Raji's Ramblings

GOING BANANAS.......OVER BANANAS

2011-12-13T16:26:00.003+05:30

I never thought I could get so excited overa bunch of bananas. It is a commonplace fruit, a part of our daily diet, andone we see everyday in various shapes and sizes, at home and in the shops. Sowhy this elation over these tiny ones, barely longer than my fingers!

Because they came from our own front yard.

We live on the first floor of the house myfather-in-law built about 60 years ago. We used to live on the ground floor andmoved upstairs for various reasons nearly 20 years ago. A bad move, let me tellyou, when you are getting older, and your knees and other joints are beginningto creak. Till the early 90s , before there was water shortage and our welldried up, we maintained a fairly decent garden in the front yard. At one time, we even grew brinjals and snakegourds on one part. We had a little hedge of henna (marudani) shrubs, which wasvery popular. People took them freely, asking permission sometimes, andsometimes not. There were some hibiscus bushes, enough to give us blossoms forthe pooja room pictures. And other flowers and crotons. There even was ajasmine pandal. My brother-in-law, visiting from the

USA

remarked that it looked like a lush tropical garden. Sadly, nopictures exist of those days.

When the drought came, and water was at a premium,I had to let the garden go. It was sad, but we just couldn’t buy water to waterthe garden. We comforted ourselves by saying that when the rains came, theplants would sprout new leaves. But the rains failed successively for someyears, and our garden slowly died. Except for the two coconut palms whichvaliantly stood their ground. We then moved upstairs, and we left the tendingof the front yard to the occupants downstairs – my brother-in-law’s office.

All these years, apart from pulling up thehenna shrubs, much to my dismay, for they planned to do some landscapegardening, they did not do much. The yard in the front and sides were sweptclean and the few shrubs that remained watered. Two more palm trees, which my neighbour Yogambal had given me when theywere about four feet high, remained at the same height. But the last few years there has been plentyof rainfall, and our two palm trees have risen, and their fronds hang veryromantically over our balcony – I remember scenes in movies where the hero andheroine would croon on the balcony with the palm leaves in the background.

But I have meandered. My story is aboutthis person with green fingers. He is Chandrasekar, employed by the officedownstairs as a security person. Looking at him in his grey uniform , you wouldnever think that he could get down on the ground and work such marvels. He haschanged the face of the front yard.

Chandrasekar is from the rural areas andcame to Madrasto make a living. But his roots are in the green pastures of his village home near Trichy,and his passion is growing things. Rather than sit idle, he has spent his‘watching’ hours, if you will pardon the pun, fruitfully. He has planted allsorts of green plants all over the place, and some in pots which he has paintedhimself. Some of the pots have been painted with letters that spell outWELCOME. He repainted the thulasi madam and made sure the thulasi is green andflourishing.

Not an inch of space has gone waste. There is also a betel leafcreeper in a pot. (And I have one on the balcony, too).

He got hold of somebanana saplings and planted them, and tended them so sincerely. It was nowonder when one of them flowered. When we returned after our extended trip wewere so happy to see the small fruits. My grand daughter who loves bananas washappy to see them on the tree and touched them gingerly. The fruits were then ready for picking andChandrsekar cut off the bunch and gave us the green fruits to ripen. And that is the bunch you see at the top of this page.

And now another plant has borne fruit, too.

YOU TOO, HINDU?

2011-11-23T12:55:00.001+05:30

After a gap of six months I was looking atour regular newspaper, The Hindu.Because I was rather busy I did not take time to pore over everything, butskimmed over the headlines and the Letters page for a couple of days. Prominentamong the letters were references to Khushwant Singh praising The Hindu. I was pleased. Now here was agood writer appreciating quality media.

See this

As I began settling down to my daily routine,including filter coffee and The Hindu in the mornings, I began to notice someaberrations. The headlines were, well, just not up to the mark, not impersonalenough to reflect the seriousness of the articles or the dignified nature ofthe paper. I brushed the thought aside,thinking that I must be expecting too much, since I was not impressed either withthe newspapers I had seen in Seattle or New York.

But some days later I saw headlines withpuns in the paper, which would have seemed right on a tabloid, trivialising serious news.

One was on November 10, : Now, Moody's bluesfor Indian banks, when the financial/rating company had downgraded Indianbanks.

The other came a few days later - NiiraRadia says 'tata' to PR, when the infamous political lobbyist who hadsingle handedly managed to bring down a whole lot of big names, and among whoseclients was Tata, announced her decision to quit the PR business. This was avery tacky headline, I felt, and in bad taste.

http://www.thehindu.com/business/companies/article2582595.ece

Then last week when the government-run milkagency in Tamilnadu hiked its prices, and people were beginning to protestagainst this hike, the Hindu’s headline on November 20 ran

Afterprice hike, Aavin card holders no longer hold the aces.

Another headline today

Now,vegetable prices put consumers in soup

Maybe they sound clever to the editors andsub editors who wrote them, but I feel it brings down the standard of thenewspaper.

The picture of singer Dhanush in the newspapaer.

Then to crown it all, the most trivial ofentertainment news finds place on page 1 today. – the popularity of a song froma yet-to-be released film, and how it has gone viral, gaining instantpopularity on the internet . Good news, of course. But page 1?

Don’t for a minute think I don’t like thesong, I do - it is very catchy. Listento it here.

SHINE ON, SHORN OR LONG!

2011-11-04T17:55:00.000+05:30

Tresses, curls, locks - all beautiful wordsfor a beautiful part of ourselves – our crowning glory, hair.

Rapunzel (Courtesy Internet)

Hair plays an important part in the overallappearance of a person, and beautiful hair often indicates beautiful people. Literaryphysical descriptions of persons usually include hair – its colour, condition,length, texture. And some characters in legends and stories are remembered fortheir special hair. Like Rapunzel, who was locked up in a high tower withoutsteps by a witch, and whose hair was the only way to reach the tower. Theprince who loved her climbed up the length of her hair which she threw downfrom the window of the tower. Can you imagine the length and strength of thatdelightful mane?

Lady Godiva (Courtesy Internet)

Lady Godiva covered herself with her longtresses to ride through the town. Her husband the rich lord had said that if she rode naked through the town, he wouldreduce taxes for the commoners. Her hair served as a cloak, and not even thelone person who dared to peep out as she rode by (all the villagers had vowedto close their doors and windows and stay inside) could see anything but herhair. Now see how handy long hair is?

Samson and Delilah (Courtesy Internet)

Samson’s very strength was in his longhair, and when the bewitching Delilah, learnt his secret, she told his enemieswhere his strength lay. They cut his hair and the poor man was left a weak andbroken man.

In art too our own Ravi Varma has paintedgoddesses and women with long flowing hair, just as his European counterpartslike Botticelli (Birth of Venus) have.

Ravi Varma's Mohini (Courtesy Internet)

Botticelli's Birth of Venus (Courtesy Internet)

Till recently women wore their hair long,and considered it a thing of beauty, caring for it, and grooming it well. Ahundred strokes with the brush before bed was an assured form of getting thatshine. Brushing ensures that the hair is tangle free and massages the scalp aswell. The other use the hairbrush was put to need not be mentioned here.

Persis (Courtesy Internet)

Long or short, women are fascinated withthe styling and grooming of hair. If it is curly, we want it straight. Ifstraight, we want it wavy. And no, noteveryone can look as charming as Persis Khambatta did, without hair. She shavedher head for a movie role and still looked great.

Iused to long for wavy hair, I remember, and hated it when the ends of my plaitsstuck out like broomsticks. While as children we suffered the weekly oil massageand following wash, we now realise now that it helps bring a rush of blood to the roots and stimulate them. During thedays I was growing up, there was a biweekly ritual of massaging the head withcoconut oil (which was heated with powdered peppercorns) and then washing itoff with shikakai or the paste of Bengal grampowder. This kept the hair soft and silky. We also washed our hair daily withplain water. I still do it, though the biweekly massage seems to have become biannual! Well almost.

Here is a real life Rapunzel, my friendfrom college days. Her hair was long, thick and she wore them in two plaitsreaching right down to her thighs. She put sambrani in her hair after washingit, and it smelt so divine. In the picture you see only one of her plaits. Theone alongside her is me, with my pigtail hanging behind modestly.

Washing the oil off has become simpler withso many shampoos available. I remember when I went to Manchester in the early 70s I was amazed atthe number of shampoos in the shops. And I indulged myself by trying out adifferent one each time. At home here, there was only Tata’s shampoo, whichcame in the same type of bottle as the Tata hair oil. Many a laughter riot tookplace when my grandfather mistook the shampoo for the oil, and ended up with ahead full of bubbles.

In Kerala and Bengal,women are blessed with lustrous long hair. I have wondered if the fish eating habitsin these regions have contributed to this. Definitely, healthy eating habits contributeto healthy shining hair, if not to the texture or thickness. Lots of greens andprotein are a sure way to bring that sheen to you hair.

Born in Kerala, I spent many years outsidethe state, till finally settling down in Chennai after marriage. I have not cutmy hair but let it grow. Gray now, it falls down to my thighs, but sadly, lacksthe thickness it used to have in my young days. I used to trim it to hip lengthregularly to keep the ends even. Now I require the extra length to hold it whenI put up my hair, to make up for the lack of thickness. My seven year-oldgranddaughter is however impressed, and longs to grow her own. She has silkystraight hair, but it is kept short for easy management.

I still love massaging, oiling my hair andshampooing it regularly. I am looking forward to using the products in thisdelightful hamper.

THE LETTER I DID NOT SEND

2011-10-21T10:16:00.002+05:30

We are back after spending six months withour children in Seattle and Newport. Our return trip on October 17, aMonday, from Seattle was also via London – a British Airwaysflight with a one hour stop. One hour to make the connecting flight to Chennai!When I realised that, panic master that I am, I started worrying about it –will we make the connection or not? What would happen if we did not? Innumerableother questions and unlikely scenarios passed through my mind, which I freelyshared with everyone. ( I am sure they were fed up with me!). I am quite aCassandra when it comes to air travel, always sure that something will gowrong.

We decided to ask for a wheelchair at London so I would nothave to walk the distance (I sometimes have a problem walking fast) from thelanding gate to the connecting gate - sometimes these gates are quite farapart. And we had seen how quickly wheelchair transported people are helped toget on flights. We were also reassured that since the two flights were the sameairline, there would be some sort of communication between the flights, andthat we would be able to board the connecting flight without any problems.

At Seattleairport while checking in, my son Sankar was told when he enquired that therewould be no problems at all, that we would make the connection without anytrouble, as one hour would be plenty of time. So that was good.

I was armed with a cell phone which hadbeen successfully recharged just prior to our departure day, so that we couldcontact Sankar and tell him when we boarded at London.

The flight took off a few minutes late, butmade up easily. However landing at Heathrow was delayed because of it being abusy time - noon. We got off first from the aircraft, thanks to a very nice andconsiderate stewardess who sympathised with us and led us out – and depositedme on the wheelchair which was ready. We were already 15 minutes late. Flight was at one pm, and boarding closedat 12.40. We had about 20 minutes to reach the gate – after security.

I decided to write a letter to our agentwho had arranged the wheelchair for us, purportedly from my husband, about our interesting experience.

DearSir

Thankyou. The wheelchair was waiting. Verynice of you to have arranged it.

But we made the connection with great difficulty, as there is only one hour to do it. The plane from Londonwas late, the emplaning gate was very far off. The air hostess verygraciously allowed us to disembark first, even before the first classpassengers. Apart from my wife there were four other people who had asked forwheelchairs. The wheelchair persons were transferred to a motorised cart (forfive people) to be transported to the departure gate. The cart driver had towait for the fifth person, but that person did not turn up – he must have gotoff. So the driver left a little late, as he had to make sure that personwasn't waiting. All these delays added up to quite a few minutes. By the timemy wife got to security, boarding was closed because of all the delay.

In the meantime, I along with others had to wait for a train to take us to thegate. Fortunately, a staff member was with us to guide us. The train did notcome in time, and so we walked and ran all the way (almost half a mile) tosecurity for the gate to fly from. But I made it.

And my wife did not. When the lady at the entrance to security checked onher computer, she found that boarding had closed. My wife was told that shecould not board. My wife pointed out that she was travelling with me, andthey checked on the computer and found that I had boarded. My wife told themshe had to travel with me, and so asked that I should beoffloaded.

I had got into the plane thinking since she had gone in the car, she would bein the plane before me. I was shocked to see she was not. I also asked to beoffloaded, as we had to travel together .
.
In the meantime, the person at security got on the phone and managed topersuade the flight people to take us. Since there was no crowd at security andwe could be cleared quickly, she requested them to wait for us five passengers,and they agreed, thankfully.
It was a mad and tense hour.

Lessons learnt

1. In future we should not take these one hourconnection flights.

2. Wheelchair facilities do not ensure/guaranteeboarding.

3. Ask for wheelchairs for both, or avoidit – at least you will be together, board or miss.

4. Flights will not be held up if you missyour connection – even if it is the airlines’ fault with late landings. Theywill re-route you. In our case the next flight to Chennai was after two days, onFriday.

5. Even your vegetarian meal will be offloaded if you don’t make it – we learnt that our special meal had been returnedas we had not made it on time. Fortunately we had some other food – and it was good,too. Since the destination was Chennai, there was vegetarian food available.

6. Luggage will be offloaded if thepassenger does not board. I was fully confident that at least two of our bagswould not arrive. But hey! What a pleasant surprise. They were all there in Madras when we landed.

P.S. I didn’t send the letter.

HURRICANE POWER

2011-09-14T10:34:00.001+05:30

A couple of weeks ago, when Hurricane Irene was not even thought of, we went with my son Sriram and his family from Newport, New Jersey for a short vacation to Corpus Christi in Texas, to join my son Sankar and his family for his birthday celebrations at his sister-in-law’s. Two days into the holiday, Hurricane Irene came into being and took on great significance, since it was predicted that it would hit just where we resided, bang opposite the river from New York city. Initial relief at having escaped the fury of nature, turned to alarm as we realized (a) our return flight was cancelled. (b) our apartment could be in one of the areas most affected by the hurricanes, with rains pouring into the 10^th floor balcony and entering the rooms. My son narrates what happened next….

Continental- OK breakfast but shoddy Airline

It started with a call to my colleague, Jimmy at work on Thursday the 25th of August, when he mentioned the “I” word. Irene, he said was expected to cross New York City on Sunday which meant I could have problems with my flight back from Texas scheduled the same day. Soon after, I started tracking the hurricane on the Weather Channel in Corpus Christi, where I was visiting my brother’s sister-in-law and husband (Meera and Moey) along with my parents, Vandana and Samyukta. My brother, Shankar and his family were already holidaying there. My vacation for the most part hitherto was gulping Shiner Bock, a local favorite brew and goofing around with my nieces and daughter, amidst dips at the pool in the backyard.
At some point during Friday morning, it was reported that some of the airlines including JetBlue and American canceling all weekend flights into most of east coast including all the New York Airports. However, Continental’s website continued to show through all of Friday afternoon, that my flight back was on schedule for Sunday. The Weather Channel, which I watched more of that day than I had done all my life, presented ominous scenarios Irene could unleash on NYC (bringing to mind devastating pictures of flooded streets, submerged train lines- images straight out of disaster movies such as “I Am Legend”, “Day After Tomorrow”, etc).
The pithy cancelation mail from the airlines came on Friday evening - almost telegraphic, with simply the notice of cancelation. I promptly call Orbitz and put on hold for almost four hours (surely a record, at least for me!). I did get a reprieve for about 45 minutes when I was doing Samyukta’s bedtime routine and Vandana took over from me the Muzak from Orbitz..
At some point the family got tired of the sight of me on the phone, being only half engaged in the general merry-making and urged that I abort this attempt. They offered other recommendations like heading to the local airport the first thing next morning to rebook from there, try calling the next morning when there are more agents to answer calls. My father, the eternal optimist in the American Way emphatically stated that the airline would contact me and accommodate me in Monday’s flight,.
I subsequently called Continental directly only to be told that my call could not be taken due to the high call volume - absurd and frustrating. I vaguely remembered someone saying that they were in a similar situation last winter with canceled flights but got lucky with the Elite number as those calls are always taken. I googled to see if that number was floating around but had no luck. I then tried my luck with Facebook. Facebook, which had subjected me to asinine updates

like the colors of people’s underclothes and more recently to people’s cravings, could serve some higher purpose after all. My status update was changed to a request to my friends to send me the 1800 Elite number. My ever reliable friends (and one family member) replied with alacrity providing details of THE number and their account numbers. I promptly called this number and was asked to stay on hold while it played a recorded message. It got a little tiring hearing Continental’s spiel on how important I was and how their “congress of chefs and sommeliers” cook gourmet spreads for me and prepare my wine while I fly.
It was my brother's birthday on the 27th which was one of the main reasons we were visiting Corpus Christi. I joined the rest of the family in their Birthday chants and merry making at the stroke of midnight; the bluster from Continental continued to flow into my defenseless ear.
My sister in-law’s birthday gift was the Beatles Rock Band and the whole family was harmonizing Beatles songs into the wee hours of the night. A couple of hours into the call, a live voice finally appeared on the other side and exclaimed Beatles while people were belting out Taxman in the background. Fantastic I thought - she listens to the Beatles and I have to milk that! In the course of the small talk we indulged in on Beatles, she mentioned that she had trouble getting her hands on White Album. Now unless you are looking to shop in Circuit City or lurking around half-empty Borders, this should be a relatively easy task. I said that her best bet was buying it from Amazon in the hope that it would earn me some goodwill.
Within an instant, she said that there were no flights available to any of the New York airports from Houston till Friday, the 2nd of September. She said all available tickets were already booked by passengers from other Airlines, which made no sense at all. I was incredulous and asked if she could redirect me to New York via any other place, while she put me on hold for another 30 minutes or so. She came back with what she said was the best option available. Fly to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania via Cleveland and Houston from Corpus Christi and then drive from there into New Jersey. The earliest date available to the journey with this tortuous itinerary was Tuesday, the 30th of August.
In the meanwhile, all mainstream Channels continued to present an apocalyptic picture of New York and how prepared the city was getting for this cataclysmic event. My building in Jersey City was right on the Hudson riverfront and there were messages from the Condo manager to the building newsgroup asking residents to move things from their balcony, stay away from the glass windows and move to the corridor if things got really worse. The Cassandra in me imagined gale forces breaking my apartment’s windows, and inundating the wooden floors and molds proliferating consequently. I also had visions of all our significant documents destroyed in the deluge.

I called my concierge and asked him to move things around so nothing was in the balcony or by the windows. He not only moved it within minutes but also called to confirm that everything was taken care of and provided some peace of mind on that front. Clearly he was not schooled in the Continental customer service academy.
We finally made the trip back traveling most of Tuesday which for most part was thankfully smooth. We reached home in the wee hours of the 31st fatigued and worn out but relieved to find that everything in the building and apartment was almost as we had left it. I felt much better and more fortunate as the day progressed when I heard more horrific tales of Continental’s monumental missteps, which I am sure there were plenty more of. Two sets of families, both supposed to fly back that Sunday from Vegas and Aruba respectively, were instead driving back in one case and returning on the 5th I of September n another.
Like I said before-OK breakfast and lousy airline!!

A SPRING EXERCISE

2011-03-08T22:55:00.001+05:30

Between a mother who cooks, knits, blogs and thinks nothing of getting up at 4 and making some vadam dough because the sun is shining brightly, and a sister who works full-time and cooks for hubby late at night after returning home, I stand out as a person who happily thinks nothing of doing nothing .

One morning last week I got up at my usual time and walked groggily to the balcony to get some fresh air. And this is what I saw.

My mother had been busy - not wanting to waste the March sun, she had got up at 4 am and finished making the dough for the vadam and spread it out in cute circles on banana leaves which she had herself gone down and cut from the banana trees in the garden below! And all this before I had even woken up. (Every self-respecting Madras housewife knows that this is the season to make and dry vadam, and store them to last through the year.)

Enough to put anyone to shame. Fortunately, I am made of sterner stuff, and did not in the least feel any twinges of guilt. While she made sure that the vadams were dried thoroughly for three whole days, chasing the sun from this end of the balcony to the other, I (like the lilies of the field?) stood and took pictures. The vadaams then took on a glazed and shiny appearance, indicating they were well and thoroughly dried. Then my mother laboriously removed them from the (also dried) leaves, and dried them once again - to be stored, and ready for frying.

Dried and ready to be fried

The fried vadam, ready to be eaten

But guess who was the first to congratulate her when she fried them and served them to be tasted? Oh, they were so good, crisp and white and fluffy!.

The next batch is being readied now.....

A SPRING EXERCISE

2011-03-08T22:20:00.001+05:30

I am different!

Between a mother who knits, blogs and thinks nothing of getting up at 4 and making some vadam dough because the sun is shining brightly, and a sister who works full-time and cooks for hubby late at night after returning home, I stand out as a person who thinks nothing of doing nothing .

One morning last week I got up at my usual time and walked groggily to the balcony to get some fresh air. And this is what I saw.

My mother had been busy - not wanting to waste the March sun, she had got up at 4 am and finished making the dough for the vadam and spread it out on cute circles on banana leaves which she had herself gone down and cut from the banana trees! And all this before I had even woken up.

But I was the first to congratulate her when she fried them and served them to be tasted. Oh they were so good.

IS THAT ME!

2011-02-12T07:42:00.000+05:30

Bed unmade,

Table not cleared,

Lunch not cooked,

Clothes unwashed,

Dishes piled up.

Books unread,

Movies unwatched,

Songs unsung,

Prayers unsaid

Classes missed.

Phone silenced,

Emails unanswered,

Children ignored,

Friends forgotten

Whatever happened?

Placing titbits,

Writing comments,

Liking posts,

Virtual living

Mommy’s networking!

MAIJI IN THE HINDU

2010-10-29T11:29:00.003+05:30

When we were growing up, my mother (Maiji, as we and everyone else calls her) had trained us not to brag about ourselves or our achievements (what little there were). Fortunately she never placed a restriction on us showing off about her. For that is just what I am going to do!

It was a very pleasurable moment for our family when Maiji was noticed by the big newspaper of the city. We are proud of our mother for all her achievements as a housewife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, master cook, knitter, crossword solver, sudoku finisher and later on as a blogger. We did not seek any publicity, though. We just know Maiji is multi-talented and admire her.

We appreciate her all the more for carrying on with all these activities, given her problem with her eyes - something Maiji seldom talks about, though she wrote about it once. She has glaucoma which is under control with surgery. (In fact she had another surgery early this week, soon after the publication appeared.)

So when the reporter Anusha Parthasarathy of the MetroPlus, The Hindu, contacted her, having spotted Maiji’s blog, we were pleased and to be honest, we were quite thrilled when the article appeared

I give below the link to the relevant piece or click here

http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/society/article843051.ece

The picture above is from the article taken by The Hindu photographer Sivaji Rao. I feel he has captured Maiji beautifully.

NDTV Hindu, which has a MetroPlus show, came home to follow up the article with a talk with Maiji . The show will be aired on Saturday October 30 at 9.30, and at different times in the week later.

You can view NDTV Hindu on Big TV or Tata sky and also on SCV. If you have Tata Sky all you need to do is to go to channel 532 - which is NDTV 24x7 and press the red button on your remote. NDTV Hindu will appear as picture in picture.

Update: And if you missed the programme, you can watch it here.

A THOUSAND YEARS AND A THOUSAND DANCERS

2010-09-29T17:41:00.007+05:30


The temple when we visited it a couple of years ago The Nandi is on the right.

It is a thousand years since the first kumbabhishekam of the Brihadeeswarar Temple in Thanjavur was performed. King Raja Raja Chozhan who built the temple would have been pleased to see this occasion commemorated.

There were many celebrations including an exhibition and the release of coins and stamps by the Government of Tamilnadu. But one that impressed me most was the getting together of a thousand Bharatanatyam dancers to perform at this venerated venue (on September 25). Chennai Doordarshan carried the programme live and so did the webcast from kutcheribuzz.com.

The dancers performed on the vast area around the huge Nandi. The area had been covered with coloured rugs/dhurries to form a kind of stage. I could spot among other well known performers Revathi Ramachandran, Srekala Bharat, actor Vineet, Narasimhachari and his wife Vasantalakshmi, and Swarnamalya. It was a tight squeeze for the thousand dancers, they barely had small squares of four feet to themselves. But how organised and disciplined they were, not moving out at all from their limited zones, but skilfully performing within their ambits.

Courtesy: kutcheribuzz.com

It was Dr. Padma Subrahmanyam, eminent Bharata Natyam dancer, who proposed the idea to mark the event thus. Who better? Dr. Padma’s research for Ph. D.was on the karanas (basic dance units of the Bharatanatyam) in the sculptures in the Thanjavur temple, the Nataraja temple at Chidambaram and the Sarangapani temple at Kumbakonam. The Rajarajesvaram temple, as it was known earlier, has beautiful sculptures of 81 karanas (108 karanas form the alphabet of the Bharatanatyam) on the walls of the floor above the sanctum, which were rediscovered about forty years ago. Though space had been earmarked for the remaining 27 karanas, they were not sculpted.

Dr. Padma who was the the convenor, coordinator and organiser of the dance spoke of how the programme had taken form. She said that she had invited dancers by email and all of them had responded promptly stating their willingness to participate. Dr. Padma chose eleven verses from Tiruvisaippa, composed by Karuvur Thevar, the guru of Raja Raja Chozha, to be set to music. DVDs were made of the dances to be performed and sent to them. They practised following the DVDs. There was no rehearsal at all. To see them dance so harmoniously, one would never have guessed it.

All the dancers had come under their own steam, and each of them was rewarded with a pendant, with an engraving of the temple, strung on a pearl chain.

The compere who made the announcements was well-informed and well-read and his recital of some verses in Thamizh (of which my ignorance is abysmal) was impressive. He complemented Dr. Padma perfectly. Unfortunately I could not get his name. You can see him here with Dr. Padma from 25 seconds onwards.

Dr. Padma made a request to the Chief Minister. “Just as the great king Raja Raja Chozha inscribed the names of his 400 dancers on the temple walls, I request that the effort of the thousand dancers at the event marking the thousandth year celebration may also be inscribed on these walls.”

From The Hindu

My disappointment the following day when I could not see a single picture in The Hindu, my daily newspaper, was great. There was one of Dr. Padma with the Chief Minister, but that did not convey the idea of the grandeur of the performance. Having Dr. Karunanaidhi as the chief guest gave the event an aura of a different kind, and the programme must have gained by the cooperation of various government agencies. The next day, happily, there was a picture in The Hindu. I wonder how many other newspapers reported the event or carried pictures of it.

Vincent D’Souza, my former boss, and editor of kutcheribuzz.com (the website for classical music and dance) much to my great envy, was present at Thanjavur for the momentous event. And there are some brilliant pictures on the site. The site is also continuing to webcast the programme,

See the webcast here: http://www.chennaistream.com/kb/thanjavur1000/.

There are some uploads on the youtube too.

Some enterprising person has alerted the Guinness World of Records about this event.

MY COUSIN THE WRITER

2010-09-27T18:52:00.001+05:30

The family is feeling very proud, and patting itself on its collective back - one of our clan is now a published writer.

My cousin Sekar’s book, The Goat, the Sofa and Mr. Swami, has been published by Hachette recently. There was a book launch to mark the event, and what was to have been a modest crowd at the Pasha at The Park turned out to be a standing-room-only affair.

My brother Raja, his good friend, ( in the picture above with Sekar) came down especially from Delhi for the event – and was pleasantly surprised to see his name in the ‘thanks’ page – a tribute to their friendship.

Tim Murari, a well-known writer from Chennai, was the chief guest on the occasion, but not having had time to read the book, since it reached him rather late for that, he could not offer any comment. His taciturnity was balanced by the friendliness of the crowd tossing intelligent questions at Sekar, who answered articulately and calmly. Sekar also read an excerpt from the book, making us want to read more.

My mother with Sekar's mother at the launch

The book is an interesting read, and can be termed a gentle satire. The Pakistani Premier wants to visit India to see a cricket series, a dubious premise, but that sets the tone of this story, creating many absurd situations. The novel is in the voice of Joint Secretary Swami, the Indian Prime Minister’s general factotum, and he narrates the story seriously without descending to the ridiculous. And I think that is where the writer’s triumph lies - the book is not farcical, while the state of affairs (affairs of the state?) is.

Sekar (R. Chandrasekar) schooled in Mayo College, Ajmer, and studied in Vivekananda College here in Chennai and then in the Delhi School of Economics. He went to the US and did a Masters from the University of Chicago, and worked there for some years before returning to Chennai and settling down.

Here is wishing Sekar the publishing of many more books.

AN ENGAGEMENT IN THE FAMILY

2010-07-21T10:00:00.001+05:30

There is nothing quite like a wedding to bring families together to share the moment and enjoy themselves. Very often, it is an excuse for a family get-together.

It has been quite a while since there has been a wedding in our family. The last one was a nephew’s, almost three years ago. So it was very exciting when we learnt that my brother’s son Kartik was getting married soon to Danielle. My brother has lived in the USA for many years now, and his children were born and brought up there.

Both my brother, Bala, and his wife Jaishree were eager to have an engagement ceremony and celebrate the occasion. They opted to have a dinner party for both families, and my brother decided to bring a little of the Indian ritual. He printed invitations for the function and gave the occasion the South Indian name of ‘Nischaya Tharatham’. He described what it is and detailed its significance. (See Photo)

The idea was well appreciated, he told me.

Bala also mentioned both of Kartik’s grandfathers (who are no longer with us) in the invitation, making both grandmothers happy.

Most of us (family) are here in India, and we could not make it to the engagement; my son represented us on the occasion. But we hope to be there for the wedding next year.

PHISHING

2010-07-18T19:20:00.000+05:30

It was like a punch in the stomach. My eyes widened in shock as I read the mail from a blogger friend who lives in the US. He and his family had gone on holiday and lost everything except their passports after being mugged. This was a horror tale to beat all others. I dread anything to do with travel, and this seemed to be the ultimate vindication of my fears. I looked to see how we could help, but there was no plea or address for help to be rendered.

I'm writing this with tears in my eyes,my family and I came down here
to London, England for a short vacation unfortunately we were mugged at
the park of the hotel where we stayed,all cash,credit card and cell
were stolen off us but luckily for us we still have our passports with
us.
We've been to the embassy and the Police here but they're not helping
issues at all and our flight leaves in less than 3hrs from now but
we're having problems settling the hotel bills and the hotel manager
won't let us leave until we settle the bills.
Am freaked out at the moment.

Then it struck me - why should anyone who is in such a desperate situation mail his blogger friends? Highly suspicious now, and remembering stories of similar mails sent by friends, or purportedly sent by friends, I decided to check it out. First I copy pasted the first sentence on to Google search, and saw that the very same words in the same order appeared in many references to ‘phishing’ or scam. A little comforted now, I called the number of the friend in the US. I was delighted when his wife answered, and told me that they were fine, and that they had had similar calls from others on their mailing list, asking after their well being.

What had happened was this - someone had hacked into his account and sent the ‘phishing’ mail, and now he could not access the hacked mail account. Follow up mail from and to other blogger friends reassured everyone that our friend was ok. (Read his account of it here). To those who had answered the email, the hacker would send an address where money could be wired, that was the modus operandi.

It was a relief to know that they were not caught in such dire straits, for it has been known to happen to people we know.

When friends of ours living in the Middle East visited their son in New York, their luggage was stolen right from the hotel while they were getting themselves registered. Another couple we know had their bag containing their passports, laptop, cash, credit cards, watches and other valuables (not so many cell phones in those days) stolen from the restaurant of the hotel they were staying in – it was at Austria, I think.

Though some things were recovered eventually, the joy of the trip must have diminished considerably.

SKYLINE SLIDESHOW - with a little help from Terry

2010-07-18T05:54:00.001+05:30

Last week I posted some pictures of a favourite view. I had a whole bunch, and though I would have loved to share them , it was just not practical to post them all. Blogger does not have a provision for a slide show within the post, so I had to make do with a small one on the sidebar, much to my dissatisfaction.

So I turned to blogger pal Terry, and asked if he could help. It was a piece of cake for him I am sure, and here you have what he made out of my pictures.

Thank you, Terry.

THE LAST DAY

2010-07-16T18:00:00.004+05:30

Today was the last day of my assignment - an assignment of six weeks that had taken only one hour per day, an assignment I had taken up without quite knowing how I had managed to land it. I had agreed to teach English (Language and Literature) to the students of Std. IX, at a neigbourhood school. The previous teacher had had to leave and they were looking for a replacement. A friend had recommended me, and when the Principal called and asked me, I somehow found myself accepting, on condition that I would be relieved by July 15, since I had some family commitments after that.

Twenty years earlier, I would have welcomed a job like this enthusiastically, but right now, no schoolboy could have wended his way slower to school than me. A life of retirement, working at my own pace at my housewifely duties, or not working at all, had spoilt me, and I felt no desire to throw myself into the routine of a harried housewife who has to go to work.

The Principal enticed me pointing out that there were only ten students, and supported me by arranging for the classes to be held in a spare room on the ground floor, instead of the second floor room, out of consideration for my creaking joints and grey hair.

And so I started and it was interesting to be in touch again with the writers and poets whose works (I had been an English Literature student at college) formed part of the syllabus. I found I enjoyed teaching the youngsters, and interacting with them. They were intelligent, attentive, and eager to learn. But I wondered if they were happy with my methods, and getting the right learning from me - my teaching experience was dated, more than 40 years ago! After all they are going to write the Board exams next year.

Today they set my fears to rest. They knew this was my last class. They presented me a ‘Thank You’ card made on an A4 sheet, and signed with all their names. “We want you to come back,” said one of them. “We like the way you teach,” said another, and when they all chorused “Yes” to that, I was touched.

When I took leave of the Principal, she said that the children had told her they did not want me to leave. I felt that I must have done something right.

THE CAPTIVATING SKYLINE

2010-07-11T22:00:00.006+05:30

In the few months I was at Newport, one of the first things I would do every morning was to gaze at the New York skyline, visible from our 10th floor apartment. The view was the same, yet ever changing. I was simply fascinated by it, and the different views I could see each day. I managed to take some photos at different times on many days (September 2009 to February 2010 - some of the dates are misleading because I goofed up and did not set the date on the camera! )

Each one seemed to reflect a mood with the skies also changing colours dramatically and creating interesting backgrounds.
More pictures here

2010-05-21T05:29:00.001+05:30

SNOW

2010-05-18T17:07:00.003+05:30

There is no pleasing some people. Sweltering in the May heat here in Chennai, and sweating profusely, I long for the the cool climes with Samyukta in Newport, Jersey City, just across the river from New York where her parents work. And there in the winter, I longed for the warm (?) sunshine of Chennai

Though we have visited our family before, it has always been in the summer. This was the first time we were there in the winter. (Other winters I experienced were in Delhi which now seem comparatively mild, where I grew up, and in Manchester, UK where we spent a couple of years, comparable to the New York one).The cold was something terrible. Inside the building there was no discomfort, but stepping out made me miserable. Any exposed part would turn red and start itching. I would be well wrapped up, right up to my ears, but my cheeks and nose suffered.

And what a winter – snowfall more than once in the season, even at the end of February, when our visit was coming to an end, and we though that the weather might turn warmer. On one occasion we read that the snowfall was more than 12 inches. And we could no longer see the Manhattan skyline from the apartment. On a clear day you can see the skyline of a section of from the tiny balcony of our 10th floor apartment, or through the ceiling to floor glass windows of the living room. It was as though it had just disappeared. The balcony and the furniture in the balcony were totally covered by snow.

We read of disrupted flights and stranded passengers, while we stayed warm and snug inside, thankful not to be out there. My son and daughter-in-law of course had to go to work, snow or not, and once Vandana even had to fly to Milwaukee overnight for a client meet. My husband wrapped himself up well from top to toe and trudged out as he did everyday, snow or not. I was content to stay home with Samyukta and admire it all from there.

But one day, we did drive out to the city to take in the sights. The ledges and crevices on the buildings were loaded with snow, while the denuded branches of trees bowed down with the snow. We saw the snow banked up on the pavements, and workers cleaning the roads. When we got out to walk to Saravana Bhavan for brunch (yes there is one there, too) we had to squelch our way through the snow. And then the snow was no longer white, but a slushy mess.

After one snowfall we had the most amazing view from the apartment. I got up in the middle of the night just to see the snow fall. It had however stopped snowing, but the terrace on the floor below us was covered in snow, so pristine and pure, and awash with a white light as though it was moonlit, that it looked surreal. I took this picture without using a flash....

...and this is what the place looks like minus the snow.

Daytime saw some brave youngsters falling about in the snow and trying to make snowmen.

The skating rink in the neighbourhood was frozen solid, and there was fun and falls for the children , and some adults too.

As I sit on our balcony here in the morning before it gets too hot, listening to all the birds – from the crow to the koel, sipping my filter coffee, I think about the apartment there, so warm and cosy, insulated from the cold snow outside, and so silent. No birds sang.

.

….AND REMAINS CONNECTED

2010-05-13T23:31:00.003+05:30

My only connection to him was that our blogs appeared in the MysoreBlogPark. I read his blogs and left comments, especially about his photographs, which were really remarkable. And even that I haven’t done in the last few months.

Because of this blog visiting, a kind of friendship via e mail developed between this young man who works in Bangalore, and me. He gave me tips about photography, which I tried to follow with my ordinary digital camera. (Well my husband’s actually – I gave it to him for his birthday so I could use it to take pictures for my blog!). But I don’t think I have been a good student.

About 18 months ago he sent me an invitation to attend his brother’s wedding – a beautifully decorated card it was. A very sincere mail accompanied it requesting me to give my dates of travel so that he could meet and welcome us. Sweet as the thought was, we could not go.

Earlier this year he contacted me to ask for my postal address to send me a calendar he had made using his photographs. I was delighted to oblige, and the calendar arrived, accompanied by a beautiful and neatly handwritten letter. Whoever has the time or inclination to write nowadays? Everyone just dashes off e- mails or makes calls. Which is just what I did – I sent him an email thanking him for the beautiful calendar, when I couldn’t get him on the number he had provided on the envelope.

I did not hear from him for a week, when suddenly another cover appeared from him. This contained, much to my delight, an invitation to his wedding, and another hand written letter in the same beautiful writing, with a sincere request to attend the wedding. And also remembering to ask about Maiji, my mother whose blog posts also he used to read.

He is getting married this month in Udipi to Nishka and then goes to his home place Rourkela for the reception.

And what did I do? Did I write a nice reply wishing him and his bride? No, I called him on the cell number which he had thoughtfully included in the letter and wished him.

Dear Tanay, I wish you and your bride a long life of togetherness and happiness.
And hope to, as your blog says, remainconnected !

A BLOG POST RECONNECTS

2010-05-11T15:04:00.004+05:30

It is all baby Samyukta’s fault.

Cuddling and cooing with her was my main occupation in the six months I was with her, and I developed an inertia and indifference towards everything else. We returned two months ago, leaving her, and I found that the inertia persisted. I looked at my blog post and found my last posting was in October last year.

Not that anyone cares, I think, least of all me. And I had almost decided to stop blogging once and for all, like I did once before. But something happened which revealed that blogging, apart from a good exercise on the keyboard for arthritic fingers, and pandering to my own vanity, has a genuine worth.

A couple of weeks ago my chat box on g mail popped out to show a guest on line – the chat box when accessed through the blog does not reveal the identity of the guest, but just cryptically says ‘guest’, with the dire warning “You are talking to an unidentified person, be careful what you say” or some thing very like it. I almost feel that it is like “Big Brother is watching”. The guest said “I was born in the house you lived in.” And I was nonplussed. To my knowledge the only person who was born in this house in Chennai where I live is my niece Swati, and she and I are well aware of that fact. At a loss, I decided to prod, and got some extremely interesting and satisfying answers.

The guest, Tara, was born when her parents had lived in the same house that we had in Pondicherry. (See above). Her father had been my father’s immediate predecessor in the same government post, and so had lived there. Tara said she had seen my post on Pondicherry and had been quite excited. Though she did not remember much of her Pondicherry days, she said, her older sister Hema did, and her memories were quite like my own, including our school days. She asked for my phone number, and told me that Hema, who lived in the

, would contact me in ten minutes .

And she did. We spoke for a long while. I could sense the excitement in her as she remembered her time in Pondicherry and I was happy to share the memories of our school and friends there. There is nothing quite like going back to a shared childhood, even if, as in this case, the days did not coincide. We talked about the house, and its live-in ghost, which fortunately neither of us had seen. And how we found the house and its surroundings so changed from the time we lived there. When I told my mother about this chat, she clearly remembered the family.

And so after fifty years, and thousands of miles apart, a little blog post brought together two total strangers with a bit of common history.

And that makes it all worthwhile.

To quote the Terminator, I will be back!

NAVARATHRI IN NEWPORT

2009-10-14T14:51:00.019+05:30

It is Diwali this weekend - and nothing outside the home to show for it. But so it was for Navarathri.

I was missing all the Navarathri fun, I felt, and I did miss the seeing the kolus of Madras.

So I was pleasantly surprised when my nephew and his wife invited me over for kolu. We went expecting an artistic arrangement of mementoes and cute toys.

Imagine my delight when I saw a display on five steps (made with stuff bought from Home Depot - the famous do it yourself chain store) and lovely kolu bommai's on them in glorious bright colours. Shalini told me that they had brought the dolls over from Madras over various trips. I admired her - with a toddler and a five year old, and going to work, she had done a wonderful job - and asking people over too to visit the displays and feeding them ‘sundal’ and coffee! Shalini told me that some of her friends also had kolu displays.

This part of Jersey city where we live, called Newport, does have quite a few South Indians. There are many like us, parents who have come to be with their children and grandchildren for a while. And they have formed a kind of informal group who meet in the evenings regularly. Being a sedentary kind of character, I prefer to be at home and play with Samyukta.

Meanwhile I learnt from Jago,a lady who assists us with the cooking,that in another part of Jersey city there was a different kind of celebration on the Friday night of Navrathri.

We decided to check it out - and when we went there, I could not believe I was in the USA, and that this was not India. Such was the atmosphere that night. The main street had been closed to traffic by 9 pm, and there were police cars on either side to keep it blocked. We left home - Vandana’s parents and I,leaving a sleeping Samyukta with her father and grandfather. A stage had been constructed on the side of the road on which a lady and her group were singing popular dandiya numbers, to which everyone was dancing. There were young and old, men and women, some carrying babies in their arms,traditionally and colourfully dressed, all dancing away to the hypnotic rhythm.

(Click on collage for an enlarged view)

I watched open mouthed, amazed at this show of a part of India – I am told most of the Indian population in this area is from the North. Those present there on that day were mostly second and third generation immigrants, keeping the tradition of their country of origin alive. We watched for nearly an hour, the tempo never slowed nor the mood fade.

Funnily I have never seen a dandiya dance at home – Navarathri in Madras is mostly about kolu!

Let me see now what is in store for Diwali - the twinkling illuminations across the river are a part of every night. “Just wait till Thanksgiving and the Christmas season,” says Sriram.

For Diwali at home, we have planned on celebrating as usual – new clothes, sweets and the other trappings minus the fireworks.

FLYING TO SAMYUKTA

2009-09-27T04:26:00.007+05:30

It was like never before – we had reached a new high(?!) in leaving for the airport at night to catch the 1.40 am Lufthansa flight from Chennai to Newark via Frankfurt.

I have never enjoyed this travelling overseas business, the red tape unnerves me. Filling in forms is a nightmare, and at the other end I dread immigration and customs. And I always wonder why Scottie can’t be around, to beam me up.

We had to wait a bit to check in, but after that it wasn’t too bad, though of course I missed the comfort of my bed where I would rather have been at that hour. Only the thought of the great pleasure waiting for us at the end of the trip kept me going.

As usual I had asked for a window seat, and as usual all that I could see out of it was the wing of the plane. It never ceases to amaze me how I consistently get such window seats.

Our seats had blankets and pillows but no courtesy package of toothpaste toothbrush and bed socks normally provided by the airlines on these long hauls. My sister-in-law who was traveling with us asked the air hostess why there was no pouch and had got the reply that the airline was economising. Economising! I was glad we got some food and was relieved to see that I had my own private mini screen to watch movies on – the flight would not be so boring after all.

The journey was a comfy one though a bit squishy. Lean forward and you bumped into the headrest of the seat ahead of you, lean back and you bumped into the knees of the person sitting behind. Was Lufthansa economizing on space as well? How would we manage to open out the little tables fitted into the back of the seat ahead of us?

A long break of five hours at Frankfurt - it was quite uneventful - and we were on the next lap of our journey, which was shorter by two hours. And this time too there were no pouches with toothpaste and brushes, and worse still, no choice of movies or private screen for the Economy Class – economy had begun right here

We were in Newark after a peaceful flight, which is what one ultimately wants really, cleared immigration - time consuming because of the fingerprinting and having our mugshots taken, and answering questions like the why and wherefore of
our visit, and previous visits - got our passports stamped. Next was baggage collection and customs and we were finally out, and received by my son and daughter-in-law.

And soon we were winging our way home to meet the newest member of the family, granddaughter Samyukta.

That is her in her stroller on the waterfront in Jersey city, with New York across the Hudson.

SELFLESSNESS

2009-09-14T14:05:00.005+05:30

On a global level people are protesting against the incarceration of Aung San Suu Kyi, icon for decmocracy and political freedom, and calling for her release.

While extending full support to the campaigns, I really cannot see myself doing anything that could possibly take it forward. And there are many like me, who give moral and vocal support, but do not know what else do. There are some others who take up issues which they can handle in some way, and try to make the world around them a better place for the less fortunate. The selflessness of such people is amazing. I recently came across one such person and his organisation. Read about Niswarth, and the person behind it here...

MODHAKAMS, KOLU AND THE DIGITAL KIOSK

2009-09-12T12:43:00.012+05:30

The festive season is rolling on colourfully. Sri Vinayaka Chathurthi, with its modhakams (the little sweet kozhakattais that Ganesa is so fond of - see picture) and week long concerts at temples went by and now there is a little gap before the next festival comes along - Navarathri. It is the big one, lasting nine days, and culminating in Saraswathi Pooja and Vidyaramabam.

There is a pantheon of Gods to worship all round the year, and nothing delights our hearts as much as the poojas and the celebrations associated with them. Navarathri means the ‘kolu’, the arrangement and display of multi-coloured dolls on steps. The pavements of North Mada Street in Mylapore are once again full of the lovely dolls. We are packing our bags to visit our new granddaughter next week, and I thought I might miss seeing the ‘kolu’ which begins only after we leave. But there was a pleasant surprise waiting for me when I went to Giri Trading Agency, a storehouse of stuff dealing with Indian culture and tradition, near Sri Kapali Temple. They had this lovely kolu right at the entrance with brand new dolls. And I was delighted to see it.

Click on the picture to enlarge

Inside, I was looking for a particular CD – Hindi film songs of Yesudas – and though there were many albums he had released, there were none there that day. Just my luck, I thought, and decided to make tracks to other places to hunt for them. Though I had no desire to trudge in the heat to various shops to look for what I wanted - September has been unusually hot this year, and we are sweltering.

An energetic and enthusiastic salesgirl asked me if I was willing to look at the kiosk. I looked at her blankly, and she explained how the kiosk was basically a library of all the songs (with copyright) and I could choose what I wanted and they would be recorded on a CD or on MP3 format. I was quite intrigued but was willing to try. I learnt that is it is called a digital recording kiosk, and has been around for a couple of years. Strangely, not having felt the need for any songs that were not on discs, I had not really bothered to check them out. The kiosk has a touch screen keyboard. She typed in the name Yesudas, and there was a list of his albums. I could now choose the songs I wanted. This was neat. The procedure did not take long at all, and I had with me the best of Yesudas’s Hindi songs. – and a new experience.

DISTINGUISHED ALUMNA OF LADY SHRI RAM COLLEGE, DELHI

2009-09-10T17:39:00.009+05:30

All those years ago, when I was a student in Lady Shri Ram College (1964 to 66), I had no idea that one of my contemporaries was going to be an international figure, and dominate the world stage in a quiet way. Aung San Suu Kyi, whom I just saw from afar - one of the foreign students, is what my reaction must have been. She was my senior, and I was a Literature major, while she did Political Science, I think. There was nothing to show what the future held in store for her. I don't even remember noticing her specially, but the spark must have been there even then. One really has no idea of the strength of mind that is required to face such challenges as she has. God bless her, and protect her.

Today our college is showing support to this champion in various ways, and mounting a campaign to free her.
Read about it here

SRI KRISHNA JAYANTHI

2009-08-14T11:02:00.006+05:30

Sri Krishna was born in prison at midnight while it rained and thundered, and streaks of lightning illuminated the sky. And so on 'Sri Krishna Jayanthi' or Janamashtami we worship him at midnight or as close to midnight as we can. And insist it will rain on that night. But yesterday it did not, and we are still sweltering in this unusual August heat.

Krishna is worshipped in his many forms, from that of an innocent baby to an adult who can preach the Gita. Children just love him as the mischievous child Krishna who with his friends ran around stealing butter and curds from the pots of the gopis, and teasing them. There are many songs that recount his mischievous deeds, and children made up as little Krishna dance to these songs.

South Indian homes decorate the front yards and floors of their homes with kolams for all festivals and celebrations. While powder is used for the ground outside, wet rice paste is used to draw the kolams inside. For Krishna Jayanthi it is customary to draw the little feet of Baby Krishna going from the front door to the place where the pooja is to be conducted. It looks beautiful and children love to place their feet on the drawn feet and pretend they are Krishna.

It was only recently I learnt why we draw the feet of little Krishna. Running away after breaking pots and stealing the butter and curds, Little Krishna used to leave these tiny tell tale foot prints, it is said. And we replicate them in our homes.

A SAMPLE

2009-08-12T06:24:00.003+05:30

Here is a very brief video - when we (Gangamritham)sang at Gaudiya Math temple on August 6.

THE NUMBER

2009-08-10T10:13:00.003+05:30

What is in a number?

There is always a fascination with numbers we are associated with, especially one’s birth date numbers. We look for ‘lucky’ numbers into our roll numbers in class, the number on the hall ticket, numbers on our addresses and telephones – (though today’s ten digit numbers leave me fatigued, with trying to memorise them in the right order).

Mathematicians find intriguing mysteries and even romance in all numbers. One of our friends is a Professor in Maths, and can do all sorts of sums and calculations in his head. He is totally engrossed in his subject. I once asked him what he did for relaxation. He said “I read books.” “Oh, what books, fiction, or non-fiction?” I asked. He answered, “Books on Maths”.

Car number plates are endlessly fascinating. When we travel by road, while the rest of the family looks at the make of the car and records the speed it is travelling at, I look at the number plates, and invariably end up adding the digits.

I am not alone in this interest in number plates. One of my favourite stories is that of the mathematical genius Srinivasa Ramanujan and his mentor G. H. Hardy. Ramanujan, ill equipped to cope with the vagaries of the inclement British weather, fell ill in England. Hardy visited him in hospital, taking a ride in a taxicab. The number of the taxi was, according to Hardy, uninteresting – 1729. Ramanujan disagreed with him and said that it was on the other hand a very interesting number. “It is the smallest number expressible as the sum of two cubes in two different ways."

To most laymen (including me) this would be Greek and Latin, but to those number lovers it was sheer poetry. I can only imagine the following minutes when the two would have discussed and dissected the magic of the number.

"Every positive integer is one of Ramanujan's personal friends.", said J. E. Littlewood, Hardy’s collaborator, after hearing this incident.

This morning I received a mail from Indiblogger, saying that my blog was ranked 77th. The ranking did not affect me one way or the other, but the number did. I was tickled, because it was my roll number in college, and later my son’s rank in the Joint Entrance exam of the IIT.

You can see the widget here on the right side. However, I was happy to see Maiji outranked me - her blog is ranked 58th!

V. MUTHUSAMY IYER, THAMIZH SCHOLAR

2009-08-09T09:30:00.004+05:30

The following piece by writer Charukesi appeared in the Friday supplement of The Hindu, last week in the city edition, and this week in the other editions in Tamilnadu state.

The article is about Sri V. Muthusamy Iyer, my husband’s grandfather (maternal) who was a Thamizh scholar. It is remarkable that a scholar of this stature lived in a not so far past. We are proud to be a part of his family

***************************************************************************************************

Gem among Tamil scholars

CHARUKESI

In appreciation of Muthusamy Iyer’s skill, Paramacharya conferred on him the title Gajaaranya Dravida Kavimani.

MUTHUSAMY IYER

It was 1924, when Sri Chandrasekharendra Saraswati visited the house of Muthusamy Iyer, a contemporary of Tamil scholar and orator Ki.Va. Jagannathan, at Aranganathapuram in Tirukattupalli, Thanjavur district. Swamigal accepted ‘biksha’ a t his residence and presented him with a Shanmuga rudraksham. “Earlier in 1920, when my grandfather recited Sankara Sadguru Aatrupadai” in Tamil, Mahaswamigal offered him a silk shawl, in appreciation of his poetic excellence,” said Prof. Muthukrishnan.

Again in 1943, when Mahaswamigal visited Muthusamy Iyer, the latter did padhuka puja with the recitation of ‘Padhukai108,’ which pleased Paramacharya, who, while camping in the next town, invited Muthusamy Iyer and conferred the title ‘Gajaaranya Dravida Kavimani’ on him. While conferring the title, Mahaswamigal said, “Many a time you have rendered Parameswara Stotram and Acharya Stotram in the form of Tamil poems and therefore, we confer upon you the title ‘Gajaaranya Dravida Kavimani.”
Gold mala

When Muthusamy Iyer turned 60, it was celebration time. Muthusamy Iyer composed ‘Arul Vendar Paa’ using all the sixty names of the Tamil years from Prabhava to Akshaya and recited in the presence of Mahaswamigal and he was blessed with a Rudraksha Mala strung in gold.

Muthusamy Iyer’s 125th birth anniversary is being observed by his family now and this writer happened to meet his grandson, the recently retired Professor Muthukrishnan of Anna University.

Muthusamy Iyer was born in 1884 in Tirukattupalli and served as the Senior Deputy Inspector of Schools, after obtaining his M.A. degree and qualified for teaching. At the Teachers’ College, Saidapet, his room-mate was none else than Dr. S. Radhakrishnan. Prof. Muthukrishnan said of his grandfather: “He was a pious man. Had even built a Perumal temple in Tirukattupalli and has given four acres of land for its maintenance. He had helped other temples in places nearby. He also built culverts and provided steps for the water tanks used by the public. He used to handover his entire salary to his mother, as he lost his father when he was barely six years. She would ensure that the money he earned was properly spent and earmarked a portion for saving.”

Dr. U.V. Swaminatha Iyer, who was Muthusamy Iyer’s teacher in the Presidency College, Madras, observed in his 60th birthday tribute that Muthusamy was well-versed in grammar and literature. He was adept at research work and was a master in writing about the research he had undertaken on a subject. A powerful orator he composed a large number of poems in Tamil.”

He was awarded the gold medal for obtaining first rank in Madurai Tamizh Sangam examinations and won another at the Presidency College. During his tenure as teacher in Vellore, he composed “Thani Paa Naarpathu” and when he took up the post of Tamil teacher in a school in Madanapalle in Andhra Pradesh, his first work of fiction, “Padmini” was released. This was prescribed as a non-detailed text for the intermediate classes.

When Muthusamy was just 30, he did his research on Poruladhikaram in Tholkappiyam. His ‘Thani Paa Kovai’ was released in 1918. In 1932, he composed ‘Anbu Vidu Thoodhu’ on Mahaswamigal. His “Mayuranatha Anthathi” saw the light of the day only in 1942 although he had composed it as far back as 1920. ‘Tiruvallluvar Oruthurai Kovai’ was published in 1950.

The book brought out in 1944 during his 60th birthday celebrations, contains congratulatory messages of many Tamizh scholars, writers and poets, many of them in the form of poems, especially by Desikavinayagam Pillai, Suddhananda Bharathiar, Somasundara Bharathiar, advocate and novelist Ka.Si. Venkataramani, Thanigaimani Sengalvaraya Pillai, Srivatsa Somadeva Sarma, Tirupugazhmani Krishnaswami Iyer, Sir P.S. Sivasamy Iyer, Sir C.P. Ramaswamy Iyer, the Raja of Ramnad Raja Rajeswara Sethupathi, A.K. Paranthamanar, popular writer SVV, P.N. Appusamy and nearly fifty teachers and engineers of eminence! What surprises one is the message of Sami Vedachalam (better known as ‘Maraimalai Adigal’). This is in English and not in his favourite Tamil! Thanjai Vetrivel Pathippagam, in deference to the wishes of Muthusamy Iyer’s sons and daughters, had published this book.

The Hindu carried the news of his 60th birthday celebrations in its November 5, 1944 issue under ‘Provincial News – Tirukattupalli’, while the Tamizh daily ‘Swadesamitran,’ carried it on the following day, 6th November, 1944.

Muthusamy Iyer’s octogenarian son Balakavi Mu. Kothandaraman, now lives in a suburb of Kozhikode, had acquired expertise in reading palm leaf manuscripts and has, like his father’s teacher U.V. Swaminatha Iyer, published many books. When he was serving in the U.V. Swaminatha Iyer Library, International Institute of Tamil Studies and the Institute of Asian Studies, he strove for the preservation and documentation of palm leaf manuscripts opening a department for the purpose. Among his several works in Tamil, the translation of Narayaneeyam in poetic form won him the G. Sankara Kurup ‘Odakkuzhal’ prize.

BUT WHERE IS THE AUDIENCE!

2009-08-08T09:09:00.013+05:30

To take a line out of Edward Lear - it was just as I feared. Not a soul to hear us sing at the Sri Gaudiya Math temple, (See last post) even though it was splashed on the noticeboard. Unless you counted the involuntary presence of the Swamijis, and the four bovine creatures belonging to the temple.

Even family members, who normally accompany us, were absent on account of the odd time slot – my husband hardly comes to hear us sing, and this time was no exception. Visitors to the temple usually come around 6 pm for the pooja. However Lalitha and Padmini’s father was there with his video camera, as were Vatsala’s mother and daughter, and Meenakshi’s cousins.

The hall where we sang is part of a building next to the actual temple housing the deity, all within a compound, and had painted depictions of Sri Krishna and Chaitnya Mahaprabhu not only along the interiors but on the ceilings as well.

The gleaming white tower of the temple, after the fashion of temples in North India, is not visible from the road, and I was thrilled at the unexpected view within the gates. The Math was built in 1932, thanks to the munificence of Maharaja Sri Vikrama Deo Bahadur of Jeyapore.( I wonder if the summer palace of the Maharaja of Jeyapore in Gopalapuram which is now called Ambience also belonged to him.)

The paucity of audience was compensated for by the mikes – we got six – and our own enthusiasm. We sang for 75 minutes - kirtanas on Lord Krishna and Sri Rama, accompanied by Jwala ( a post graduate student) on the violin and Sri Krishna on the mridangam. Sri Krishna is a high school student and a disciple of veteran Umayalpuram Sivaramakrishnan. Our guru Ganga, despite a fever, led us as competently as usual. We missed Geetha who has gone to spend time with her little granddaughter.

The audience swelled towards the close of our programme, when the members of the next group to sing came in!

A video clip of the concert is here.

AADI, SRI KRISHNA JAYANTHI AND GANGAMRITHAM

2009-08-06T07:39:00.014+05:30

Another big day for Gangamritham!

Our group is to sing today at the Sri Gaudiya Math temple of Sri Radha Krishna where the 'Janamshstami' celebrations of Lord Krihna’s birthday are on.

Two weeks of celebrations at the temple, and daily concerts are part of the agenda. Our concert is scheduled to be at 4 pm and to be honest, none of us has any hope of any audience at this unearthly hour – most of the families will be at school or at work!
Still we are going to give it the best we have got.

The month of aadi in the Thamizh calendar starts mid July , and ushers in a series of festivals, culminating in Diwali, some months later. Aadi is a holy month, dedicated to the Gods, and ceremonies like weddings and other festivities are not conducted in this month (maybe in order to not detract from its religious flavour?). The first of Aadi is considered a festive day, and is celebrated with a feast and a visit to the temple. It has a special significance for newlyweds, but I am not dwelling on it here.

This year the first religious festival in Aadi was Varalakshmi Pooja, a pooja for women. This pooja is special because it is performed only in families which have been observing it. To join this fraternity, women may take the pooja from someone already conducting it. Women perform it with great devotion and fervour, creating the image of the goddess out of a kalasam, decorating it, and placing her in a specially decorated mandapam created for the purpose.

Then there is the 'aadi perukku', or 'Pathinettam perukku', on the 18th of Aadi. This is the day when the river Kaveri is in fullest flow after the rains, and rolls merrily down. My mother-in-law, who belonged to the Thanjavur district, the lifeblood of which is the Kaveri, used to tell me that people in the area would go to the banks of the Kaveri to worship her and enjoy the day – a kind of picnic. A meal would be prepared, as offerings to the river goddess, mainly of mixed varieties of rice, - lemon rice, coconut rice, curd rice, and a sweet rice - quick to prepare and eliminating the need for a curry. We still follow the system of preparing the offerings, though there is no Kaveri here in Chennai, and enjoy the prasadam.

Next on the list is Sri Krishna Jayanthi, which falls this year on August 13, and the series of concerts are part of the two-week celebrations. At Sri Gaudiya Math where we are going to sing today, a series of sequences from Lord Krishna’s life are exhibited using practically life-size dolls with real (or what looks like real) hair. Here are some of the scenes.

Krishna born in prison

Baby Krishna felling Bhoothana, the terrible ogress

Krishna on the swing with Radha

Krishna holding aloft Mount Govardhan

Krishna and his gopikas

Geethopadesam to Arjuna

Dancing on Kaliya

WELCOMING THE NEWEST

2009-08-01T21:14:00.004+05:30

Do you remember the picture of the layette in this blog posted some time ago ?

The VIP who my mother knitted it for has made her appearance - my new granddaughter - first child to her parents and second grandchild to us. She is also the first grandchild to her mother’s parents.

Though we haven’t seen her yet, we hope to be with her in some weeks’ time. But here we are all excited, conveying the news and receiving good wishes from one and all. There really is something about the arrival of a baby that touches all – everyone wants to know who she looks like, what her name is, what did she weigh, does she cry much, how is the mother, and how does her cousin Nino feel about it!

We have seen pictures of her, and yes she looks beautiful, and her name is Samyukta.
And so, no, even if she had been born here, she would not have qualified for a gold ring from the Mayor of Chennai.

BABIES AND GOLD RINGS

2009-07-26T20:17:00.003+05:30

I knew it was too good to last – my wholehearted admiration for the Mayor of Chennai when he had distributed saplings at his son’s wedding.

I had read in the papers the announcement made by him much earlier that babies (born in Corporation hospitals only) who were given pure Thamizh names would be rewarded with gold rings. We had all laughed then. But the first set of rings was distributed last week.

I have nothing against Thamizh names – they are as good as any other.
But:
First, as Juliet famously asked, ‘What is in a name?’
Second, it is not the love of Thamizh that has motivated parents to give their children Thamizh names. Only the thought of a gold ring at the end of it - which, I am sure, will be hawked, pledged or sold to meet different expenses of the family, including the father’s visit to the local Tasmac (state sponsored wine) shop.
Lastly, the babies are now reduced to being equated with films – Thamizh films with Thamizh titles/names are exempted form entertainment tax.

Anyway why make this distinction among babies?

And why gold rings, which the babies can neither enjoy nor appreciate!

Why did not the Mayor give them all a special scholarship to see them through their school days. Education may be free, but children need books and uniforms. A fund for this would have been better.

Anyway we had better prepare ourselves for a generation of youngsters who may not even pronounce their names properly. The zha sound in ‘thamizh’is difficult for many to pronounce and is often pronounced as ‘l’, (which is why I suppose the British mutilated it to 'Tamil’).
We will have hosts of Thamilselvans and Thamilselvis, and not Thamizhselvans or Selvis.

SAPLINGS AS THAMBOOLAM

2009-07-09T19:41:00.005+05:30

The thamboolam is a mandatory take home at all Indian festivals and ceremonies, at weddings especially. The thamboolam bag (made of plastic, cloth or some polyester fibre, rarely of paper) contains a coconut or grapefruit, a couple of betel leaves, a packet of betel nuts – all auspicious tokens.

I don’t know what others do, but when I come home with the thamboolam, I put away the betel nut packet to be passed on, throw away the betel leaves which have started wilting, and use the coconut to cook. The bag if sturdy enough, will be reused as a carrier bag, that is if one doesn’t mind being the publicity person for the caterer. I have often felt that the fancy bags are a waste - especially when I see the grandeur of the bags – so much money spent on things no one really wants.

Long before the advent of plastic, the thamboolam was packed in ordinary paper bags on which the bride and groom’s names were printed. As plastic came into vogue, thin bags were used. Little by little the bags grew in size and show…….

So I was heartened when I read this news. Mayor of Chennai M. Subramaniam introduced an innovative concept at the wedding of his son recently, one that can be emulated by all. He gave away as thamboolam 3000 saplings to his guests to take away and plant. This delighted all environmentalists and eco-conscious citizens – zero pollution, plus greening.

The saplings are all avenue trees, and he had made arrangements with a nursery for the saplings to be readied by the time of the wedding.

I loved it, and I am sure GVK, fellow blogger, who has been pushing for distribution of saplings on all possible occasions will too. Many of us can follow this trend.

KNITTING WITH MA

2009-06-27T06:26:00.021+05:30

The fingers move deftly, and the clicking goes on rhythmically, while the ball of wool gets smaller, and beautiful creations drop from the needles.

This is my mother, who has been knitting for more than 60 years now. She loves it, and not even the heat of summer can keep her from handling the wool. She only had to hear of another great-grandchild on the way, than she arranged for wool to be sent from Delhi by my sister, and she started on a layette. And here it is.

My mother says that her first piece was for herself. As a new bride from Trivandrum in New Delhi, she was confident that she could face her first winter by knitting something for herself - she had after all learnt to knit in school. She says, “Babuji got me some wool in a budgie yellow shade, a pair of knitting needles, and a pattern in a magazine, and told me to start off. And that was my first knitted product – a blouse.” Though taken aback at first, she took it as a challenge and it turned out very well. The next one was for my father and after that – for me.

I must have been very young when she knitted sweaters for me first, for I spent my infancy and childhood in Delhi. And we all know what the winters there are like. I still remember the patterns of some of them. (That is me in 1949/50) My mother knitted for all three of us and for my father and herself.
After a few years spent in the south (read about it here), where we did not need any woollens at all, we came back to Delhi and then all of us needed sweaters. By then there were five of us. Maiji taught me also to knit, and we built up the basics for each of us. I could only do some plain knitting, but my skills also improved, and I could later on follow patterns from books. But with college and studies I could not do much. The collection of knitwear grew, and there was enough to keep us all warm.

Over the years, my youngest sister was the lucky beneficiary of my mother’s art. My mother made several items for her, so much so that Gowri became known as the daughter of the knitting lady among her friends’ mothers.

Apart from being a nimble knitter, my mother has evolved from being a pattern follower to a pattern creator – designer, if you will. I have really lost track of the number of sweaters, cardigans, layettes, scarves, shawls, ponchos (most of which are her own patterns) caps and mufflers, and even dresses (that is my niece wearing one of the pieces) she has designed and knitted. Fair Isle and cable patterns became child’s play to her. When I wore the poncho she knitted for me on my visit to my sons, the poncho was the in thing then, and I had inadvertently become ‘in’ too!

And here is my niece wearing a fair isle sweater created by Ma

Her creativity extends to an original too – the doll made totally with wool.

The doll is knitted and her clothes too. Scraps of wool make up the stuffing so that the doll is washable. Without exaggerating, I can say that she must have knitted at least a hundred of these for her grandchildren and great granddaughters, and as gifts to give to other little girls. Here the doll is resting on shawls knitted by my mother.

Maiji’s latest is making garlands of wool - some of them adorn the pictures of the deities in our pooja room. And I am certain she is already dreaming up something else.

P. S. Upon reading this good blog friend Brenda Bryant wrote this - it says everything about Maiji's kniting so beautifully! Do look at it.

THE SILK COTTON TREE

2009-06-14T18:08:00.009+05:30

It is a sweet, touching story in Thamizh, albeit sad.

There was once a parrot which sat on a tree and watched its blossoms turn into shining green fruits. The parrot waited and waited for them to ripen to take its first bite from the fruits. Alas, the fruits never turned yellow or red, but dried into brown crisp pods, finally bursting and revealing inside – white inedible cotton.

This tree in the story is called the ‘ilavan’ tree and the cotton is called ‘ilavan panju’ – what I am told is the silk cotton. The unfruitful wait of the parrot gave rise to the phrase in Thamizh ‘ilavu katha kili’ – the parrot that waited in vain.

The tree is found abundantly in our neighbourhood – my brother-in-law next door has one in his compound. I had to cross one of these on the pavement, (no doubt planted at the same time as the one-day blooming tree outside our house) when I walked to work, and I watched it grow from a sapling to a young tree, though I did not realise then that it was the cotton tree. As it grew I noticed that its trunk and branches were green, and at first I imagined that someone might have painted them in that vivid shade. Later I realised as it grew higher that it is the natural colour of the tree.

Somehow I never saw the flowers – maybe I did not look carefully enough at the right time. The green pods are rather longish like bananas and shiny.

They dry on the tree, and fall off often bursting only upon falling.

Now is the time/season they start falling. People like this lady collect the pods, and remove the cotton. I asked her what she would do with it, and she said she was planning to stuff a pillow.

Sweet silk-cotton dreams.

TASTE OF SUMMER

2009-06-04T10:42:00.013+05:30

I recently read that instead of moaning about the heat of summer, we should watch out for its delights and pleasures.
Though one may question this apparent oxymoron, when we look around there certainly are pleasing sights. The shade giving trees on the streets of Chennai are blooming, and are a visual treat.
The golden acacia has bloomed and now its brown pods stand silhouetted against the sky. And countless other trees, like the laburnum, with mauve and lavender flowers have bloomed and subsided. The Mayflower, or the flame of the forest, (gul mohur), true to its name sent out its first buds in May.

But mangoes are the taste of summer.

We have a few trees in our compound, all of which grew from the seeds thrown out after the children ate the juicy flesh. Each tree bears a different type of mango, and over the years we have learnt to distinguish their tastes and their varying uses. One of the trees, the oldest, has fruits which are not at all sour when green, and so can be eaten like a salad vegetable. We thought the fruit may not taste very sweet when ripe. But it turned out to be as sweet as it is pretty with its rosy tinge as it ripened.

The parrots love them, and get to them before we do. The appearance of this fruit is really a visual pleasure - a text book pictorial representation of a mango.

This is one of the oldest. Another old tree bears fruit that is dreadfully sour when green, and so is used for pickling, as it is not at all tasty when it ripens.

A latecomer tree was a surprise. Its green fruit is very sour, but turned out to be very delicious when ripened. Folks in the know say that the more sour it is when it is green, the sweeter it is when it is ripe. We plucked the mangoes and ripened them, and shared them with friends. They don’t look as big or attractive as the big ones in the market, but were definitely as tasty and sweet.

The mango season is almost over, but one tree is confused, pushing forth new blooms , even while there are biggish mangoes on its branches. This is the tree, whose branch collapsed and down it fell with a whole lot of unripe mangoes, unfortunately too young to be ripened. Surely it was not due to the weight of the young mangoes! We salvaged what we could and distributed them.

The ripening fruits on the trees are pounced on by the squirrels and birds alike, and knock them down. Some of them fall on our neighbour’s asbestos sheet covered shed, with big plonks. We have now got used to this thwack/squelch sound. Our neighpour’s tree, in return, sheds its fruit into our compound, but without any sound effects. Unfortunately the fruits crack when they fall, and cannot really be used.

The markets are flooded by ripe mangoes. I saw them being transported on our busy road on a bullock cart, and and a fish cart.

I loved the woman hitching a ride while her husband called out!

ONE-DAY-SUMMER-TREAT

2009-05-25T21:32:00.017+05:30

It is all over. About three months of preparation,bit by bit, little by little, advancing to the final day – all just for one day, or maybe two, of glorious celebration.

I call it the one-day-kalyanam (wedding) tree. Its real name is unknown to me. If any of you can identify it, do please enlighten me. When it is in bloom, it looks like a pale golden haze from afar – the effect of leafless branches bearing the blossoms.

I noticed it first in 2006. A few years ago in one of its environment conscious moods, the city corporation had planted a seedling on the pavement outside our compound wall, (as well as other places on the street) which grew little by little, and became large enough to block the view from our first floor balcony, with its green leaves.

I was happy to see it grow, but was amazed one March to find that I could see right across the street. Where had the leaves gone? I worried that the tree might have started dying. But no, there appeared little dangling vines, bearing tight yellow buds, and waving in the breeze like streamers. I waited and watched, and watched, till one fine day in May it burst out in all its golden glory. I had almost missed the great blossoming. For about a couple of days the blossoms hung on the delicate vines, before falling on the ground and covering it with a fine gold dust. And then back to square one. The new leaves grew in a week, and I had to wait another year to see this glorious tree flowering.

This year I decided to record its blossoming, but I found that other trees inside our compound had decided to grow higher – the coconut palm had after 10 years suddenly decided to grow (that is another story), and so had the Asoka trees. Still I looked for the suitable gap between these and managed a few pictures.

March 12

April 1

April 17

May 5

May 13

May 16

May 25

Do click on the pictures for an enlarged view.

VOTED

2009-05-13T14:42:00.006+05:30

One of the hottest days of summer today. I am glad we opted to go early to cast our votes for the Lok Sabha (General Parliamentary) election - before the sun got too strong, and the booths too crowded. My husband and I along with Maiji went to the Corporation School, our designated booth.

The whole procedure, smooth and quick, took less than twenty minutes, out of which it took me ten minutes just to look at all the candidates’ names to find my chosen one from the three Electronic Voting Machines - we had 44 candidates to choose from.

But the way the campaigns reached us, we did not know of any of the less prominent or independent candidates. Such parties which have their own TV channels could use their air time to telecast the road and public campaigns of their candidates. But others who used their own money, and did not have their own TV channels, had to perforce maintain a less aggressive profile comparatively.

It is a given that it will be one of the Dravida parties that will win in Tamilnadu, along with their ‘allies’, a kind of cooperative which lasts only as long as the elections last. We will know in a few days if the candidate we voted for (all three of us voted for different people) wins.

It was a good time to remember the late writer Sujatha, who was instrumental in the design and Development of the Electronic Voting Machine(EVM) during his days in BHEL.*

*That should be BEL for BHARAT ELECTRONICS LTD, as pointed out by Swarna. Thanks, Swarna.

A DATE WITH DEVAN

2009-05-12T17:14:00.007+05:30

Charukesi, Gopulu, Mathi and Keshav

Every year on May 5, without fail the Devan Endowments celebrates Devan’s anniversary, with Charukesi the Managing Trustee at the helm. More about this here.

Devan was a leading humorist of the 1940s and 50s, and is still warmly remembered by readers and writers of Thamizh. His homespun humour and ready wit endeared him to generations of readers.

In the cool ambience of the air-conditioned Smt. Sivagami Pethachi auditorium, once again Charukesi honoured two members in the world of humour – cartoonists Keshav of The Hindu and Mathi of Dinamani. Legend Gopulu, illustrator and cartoonist par excellence, presented the awards.

Charukesi, told the audience after his welcome speech that the programme was to be a short one, to be followed by a short half hour play ‘Thozha’ by Eknath, presented by Kala Nilayam, and that everyone could go home in time for the current favourite serial on TV – Cho's 'Engey Brahamanan!'

That ‘Brevity is the soul of wit’ was proved that evening in the speeches that Gopulu, Keshav and Mathi made. It made me think that they are artists not only of the brush, but of the word, too.

Mathi spoke about the timelessness of Gopulu’s cartoons, which his nine year old son could enjoy even today.

Gopulu complimented Charukesi on his ability to don several avatars – writing humorous short stories, music reviews, and organising occasions like this. “He is a ‘theneey’”, said Gopulu. A most suitable epithet, for Charukesi is indeed as busy as a bee with his various activities.

Though we had to leave before the end of the play, I am sure those who did also got home before their favourite serial started.

Photograph: Courtesy R. Saravanan

A SUMMER PLAY

2009-05-04T10:55:00.006+05:30

Two plays in a week! That was a real treat. When Augusto, friend, playwright and oculist, invited us to his latest, it was within a week of our seeing KB’s ‘Pournami’.

You would think that the enervating heat would bring to a halt all non-essential activites especially on the entertainment front. But, happily, it is not so. Chennai residents know what is in store for them weather-wise, and take it in their stride. For a few years now, Karthik Fine Arts has been doing a great service to theatre by promoting the staging of new plays and holding a contest for them, calling it the Summer Play Festival. Dramatists find it a good launching pad to present their latest, and also win a few prizes in the bargain.

Augusto is a regular here, and has almost always won prizes. And so we went to see ‘Mukham, Mukavarigal’, written and directed by him, on the last day of the festival. It had an unusual storyline (the opening scene immediately caught the interest of the audience) about a rich misogynist who grew up in a ‘home’ (euphemism for orphanage). His philanthropic nature does not extend to women, and the denouement tells us the reason for this. The suspense is well-maintained, and the viewer’s attitude to the misogynist turns from aversion to sympathy – good work by the director. The acting was uniformly good – all Augusto’s regular cast, except the sole female actor, Sujatha. The dialogue was crisp, and happily, there were no enforced humorous interpolations. The ten minute soliloquy by K. Raja, (the protagonist) was well presented and acted. I did not hold with the ending of letting the rich man be killed, and later told the playwright my view, who explained just why it had to end so. Could the last scene have been trimmed a bit? The negative side of reality television shows caused by comments from harsh and insensitive judges has been woven neatly into the main story.

I was impressed with the music by Guha Prasad also. Unobtrusive and melodious, it added greatly to the play’s charms. It is Augusto’s 29th play. “I used to write more in my early days,” he said. “But nowadays I write only one a year, having to attend to my other work as well.” Augusto’s Opticals is well-known in Mylapore.

All told it was a good play. The only glitch was the air-conditioning in the hall of Narada Gana Sabha. Either it was not set to the right temperature, or it was malfunctioning.
By the time we got up we felt acutely the lack of fresh air, and were drenched. ‘Summer festival living up to its name, I suppose.

BLOGGER FRIENDS

2009-04-29T09:52:00.004+05:30

What do bloggers talk about when they meet?
Well, this and that, and the old pussy cat…

When Maiji (my mother) first started blogging, one of the persons who appreciated her writing was fellow blogger Abraham Tharakan.

Maiji continued blogging, and it seemed serendipitous that Abraham also lived in Chennai. Emails went to and fro and it was decided that we should meet one another at some point. And the fact that all our blogs were featured in the group blog Mysore Park Blog, only made the prospect more appealing.

On Easter Sunday, Abraham visited us and we spent a nice one hour talking to one another. The surprising thing was, none of us felt we were talking to strangers whom we were meeting for the first time. Over some coffee (which Abraham remembered from a previous blog!) news and views were exchanged.

When Maiji turned 80 in 2007, I had posted an article mentioning it as the day of one thousand moons. Abraham had pointed out that by one’s 80th birthday one could not have seen a thousand moons – and he is right, of course. I found this a good opportunity to tell him so, belatedly.

In older days, there used to be pen friends – people who lived in different places and had never met, yet because of correspondence through regular letters, came to know one another very well. And sometimes they would meet too. Today the internet has taken over that job. We email and ‘chat’ with people we have never seen, (but will only be too happy to!)

Blogs are a great point of communication, and obviously they tell the reader a lot about the writer. And the comments section helps us to interact. Blogging is a great way to make friends, as we have found out. A close circle that is ever widening.

KB AFTER 40 YEARS

2009-04-23T18:48:00.011+05:30

It was the talk of the town – a new play by K. Balachandar, after a gap of more than 40 years. And I was quite excited at the prospect of attending it. After all, I have been a faithful follower of his movies from the late 1960s.

In the intervening gap of those 40 years, Balachandar had given up his job in the Accountant General’s office and graduated from being a part time dramatist, penning his delightful plays, to cinema direction, and later when television appeared to making serials. Balachandar’s earliest pictures were productions of his plays like ‘Server Sundaram’ (though this was directed by Krishnan Panju), ‘Navagraham’ and ‘Major Chandrakant’.

In the 60s and 70s, we used to look forward to every K. Balachandar (KB) movie – and were never let down. All that we expected from him would be there - a good story, excellent characterisation, suspense and liberal doses of humour. With Nagesh in the cast, there was no dearth of that.

They made a sound team, Nagesh and Balachandar.

And so at the first show of the play ‘Pournami’, (a first for us, too!) which KB had penned and directed after 40 years, it was most touching to see, after the lights dimmed, a picture of Nagesh highlighted before the curtain went up, and the signature dialogue “Maadhu Vandhirukken” from ‘Edhirneechal’. It was followed by KB’s voice in the background chiding Nagesh for going away, leaving him behind. A poignant moment, and it seemed fitting when KB dedicated the play to him.

KB also mentioned the partners of Kalakendra, who had produced all his earlier pictures.
It was good to hear him talk about his early days, and his decision to come back to his first love the stage. “I am reborn again.”, he said.

‘Pournami’ is a topical story. It narrates the upheaval created in a family when a member is arrested by Pakistan authorities as a spy, when he goes there on work, and is held in exchange for the release of a terrorist. Naturally, there is a lot of scope for political pontifications – which I found boring - and some punch lines which raised some laughs. Pournami is the wife of the abducted Navneet, (who a la the Irumal thatha of ‘Ethirneechal’, never appears on stage). How, with the help of a relative who is a retired major in the army and is called - guess what? Major Chandrakant - she works to bring about his release forms the story. Shades of the movie 'Roja' here.

The performances were good - they would be, with KB at the helm. When his old production office had borrowed our ground floor premises for the shooting of one of his movies in the early 70s, we were able to see how he extracted perfect performances from his actors (including Rajnikant, then a newcomer).

Renuka as Pournami was good and looked pretty, but somehow she was not able to cast off the mantle of Renuka totally. Fathima Babu of news reading fame, on the other hand, gave a terrific laughter-generating performance as the ‘almost got Padmasri’ lady, who is a bit of a nosy parker too. As her to-be-daughter-in-law, Kavya sends her parents (and some of us, too) up the wall with her ear constantly glued to the cell phone, when her fingers are not texting/smsing. This is a nice dig at today’s youngsters and their dependence on the mobile phone for survival. Kavya’s constant prostrating in front of Fathima to get into her good books also raised a few laughs.

The characters and situations create the humour, and the strong story keeps the play from being a mere hook on which to suspend jokes.

The actor playing Navneet’s brother*, and Poovilangu Mohan as Chandrakant also impressed, though the latter’s ‘Maon hoon na’ got on my nerves after a while.

The story moved on a single set, very pleasing to the eye, and the lighting effects were well handled, especially in the scene where Navneet is allowed to speak to his wife from jail. I wondered why Renuka did not change her costume more often, while the others did, to show the movement of time.

The play was staged under the aegis of Kartik Fine Arts, one of the leading Sabhas in Chennai, at Narada Gana Sabha Hall. And the 1500 capacity hall was full. I looked around and found no one under 30! The sabha regulars were the usual middle-aged and retired group, and ticket holders seemed to belong to that group, too. Not surprising, since KB is himself over 70, and his fans, would be in the same age group.

I was not in Chennai when his earlier plays were staged under the banner of Ragini Recreations, but seen the movies that developed from them like ‘Major Chandrakant’ and ‘Edirneechal’ - so it was good to see KB ‘live’

I went with a lot of expectations, and enjoyed myself.

But I learnt something too - you can never turn the clock back.

*I have since learnt that the actor Karthik is part of Evam, a group that has made a name for itself in producing and staging plays in English in the city.

P. S. The photos did not turn out very well, and I am disappointed a bit.

SUMMER BEAUTY

2009-04-19T21:55:00.009+05:30

Can you guess what flower this is?
I used to call it the powder puff flower, for that is what it looks like, soft and pink, and spreading out its fine filament like petals.

This is the flower of the rain tree. Millions of these small pink and white flowers lighten up the sprawling branches of the tree.

This large tree (large enough to accommodate a tree house! See picture below) is right across the road from our home, and no sooner does summer set in, than it begins to throw forward these little beauties. Soon the road is covered with fine petal dust from the fallen blossoms of the previous day.

This is a view of the tree from our terrace - sadly, the tree is blocked by trees in our garden, and a better view is not possible.

I always imagined it to be a tropical tree, and I was pleasantly surprised to see one in Seattle, flowering in June!

Do click on the pictures for an enlarged view.

FLOORED

2009-04-12T21:27:00.011+05:30

“From tomorrow, you have to sit on the floor and eat your meals in the traditional manner,” I told my husband. He looked at me, alarmed. He thought I had lost it.

So when I continued, “I need the exercise, I have put on some weight,” (actually I have put on quite a bit around the middle) he gave me a cold look and said, “If you have put on weight, why should I sit on the floor to eat? You sit on the floor and eat.”

I looked at him pityingly, “Oh, don’t you see? It is so that I can serve you the food," I explained. "And each time I serve, I will have to bend a bit and stoop to reach your plate, and that is good for my middle.”

He said calmly, “Don’t bother, I can serve myself. I shall continue to eat on the table.”

I looked at his trim figure enviously – he is past 65, and not a spare inch of flesh anywhere. He can safely eat at the table and not worry about putting on weight. He is a creature of discipline, eats only at the stipulated times and doesn’t eat junk food, walks for an hour every evening, on top of the other errands he runs on foot (no domestic ones, though). Not having any of his self-control, (but compensated by a very sweet tooth) and detesting any form of exercise, not least of which is walking, I am no sylph (I was, till well into my thirties, but who is going to believe that!)

I comfort myself saying I have reached the stage where I need not bother so much about appearance. I don’t even care about dying my hair, but you could put that down to laziness. And anyway wearing a sari is very advantageous - it hides some unnecessary what I may optimistically call curves, but what are really bulges. And no alterations are required if you are going to lose weight or gain weight. You can continue draping the whole six yards, no matter what size you are.

I firmly feel that after all these years I can indulge myself by managing my chores with minimum physical effort. I prefer not to walk because I have some arthritic problems – I have had them since I was 35. I only have to mention this, and everyone is sympathetic. And almost everyone else has similar problems - back aches, painful knees, shoulder pains, and creaking joints by the time one is forty.

I wondered why. I began thinking about how our life styles have changed. In the late sixties when I got married and set up home, it was still common for everyone to eat sitting on small wooden planks, or on small mats with the plates in front of you on the floor. Apart from the exercise obtained by serving food, (ah, how firm were our calves then, how slender our waists!) one just could not eat beyond a certain amount sitting in that position.

We cook standing, with our stoves on counters, and all preparatory work like chopping vegetables, cleaning rice, kneading dough, rolling out pooris is done on counters. And all washing up in the sink, which is at a convenient height.

Earlier, women used to sit in front of the floor level mud stove, and cook using firewood. All chores were done sitting on the floor, including mixing coffee.(Like my grandmother in the picture above). As you can imagine, this involved a lot of sitting down - and standing up, which means a good deal of exercise. (And of course took simply ages.)

I am really happy that we women don’t need to slave over hot firewood stoves, or grind the spices for the curries manually, or grind the dough for our staple idlis and dosas using the old grinding stones, like my aunt in this picture.

Women sat on the floor to clean the rice, and even pack their suitcases. The pictures show my aunts and cousin arranging their clothes in boxes before a journey, and yet another aunt removing the stones and husks from the rice.

I am glad that we have washing machines to take the pain out of laundry, and mixies and grinders to ease our lives. (Having experienced all the manual labour, I can tell you what a relief it was that these appliances were invented.) And we don’t have to walk everywhere – apart from taking a lot of our precious time, it also tires us out.

So, in effect, there is less exercise all around – and I have lost the ability to use my body and keep it supple, if not in shape. Atrophy through disuse – is that what has happened to me, I wonder glumly. Not even to hang the laundry on the line do I stretch my arms and torso – the domestic helper does it for me. My only consoling thought is that the arthritis reached me before the mod.cons. and appliances did..

Sigh! Since my husband is not willing to oblige, I have to pull out the walking shoes from the cupboard (still brand new and as pristine as on the day my son got them for me 9 years ago) and start taking post prandial walks, or pre-breakfast strolls or, worse still, exercise.

All the above pictures were taken by my uncle Moorthy in the 1950s.

SINGING FOR RAMANAVAMI

2009-04-05T10:09:00.008+05:30

I never expected my calendar to be highlighted by festivals like Sivarathri and Rama Navami! Festivals I did not do much about, for they did not require much activity in the kitchen – unlike Sri Krishna Jayanthi and Vinayaka Chathurthi. Both these festivals meant a lot of work preparing the special offerings (‘neivedhyam’) to Krishna or Vinayakar.

But how much work is really required to make ‘paanagam’ ( jaggery dissolved in water, and flavoured with crushed cardamom and dried ginger powder), ‘neer moru’ (salted buttermilk with curry leaves and crushed asafoetida) to offer Sri Rama! Or observe a fast for Siva!

This year however these two events marked a special – our group Gangamritham singing at temples.

Last week on Rama Navami, April 3, we sang at the Raja Annamalaipuram Karpaga Vinayaka Temple. The temple is well maintained and an aura of sanctity pervades it. There are other deities here apart from Sri Siddhi Buddhi Samedha Sri Karpaga Vinayakar. We were able to witness the abhishekam and evening pooja at all the sannidhis before starting to sing.

Our guru Ganga had taught us a good collection of songs on Rama. She had also painstakingly taught us verses from Tulsidas’s Sri Rama Charita Manas, set to music by her guru, which encapsulated the Ramayana, in different raagams and thaalams. This was to be the highlight.

For the first time, we had a proper stage (albeit small) to sit on and sing. We were introduced individually! (See picture) And we had a bigger audience than usual, all seated comfortably on chairs (this included my mother, my sister-in-law and my recalcitrant husband, who shocked my friends by putting in an appearance). The audience was appreciative, applauding at the end of each song. Our accompanists for the day were Harini on the violin and Umayalpuram Kalyanasundaram on the mridangam. We missed Vidya and Padmini - two of our group who could not make it.

Since a couple of my regular reader friends had requested me for a recording, here is a very brief one. I requested a friend to take the video on the camera.

The picture is not good, you tell me how it sounds.

SUMMER SIGHTS AND DELIGHTS IN MYLAPORE

2009-04-04T05:36:00.013+05:30

It is beginning to get very hot here in Madras/Chennai - to those living in cooler climes, it would already seem very hot, but the dog days are yet to come, after the Thamizh New Year sets in.

Nature has its own way of making up for the discomforts of seasons. Street shops, sprout up with the seasonal treats that cool us off. The gorgeous , succulent watermelons, are a treat to the eye as well.

This variety of cucumber, tastes marvellous with the salt and pepper (which the vendor readily provides you with - at least, he used to, I did not check it this time).

Water stored and cooled in porous mud pots tastes sweeter than water from the fridge. These were selling like hot cakes, pardon the expression. The flatter versions seen here are used for cooking and storing food.

Tender baby mangoes, which are bought by the measure, and pickled in brine to last the year round - a most popular delicacy, and the best accompaniment to the ultimate coolant thayir saadham (rice and curds). The bigger mangoes to the top of the picture will give you an idea of the size of these.)

And these lovely colours, golden yellow acacia and the magenta bougainvilla.

The pictures look better when enlarged - please click on them.

DOG BYTES

2009-03-31T10:40:00.013+05:30

A news item in yesterday’s newspaper made me feel extremely sad. A young schoolboy on the terrace of his grandmother’s apartment, is chased by the pet German Shepherd* of another apartment dweller, and falls to his death. A tragedy that should not have happened.

The little boy had come first in his class in the annual exams, and was distributing sweets to his friends and family.

So many questions pop into my mind.

1. How high is the parapet on the terrace? Should it not be high enough to prevent such accidents?
2. How safe are pets? Should not owners hold them on a leash when outside their residence – flat or house?
3. Can flat dwellers keep pets in their flats?
4. Is the dog owner accountable for any act of the dog?

In this case, the dog was indirectly responsible for the child’s death. It speaks volumes for the parents’ magnanimity, that even in the midst of this tragedy, they remembered others. The little child’s eyes were harvested for donation.

I feel very strongly about dogs, pets or not. The main danger from dogs is their natural inclination to bite – and bites from dogs can be fatal. A friend’s son died because of a bite from their own pet.

Many years ago, my son was bitten by a dog when returning from school, barely a nip, but it had drawn blood. It was a pet dog, and its owners assured us that the dog was up to date with its inoculations. Our own doctor (Dr. Ravindra Padmanabhan – a fine person, who unexpectedly died in a car accident) said we should watch the dog for 21 days, and if it died within that period for any reason, even if it was run over by a bus or car, we should follow up my son’s treatment with anti-rabies treatment. Fortunately, the dog did not die of any cause, natural or otherwise. But it was a long 21 days for us.

My second son was bitten by the pet dog of a neighbour in his own apartment complex in Hoboken, New Jersey. It was a pretty nasty bite on his thigh, and only the thick material of his jeans prevented it from being a worse one. Laws being different in the USA, the dog owner was apprehensive of a suit against him for damages, and was relieved when my son did not press any charges. He however hastily vacated the premises soon after.

In the USA I found that dog owners are held responsible for their pets’ behaviour – including cleaning up after them in public places. They are also liable to be prosecuted if it causes injury to person or property.

The stray dog menace is a rampant one in the city, and I have mentioned this in a previous post. Dog lovers hate me for this, because I feel strongly that such dogs should be put down for the sake of young children on the road.

When I was a little girl, my father was Assistant Collector for a while in Trichy, on deputation from Delhi. Once while on a visit to the District Magistrate’s home, his (the DM's) pet dog bit my father on the hand. Fortunately, he was not hurt much. While the magistrate apologized profusely, the wife said, “Our dog is too gentle to bite anyone. But if you insist on putting your hand in its mouth, what do you expect it to do?” And that, I think, takes the cake!

I think I love humans more than dogs – pets or not. When I go to the homes of friends who have pets, I tell them frankly about not liking being licked by their pets. My husband goes one step further – he just won’t visit them.

*** Later reports have identified the dog as a Labrador.

THE MAN FROM THE SLUMS

2009-03-10T17:44:00.007+05:30

Countless words have been written on, countless opinions flung about and countless forums have discussed the representation of India in ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ and the reality in it.

I shall leave all that to those who are better qualified than me to talk about. But there is no denying that slums are a part of India. For every Jamal who escaped there are 900,000 who continue to live there.

This piece in Newsweek touched me deeply. I want to share it with you all. It tells us without any fuss or frills the true story of someone who once lived in a slum - Sudip Mazumdar, Newsweek's own correspondent - in his own words.

IN MY NEIGHBOURHOOD

2009-03-07T08:58:00.003+05:30

....this lovely Traveller's Palm, known locally as visari vazhai, or the fan banana palm, and this unusual building..

Do click on picture to see the peacocks painted on the glass windows

SIVARATHRI

2009-03-01T23:41:00.011+05:30

On the night of Sivarathri, one is expected to stay up all night, worshipping Lord Siva, after fasting all day. Then one is assured of a place in Heaven in the hereafter, say our religious books. This year Sivarathri fell on February 23.

In our neighbourhood in Mylapore there are seven Siva temples, and devotees walk from one temple to the other, and thus pass the night in participating in the poojas. Others stay put in one place and do poojas or sing devotional songs. Our group Gangamritham was asked to participate in the Sairam Charitable Trust’s celebrations. We were reluctant to sing as our guru Ganga was not going to be in town, but we finally gave in, especially after Ganga encouraged us to. Only one of us, Vatsala could not make it. Here are the rest of us with organiser Usha (second from right).

Ours was the first group to sing, and there were not many listeners, as the night was still young. The organizers told us that most people came in after visiting the temples. We sang for an hour, sans Ganga, sans mike and sans accompanists. But we were satisfied, for we had practiced diligently every day, and we knew we sounded in harmony.

The seven temples in this area are all said to have interesting stories attached to them. I once did the rounds for our paper with our photographer, however it was too hot in the day time to be enjoyable. But the history of each temple is remarkable.

The most famous of these temples is Sri Kapaleeswarar Temple. Parvati is said to have worshipped Siva in the form of a mayil (peahen), and hence the area is called Mylai or Mylapore. Next to it is Sri Valleeswarar Temple, where Sukracharya is said to have prayed to the Lord to restore his eyesight. Then there are the Sri Virupaksheeswarar Temple, Sri Karneeswarar Temple, Sri Malleeswarar Temple, Sri Vaaleeswara Temple (where Vaali of Ramayana fame is said to have worshipped Siva) and a little further away Sri Theerthapaleeswarar Temple, where Sri Agastya worshipped Siva, fetching water from the sea in his kamandalu. The interesting point is that these temples predate the great devotee Thiru Gnanasambandar, who lived in the sixth century and who visited all the temples when he came to Mylapore.

Read about the temples here.

THE OSCAR - MYLAPORE CONNECTION

2009-02-28T07:50:00.006+05:30

“How does it feel to have provided music for an Oscar winning movie?”

This question is not directed at A.R. Rahman, but to R. Prasanna, who has delighted rasikas with Carnatic music concerts on his guitar – and is a jazz musician as well.

Mylapore–bred Prasanna provided the music for the short documentary “Smile Pinki", which won at the Oscars this week. The film narrates the treatment of the eight-year old Pinki, who was afraid to smile because of her cleft-lip. Pinki, born in a poor family in Mirzapur, Utthar Pradesh, was teased mercilessly by other children. After surgery sponsored by ‘Smile Train’ the international NGO, and performed by Dr. Subodh Kumar Singh, she learns to smile. The picture has been made in Hindi and Bhojpuri with sub-titles in English.

In his website, Prasanna says, “I am thrilled for Pinki and other beautiful children whose lives will hopefully change after the film 'Smile Pinki' won the 2009 Oscars for 'Best Documentary short'. I am delighted to have played a part in this film as the music composer. Congrats Megan!”

The movie is produced and directed by Megan Mylan, based in San Francisco, who wanted a purely Indian score for the film. She approached Prasanna and told him her requirements. And he obliged. Listen to this.

Prasanna became involved with Carnatic music at a young age, listening to his sister learning it. He studied music from violin vidushi A. Kanyakumari. He has also played the guitar for some of A. R.Rahman’s film compositons. A graduate of IIT, Chennai, he later studied music in the Berklee College of Music in the US. He now lives in the US, and is the proud father of a one month baby who likes to listen to her dad play classical on the guitar.

We don’t know if Prasanna was at the Oscars, but Pinki was, with her father and Dr. Singh. The NGO sponsored her trip.

More on Prasanna here.

Photo: Courtesy Internet

JUST CHEQUE-ING

2009-02-23T23:50:00.001+05:30

A few weeks ago a new branch of a nationalised bank opened practically next door. We thought it would be very convenient to open an account here, because of the proximity. I felt that my mother too could benefit by it. And so we went, and opened two accounts, one for my husband, and one for my mother, after depositing Rs. 1,000 each, giving copies of our ration card, passport, and whatever else was required, (no, they didn’t want our birth certificates or marriage certificates, nor our school leaving certificates) and our photographs (two copies each, please). The manager was very nice, friendly and helpful. He told us we would receive the cheque book and ATM card by post soon.

Once upon a time it was a small matter to open an account in a bank. In fact, I remember once that bank officers/ employees, visited us to inform us that their bank was opening a branch in the neighbourhood, and why did we not open an account with them.

Fully flattered, we smiled and nodded, and went to start the account. It was as simple as that. We just had to deposit a minimum amount (Rs. 5, I think it was then without cheque book facilities) and lo! you had an account with them. They smilingly handed over your passbook, and a cheque book with 20 leaves – for this, however the minimum amount required was Rs. 50 or so.

Alas, life did not remain so simple. As technology advanced, so did our con artists’ technique - like stealing cheques from the post. My husband has told me about numerous occasions when PF cheques were stolen and deposited in another bank under a fictitious account, using the name in the stolen cheque. So then was introduced the system of getting introduced to the bank by an existing account holder, if you wanted to start an account. And gradually the minimum account increased to Rs. 500, if you needed a cheque book.

At some point a system of paying for the cheque book was introduced, depending on the number of leaves you used up. (Maybe the bank wanted us to keep the money there, and not spend it?). So one used cheque leaves sparingly, and using the renewal leaf in the book, kept acquiring fresh cheque books.

It was a very simple system – you deposited money, you spent money, all was recorded in the pass book, and no confusion anywhere. Now I need an accountant, or at the least a more informed mind than mine to interpret my bank dealings from the pass book or the computer print outs.

It is more than a month now since we opened the accounts in the nearby branch, and we have not started operating the accounts. Why? Because we still haven’t received the cheque books.
Why? The manager is helpless. “It is the core banking system,” he says.

For an account opened in the neighbourhood, the cheque book has to be mailed from Mumbai ! And it is contracted to some people who will probably do it in their own good time. Till then we cannot withdraw money from the bank.

An incident my mother told me comes to mind. When she was very young, about five or six, one day the driver of their car was wearing a slightly torn shirt. My mother asked him, “Why are you wearing a torn shirt? Are you poor?” He said “No, I have lots of money in the bank. But a very rich man has put his money in the bank, on top of mine. So till he takes it out, I can’t withdraw my money.”

RESUL POOKUTTY DID IT

2009-02-23T09:04:00.001+05:30

Resul Pookutty won the Oscar!

THE BLOGGER'S AWARD

2009-02-19T11:04:00.005+05:30

Senior blogger Abraham Tharakan has created a new award Blog Ratna, and has presented it to GVK, retired journalist and tireless blogger.

And who could be a better person to receive it?

I first came across GVK when I read his blog post on the movie ‘Kalyana Parisu’ and wrote a comment. He responded, asking me if I would like to be included in the bloggers’ group Mysore Blog Park . I checked out the blog and found a collection of assorted writers. The statement under the banner was remarkable, and says it all - We are a bunch that has nothing in common, not even a Mysore connection. Our interests are varied. We belong in different age-groups. We are opinionated, touchy, and take our writings seriously, at times. We drive our own blogs and feel entitled to comment, even on matters about which we might know next to nothing. Our pace of posting is irregular. MBP (Mysore blog park) is our parking lot; a one-stop site showcasing bloggers.

I was only too happy (honoured, to be honest) to be included in this elite group. Since coming under this umbrella, my posts are being read by more people, and regularly by other MBP writers. On a couple of occasions, I have recommended some bloggers whom GVK has willingly taken into the fold. Can there be a better way of encouraging bloggers?

We seem to have formed a nice little family, and it feels good. This bond has extended to exchanging emails, phone calls, and even visits among some – and it is a warm feeling when the virtual friendship overflows into the real world. Thank you, GVK.

Recently I had the pleasure of welcoming GVK and his wife Lakshmi to our home. We had an enjoyable time, discussing various subjects, from grandchildren to politics, and internet to journalism.

After meeting them, the last line from ‘Casablanca’, uttered by Humphrey Bogart, came to my mind -" I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

NONE LIKE NAGESH - a tribute

2009-02-15T16:12:00.012+05:30

One of the enduring images in my mind of the late actor Nagesh is from ‘Pacchai Vilakku’- in the song – ‘Kelvi Piranthathu anru’. He walks with a skip in his step, keeping time to the music, listening to engine driver Sivaji Ganesan singing. He is wearing a pair of jeans (in the 60 s very few people wore jeans!) a t-shirt and cap - and looks every bit the Anglo-Indian railway employee.

This is his stellar quality – he would look the part whatever he was playing. His face somehow had the anonymity which could adapt itself to any character, allowing him to play older roles even when young. He had a lean, lanky figure, with which he could do wonders, and which allowed him to dance beautifully with any kind of gyrations, even the ballet dancer’s splits, as in ‘Neer kumuzhi’ and later in ‘Kathalikka Neramillai’.
The dance segment in this video clip is from 'Kathalikka Neramillai'

If a picture had Nagesh in it, I was definitely interested in seeing it. He peaked in the 60s and 70s, and by the eighties he had been overtaken by a younger crop of comedians (jokers?). I remember seeing him, in the early 80s in our local departmental store Royal Stores, now defunct, and there was nobody around him, no one asking for an autograph, nobody even turning round to look twice. A younger me would certainly have bounded over and talked to him.

Nagesh often said that he modelled himself on Jerry Lewis, but I would say he outgrew that, and shone after he found his own niche. His first movie was ‘Thamarai kulam’, (and not ‘Server Sundaram’ as many media reports have said. It was his first movie as a hero). And for some time he was called ‘Thai’ Nagesh, after the movie ‘Thai’ in which he made a name for himself.

Sridhar was the director who brought Nagesh into the limelight with ‘Nenjil Oru Aalayam’, in which he is a ward boy. Till then Nagesh had been content to play any role – no role was too small for him. And he touched the heights with his role of wannabe–director Chellappa and his Oho productions in ‘Kathalikka Neramillai’. I know people who saw it several times (some of them up to seven times) just to enjoy his comedy. In those days (1960s ) there were no TV channels telecasting comedy sequences ad nauseum. His narration of his film script to his father (T. S. Balaiah) was something new. He could deadpan with the best of them.

His portrayal of a waiter-turned-actor in ‘Server Sundaram’, left people asking for more. His friend and mentor K.Balachander had created the role specially for him as a play, which was then made into a picture. He repeated this success as a hero with K. Balachander in ‘Ethirneechal’. The rapport between this director and actor was something special. They were simply made for one another. In the comedy 'Anubhavi Raja Anubhavi' he played the double role of a foolish city boy, and a country bumpkin – a rare feat for a comedian then. In fact, in the movie ‘Panakkara Kudumbam’ with MGR, he even played three roles - himself, his father and his grandfather!

One of the best roles he played was that of Dharumi, the impoverished poet, who is looking to win a bonanza in a poetry contest, in the mythological ‘Thiruvilayadal’. No verbal report can do justice to the interplay between him and the arrogant regal poet (Lord Siva in disguise), played by Sivaji Ganesan – in the acting, the dialogue and the body language Nagesh almost outdid Sivaji . In fact he is quoted as having said that it was Sivaji Ganesan’s magnanimity that insisted on retaining the scene as it was shot, for it was evident that Nagesh was the scene-stealer.

Another memorable role was Savadal Vaithi in ‘Thillana Mohanambal’, a semi villainous role, displaying a versatility rare in comic actors.

His one-liners were really funny, and delivered with such an expression (expressionless?) that the audience burst out laughing. The humour was always clean. One scene in ‘Neerkumizhi’ at a hospital, an old patient sighs, “There is not a single doctor I haven’t seen.” Nagesh’s comeback - “Did the doctors see you?’

In later years he played character roles, right up to ‘Dasavatharam’ last year. He acted in Rajnikant’s first movie ‘Apoorva Raagam’, parts of which were shot on the first floor of our house. The production unit borrowed some furniture from us – and one of the chairs (we still have it) was the one Nagesh sat on. For a long time we joked about never dusting that chair.

There can by no means be a comprehensive list or enumeration of this great scene stealer’s films. Only recently, about a week before his death, there were discussions online and in the media about how a current comic actor had been awarded the Padma Shri, while Nagesh had never been given one.

To many, like me, Nagesh was the king of comedy, and he will remain that. That would be his true reward, I suppose.

Links to some of his best scenes:

Server Sundaram:

Then Mazhai

SOUNDS GOOD - RESUL POOKUTTY

2009-02-11T10:25:00.008+05:30

In all the hullabaloo made about ‘Slumdog Millionaire', about how India has been exploited by foreign filmmakers and much more along those lines, and about all the awards that have come its way, I noticed one person.

With A. R. Rahman (who is modesty personified) being felicitated for his nominations and awards for the film, this other person, who has also been nominated for the Oscar and won the BAFTA award, has been making waves quietly.

Resul Pookutty. A sound engineer who is responsible for all the sounds we hear on the screen, and how we hear them. And his work has brought him to a level of world-wide recognition.

He was born, and grew up, in Kerala, and later graduated from FTII, Pune. A detailed interview with him at RadioandMusic.com is here.

Resul is to be presented with the Pattathuvila Karunakaran memorial award in Kerala. He was selected for the award for his contribution in raising Indian cinema to International level.

Art does imitate life, and a boy who studied in a village without electricity, and had to travel seven kilometers to school, has arrived on the global stage.

I hope he wins the Oscar too.

Photo: Courtesy The Hindu

MARGAZHI RAAGAM

2009-02-10T07:54:00.011+05:30

There is no other way to listen to a music concert, I have concluded.

The experience was so satisfying – in a darkened theatre, with the artistes pleasingly larger than life and the sound, glorious sound, pouring from all parts of the theatre in stereophonic splendour, excluding all other noises.

We had been invited to a special show of ‘Margazhi Raagam’ a film which was a presentation of a music concert by two big names in the Carnatic music firmament – Bombay Jayashri and T. M. Krishna. The show had been organized by Thejus Chandrasekhar in honour and memory of his mother, D. Patammal, who had composed more than 650 songs in Thamizh, in all the ragas of the 72 Melakarthas, and then some more.

Margazhi (December 15 to January 15) is the Thamizh month devoted to the Gods (and music in Chennai), and Raagam means melody.

It was intriguing. It was a film, and it was a music concert, said the notices. That the singers are two of the best today led to a high level of expectation, but I was not sure what to expect. The two artistes had presented live concerts together recently, and there had been conflicting reports on that.

The show was in the Sathyam theatre complex, and before the picture started, there was some western music in the background – which was not at all the right setting for a Carnatic concert. And the lights were dim, unlike at the halls where the concerts are held live, where they burn bright and are never dimmed. And I felt some trepidation.

But as the theatre darkened completely, and the credits came on the atmosphere was set. A dark auditorium can hold one enthralled as nothing else. All your concentration is on the one visible place of light. Here our senses were drawn to the screen to the exclusion of everything else. And when the music started, what bliss! Such pure sound, without any disruptions caused by faulty mikes or rude rasikas, who enter and leave auditoriums at will. It flowed from all sides, and it was divine. The aural quality was matched by the atmosphere of sanctity captured by P. C. Sriram’s camera.

The first song was by Jayashri, and her soothing voice and serene manner were captured delightfully by the sound engineer H. Sridhar (who died recently, and to whom the picture is dedicated) and cameraman Sriram. She sang two more pieces, and the final line of the 'raagam khamas' was picked up by Krishna after an interlude by the two percussionists.

Krishna’s entry was smooth. I had seen only one percussionist accompanying Jayashri and wondered where the other one had come from. He was Krishna’s accompanist! Krishna’s style was in direct contrast to hers, full of flamboyance and vigour, waking up the senses which had been lulled by Jayashri’s soothing voice.
After a couple of pieces by Krishna, the two sang together - in great harmony and perfectly complementing one another.

The final piece with just the tampura was a revelation. As was the whole experience.

Do read Ardra Vamshi's experience here.

THE 'KOLAM' FESTIVAL

2009-01-27T22:46:00.017+05:30

I went to the Mylapore festival just to see the kolams on North Mada Street at the kolam contest.

Do click on the pictures for an enlarged view

Squares about three or four feet wide had been marked and numbered, and contestants were given each a bag of white powder and 40 minutes to exhibit their skills.

Kolams are the patterns traditionally drawn by women with rice flour on the ground, smeared and cleaned with cowdung, in front of their homes. It is considered auspicious, and of course decorative and ornamental.

Cowdung is used for its anti bacterial properties, and helps to make the ground smooth and dark. Rice flour is used so that living beings like ants and birds can feed off it.

This art has been prevalent for so many centuries, handed down from generation to generation, learnt by girls by watching other women do it. To these they add their own creations and designs, letting their imagination and artistic skills take over.

Women who have never been to schools, and cannot count even up to thirty, can with ease draw kolams which require even a hundred dots.

At the Mylapore festival, no colours are allowed for the kolams (which then become rangolis) and the rule says they have to be based on pullis (dots), the traditional way of drawing them.

Neither age nor gender was a deterrent to the participants’ enthusiasm.

This is a post script. In many homes in Chennai, it is the domestic helper who does the kolam in the mornings in front of the house. Here is my assistant with her creation in front of our neighbour's house on Pongal day.

And this is My World Tuesday this week at Mylapore.

FOR FRIENDSHIP

2009-01-25T22:12:00.005+05:30

This is the season for awards – nominating, announcing, presenting - the Globe, the Oscars, the Screen, NDTV, the Padma Shri…

I got my own little award, too from fellow blogger Sunita. It is a heart-warming, smile-inducing award – the Friendship award.

And I would like to pass it on to all my fellow bloggers and readers, who come to my page, and who with their visits and comments have made blogging such a pleasure for me.

Thank you everyone. This award is for you, you and you. . . .

(Have I been watching too many Oscar shows?)

RING THAT BELL!

2009-01-21T22:09:00.007+05:30

Fellow blogger Anjali’s post ‘The transition' put me on this track. This is something that has to be dealt with - by all of us.
Domestic violence.

Often have the women who help me at home complained of the menfolk in their families beating up either themselves, or their daughters or their sisters. They take it with resignation, while I advise them to protest, or make a complaint at the nearest police station.

All to no avail. While some men think it is their birthright to slap their womenfolk around, the victimised women tend to say that it is a family matter, and outsiders should not interfere.

Sons, who grow up watching their mothers subjected to violence and sympathizing with them, unfortunately end up like their fathers, thinking it is their heritage to hammer women. And so it continues….

Apparently this is prevalent in all layers of society.

It may not be possible for us to physically be present and prevent such abuse. But we can at least raise the level of awareness about this problem. Talk to the men, wherever possible - make them understand their responsibility to care for their women; tough I know, but at least an effort would have been made. Talk to the women, tell them they don’t have to suffer this indignity, and ask for help. We can put them in touch with organisations that help women in such situations, or other social services.

When I saw this in my mailbox today, it was too much of a coincidence for me to pass over. It is the publicity material for an awareness programme about domestic violence. Actor Boman Irani is the Brand Ambassador for the programme called “Bell Bajao” (Ring The Bell).

This video has been created by Ogilvy & Mather,
The project was created by ”Breakthrough” in collaboration with the Indian Ministry of Women and Child Development and UNIFEM.

Watch the video here:

THE FIRST BLOOMS

2009-01-20T11:55:00.004+05:30

I was just so happy to see these blossoms on our mango tree - I had to share them. And those lovely russet coloured leaves! (Do click on the picture for an enlarged view.) I am told that in Thamizh literature, description of a beautiful skin colour is 'Manthalir meni' - like the tender leaves of the mango tree.

I remembered a Malayalam rhyme our mother sang to us when we were children - in fact, the minute she saw the picture now, she recited it.

വേനല്‍ വന്നു, വെയില്‍ മൂത്ത് ,
മാവ് പൂത്തു , മണം പാറി ,
വണ്ട്‌ വന്നു, തേന്‍ കുടിച്ചു,
കണ്ടു നിന്ന് മടിയന്മാര്‍.

"Venal Vannu, Veyil Moothu, maavu poothu, manam pari, vandu vannu , then kudichu, kandu ninnu madiyanmaar." It is a lovely description of a summer day full of flurried activity.

A loose translation might read something like this:
"The hot days are back, and the sun is stronger. The mango tree has bloomed, and spread its fragrance. The honey bees arrive and sip the honey. The lazy ones just stand and watch."

THE MYLAPORE FESTIVAL

2009-01-18T14:47:00.013+05:30

It began as a kolam festival organized by our neighbourhood paper Mylapore Times. It was the brainchild of the editor, Vincent D’Souza, a man with a passion for the preservation of tradition and heritage. Over the years, under his guidance, it grew into something unique, the Mylapore festival, a festival along the lines of a village thiruvizha, centred around our Sri Kapali Temple, and extending up to Nageswara Park.

After some years, the festival came to be known as, and still is, as the Sundaram Finance Mylapore Festival, after the sponsors.

The festival promotes village and folk arts like street plays, and urban entertainment like heritage walks and stage plays. It showcases various art forms (like classical dancing in the temple, concerts in the park) and revives traditional games like pallankuzhi. I remember the men on stilts and how they danced to the frenzied rhythms of the drum. Wonder if they will be present this year – watch this space.

The area around the temple wears a vibrant look, and one feels glad to be part of it. Usually the days earmarked for this festival are the Pongal holidays, but this year it made way for the 'Chennai Sanagmam', which is actually, if you ask me, an offshoot of the localised Mylapore Festival, but on a much grander scale and level, what with Rajya Sabha MP Ms. Kanimozhi being part of the organising committee. (And it doesn’t hurt that she just happens to be the Tamilnadu Chief Minister’s daughter.)

The event is spread over four days this year from January 22 to 25. Some of the attractions this year are the Mylapore Light and Sound Show, put together by Mylaporeans, and a Thamizh lit fest.

A first this year is the Mylapore anthem or Geetham – listen to it. (You may have to scroll down a bit).

All details of the festival can be found at the official website of the festival.

But the star attraction of the festival will be, as always, the kolam contest on January 24 and 25. Women from places far away come to the festival to show their skill at drawing those wonderful patterns. The street(North Mada Street) is turned into a veritable carpet of floral decorations.
The picture here was taken by my sister Viji at the 2005 festival when she was visiting. I was part of the behind-the-scenes activity then. That is me inside the booth answering questions.

I still remember the euphoria after the first contest,(only one day then) and the satisfaction with which our small group went home to a good strong cup of coffee, which Maiji had waiting for us.

FLIGHTS AND FIGHTER PLANES

2009-01-17T16:00:00.007+05:30

How does one manage young children on flights? Most parents travel with books and favourite toys. Many airlines have small toys to gift to the young ones to keep them entertained.

One was given to my granddaughter on a domestic flight from Chennai to Trivandrum.

The air hostess had promised it to her while boarding. “What is your name?” she asked. When no reply was forthcoming, she urged, “Tell me your name, and I will give you a gift.” The ploy worked, and Arundati gave her name to the smiling air hostess, who later came up to her seat and gave her the pack.

It was a short flight and Arundati did not open the packet immediately. But we saw that the children in the neighbouring seats (well into their teens) had opened a similar packet and were looking at the contents in a most puzzled manner. By the end of the flight they still had not figured it out, and had to gather the pieces and put them in a bag and carry them.

At night before going to bed, Arundati wanted to take a look at her package. It was a make-it yourself F-15 fighter plane, with all the different pre-stamped pieces cut out and held together in two wooden frameworks, ready to be pushed out No way did the bits look as though they could form a fighter plane, and Arundati lost interest soon.

The instructions were rather weird too – aimed at what age level, I can’t imagine. (The sheet said “For kids over two.”)
They went something like this (see photo - click on it to enlarge)
1.First push out each pre-stamped piece.
That is a good start, we figured.
2 wasn’t bad either, asking that the rough edges be smoothed with the enclosed sandpaper.
But 3 had all of us stumped.
Figure out how to assemble the individual parts. How indeed?
The next one was confusing – Pick up two pieces which correspond with each other by number and assemble.
How, we wondered, because I did not see any number on the pieces. Maybe we had to copy the numbers from the figures on the instruction sheet?

Arundati’s mother Jaisri, patiently worked out how it had to be done – but in between rushing here and there with various businesses, she could not finish it in Trivandrum.

Back in Chennai, she managed to assemble the pieces and presented the finished product to Arundati, who anyway prefers dolls.
The last instruction was hilarious – If connecting joint is loose, use glue – Jaisri decided to use rubber bands.

One thing is certain - children will be so busy trying to understand the instructions and follow them (or harassing their parents for help) they will not be bored on the flight.

MY GRANDDAUGHTER, MY MOTHER

2009-01-12T13:56:00.009+05:30

My friend Vatsala gave this to my mother on her birthday.

How true. The recent visit of my granddaughter ( four and a half) filled us with so much happiness and joy.

Everything Arundati did seemed so delightful, right from teasing her 'Thatha' (grandfather) by taking away his woollen night cap and running to hide it, to rubbing away the kolam in the pooja room. Every evening at 6.30 she would pull up her little chair and sit as close as possible to my mother while she watched the 'Ramayana' (in Malayalam) on TV. She does not understand the language at all, but was so fascinated by the epic. Her mother has been telling her the story of the 'Ramayana', and Arundati feels a great attraction to it. So much so that she can answer many basic questions on the epic.

But indulgent grandmothers tend to run on about their grandchildren’s antics, so I shall stop here.

And go on to my mother – and share some nice news about her.

My mother has done us all proud by getting featured in the January issue of the monthly magazine ME (of the Mumbai newspaper DNA) as a senior blogger – some of you know her as Maiji. Nicely reported by Supriya Kantak, it is a beautiful display on two pages with colour pictures.
Read it here and here.

Maiji's blogs are Memories and Musings and Memories and Musings II - Life in Pondicherry
.

'SWEET' PONGAL, ANOTHER NEW YEAR

2009-01-11T11:04:00.006+05:30

Another Pongal, the exclusively Thamilzh harvest festival, is here. This time, with the additional distinction of being the Thamizh New Year. So that is two New Years in a month.

Sometime last year, the Tamilnadu Government changed the Thamizh New Year date from the first date of the month Chithrai to Thai 1. So this is the first Pongal with the tag ‘New Year’. (The Thamizh year last year which was born in April , Sarvadhari, dies a premature death at eight months, and the new year Virodhi comes early to us. But I find that some calendars are holding on to Sarvadhari till April. Utter confusion).

And guess who is sponsoring my ‘sakkarai pongal’, the special sweet dish made on Pongal day?

To make Pongal a ‘Happy’ New Year, the Tamilnadu government is presenting to all ration card holders a gift of the required ingredients for the ‘sakkarai pongal’. The packet includes – half a kilo each of rice and jaggery, a 100gms of 'pasi paruppu' (moong dal), and a small pack of cashew nuts, raisins and cardamoms. (There is no ghee).

The lady who works at the ration shop where I picked up my packet told me there are almost 2000 cardholders attached to the shop. Multiply this by the number of shops in the whole of Tamilnadu, and you come up with a mind-boggling number. Assuming that the package cost, on an average Rs. 25 (this is a very, very low estimate), what will the total amount spent be! And where is the money coming from? Certainly not anybody’s personal funds, I am sure. It is the tax payers’ money, which is why I went to collect my packet – I had already paid for it.

Free colour TVs, free gas stoves, free spices and condiments, whatever next!

Happy New Year, and Happy Pongal!

An edited news-report version of this appeared in the Mylapore Times dated Jan. 10, 2009.

CONCERT VIGNETTES

2009-01-07T20:13:00.016+05:30

The music season is almost over, and I attended only a few concerts this year.

It struck me how electronic and digital equipment have become indispensable at concerts – drawbacks and all.

Click on picture for an enlarged and better view

Flautist N. Ramani kept his cool when his mike went berserk in the middle of his concert at the Narada Gana Sabha, like a banshee wailing. It is a fire alarm drill, whispered someone. The person in charge came rushing in from outside to stop the awful sound. Ramani had already stopped playing, and with great sangfroid, kept time all the while the feedback was being fixed, never missing a beat, and then resumed from where he had left off, as though nothing had happened. At 10 in the morning – an odd time for a person of his stature, certainly - there were only a few people in the audience, but I was happy to see that it was a discerning crowd. When two oldish men started to natter rather loudly during the concert, everyone turned round to look at them pointedly, while another oldish man shushed them. Soon the crowd increased and soon the hall was half full.

I last heard Ramani last year at the Thiruvaiyaru festival, we sat on the sands on the banks of the Kaveri under pandals and listened to him in the cool of the evening. What a difference in the ambience! There was no room at all, and it was a tight squeeze. There were mikes relaying the concert, not just at the open air venue, but in every nook and corner of the town. The town simply comes alive at this time. Here at the sabhas, you can hear nothing if you step out even for a coffee.

At the Sanjay Subrahmanyan concert of the Sri Bhairavi Sabha, I sat next to a lady, a hardcore Sanjay fan, who told me proudly that she had attended five concerts of his in this season. She had an electronic/digital recorder, fitting neatly into her palm and recorded the whole two hour concert. (Some of us in our music class use this to record our lessons.) I understand that many do this, and go back home to relive the joys of the concert. There have been debates on this – is it ethical? Is there an issue of copyright violation here? There is a school that feels that as long as the recording is not done for commercial purposes, it is permissible. A friend of ours has recorded many such concerts and burnt them on CDs, and now has an enviable collection.

Electronic pieces are now associated with music in other ways too. Musicians almost always have a small electronic box instead of the traditional tambura.(See picture.) But I understand that the Music Academy does not allow any electronic tambura on the stage. Mridangam player Umayalpuram Kalyanaraman, gave me this piece of information recently. He is the son of Tambura Venkataraman, and told me how his father’s services were always in demand till he retired.

But for recordings, so many of these brilliant concerts would be lost to posterity – science supporting art so smoothly. How marvellous would it have been had it been possible to make recordings of Sri Thyagaraja singing his own compositions.

Tambura picture: Courtesy Internet.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2009-01-01T06:01:00.003+05:30

Wishing everyone a Peaceful and Happy 2009.

A BOOK ON PROMISING YOUNG MUSICIANS

2008-12-28T10:23:00.005+05:30

‘Youth Jugalbandhi’ – the title is a combination of an English and a Hindi word, but the book is in Thamizh. Authored by Charukesi, the book is a collection of interviews with twenty eight promising young stars on the Carnatic musical stage.

The book, published by Vikatan Publications with a foreword by Sudha Raghunathan, has been appropriately released during the ‘season’.

Each chapter is dedicated to one person, with details of education, musical and otherwise, spelt out clearly at the beginning. Highlights of each musician’s career have been included smoothly with other information, like their views on music, on their profession and career. Sikkil Gurucharan, for instance, says he has no interest in news or other matters, it is only music for him all the way. Mridangam player Delhi Sairam says that no way would he consider participating in the orchestra of a Bharata natyam dancer. Vasudha Ravi says her most unforgettable moment was when she met M. S. Subbulakshmi and sang for her.

Not only vocalists, but accompanists like violinists and mridangam or kanjira players are also included in this list. Some of them are children of musicians, like Subasree Ramachandran, daughter of Charumathi and Trichur Ramachandran, and T. N. S. Krishna, son of T. N. Seshagopalan, or come from families with musical background like Abhishek Raghuram, who is the grandson of Palghat Raghu.

What does strike the reader is that each of the young persons holds not less than a bachelor’s degree. In fact some of them, like Nisha Rajagopal are professional degree holders. Many of the musicians, like Kuldeep Pai, K. Gayathri and S. M. Vilasini , live in the Mylapore neighbourhood.

Charukesi is an established writer with many short stories and books to his name. He is also a connoisseur of music, as his nom de plume might indicate – being the name of a raagam – and he has contributed articles on music to publications like The Hindu and Sruti. His given name is Viswanathan.

How did he hit upon the idea of interviewing the youngsters? Charukesi says that it was the idea of the Managing Editor of Vikatan Publications – VSV, and that this is the first time that profiles of a bunch of young artistes were taken up for a book.

“It took me 28 days to interviews the 28 artistes, and the book was readied in another 28,” he says. “On the whole, it was a pleasant task, talking to the young crop of musicians, who have excellent academic records, too. All of them co-operated in the project enthusiastically.”

This was published in the daily edition of Kutcheribuzz on December 25.

THE 'SEASON'

2008-12-09T10:23:00.021+05:30

Officially the ‘season’ hasn’t begun in Chennai.

There is only one season for the music lover in Chennai /Madras, and that is the music season in December-January. The weather is beautiful, with the North West monsoons having (normally ) receded, the sun not so powerful, and that pleasant chill in the air in the evenings and mornings, which lets women wear their Kancheepuram silks without feeling hot and bothered (as is the norm).

This is the time when various ‘sabhas’ (clubs) – now numbering more than a hundred, I think – stage Carnatic music concerts daily. Very often there are two concerts in the evening by established, who are known as ‘senior’, musicians. The less known, and those yet to prove themselves, are given a morning slot or an afternoon (2 pm) slot.

There are also Bharata natyam performances, and some of the sabhas also present plays or dramas. Karthik Fine Arts is one of these. This is a 34 year old sabha, and like most other sabhas, based in Mylapore. Because it doesn’t have its own concert hall Karthik Fine Arts starts its season earlier - by the first week of December. And presents the first concerts of the season at the Swami Gnanananda Hall of Narada Gana Sabha. By December 15, when Narada Gana Sabha hosts its own concerts, Karthik Fine Arts moves to other venues.

I managed to go to a few concerts of Karthik Fine Arts in the first week with Ganga at the Narada Gana Sabha, close to where I live. The auditorium is a huge one, a 1000 seater, I think, and is one of the better maintained ones. The early season concerts were well attended, even the 4 pm ones on working days.

It is the done thing to be seen at concerts, even if you come late, or leave half-way. Women love to dress up in their silks, and with jasmines adorning their hair definitely make it a point to attend. Men are less colourfully attired, but one does now see many T-shirts in the audience.

One of the ‘how do you do’ questions at this time of the year is “And which kutcheris did you go to?” whether one is a member of a sabha or not, in which case one buys daily tickets. And then one has to discuss, debate and dissect: “Yes, so-and-so did not sing well at that sabha at all, I think he has lost his voice”. Or “such and such’s Thodi was marvellous, so reminiscent of Madurai Mani” – thus assuring that one’s familiarity with the great masters of yore is registered. Or even wondering why the singer favoured only one composer, and sang fewer compositions of others! Knowledge aired casually, but clearly establishing it.

Then there are those who insist on sitting in the front row and keeping time with irregular beats, alarming the singer, and almost throwing him off his stride. The serious aficionados enjoy the music to the exclusion of everything else, with eyes closed (a couple of them may snooze off, if the music is soothing enough!), while some others note down the songs sung, to check on them later – nowadays all necessary information is available on the Internet. Cute little handbooks which identify a composition with the raagam, and composer, fit neatly into small handbags, and many check them out then and there. Sometimes the search takes so long, that the song is over by the time the raagam is determined.

There are others who could safely be called sabha hoppers, who attend one concert at one sabha, and rush to the next one at another. They pick and choose, debate the merits of each and every singer, and accompanying artistes before making the decision. What does help is the location of the concert halls – almost 90 % of them are based in the Mylapore area, so hopping from here to there is not really all that difficult, if you learn to ignore the congested traffic, that is.

The audience profile, I find, is generally the retired, or 50 plus, members of the Brahmin community. I have never been able to understand why the interest in Carnatic Music is restricted to this group. It is clear that the masses who generally listen to film music with its wild rhythm and fast-paced numbers, welcome equally songs based on Carnatic ragas. The popularity of the songs of Sindhu Bhairavi and Sankarabharanam 20 to 30 years ago, and today’s numbers like ‘Kangal Irandal’ and ‘Konja neram konja neram’, is proof enough of this.

Very few youngsters, unless they are the performers’ students attend the kutcheris. Neither do other musicians. Youngsters prefer to be on stage rather than in the audience.

A recent trend is that of visitors from abroad who come here to soak in the atmosphere of the season. Youngsters who left Chennai/Madras to study or work abroad make an effort to be present for the season at least once in a couple of years. Some of them were students of music, and miss the music and the unique atmosphere in Chennai. They listen all they can, savour and store the experience to be enjoyed at leisure, till they come back for another recharge.

What used to be a convenience for hard core music lovers has now become a side show at the concerts during the Season. For the music lover who just could not spare the time to break for a meal, canteens were set up at the venues. A quick bite between the songs, and the rasika was satisfied, and he headed back to the auditorium, ready for another schedule. This has now become a great business. Huge pandals (temporary pavilions) are put up alongside the halls, big names in catering take up contracts and total feasts are provided. In fact there are people who visit the concert venues just for the pleasure of eating at these places; music is a distant second, often skipped too. With the wedding season off at this period, it is a blessing to caterers who present their best here, too. The rush is something crazy.

At Narada Gana Sabha there is an open air canteen, run by Woodlands, that functions round the year, and serves splendid coffee and snacks. It is almost always nearly full, despite the season's caterers. The menu is displayed clearly outside at the top. After one of the concerts we managed to find time and a table for a quick coffee, excellent as usual.

Availing themselves of the congregation of music lovers, music stores set up stalls in the foyer of the sabhas, with CDs and DVDs of concerts, and books on music and musicians, or related to music in some way, sure of attracting customers.(Click on picture to enlarge).

Here is a no-frills schedule of the concerts from the beginning of the season to January 18.

And here is where you can learn all about the music and dance world of Madras : http://kutcheribuzz.com/

GOLDEN SHAWLS AND A TEMPLE

2008-12-06T21:51:00.010+05:30

A couple of months ago, our music group Gangamritham was felicitated at the Sai Baba Temple, after we sang there. We were honoured with ponnadais (golden shawls, literally). I was a little disappointed that we could not take a picture of us wearing them, then. But we got together a couple of days ago after a class, and posed with our shawls, asking an obliging passer-by to click. And here we are.

And this is a picture of our group at theArupadai Temple near Besant Nagar beach, where we sang in July. This temple is a fairly recent construction, and has six 'sannidhis', one each for the six famous temples (Arupadai veedu) of Lord Muruga.

A SAD TIME

2008-11-30T21:18:00.008+05:30

How enjoyably exciting it seemed when Bruce Willis, after chilling moments of suspense, managed to outwit the terrorists in 'Die Hard' and release the hostages. It was not a hotel that was taken over by the terrorists, but a couple of floors or more in a high rise building in Los Angeles.

Courtesy Times Online

But what happened in Mumbai at the Taj Hotel and the Oberoi Trident in the last few days did not thrill me in the least. We were glued to the TV, watching live action of the hostage terror and it wasn’t in the least enjoyable or exciting. Ball by ball commentary, so to speak, with visuals of what was happening on practically all the news channels only left us desolated. The feelings we were left with were grief and rage for all the lives lost in the attack, and fear for the lives that were at risk in the act of rescuing those who were still alive in there. The commandos and the police did a fine job, and lost some precious lives from their units in the process.

The depression caused by these events was matched by what one could call the pathetic fallacy of nature, with the skies weeping in Chennai and other places in Tamilnadu, when it just kept raining relentlessly during the whole 60 to 70 hours of the terror activity in Mumbai. As the siege ended, and the commandos took charge, the rains abated.

A bus sumerged in a subway in the city
Courtesy 'The Hindu'

Lives have been lost in the heavy rains caused by a cyclone, (named Nisha), and untold damage has been caused by rainwaters entering homes, both in the city and the interiors. The temple town of Chidambaram, we understand, became marooned.

Altogether a depressing week.

But, to use a cliché, the human spirit is resilient and people will go back to their normal lives in Mumbai and elsewhere, but the lives of those touched by this tragedy personally, and who lost loved ones, will never be the same again.

A blog with honest pictures of the Mumbai terror

And one on the floods in Chennai

OFF WITH THE OLD. . . . .

2008-11-23T07:54:00.004+05:30

I am being wooed.

Sms-s, emails, phone calls, the whole works. Day in and day out. But my reaction is silence, an impassive silence, while I rub my hands together in glee.

When I needed your help, you never paid me the slightest attention, ignored my phone calls, and sent me vacuous emails full of no information.

Now you beg and persuade, plead and beseech me to renew my association with you.
Thanks, but no thanks.

I have found someone new, who is just perfect for me.

BSNL - my new service provider.

No more waits of up to seven days while cable problems (which were as frequent as once a month) were sorted out. No more of having to talk to courteous, yet indifferent, call centre employees, who insisted on being civil, full of empty politeness, but were of no help at all. No more calling them up and not getting any feedback.

I only have to open the Internet, and there I am connected immediately and am ready to surf.

Or so I thought . . . . When suddenly two days ago I found that I could not connect to the net. I called their Call Centre. The line was busy for very long, and I could not get through at once. But once I did, the person there, without being obsequious, very clearly told me (without any ornamental flourish - no ‘have a great day’, no ‘thanks for calling us’)that my problem would be addressed as soon as possible.

When I called the person who had come home to connect us to the service, he said he would come to check the lines. But before the appointed time he called to say exactly what the problem was. It was a major one, with the server being down, and so he would not be visiting since it was not a problem related to our line. I appreciated that service. The connection was restored without much delay the same day. A nice change. The next day the newspapers reported a major snag in the BSNL service, which had disrupted connections state wide.

I am happy now, though I realise that if our telephone lines go, so would the broadband connection. But I am prepared to take that chance.

A LOVELY VISITOR

2008-11-18T10:24:00.011+05:30

Well - preserved, a friend remarked of my house and me, and in that order. I was flattered, even if I did sound like a jar of pickles. My hair has thinned, and my waist has thickened, but I wasn’t too bad, I thought.

Her words reminded me of a recent meeting with actor Vyjayanthimala.

Now here is a person who has aged gracefully and wears her years with élan. And not a bit of fat anywhere. She is so trim and slim, and that lovely smile from her ‘Madhumati’ days is intact.

My sister Viji had met Vyjayanthimala in Mumbai earlier this year, and called her when she came to Chennai recently. Vyjayanthimala immediately invited her to her place for dinner. After dinner she dropped Viji back - and came in to meet my mother. Viji said later that she had just asked her, “Will you come and meet my mother?” and she had immediately agreed.

When Vyjayanthimala was in her prime I was rather young (I think I was about eight when I saw ‘Nagin’) and was totally captivated by her. She was beautiful and graceful, and had the most charming smile. She remained my favourite heroine for very long, till after ‘Sangam’. I still feel that no heroine of today – size 0 or not - can hold a candle to her when she was at her best. She did not do many Thamizh pictures, but those she did were great. Her dance with Padmini in ‘Vanchikottai Valiban’ remains one of the screen classics ever.

She ruled over the Hindi screen with the great heroes she costarred with – Kishore Kumar and Pradeep Kumar earlier, and then Dev Anand, Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor.

So when Viji called and said that Vyjayanthimala would be coming home, I was excited. Quickly changing into a more presentable saree (I had already got into my nightwear), and patting my hair into place, I went downstairs to receive her. I opened the gate when the car came and she, sitting next to her son in the front, put out her hand, and said, “Rajalakshmi (my full name,) can you please hold the gate open?” I was disarmed.

That set the tone for the rest of the visit. She was all charm and grace, and we relaxed, and told her how she, among others, had filled our thoughts of films and film actors. When I asked if we could take pictures, she immediately agreed and got up telling my mother to keep sitting, and stood behind her chair and posed (see picture at the top). Several clicks later, we were back to chatting, and she told us about the dance programme she is presenting this music season. At 70 plus, she is still thinking up new themes and rehearsing rigorously. No wonder she is so slim.

When my mother mentioned that my birthday is on the same day as hers, she appeared delighted, and shook hands with me all over again. Now, I can understand my being delighted, but her? There was no need for her to appear so. That, I suppose, is the secret of her charm.

Incidentally, she lives barely 5 minutes away from us on C. P. Ramaswamy Road. She was amazed that we were practically neighbours, and had been so for the last 40 years. My husband, thinking this an opportune moment, mentioned to her the overburdened condition of our road, and asked her what she could do, as a former MP of the locality. Suchindra, her son commented that they were also victims of the weird road rules – he had no direct access to their home from the main road.

Granted, that I am not the star struck teenager of the 60s, nor she the reigning queen of the silver screen today. In spite of that, she bowled us over with her matter-of-fact manner and total lack of airs.

My mother remembers her from an earlier occasion too as a nice person. At the investiture ceremony at Rashtrapathi Bhavan, New Delhi, in the 1970s, when my mother and her sister had accompanied my father to see people receive their Padma Shri and other awards, my aunt had gone up to Vyjayanthimala and asked if she could hug her. And the star had easily agreed and hugged her back.

PONDICHERRY AGAIN

2008-11-12T22:48:00.035+05:30

I will never dream about Pondicherry again.
I have had my heart’s fill of it now.

Going back to Pondicherry after 46 years (we left there in 1962) with my sister and her husband (see picture above) who were visiting from Bombay, was the most rewarding experience. Though I have lived in Chennai for the last 41 years, the opportunity to visit Pondicherry had never arisen, though it is just three hours away.

And I never felt the need to go, but would dream about the place. About the house we lived in, the school we went to and our days there. I wanted to keep my memories intact, and so never thought of going.

My heart was full of happy childhood memories of the place. So many wonderful things had happened there. My youngest sister was born there. We went to the best school possible. We made a lot of road trips to the ultimate city (to us!) Madras. We learnt French and a bit of French culture, and made so many friends.

We were there from 1957 to 1962 – a very brief period, when my father(above) was posted there on deputation from New Delhi. He served as the Development Secretary. We lived on the top portion of a huge building, next door to what was then known as the Government House, and housed the Governor’s/ Chief Commissioner’s residence and other government offices. And my father had his office downstairs. We were only young children and did not know anything about the takeover of Pondicherry from the French by the Indian Government. All we knew was the predominant French influence and atmosphere in the city.

My father during one of his 'Development' jobs

So when Viji called from Bombay and said “Raji, shall we keep our date with Pondicherry?” I was only too happy to say yes.

And Viji was the best companion I could have had on that trip. She and I (along with brother Bala) shared the same memories of home and school, though there is about six years difference between us - and nearly six inches! Driving down the ECR in the car hired for the express purpose, we talked and relived those days, fifty years ago!

Reaching Pondicherry, we tucked into a delicious breakfast and told the driver to take us to the Government House(on the right). He insisted that that was not one of the sights, but we had our own agenda.

He then said he did not know the way. We told him to go to the beach and we would direct him. And happily we could. We were going to see the house we had lived in. The streets were the same, the buildings were the same. The memories came flooding back and we knew exactly where the house was going to be.

It was a clear and sunny day, but not too warm, adding to our expectations. We reached where ‘our’ house should have been, and found to our dismay that there was a building housing the Romain Rolland Library close up to the compound wall with the front gate, blocking our view of ‘our’ house. It was like a slap in the face. When we enquired inside we were told that the entrance to our building was on the street alongside, the street separating our house from the Government House. And there we found this board! Our house had become a museum – we are now on par with the Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, whose home has been turned into a museum too, we joked. My mother who had visited Pondicherry a few years ago and been to the house had prepared us for this. In a way it was good, otherwise we would never have been able to see the inside of the place.

We went in and asked to see the upstairs. The man at the reception table pulled out three tickets at Rs. 2 each. And while we excitedly told him that we used to live there so many years ago, he pulled back the tickets and waved us in. We insisted on buying the tickets, because as we told him, my father would have been the last person to encourage the misuse of concessions.

Going upstairs we found the rooms had become models of the luxurious rooms of the French period, (with suitable furniture and furnishings)– no photographs were allowed to be taken inside. We spent a long time there looking at the rooms and other exhibits, usually found in museums, reliving and revelling in so many memories. As a child I remember the shine my mother maintained on the red floor, but now that sheen was missing.

See the shine on the floor! Taken in 1962, when we were leaving Pondicherry for good.

We wandered about the huge rooms, and discovered the changes made there – the person-in-charge was very helpful once he also learnt we were ghosts from the past. We went up to the terrace, where we found some more buildings blocking the view of the sea, barely 100 yards from the place. That was sad. From the other side the view was overlooking the Government House, and beautiful it was, just as before.

The sky was never bluer, the light never brighter than on that day. From the tiny balcony in front of one of the rooms we could see the road separating the house from the Government House. In the corridors of our memory we heard the reveille being played in front of the Government House – twice every day, once to hoist the flag in the morning, and once in the evening, to lower it. How often had we seen the men marching from somewhere behind the Government House to the front, in their smart khaki uniforms and hats along that road. When we left the house (museum)we were satisfied, warmed by the reception accorded to us once the persons there knew us for past residents.

Next on our list was the school.

We told the driver to drive slowly while we drank in the sights of the place, the straight and parallel roads, laid at right angles. The Pondicherry we knew and loved was this one square mile city, called the white town, with no public transport, but for hand-pulled rickshaws. We had no truck with the rest of the city, but for visits to the cinema theatres.

We used to walk to school, barely half a mile away, across the Government park where the lovely Aayi Mandapam is (we did not know then that that is its name).

St. Joseph de Cluny High School, run by the Cluny sisters from France held the most important place in my mind then. The Headmistress then was foundress Sr. Peter Claver, a nun who was from Switzerland who we referred to as Mother Peter. She made sure that along with academics we had a well-rounded education with music and art classes and sports. She set up a Literary Society, and the sports day was an annual event to look forward to – just as Parents’ Day was. For the latter she thought up interesting programmes that included Thamizh songs and dances, and also English and French pieces, for which we trained assiduously from weeks ahead. I am sure all schools have the same events, but to me it was special, especially because of Mother Peter’s enthusiasm. Then there was the annual fete, which was open to the public – there were stalls selling wares made by the inmates of the orphanage attached to the convent, and music played incessantly. Packets of confetti (contributed by us cutting the wrappers of sweets and toffees into fine pieces) were sold for four annas – 25 paise - and used to be scattered over everyone, just for fun. That was one day the strict teachers and sisters let all the rules relax, and fun was the keynote.

Even studying was made out to be an enjoyable occupation. The school was young then and had only a few students in each class, so a lot of personal attention was given to everyone. Mother Peter’s able assistants were Miss Thomas and Miss Gowri, who taught English, History and Geography in the senior classes. All these memories are still green ....

We went looking for the school and found it – in the same place, with the same buildings on either side of the road. But where was the school? Only the Montessori section functions here, and classes for Western music, another legacy from Mother Peter, are being held in what used to be classrooms.
The staircase where Bala and I had posed for photographs with friends was still there, though narrowed down. Sister Judith, the sister in charge there gave us the details of the number of music students and the exams they were trained for – Trinity College of London was the examining authority. I remembered that Viji had taken one of these exams.
We met Sr. Phyllis, the Principal of the Montessori section, and she told us how the school on account of its growing strength had moved from here to another part of the city – but we already knew this. The newspaper I worked with used to run a sister newspaper called Pondicherry Times, and I got a lot of updates from it. We were touched to see Mother Peter’s picture gracing the place. My brother Raja who was then very young was her favourite. – she used to call him her sweetheart.

On the other side of the road - where the French section used to be, along with the sports ground and the hall with its stage – everything was still there, but everything was different.
Sister Suzanne who received us told us of the current activities of the school. All the sisters received us so affectionately when they knew the purpose of our visit, even if they did not know us. . . Not a soul whom we knew, or who knew us, did we meet. Fifty years is a long time.

Following our own whims, we decided to hit the beach next, but after succumbing to thirst quenchers next door to the school. The restaurant on the first floor had a thatched roof, and the walls had original paintings from Hindu myths, in the style of Ravi Varma.

The beach was a favourite haunt in those days, and my father used to take us there regularly; though it was only an itsy bitsy walk, we would go in the car. (I used to hate the beach for some reason, and preferred not to go.) The raised, wide cemented path along the beach, Promenade as it is called appropriately, saw many people after the sun had set.

The students of the Medical College – these were pre-Jipmer days - would also come there, as well as the doctors, my father’s colleagues with their families and residents of the Ashram.
Walking on the promenade was a popular exercise, with the cool breeze balancing the warm cemented walk with its little wall on which people could sit. One could not reach the sea so easily then. Today it is possible to reach the sea after a walk on the sands. Lord Dupleix’s statue has been move to the farthest part of the beach, from the place of honour, and Gandhi’s statue is put up there. And from the beach it is easy to walk across to the Government Park.

As we did.

The park has been transformed from a plain garden with acacia trees and grass to a tourist spot with flowering shrubs and vague pieces of sculpture, and a corner with swing and other playthings for children. But that lovely arch, where I was once the chief priestess invoking Lord Zeus, remains the same.

We went round the park looking at the buildings on the sides – We oohed and aahed “Oh there is the hospital” where Gowri was born, and “There is the Club”, where we used to go regularly, and where my father used to play tennis. It was a treat to be taken to the Cercle (de Pondicherry), as it was known, with him and be treated to dainty sandwiches and lime juice.

Viji’s husband Venky remained a mute spectator throughout, silent support coming from him at all points.

After a detour for lunch into the other side of town, (the other side of the canal, separating it from the white town) we came back for a last look at ‘our house’, and the streets around it.

The buildings here are so beautifully maintained, painted in muted shades of grey. The roads are paved and slope to the sides of the road, where there are outlets for rainwater to drain out. Most of the buildings are owned by Sri Aurobindo Ashram, which is what Pondicherry is most famous for now. One of the buildings is where the Mother used to give darshan from, Viji remembered.

As a student there was a healthy rivalry between the Ashram school and ours in inter school events. As a Clunyite, I dutifully hated the Ashram students. But the fact remains that the Ashram played a huge part in the development of Pondicherry.

We also wanted to visit the Pillayar temple which we used to go to regularly - it is so close to where we used to live. My father never took the car on outside trips without visiting this temple and breaking a coconut. The temple has grown very large now – with land donated by Ashram mother, says a legend in the temple. The little elephant outside the temple was a crowd puller - Lakshmi, a real charmer, with a chain of bells, and anklets round her legs.

Outside, we saw two women stringing jasmines, and remembered the small packet of stringed jasmines which was delivered to our door every evening, and we would all wear them in our hair, right from Grandmother downwards.

It had been a perfect day, and a sense of fulfillment pervaded us, as we drove back home. Our driver suggested we visit the relatively new Sri Anjaneyar Temple at Panchavadi. We did and marvelled at the 36 foot high Hanuman. The road we took was the Trichy road, and a smooth ride it was.

All ghosts have been laid to rest.

SODEXHO!

2008-11-09T21:13:00.006+05:30

I was waiting at the supermarket cash counter with just two items in my shopping bag. There was only one person ahead of me, and I was content to wait till he finished, though he did have a basketful of groceries. The cashier told him the amount, about Rs. 1200 and a little more, and waited for him to pay. Out came his wallet, but instead of cash, he pulled out a small booklet, which he laid on the counter.

Even as I looked on amazed, he opened it, and started tearing out sheet after sheet. The girl looked at one sheet and told him that the value of each sheet was Rs. 15. He nodded, and pulled out about 50 of them, one after another, taking his own time. Then he went on to pull out sheets of the next denomination, Rs. 50, as the girl verified.

By now she was confused, and had called her colleague to help calculate. The colleague came armed with a calculator, and while she calculated 50 x15 and wrote it down, the man began to pull out more sheets. Curiosity having got the better of me, (and I was melting in the heat as well, since the air conditioner had broken down in the store) and felt justified in wanting to find out just what was holding me up, I looked at the sheets – they were of Rs. 75 denomination this time. It also said something like ‘sodexho’ and ‘food pass’. I began doing some mental calculations to see how many more sheets of what denominations he would need, when he picked out a Rs. 10 note from his wallet and handed it to the cashier to complete his payment.

“Have you no change, sir?” she asked politely. “Only Rs. 2 more.”

The man coldly refused, and she ran to the next counter to get change.

And all this while I was in line, 12 minutes of watching the transaction, though it seemed like 12 hours. Finally the girl turned to me. Phew! I wondered why they did not have a separate line for people who wanted to tear out their coupons.

Coming home I tried to recollect where I had seen the word ‘sodexho’ before. And it came back to me. It was at a restaurant where my young friend had taken me for a treat – it said ‘sodexho’ coupons/passes were not accepted. She had planned to use them to buy our dinner! Fortunately we had some money with us, so we were saved some red faces, and did not end up washing dishes.

I wanted to know what this ‘sodexho’ is, and found out the following from another young friend, who gets them.
1.This is given by companies to their employees as food coupons in lieu of a part of their salary to save on tax. You save a nifty sum by the way because sodexho coupons are tax free. I am told most IT (Information Technology) companies go for it.
2 They can be used for buying groceries and food.
3.There are sodexho coupons and passes – the distinction is too fine for me to grasp.
4.Sodexho is a company name standing for Societé d'Exploitation Hotelière.

Very good, but maybe they will give coupons in the future in bigger denominations too, so other shoppers’ time can be saved.

SHE SELLS SEA SHELLS. . .

2008-11-04T21:00:00.016+05:30

. . by the sea shore.’ That old tongue twister used to make me wonder who collected the shells she sold. Today at the beaches one does find people selling seashells – made into dolls, fixed decoratively on mirrors, or just plain chains, and tourists buying them.

When we were children, one of the thrills of going to the beach was walking barefoot in the sand, allowing our feet to sink into the warmish, wet sand as deeply as possible and curling our toes. And then walk closer to the waves, skirts lifted right up to the knees and pants rolled up, and let the waves come and wash our feet, while we would retreat squealing with delight, asking for more.

And then there was the pleasure of looking for shells and collecting them, having an impromptu competition amongst ourselves to see who had the most, the prettiest, and so on, as only children’s minds can think up. We never thought about what we would do with all the shells we picked up and carried home, sandy and grainy, but take them home we had to. And empty them into old chocolate tins reserved for the purpose.

We did not care after that. But my mother is very resourceful and artistic. She used the shells in a very creative way to show each one off individually. She took small circular boards (like the base of cakes) and heaped loads of wet cement on it forming a tiny hillock, about a foot high. She pressed the cement hard to make it stay firm, and while the cement was half-wet, she pressed the shells into the little mound, with the prettiest one on top. Some were shells her grandmother had collected from Rameswaram.
One of them is the conch on top of this mound. I have one she made all those years ago, and to my knowledge she made at least three more.

There are uses for shells too. Small shells, called conches (shanka) have been used to feed milk to children. Milk is poured into the body of the shell, and the narrow lip is placed in the mouth of the child and the milk drips in small quantities. Bigger shells which are called conches, are used to blow into on auspicious occasions like weddings and poojas. Our legends speak of the gods and their conches. Lord Krishna blew on his shell Panchajanya during the great Mahabharata war.(Picture courtesy Internet)Most conches spiral to the left, like the ones here. The few that spiral open to the right are called valampuri conches and are used for religious rituals. My father-in-law had acquired one, and used it for pooja. (See below)

A picture that haunts my mind is the illustration of Rosamunde Pilcher’s ‘The Shell Seekers’. It was in a magazine along with an extract of the novel, but it was so many years ago, and I am not sure which one. Two little girls on the beach, one stooping to pick up a shell, and the other watching. I was pleased to see a similar picture on the net enititled ‘The Shell Seekers’ – maybe it is the same?

Copied from here.

A NICE GESTURE, A NICE FEELING

2008-11-02T22:40:00.004+05:30

It was a pleasant surprise on Sunday morning when I opened my mailbox. There was a mail redirected from the comment box of my blog. Namaki has presented me with an award !

I quote: ‘Hello Raji ... Let me offer you the Arte y Pico award for your blog ... because I like your stories about Indian culture and traditions etc.” I understand that the award is given to bloggers who are artistic in any way.

My most sincere thanks, Namaki. I am happy that my writings tell you a little about our traditions, even though I have not made any conscious effort to specifically talk about them.

Now it is my pleasure to offer five people the award.

Adi for his beautiful bilingual poems.
Sunita for having created a natural garden, which I see through her photographs and complementary writings.
Gardenia, who has a way with words, and brings alive her part of the country
Indrani for her wonderful photographs.
Flowergirl for writing so interestingly about flora and fauna.