most of the families have bread winners in the Gulf States who remit diligently substantial amounts to their families in the State. With peer pressure mounting, mothers are forced to hand out the hard earned money to their sons, who think nothing about squandering the same at the SHAAP. Depending on the financial position the visit can be to a Toddy or Arrack parlour (the modern parlance for a shop) or to an IMFL bar or can just be a purchase from the shop to be had at home. Liquor has taken such a centre stage when it comes to the social fabric that any small happening calls for the opening of a bottle. This is so truly reflected in the Malayalam Films where it is hard to come across a movie which does not involve at least a couple of scenes without the bottle. How can it be otherwise, for in the recent past the film industry has lost to the bottle so many talented actors, musicians and lyricists who had in them so many more years of genius left. The scene is so sad and I wonder as to what the remedy if there is one could be.
The shady offshoot of the liquor industry is the illegal brewing which is ever so rampant. In connivance with corrupt tax officials this industry thrives. It is only when there is a hooch tragedy that the Government opens its eyes to close them again in no time. Alcohol seems to be a curse which has permeated into all strata of society. As long as the treasury is filling, I wonder if the State would ever bother to curb the menace. It is after all Liquor that is spinning Kerala its Gold.
I wonder as to what the figures would be at the end of this Onam season. I am sure it will break the ceiling set last year and set yet another unbelievable record. If Kerala is GOD’S OWN COUNTRY, then it has also sadly earned the sobriquet as LIQUOR’S PARADISE

Reduce, Reuse and Recycle

The following is an article I wrote for a Newsletter on Plastic Free India.

Plastic is derived from the Greek word plastos which means something that can be shaped or molded into any form as is deemed necessary. Possessing such a great property, Plastic has certainly been put to use in far too many industries and to list them in itself would be time and space consuming. The way in which plastic has permeated and percolated into our daily lives, it would indeed be extremely difficult to shake ourselves away from it. This being the case, the possibility of a Plastic Free India is just a Utopian thought, something which is soothing to hear and to dream about but absolutely impossible to achieve. My understanding of a Plastic Free India would be an India where we try our best to stop the use of those plastics which are disposed off after a single use. Having said that, it would be indeed difficult to use a disposable syringe over and over again and the same would hold true for all the single use plastic products that are used in an operation theatre.
As a lay person I can think of two products that we can cease to use. By doing so we would indeed be helping our environment and making our city a better place to live in. These are the widely used ultra thin plastic shopping bags and the even more widely used packaged drinking water bottles. Coming to think of it, the use of these two products in India began around thirty years ago. The bags were considered the in thing and right from the big departmental stores to the small corner shop to the street vendors took to it like fish to water. It was considered chic and easy to carry and thus the age old cloth shopping bags were relegated to the back or totally forgotten. The fall out of this idiocy combined with the poor literacy rate helped create a catastrophe. Thus we used the thin bags and threw them into our trash which was then collected and thrown into dumps were they have been lying for the last thirty years. Had the plastic been biodegradable, with the help of the sun, most of it may have broken down and mixed with the soil. The same holds true for the packaged water bottle, which when it was first introduced was considered fashionable. I guess we have ourselves to blame, for if we had taken care to see that our water bodies were safe and if we were able to provide good drinking water to the masses, the question of a packaged water industry would never ever have risen. Now to make matters worse, the poor disposal of plastic has led to the clogging of most of the smaller streams and canals. Thus we can take a pledge that we would go back to our cloth bags and glass/steel water bottles.
A Plastic Free India would be one in which we are bereft of most things that we are used to and take for granted. Having reached the second decade of the 21st Century, are we ready to go back to that era of the 19th Century when plastic was not discovered?? As I mentioned earlier, let us be practical and let us do everything to lessen its usage and to learn to make do without it wherever possible. As citizens of this country, let our mantra be to REDUCE, REUSE AND RECYCLE.

Guardian Angel

Kristina Roxanne D’Costa: Born on 23rd Sept 1991 and Died on 13th July 2011.
The above information is definitely hard to believe for anyone who has had an opportunity to meet Roxanne in the 19 plus years that she had inhabited planet Earth. Tall and lissome with no handicap of any sort, who would think that death would steal this wonderful creation so early.
I have known Roxanne from the time of her birth. For that matter I have known the family including her parents, grandparents and great grandparents for a very long time. As far as the D’Costas go, longevity is something they possess. I have seen Roxanne take her first steps and I have seen Roxanne go to school. I have seen her graduate from her nursery school uniform to her elementary and middle school uniform and finally to her high school uniform. I have seen her grow up to be a fine girl, well mannered, respectful and possessing all those bygone qualities which the youth of today seem to have otherwise forgotten. Roxanne’s long hair was the envy of all and as for her height; it was something most girls would crave for her. I remember having mentioned to her grand dad as to what a fine model she would make.
Although Roxanne did not live nearby, by virtue of her grandparents being my neighbours, it was but inevitable that I would see her off and on. There were periods of her life when she stayed with her grandparents as going to school was much easier from here. Being the eldest grandchild, she was the apple of their eye and they doted on her more than what any grandparent would do. Her grand dad being a regular visitor to my house, I was always in the knowhow of all the major events in her life. When we heard that she had graduated from school and had joined Stella Maris College for her under graduation, we were elated. Here was a girl who had overcome her Dyslexia and had found her moorings and was getting ready to enter the real world. By virtue of being involved with an institute that promotes aviation related non technical courses, I visit colleges to promote the institute. Thus I have had the opportunity to go to Roxanne’s college and department on more than one occasion and was indeed happy to note that the shy girl had blossomed into a fine young lady. The warmth with which she greeted me on those occasions is ever so vivid in my mind and the hospitality that she extended was unforgettable. To her it seemed as if I was a guest to her college and that I should be looked after well. I was happy to note that she had evolved to become a leader among her friends and she seemed to be in control of things. I remember mentioning these anecdotes to her grand dad, who I am sure, must have been extremely happy to hear the same.
Thus on the 12th of July 2011, when Uncle Bobby (Roxanne’s Granddad) came home almost a lost man, the last thing that crossed our mind was Roxanne. Being a very emotional person, we thought that something minor was bothering him and that he had come over for some encouraging words from my Dad who is a GURU to him. When he mentioned the graveness of the situation, we found it so hard to believe. How can Roxanne be so ill? I had seen her just the previous Friday when she was visiting her grandparents. She looked fine to me although she had lost some weight due to the jaundice that she had contracted in May. Uncle Bobby mentioned that she was in the ICU and that the doctors had pronounced her condition to be extremely serious. We kept tab of the situation and heard at different intervals that her condition was caused by different illnesses. What started off as meningitis-the dreaded brain fever, soon became leptospirosis an equally if not more lethal condition. Thus we prayed for her well being and hoped that a miracle would occur. By Wednesday morning, the doctors at the hospital had washed their hands off. The parents were told that Roxanne could be taken home as there was only so much that can be done. Anyway, when the doors were shut at one of the hospitals, Roxanne was rushed to another for further treatment. Anyway to cut a long story short, Roxanne had a massive cardiac arrest and was declared dead around 7.30pm on Wednesday.
We rushed across to console the grandparents, who were shattered. Young Peter her only sibling had not got the impact of the situation. The next day when I went to meet her Mom, she was speechless but at the same time I felt that the truth had not sunk in. This morning was the funeral and the body was brought to the grandparents place. All efforts were made by the family to give her a grand funeral. But the atmosphere was so very sombre. There was not a single soul with dry eyes. How can anyone reconcile to this untimely death? My heart bled for the family and for her friends some of whom were so uncontrollable in their sorrow. Although the religious service served as a balm to the congregation, the reality was something totally different. I stood by and watched with sadness the whole scene. When the casket was lowered and nailed a chapter had ended. It was not easy for me to sprinkle dust on the casket, but I did so like those around me.
On my drive back home and ever since I returned, I had a hundred questions for which I fervently needed an answer. I grew up imbibing the fact that everything in life has a purpose. If that be the case what was the purpose of Roxanne’s life. Nineteen is an age when you get to know your responsibilities and when you start planning for the future. To take away a life at that age is definitely so unthinkable. The instant reply to this question would be that God takes away those whom he loves the most. I guess, I am not so practical in my thinking and hence to accept this as an answer would be far too difficult for me. Being devout Christians, Roxanne’s family may on the face of it accept this situation. However how can a mother or father forget their teenage daughter who just disappeared from their midst without any rhyme or reason. I would also like to pose the question to the medical fraternity that treated her. Do they have an answer for her demise? I am sure they are as much in the dark as the rest of us. Of one thing I am sure and that is that my mind will continue to search for a convincing answer.
In the meantime I pray to the Almighty to give the D’Costas all the strength to cope with this bereavement. In a family where every death in the past has been a celebration of a life well lived, this may indeed be hard. I would like to believe that Roxanne would always be their Guardian Angel.

The Season

The only sad note I have while talking about my city is its weather. With a round the year minimum of 20 degrees Celsius and a maximum of 45 degrees Celsius the only seasons that we experience are hot, hotter and hottest. But then I am not an Englishman and hence the topic of the weather is not the uppermost in my mind. Invariably the Chennai weather and its lack of Geographical seasons (read winter) is what holds many outsiders including multi nationals from making Chennai their home. There has been a change to this in the last couple of decades as Chennai has begun experiencing a wonderful Season even without bringing about any change in its weather. This is a Season so unique to Chennai and of which no other city or country in the world can ever boast off. A Season which came into being as a result of the ingenuity of the Chennaiite, a Season so totally man made. Yes it is the Music and Dance Season that I am talking about. Being just around the corner, I thought it only right to pay my obsequious to this grand celebration.
This Music Season which was restricted to the month of Margazhi in the Tamil Almanac (December 15th to January 14th) has slowly but surely spread and now includes Karthikai (November 15th to December 14th) and Thai (January 15th to February 14th). As one is well aware, Chennai/Tamilnadu is the home to the much acclaimed Carnatic music which has its origin during the Vedic period and has evolved ever since and of the much acclaimed and revered and the oldest of Indian traditional dance forms namely the Bharatanatyam. With this high intensity of performing arts prevalent in one place and all of which proclaim obeisance to the Almighty, it was inevitable that it became an establishment or to put it otherwise Chennai had to become the Mecca for these two outstanding art forms and the pilgrimage by the followers was bound to happen. The time chosen for this pilgrimage is again perfect for it coincides with that period when the weather is pleasant and experiences some coolness in the air. The time is also perfect for the ladies to display their gorgeous Kanchivarams and showcase their finest Jewellery. It is indeed a joy to be at any of the kutcheries (musical recitals) for apart from enjoying the performance, the well turned out ladies are indeed a wonderful treat to the eyes.
I was trying to recollect the Margazhi of my childhood/youth and this is what I could remember. Having lived in a Brahmin neighbourhood, the arrival of Margazhi never went unnoticed. The kollams (rice flour designs) that decorated the threshold of homes were wonderfully elaborate and there would always be music in the air. The Thiruppavai (hymns written by Alwar (saint) Andal in praise of Lord Krishna) was rendered by groups of ladies/girls as was done during Andal’s time. The local Vaishnavite temples would be buzzing with activity all revolved around Andal. If there was no deity Andal, then a photo would take its place and this would be adorned with garlands and jewellery. It was even customary for young girls to have the Andal hairstyle and to dress in their Sunday’s best. There was festivity in the air; however the visibility was very low. Andal, Thiruppavai and the elaborate kollams did not make its mark on the masses as the awareness of marketing was virtually absent. The Sabhas were only a handful and during Margazhi held kutcheries where in all the stalwarts and the other upcoming artists participated.
That the festival has taken a humungous form is indeed a fact. Not able to contain it within the 30 days of Margazhi, it has spread in both directions. Every body who has it in them to host a festival, conducts one and the artists who take part come from all corners of the country and the world. The pre and post Margazhi festivals are not just restricted to Carnatic Music and Bharatanatyam for they include other forms belonging to these two genres. Thus the highly informed enthusiasts of Chennai are exposed to all of the best in music and dance that the world can offer. The performers consider it a privilege to be part of The Season and hence never miss an opportunity. Only a wizard/genius can make it to the top slot in the first season itself. The slot system thus becomes an unofficial marker as far as the popularity/recognition of an artist is concerned. It goes without saying that the top artists are in great demand and during a Season most of them perform every other day. It is also a God sent opportunity for the female artistes to showcase their saris and jewellery and indirectly or is it directly become the brand ambassadors for the leading retail sari showrooms.
The Season has also become a platform for corporates to proclaim their cultural awareness for attached to each of the Sabhas is a host of wealthy sponsors. With the visibility increasing, The Season has burgeoned and with it, its economics too. The Season has become the focal point for those in the Indian Diaspora with an interest in Carnatic Music and Bharatanatyam to plan their trip to Chennai. With most of the artists having performed abroad, they have among their followers loads of foreigners too. I was surprised when I heard a foreigner say that she was in India to trail artist “X” through her various performances during The Season. This heavy influx is an excellent source of income to the hospitality industry and to all the varied retail businesses in the city. Another business that runs well in the Sabhas is the canteen. It is considered a fashion to eat the mouth drooling snacks and Tiffin offered in the canteens and to top the fares with the much acclaimed filter coffee.
Here is a Novel Season of which we can truly be proud off. The Season is a perfect example of how the blend of private enterprise (The Sabhas) and the Government can bring about a success story. The Government conducts the Dance Festival at Mahabalipuram a venue so revered. The open air concerts with the 11th century rock carvings of “Arjuna’s Penance” as a backdrop is indeed very popular. In the last two years the city has been witness to yet another initiative of the Government and this is the Chennai Sangamam where the various folk dances and music are performed on the streets. This truly gives the feel of a mela, a mela (fair) in which the whole city is involved. An added incentive to the Sangamam is the availability of traditional Tamizh food prepared by Five Star Chefs and served at various localities. The Season is on its way and in the next three months one would be enveloped by Music and Dance. The goodness about The Season is that Chennaiites have the prerogative of ending the current year on a high note only to welcome the New Year on a higher one.
P.S. The Temple Tower on the Tamil Nadu Government Emblem is of the temple in Srivilliputtur, a temple devoted to Alwar Andal. Thus it was only a matter of time before The Season was established.

A Dream

I dreamt of “The Beast” parked in front of my house on Sivaganga Road. I guess that it is a far fetched dream but then dreams are just meant to be far fetched and with the current happenings, it is something that can definitely turn into reality. What prompted this dream could well be the just concluded trip of the Obamas to India and all the hype and fervor that went with it. Ever since the highest office in the world was open to an African American, I have been day dreaming of situations when the above could happen.
I have, by virtue of the curriculum in my school, been fed with American History from the young age of 13 and hence can proudly say that I know pretty well of the early happenings in that country. Right from the Pilgrim Fathers to the Thirteen Colonies to the War of Independence including the Boston Tea Party, to the Three Westward Expansions including the California Gold Rush to the Louisiana Purchase to the Civil War to the abolition of slavery to the modern day America, every wee bit is imprinted in my mind. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, Andrew Jackson, Abraham Lincoln and much later Woodrow Wilson, Theodore Roosevelt and of course John Fitzgerald Kennedy were the towering personalities of that history and their achievements were studied and recorded in my memory. The names of the latter year Presidents too have been etched in my mind, for how can any citizen of the world not know the name of the President of the USA? Whether these said humans had a direct impact on one’s life or not, they had to be known, for to put it simply, their position made them the most powerful human being in the world.
It goes without saying that the Presidency of the United States of America is the most coveted post and it really did not matter if the incumbent belonged either to the Republican or Democratic Party. Thus this is a position that any American with good leadership quality would like to hold and can aspire for. The official written eligibility to become the President of the United States is just three and these are: 1. Be a natural born citizen of the United States, 2. Be at least thirty five years old and 3. Should have been a permanent resident of the United States for at least fourteen years. As can be seen the clauses are simple and one by which any citizen can aspire for the post, provided he or she gets elected to the same. However the unwritten rules are far too many for in the 233 years that the USA has been an independent country, 43 of the 44 Presidents have all belonged to one particular race. The first and only exception is the present incumbent. With the US being called the land of the immigrants, what is it that makes the race of the 43 Presidents superior to the scores of other races which too have a significant presence in the country? It is said that there are more Jews in New York than the whole of the State of Israel and the same holds true for many other sects of the world. However none of the people from these innumerable races or religious groups have been able to break the barrier until the 4th of November 2008 when Barack Obama with his grit and determination and plenty of charisma and oratorical skills broke the shackles and moved ahead.
Does this mean that the era of the WASPS has ended? I am not sure as to how many of you know what the acronym WASP stands for. WASP means WHITE ANGLO SAXON PROTESTANT. In the history of the USA, 43 Presidents have ruled the country for 231 years and all of them were WASPS with the exception of Kennedy who was a White Anglo Saxon but instead of being a Protestant was a Catholic. So powerful has been the domination of WASPS that breaking their impregnable barrier was nothing less than a miracle. It is a fact that the WASPS were the first settlers in the New Land and that it was them who gave the Thirteen Colonies its due importance. This to an extent made them the natural rulers in the early days. The WASPS brought with them their knowledge and know how and thus gained supremacy over the Native Americans who were the original inhabitants. It was this supremacy that they held on to very tightly and never wanted to relinquish. It seemed as if there was an unwritten pact among them that whichever party they belonged, they will keep the power to themselves. What boggles me is the fact that the other races who are present in very large numbers and who could have tilted the electoral balance, just did not even consider putting up a fight. President Barack Obama by his winning has definitely opened new vistas to the multitudes of youngsters from the other races, who can now dream of becoming the most powerful man in the world provided they meet up with the three written criteria.
Here is where my personal interests come to the fore. I have two nieces and one nephew living in the US. Two of them are teenagers and the third is just nine years of age. The two teenagers are showing wonderful leadership qualities and it seems as if nothing can stop them from achieving their goals. The oldest is my niece Preetha and she has done us proud by gaining admission to Harvard where she will be taking up her under graduation in Anthropology. Although she is planning to become a doctor like her parents, I have told her that having got into the Hallowed Institution that is Harvard, she has to think beyond medicine and look at all the doors that would open for her in the corridors of power. The Oval Office will be beyond her reach for among the three clauses, she does not fulfill the first one for she was born in Manchester, United Kingdom. The next in line is my nephew Krishnan; he is extremely intelligent with the best academic records. His interests and involvement in all extra curricular activities is immense and his leanings to philanthropy are way beyond his age. Being his aunt, I may sound biased but believe me when I say that he has all the qualities of an intelligent and capable leader. By virtue of being born in the USA he would qualify in the next 20 years when he will turn 35, the prerequisite age to stand for the office of the President.
I see nothing wrong in dreaming of my Krishnan in the Oval Office. The next time when I meet him, I will have to find out if he too is dreaming the same dream. And if he is, translating the same to reality would definitely be a Herculean task, but knowing Krishnan, I am sure with his meticulous planning and execution, he can achieve the same. By becoming the President of USA, what President Barack Obama has done apart from laying bare the three clauses was to open the flood gates for the thousands of aspirants who are not WASPS.
Will November 4th 2032 turn out to be the GOLDEN LETTERED DAY for the family!!

The Nail

Yesterday there was a murder in my immediate neighbourhood. It was a daylight murder at its gruesome best and well witnessed by few hundreds. I don’t even want to mention that I could sense glee in some of those faces. Then there were others who either turned their heads away or tried to circumnavigate the concerned area. The victim must have been around 35 years age and well in her prime. The cruelty shown by the murderer was heart breaking, but then I guess the murderers were only doing their job. They were paid to do it and the term used for the same in the Mumbai underworld would be “a supari”. Sitting in the comfort of my car, I did give the victim’s life more than a thought. I visualized her standing tall and stoic and remembered the comfort people took under her out stretched arms. She will truly be missed for ever since I moved into the locality she has been there to greet me on my various trips to and fro. In fact every time I saw her it gave me a sense of relief (especially when I am behind the wheel) for it meant that I have reached my “pettai” and thus nothing could go wrong.
The lady in question was a wonderful Butea Monosperma also known as the Flame of the Forest. The reason for her murder was yet another conversion of an independent house into an apartment block. The glee on the face of the onlookers (builders) could well have been the few extra square feet available to make their concrete jungles. Every square feet of land in this area is worth its weight in gold for coming up just across this plot is Chennai’s most expensive apartment building priced at Rs. 8 crore per apartment which when roughly calculated works out to Rs. 30,000/- per square foot.
Being a witness to this murder was not easy; I knew there was hardly anything I could do as the concerned person would surely have got permission from the authorities before going ahead with the hacking. My knowledge is that permission is definitely needed before doing away with the flora of the city. With the green cover being so poor, every sapling deserves to be looked after like an offspring and here was this beauty well in her prime and towering so tall and having years of service left in her being just done with as if what mattered was the couple of lakhs she would bring from the real estate that her base provides. The thought of the green cover over my city and my country was a matter which cannot be contained in the few hundreds of words that constitute my article; however I was reminded of the nursery rhyme which went thus, “Little drops of water make the mighty ocean, Little grains of sand and the pleasant land.” Thus doesn’t my Flame of the Forest have a role in the mighty green cover that we so dearly need?
They say that the next war that would be fought among nations or in the case of our country among states would be for that precious commodity which covers 70% of the Earth’s surface and constitutes more than 50% of the human body and is also known as the “universal solvent” thanks to its properties. Well you guessed it right; the war would be over that never much given thought and as of now freely available substance WATER. We have already reached that phase as our state is at dogger heads with its neighbours be it on the Cauvery issue or the Mullaiperiyar Dam. Why are we fighting over water that is so freely available? The reason is simple; most water found in nature is not suitable for human consumption thanks to its solvent properties. The water required by mankind is the rainwater or that water which is formed when our glaciers (again formed when rain water condenses in the colder regions and at high altitudes) melts and comes down the rivers. When there is a lack of green cover, the carbon dioxide emitted by cars and factories reach the upper atmosphere and helps trap heat around the Earth’s surface. This in turn brings about global warming as well as a change in the weather resulting in the lack of rain. Trees are thus considered nature’s most efficient “carbon sinks.”
The greed and the crass attitude of man are the only reason for this beautiful green cover to be depleting. Little are we realizing as to what would be the result of this action on our planet in the years to come. Much is being spoken about global warming and the depletion of the ozone layer and the green house effect. It is as informed citizens of this world our duty to protect our environment and leave behind something to cherish and hold for the generations that follow. In India we have started experiencing the fall out of our callous attitude with people in cities have to pay a ransom for water that until thirty years ago was so freely available. When bottled water was first introduced in India, I thought it a joke. It amused me that people would pay whatever they did for a one litre bottle when the same money would fetch something more precious. Living in a coastal city, it seemed ridiculous in having to pay for water. Well that was almost 25 years ago and from then to now, I have come a long way. From the water tankers, to the bubble top to the packaged bottle water it seems that we spend a fortune on water alone. (During my recent travel I had to spend almost Rs. 200/- for a normal 500ml of water, and then I thought to myself what the cost of Perrier or any other branded fancy water would be. I have kept the empty bottle as a souvenir.) In Chennai, the water tanker is the king on the road, thanks to commodity that they carry. The other motorists and pedestrians dread the blue vehicles for apart from the license to drive; they also seem to be in league with the fictional James Bond for they carry with them the License to Kill.
I mourn the death of my Butea Monosperma for apart from her beauty and the shade that she provided, her red carpet was truly welcoming. Somehow when I think of her decimation, I am only able to equate her with the quintessential Nail, for the want of which the battle was lost.
I am aware that there are other Nails that are dearly required if this Battle is to be truly won and may be as a start, I would decide to walk more and use the car less. This would definitely result in a 0.0000000000001% better environment and a 100% healthier me.

The Crab

It was a restless night and the reason for it being so was more than one. The day was hectic and in the normal sense I should have just dozed off, but well that did not happen. I was at my cousin Veena’s place in Bangalore and being the first night there, the bed was new and hence it took me a while to adjust. The second reason could be that my left shoulder was giving me pain thanks to my spondylosis and thus I was tossing and turning in bed unable to catch a wink and it was precisely then that my phone rang. The time was only 1.30a.m., however the call did not surprise me. It seemed as if I was expecting the same and hence my restlessness. The name that flashed on the screen was the name I had expected. Thus even before attending the call, I knew what the news would be. For one thing no one wakes you up that early in the morning/night to have a chat with you or to convey news regarding sweet nothings unless you are in that stage of your life when “ROMANCE” is in full bloom. The news had to be serious and well it could not have got more serious. Unnikrishnan a long time associate/help/almost a peripheral family member had called it a day. It was his brother in law giving me the news. He had succumbed to the crab that was otherwise known as Cancer.
He was 51years old and until a year ago had lead a hectic life. A life which saw a meteoric rise in his social standing and also the urge to achieve and acquire all that was considered the norm in today’s world. He seemed to be in a hurry and we always wondered why he was rushing. Little did we realize that he had to finish his responsibilities within a specific period? Death is definitely the only certainty in all our lives, however being human we plan and execute as if our lives are everlasting. May be Unnikrishnan was more aware that he would have an early call and thus his hurry. Anyway he had touched our family’s life like he had so many lives in Chennai. We were totally in the know of his illness and had in our own way contributed to ease his difficulties. Unnikrishnan was the latest in the long list of so many friends and acquaintances who had been the victim of the crab. It has been bothering me for a long time the rise in the number of people who have been afflicted by this condition which not only eats your body but also without doubt eats at everything else you have. This disease and its treatment make one’s life so traumatic and unbearable that I have so often wondered as to which was worse, the condition or its treatment.
Being the month of September, a month related to Cancer, I had attended a meeting where a leading Oncologist gave a lecture. His opening remark was that Cancer was the only condition where the blame for acquiring can only be put on one’s own self. No outside element was involved and thus he said that it was within a person to lead the right kind of life and by doing so stay away from the radar of the Cancer. I like all the attendees at the meeting realized that it this was easier said than done. The awareness of the don’ts regarding this condition with the exception of using tobacco and alcohol is so poor that you wonder as to how a layman will ever get to know how he should lead his life. AIDS which came into existence only in the last three decades has surpassed Cancer when it comes to awareness. The reason could well be the “colourful” manner in which it is transmitted.
Frankly no person would do anything stupid to become a victim of Cancer. Having said that, I realize that you do not have to knowingly do anything stupid, because there are a hundred things around you including the air you breathe that could well be the cause for the condition. Doctors advocate you to refrain from alcohol and tobacco. I agree that these two are the major wreckers but at the same time I feel that they alone cannot cause all the trouble. May be they could if you drown yourself in any one of them. Lung cancer is attributed to smoking and liver cirrhosis to alcohol. However I can in my own sphere mention names of people who have succumbed to both these conditions without being a smoker and or an alcoholic. How do you explain these deaths?? So what precautions are the doctors talking about? They could as well say that passive smoking could be the cause of lung cancer; however can passive drinking be the cause of liver cancer?? The more one delves into the conditions that cause cancer, the more one is dumbfounded and totally at a loss for words. Doctors recommend inclusion of five servings of vegetables and fruits in one’s diet, but on the other hand they say that the pesticide and preservatives used to grow and store them could well bring about cancer. With this being the case how does a layman go about leading his life? Can each of us afford to have a vegetable garden and a farm where in we grow all our dietary requirements? Is it possible in this 21st Century to lead the lives our forefathers lived a Millennium ago? (It could be possible if we all turned Amish, I guess.)
In the last few months ever since I became an owner of an iphone with an internet connection, I have been appalled by the awareness of the WIFI waves in the surrounding air. If the WIFI in my phone is left on, every few feet that I travel, I am invited to join the various connections in the passing neighbourhoods. This made me realize that we are living in a world encompassed by magnetic waves which in no measure is good for our well being. Having said that one really does not have to go outside the house to be victimized by these waves, the electronic gadgets present in the modern homes including the microwave oven, the cell phone and computer can in their own ways cause enough damage to one’s health. I wish the doctor had advised me as to how I could do away with these necessities in my daily life.
What really took the cake was the shocking news I came across just recently. It was mentioned that in future 2% of Cancer could well be due to the CT and MRI scans taken routinely as diagnostic measure for various ailments including Cancer. I am sure that this percentage is only going to increase with the years. Thus we have reached a situation where from breathing to eating to even undergoing a treatment can in itself be the cause of Cancer. I wonder as to who coined the word Cancer for this condition. For this condition, like the crab burrowed deep in the wet sands, is able to cause enough damage in our bodies for a long period before it manifests in various forms.
As a lay person, my assessment is that there is no fool proof cure for this condition and the so called ‘remission” that the doctors proudly claim is only a waiting period before the next harsher blow comes by.
Unnikrishnan died of liver cirrhosis and he was a person who never ever had an alcoholic drink.

Be Prepared

At 102, blind UK woman is the oldest Girl Guide. A 102 year old visually impaired British woman is now the country’s oldest Girl Guide, a media report said. Betty Lowe joined Girl Guides volunteers aged 11 in 1919. And, in the finest Guides tradition she does a regular good turn by spending a few hours washing up at Salford Royal Hospital canteen and chatting to patients. – Times of India – 14th September 2010.
When I read the above report in the said paper, it got me thinking of this wonderful movement called Girl Guides and my participation in the same. Later when I Googled to refurbish my memory about the salient features of the movement, I realized that the movement began in 1910, thus making this the Centenary year. I consider this a humble tribute to this great movement which has taught me so many things and has also given me some great times in my youth.
At 102 if Betty Lowe who is visually impaired can continue to be a true Girl Guide, it just speaks volumes of the impact the Guiding movement must have had in her life. I cannot talk or write of myself in the same league as her or of other great leaders of the movement who devoted their time and energies doing the things the movement taught them and imparting the same to the younger generations. However in some way, I think I am still a Girl Guide as in every action I do I make sure that I never go against the Guide Promise which is – 1. To do one’s duty to God and to one’s country,
2. To help other people at all times, and
3. To obey the Guide Laws.
Over the years the Laws have rusted from my memory however the gist is well ingrained in me and even if I were to deviate, I think I end up having a restless feeling for days to come.
Girl Guides was part of my school life. I joined the movement in the year 1967 when I was in the sixth standard. I wouldn’t say that our school could boast of a big unit; however we did have enough students and Mrs. Chandran was our Guides Teacher. My patrol was named Aster and the other patrols had similar names of flowers rarely seen in India. I think this is something to do with our school in that era when everything was Anglicised. I guess that was fine for after all the Movement had its origin in the UK. On joining I became a Tenderfoot Guide and was in that category for almost year. This was a time when we learnt all the wonderful Guiding songs and on the whole had some fun time after school on all Wednesdays. Slowly skills were taught to us and in a prescribed time frame, I became a Second Class guide. Thus apart from my Guide Emblem and my Patrol Emblem, I had the Second Class Guide Emblem sewn on my sleeve. By now I knew all the knots like the reef knot, the sheep shank, the sheet bend, the bowline, clove hitch so on and so forth. The rope which was part of our gear became a play thing and we competed among ourselves in becoming a pro. The Morse code was taught and with the help of flags we could communicate. We also learnt to get a fire going and had some wonderful time learning cooking. Collecting twigs and making the fire was a group activity and so too was the cooking that ensued. There was no competition involved and this made the whole activity pure and simple fun.
I became serious about my Guiding and never missed a class or a camp. Camps were fun with so many meaningful day time activities and always ended on a high note with the campfire around which we showed cased all our music and dance talents. Any knowledge gained was tested and on completion ended in a badge. Thus the zest began to collect badges. In the meantime classes were also conducted in First Aid and Home Nursing by the St. John’s Ambulance and on qualifying we were presented with a certificate and the relevant badges. Slowly or was it in quick succession, I got qualified to be a First Class Guide. The next aim was to become a President’s Guide, the highest honour for any Guide and I worked for it. Thus at the age of 14 years, I achieved this feat and on the 11th of November 1971, received the certificate from Shri V. V. Giri the then President of India. I would definitely call this one of the highlights of my life. Being in the Mughal Gardens of the Rashtrapati Bhavan was a dream come true. The build up to the trip was in itself exhilarating. We had a pre camp at the Wesley High School, Royapettah, were the freshers in the movement came to us and asked for advice. We were treated and looked upon as high end achievers. Looking back I think the experience was scintillating.
It is indeed sad to note that the Movement is in wane in India. There are hardly any schools in Chennai which promote Guiding and Scouting. I wonder why the people in authority have shunned this wonderful activity from their curriculum. The focus just seems to be on individual activities and the sense of competition has become all pervasive. It is truly disheartening because the child of today is not really prepared to face the reality that the world has to offer. A small discomfort and they are ready to jump out of the system. I have seen this happen among young kids as well as graduates and post graduates. I wonder how the kids of today would react if they were to go to a Jamboree where thousands of children live in next to a primitive condition. Then I wonder if such Jamborees still exist. I consider myself lucky to have gone to Mumbai in 1970 to attend a Jamboree. At 13, it seemed then that we were out in the big world all on our own. We managed extremely well on the basic meals offered and on the most basic of accommodations that was available. No kid from our background would even want to venture into such a scenario now. How will they survive without their fancy gadgets and even fancier attitudes? I wonder as to who is to be blamed - Is it the school system for not instilling in them the values that really matter or the parents for over protecting the child and dancing to all their whims and fancies?
I wish some responsible authorities would get to read this blog, for apart from being a Tribute, it is also a request to schools to revive this Movement. The results would be wonderful for I can be sure that they will have as students not only geniuses (as is the trend these days) but also good children who have in them the urge to do good and to be worthy citizens in their later life. The end result would be generations of children and adults who would always follow the Motto – Be Prepared.

Septuplets

Mine is the last name in a list that contains only seven names. However this in no way makes me sad, for on the other hand I am extremely happy that I am one among the septuplets. To me it is a very privileged list; a list for which I am willing to jump the toughest of hurdles. The truth is that, the privilege came to me with ease and this I consider GOD sent. But then how can it be otherwise? Definitely God has everything to do with this list for after all if not for Him the list would not exist. I have become one among the seven trustees of a temple in my home town of Mankave, Calicut. The temple has been with the Variyath family for a very long time. Much as I tried to trace its beginning, I was left clueless and totally in the dark. Tracing the history of the temple would have in a way enabled me to trace the history of our Tharavad, (my maternal family) as this temple has been on our property for as long as anyone can remember.
The earliest memories I have in relation with this temple is from my early childhood. The memories are not of having seen the temple or worshipping there. It had to do with having the “theertham” from the temple and of applying the sandalwood paste that was brought daily by my Great Uncle. As a child the image I had formed of my Great Uncle was that of an ascetic. He would come to his sister’s (my maternal grandmother) house in the early hours of the morning his whole body smeared with the holy ash, and have in his hand a container with the theertham and a plantain leaf with the sandalwood paste and flowers. This would be a daily routine. He had his own Puja under the staircase and to us kids, he lived on another plane. It was after some years that I got to know the source of that theertham and his affinity to the said temple.
During my just concluded trip to Calicut, I got an opportunity to speak to my aunt and uncle and it was from them that I learnt that until about 60 years ago, the property on which the temple stands was out of reach for most people. It was densely wooded and an ideal place for miscreants and vagabonds to inhabit. The temple was there but no one dared to go and pray. It was at that juncture that my Grand Uncle decided that he had to do something about the temple and thus began his daily worship. Being a man of very limited means, there was only this much he could do. He made sure that the minimum routines of a temple were performed. This routine continued till his demise in the mid seventies. I could almost say that it was my Grand Uncle who single handedly made the temple a place of worship again. His relationship with the temple was a symbiotic one. Other than giving him mental peace, his routine served as the best antidote for his high blood sugar. The climb to the top of the hill for worship twice a day was definitely the best exercise any doctor could prescribe. He had, prior to his involvement with the temple been admitted with severe diabetes and had even gone into a state of coma. The reason he survived this coma, could well have been to give a rebirth to the Thennamkunnu Shiva Kshetram.
The Eighties saw the temple fall into the hands of an outside Trust for want of family members to take care of the same. Thus for almost two decades the temple was in the control of outsiders. Little was done and the only celebration was the annual Shiva Rathri. Much as we all made sure that we made offerings there, it was just a very paltry sum with regards to maintaining a temple. After some time, the managing Trust lost interest in the temple. The chief reason I guess could be the almost nil income from the premises and the lack of participation from the people of the area. Sometime in the late nineties, members of the family began to renew their interest in getting the temple back from the Trust. I think the interest peaked in keeping with the times, for that was the period when people of all faiths began going back to the CREATOR. Thus it became a matter of great importance to the members of the Variyath clan to have the temple back in their custody. Even at this point my role in the whole affair was absolutely zero. I was however aware of all the happenings, for how could it be otherwise!! During the annual school/college vacation, (which was only to Mankave) a day would not pass without a mention being made of the temple. Added to that, my mother had so much of faith in the presiding Deity and thus every event at home saw an offering being made to the Thennamkunnu Shivan.
In the meantime, the temple which stood on 70cents of land had been encroached by settlers on all sides and in the bargain had lost about 20 precious cents of land. Seeing the pathetic state of affairs, a few of the family members, garnered all the courage and strength and by the beginning of the new century began to correspond with The Trust and finally after five years of running up and down the length of God’s Own Country, got the temple back in the custody of the family.
The temple is once again ours and the onus is on us to see that things move well. Most members of the family have contributed in earnest and work on resurrecting the temple has begun. The sanctum sanctorum is nearing completion. Like other temples in Kerala, wood is extensively being used and this in turn definitely gives it a majestic look. The two disadvantages of using wood are that the work is slow and the cost is prohibitive. However the family has decided to go the full length and thus there will be no cutting corners. The people in the vicinity seeing the earnest work and the progress being made, have started showing interest in the happenings of the temple. The footfalls have increased, which in itself is a very good sign. Some of them have also made contributions in cash and kind. I was indeed lucky to witness the installation of the “Thaligakudam”/”Kumbam” atop the Sanctum Sanctorum during my recent visit.
All the progress mentioned above happened before the Trust was officially formed. With the “Valiaveettil Variyath Thennamkunnu Kshethram Trust” becoming a registered body, the septuplets have a lot of work to do. With only me living outside of Kerala, I will have to work that extra bit to show that I am worthy of my place. Since Mankave is just eleven hours away from Chennai, I have offered to be there whenever needed. My contention is that, if my Grand Uncle with nothing but sheer will power could give the family a place of worship, then why can’t we, as his descendants, with definitely more at our disposal, finish in a fitting manner what he humbly started. So it is definitely wake up time for the Septuplets - Krishnakumar, Susheela, Gangadharan, Lakshmi, Vasantha, Mohan and Usha for they have miles to go before they sleep and miles to go before they sleep!!!

The State of Red

Kolkata is where my husband spent his youth and hence his love for the city is paramount. Anything Bengali or having to do with Kolkata gets his antlers up and thus when he was informed that a friend’s daughter was getting married in Kolkata, he did not waste a moment and blocked his tickets for the trip. I was keen on going too, for it was over five years since I had met the said friends and of course the pull to buy good Bengal cotton saris was immense. However it set me thinking about my first trip to Kolkata which turned out to be a disaster in more ways than one and if I may say so, the only saving grace was K.C Das (a taboo for me) and RMCA Basak, the Sari place. I wondered if it was time for me to change my opinion.
After my marriage, I had heard so much about Kolkata from Kumar, that I was keen on seeing the place. So many of the street and area names were familiar to me from constant hearing that it was indeed with a lot of enthusiasm and gaiety that I started on my journey to Kolkata in 2001. As luck would have it, we had planned our onward journey by train and before we could even cross the Tamilnadu border, Sridevi who was only four years old then became sick. There was no way we could break the journey and thus proceeded. Howrah railway station was a nightmare and the taxi that we took to our hotel had apart from the windows on the sides a big hole on the chassis which allowed us to keep track of the metal road below. The hotel we checked into had seen its good days a couple of decades ago (the time when Kumar was there) but was in a state of complete deterioration and staying even one night with a sick kid was unthinkable. With help from some contacts we moved to a decent guest house the next day and spent the rest of our holiday there. In the meantime, Sridevi got well and we did the usual rounds of sight seeing, shopping, restaurants and literal walking down memory lanes. However I could not help but notice with dismay the state of the city and I couldn’t think how the state that had given us almost all our Nobel Laureates and a state so well known for it thinkers, artists and creative people could ever be like this. I wondered as to how the present generation of intelligentsia could sit back at the total disarray that Kolkata presented. I cannot tell you as to how grateful I was that my domicile was in Tamil Nadu. It was then that I truly began to appreciate the role of our civic bodies and government in improving and maintaining our environment. (Coming to think of it, this was in 2001 when the Corporation was not as active and omnipresent as it is today.) That trip ended on a miraculous note what with the ceiling fan missing Sridevi by a whisker. Yes, the fan at the Guest House just decided to give way and fell aplomb on the bed. At that point I had decided that Kolkata was not for me and another trip was unthinkable.
As they say, time is the best healer and it must be that the nine years had helped in diminishing my feelings and thus when the next opportunity came I packed my bags and set off. We are well into the second decade of the Century, a Century that has seen India burgeoning in all areas. A Century, in which India and Indians stand shoulder to shoulder with the best in the world. A Century, which has seen some of our countrymen doing immensely well in their specific fields and have in the process earned a niche among the richest in the world. In short the last ten years have been great for the country as it has made tremendous strides in all walks of life. This change has been noticeable all over the country right from the biggest of metropolises to the two and three tier cities and even to some extent to the small towns and villages. There seems to have been the much needed seeping of the wealth to the roots and thus the rise in the standard of living is obvious everywhere.
However the third populous city in India seems to be in a shell of its own. To an outsider, it looked as if the city and the state were in a deep slumber totally oblivious of all the happenings around. NOTHING had changed in the nine years. The roads and the pavements were bad and the road transport consisted of fleets of buses belonging to the early 20th century. As for the buildings, with the exception of the star hotels, malls and corporate offices were so badly in need of maintenance and a coat of paint. How I wished that the next time it rained there, it would be Paint and not water that fell from the skies. Some flyovers are in place however that and the new development of Salt Lake is nothing to write home about. The bunker shops on the sides of the road were a picture of poverty. I wondered as to how anyone could eke a living from such establishments. The parks on the road side were totally neglected and with the exception of few urchins playing ball and our four legged friends grazing, were ignored by majority of the population. With regard to the medical care, I did not have to do any probing for while in Chennai itself, I have seen a sizeable number of Bengalis taking treatment from the leading hospitals here. Thus the three days I spent there made me think and feel a sense of helplessness. I wished that I had the strength and the means to bring about an awakening. I returned with a heavy heart, which I must say was lightened with a compulsory visit to RMCA Basak.
I cannot pin point the blame for this apathy on anyone for who am I to do so. However I hope that the majority of the readers will agree when I attribute these reflections as being the State of Red.
PS. This indirectly becomes an ODE to my city of Chennai nee Madras as she celebrates her 371st Birthday.

The Makeover

It was time that Sowparnika got a makeover for she had begun to look shabby. In fact I had been toying with the idea for over a year and had even started feeling guilty of not having taken care of her appearance and of not having updated her with the changing times. Now I know that it is practically impossible to be the leader when it comes to keeping abreast with what is in vogue, however my idea was only to give her a different look a look which entitled her to a place in the 21st century. It dawned in me that for the last quarter of a century I have been looking at the same pieces of furniture kept in the same position and this truth brought in me a strange feeling of living in a home laid out for the visually impaired. The urge to renovate came to the fore; but the thought of executing seemed a very scary proposition. The main reason for my wariness was the thought of tilting the well poised apple cart and the inconvenience that would follow.
I did not have to wait long for my idea to take shape, for dot on her 13th birthday; Sridevi came up with her demand for a spacious room with an attached bathroom. Those who know Sowparnika know that Sridevi’s room was bereft of a bathroom and as a growing child who would before batting an eyelid become an adult, her demand was indeed justified. She was at present using the room earmarked for Guests. With live in guests being a norm, she would invariably be thrown out of that room on a regular basis. Thus as parents we took a decision to remodel an existing room and make it suitable for her needs. It seemed so simple a task. What was planned was the breaking down of a wall and including some open area to an existing room. The other half of the open area, we decided would be incorporated into an existing hall. It was a miniscule of a job in the scheme of things, and everybody from the contractor to the engineer to the architect were in agreement of that.
I am not a brick and mortar person and hence the initial stages of the work were not very exciting to me. Moreover when the work began, I was more focused on my US trip and hence did not get into the nitty gritty of things. This scene changed when I got back from the US and by mid June I was totally involved and busy picking up things for the finishing touch. I don’t consider myself an interior decorator, but somehow I think I may not be exaggerating when I say that I have a good aesthetic sense. I attribute this to my interest in Mathematics as this always helps me to see symmetry and balance whenever it comes to placing furniture and artifacts. I dare not try anything dramatic, for I would not know how to come clean at the end. Hence the last two months have seen me entering and exiting various shops ranging from furnishings, furniture, electrical fittings, sanitary ware, and hardware stores and so on and so forth. Without exaggerating I can say that I have visited the chosen shop in each specialty more than half a dozen times. For some unavoidable reason I could not make it to Chennai and hence had missed out on the final finishing in 1985. This I felt was a second chance provided to me. It also seemed a wonderful era to shop what with the latest in everything being freely available. Thus I made full use of the scenario and kept flitting in and out of the house at the drop of a hat. For someone fond of window shopping, this seemed a God sent opportunity. Thus I purchased with glee, whatever I felt most suited my dwelling. At this point I must say that it was not entirely a cake walk, for I had to also please a teenager who had a whole set of ideas brimming in her head. What was cheese for me turned out to be just chalk for her. Thus I quickly adapted to her way of thinking and in a very ingenious way and after some willful compromising we reached our goal.
However I was in for some disappointment when I realized that I could not get the workers to perform on time and in the manner in which I wanted. I quickly learnt to endure this disappointment, however being a normal mortal, my patience began to run thin. I was promised that the total work would finish in 2-3 months and the truth now was that the work had entered its sixth month. I don’t know even at this point if I could boldly and surely say that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel for in my scheme of things the end should have happened very long ago.
The final outcome definitely erases the frustration caused by the lackadaisical attitude of the people involved in the execution of the work. The bedroom looks beautiful with the fancy colours on the wall and the bright floral curtains. The walk in wardrobe is humungous and the dressing area is a dream of every girl/woman. As for the extension of the hall, it surely is picture perfect. With minimal furniture and an earthy atmosphere, it takes you back in years. The filtering of sunlight thanks to the pergola, gives it a well deserved aura. I had never dreamt of a niche like this when the work began, however I am more than pleased at the outcome.
No part of the house has been spared for if one area received a coat of paint, the other got a new set of curtains and the third some new piece of furniture. Thus I got to see that Sowparnika is refurbished and ready to welcome its long line of guests. I hope the workers will help me in meeting my deadline which is the 21st of August (as my Dad returns from the US on the 22nd). In the meantime I am left with just three days and there are a whole lot of loose ends to tie. I am expecting the liner today and am really hoping that he will keep his word. I need to go to Mat Bazaar and pick up some door mats and there are endless other chores to be fulfilled.
I was reminded of this saying in Tamizh, which when translated loosely means, “Try building a house, try getting your daughter married.” I had kind of rubbished this saying, with an attitude that both were simple tasks and the brouhaha was over nothing. After my experiences of the last six months, I realize that there can be no saying more accurate. If an inanimate object could bring about in me such a varied spectrum of emotions, I dare not think as to what my state would be when I have to execute the second half of the above saying. I fervently pray that I have the strength at that point of time.
In the meantime I invite all my friends to the revamped Sowparnika, which continues to exude the very same warmth.
P.S. Hope I have answered those friends who wondered loudly at my silence on the Blog front.

The Twins

They were brought home as triplets I guess. I use the word guess, because it could only have been that way. Looking back I have a faint memory of having seen them as triplets, but then I can never be too sure. However the fact is that today they are just two of them and have been so for at least three decades. Somewhere down the ages, I think one of them just called it a day. The twins are an enigma and I thought I should let the world know of their existence. The trouble is that I hardly have any details concerning them for the twins have been in my house for far too long. They precede me in the chronological order. The twins form and integral part of our daily lives. The sad thing however is that they don’t get to see each other unless when they are ceremoniously taken out for a mandatory cleaning. This cleanup happens once in a blue moon for there is absolutely no chance of them ever getting dirty. Thus they lead their individual lives conformed to their privacy and not knowing as to what the other twin is up to. This in a way upsets me, but at the same time I have no other choice for this is the only way in which I can ensure them their longevity.
I wonder as to how many of you would have guessed as to what my twins are. Well they are the two tea spoons, (if I may call them thus, for their scoops are deeper than the regular tea spoons) that are used to measure tea and sugar in the kitchen. The third I guess must have been in the coffee jar. I have no clue of how they made an entry into the house. If my memory is right, I remember my mother saying that they were already there in the kitchen when she came over as a bride. My Dad had an establishment with a cook while still a bachelor and I think the twins must have sneaked in at that point. I wonder if my Dad would be in a position to enlighten me of their origin since their entry must have happened over 55 years ago. Now when I try to recollect as to where my Dad would have been way back then, the instant answer that comes to my mind is Valparai, (a beautiful hill station in the Annamalai’s in Tamil Nadu). It was while he was there that he got married. The twins or rather the triplets may have been a part of his attempt at setting up a kitchen for his beautiful bride. While in Valparai his good friend was also the manager of The Spencer’s Departmental Store and thus my guess would be that he must have made his purchase from the said store. Now Spencer’s is by any standard an upmarket store and may have at that period of time stocked a whole lot of imported merchandise. Thus I deduce that my twins would have come of the supply line from some factory in Preston, Sheffield, Coventry or any of the metal manufacturing hubs of the Britain of the 40’s and 50’s. That makes them the longest serving foreigners in an otherwise traditional Indian kitchen.
I cannot describe these twins, but both of them would have been identical when they were manufactured. Now if you were to ask me as to what metal they are made off, I would definitely be at a loss. For one thing I am sure is that they are not made of the regular stainless steel nor are they made of pure silver. They are made of some alloy that has really stood the passage of time. Age has started showing on them for now they have a yellowish tinge as a result of their external coating having given way. I wonder as to whether electroplating will bring back their original appearance. However I dare not put them through any harsh treatment for fear of what it will do to their otherwise good health. People may say that it is not safe to use metal that is tarnished or without the protective coating, but to us at Sowparnika, we cannot think of a day when they are not around. For they hold the secret to our perfect brew.
Looking back I think it was indeed wonderful an idea to use them in the tea and sugar jars. This way they were not put to the daily grind of washing and scrubbing a process by which even the sturdiest of metals can give way. Had they been used in the day to day cooking process, the wear and tear and the reaction with food too would have bid them an early farewell. Whoever was responsible for their present position, I give them my thanks, for by their deed they have given me the opportunity to know the twins and the privilege of using them for almost all my life.
Today is one of those “Blue Moon Days” when the twins have had their ceremonial cleaning and it is truly a coincidence that I decided to write this piece. For the first time I gave them a thorough look and I was amazed to read with great difficulty as to what was written on them. Embossed on the back of the handle was the word “EVERLASTING”. I thought to myself as to how appropriate the word was. It almost seemed prophetic to me. Then I wondered if any of the present day manufacturers could dare to engrave a similar word. Finally I realised that the twins still have in them many more years of useful service and that they may be there to serve definitely the fourth and may be the fifth generation of the Variyath clan.
PS. Did my Dad make the purchase after reading what was written at the back? If that be the case, I take back my impression that men are hasty shoppers.