Poramboku Productions

Poramboku Productions

Production No.1

Producer Pothuraju samarpinchu Tarasasankam, Telugu Chitram.

Everybody ready, lights on, ready, shoot

Vinandoyi verri mohaallaara vinandi;

Kaani rojulu vachchi, kallu moosuku poyi, poramboku sannasula saavasam chesi, Madrasulo Production Officu pettinaanu. 

Directorlu, actorlu, dance masterlu, sangeeta darsakulu, production panivaaralu okatigaa cheri, naa talakaya nunnaga goriginaru, tadari tarinari naa naanna torri naanna. Jaihind babu Jahindu. Pongadalu Pokundalu.

I grew up listening to a Telugu Parody skit on 78 rpm record from my Dad’s collection, the beginning and the conclusion of which is given above.

Though the dictionary meaning of Poramboke is land belonging to Government, both in Telugu and Tamil, it is a euphemism for “useless person”. In this skit, a producer by name Pothuraju, commences production of a Telugu film titled “Tarasasankam” under the banner Poramboku Productions.  He goes through a lot of troubles and concludes by singing, “listen idiots; due to misfortune, ignorance and association with useless guys, I have commenced film production in Madras.  The directors, actors, choreographers, music directors and the production workers have together made me a pauper. 

This was probably recorded in the early or mid 50’s.  Though very hilarious, it actually depicts the struggles of a film producer.

Why am I suddenly recollecting this?

Recently, a young film producer committed suicide in Chennai. An actor committed suicide in Hyderabad a few days ago.  Recently a popular director was caught in idol smuggling.  Every now and then we find news alleging female actors’ involvement in prostitution.  The number of actors and actresses getting into evangelism is also on the increase.  Though every individual is entitled to their own path, I look at it more as an act of desperation. Whenever an actor or a technician dies, his family is literally on the streets, with absolutely no security for them.  All this is very disturbing.  

I was born and brought up in what is called Kollywood.  We had several studios close to our house.  Prasad, Arunachalam, Vijaya and Vauhini, Prakash, AVM, Bharani, Syamala, Majestic and Golden, to name a few. All of them vanished over a period of time.  Many of our neighbours were either direct employees of these studios or freelancers working for films.  I have seen from a close-up the struggles of those associated with film industry.  

My dad too briefly worked in films in various departments and at the first opportunity, left it for good.  He didn’t want any of his children to work in the industry. Unexpectedly, I worked for a Corporate that got into film production as a backward integration strategy and so I have firsthand knowledge of how that industry functions.

Our organization faced stumbling blocks at every step.  Every person or firm willing to produce a film in Chennai has to first become a member of the association of Film Producers.  Strangely, Corporate Entities are denied membership.  This is done to safeguard independent producers.  Companies that are interested in producing films have to necessarily get into a partnership with some individual who is already a member with the association and the film has to be produced and released under the joint banner. The exploitation starts from there.

Our office was stormed with prospective filmmakers every day.  During their first visit, they were enthusiastic and eager to narrate stories.  But we told them to submit synopses.  Most of them weren’t used to working professionally and were desperate to meet an official and narrate their stories.  They were fully confident that, if an appointment is given to them, they are sure to produce a milestone film. Handling them was very tough. Many threatened to commit suicide if appointment wasn’t given.  A guy frequented our office asking for returning of his script.  I didn’t know through whom he had given it to our COO.  My COO too couldn’t recollect anything about the script. The guy wept, threatened of lodging a complaint.  I asked him to describe the bound script and he mentioned, in the very first page, there would be a picture of Gandhi.  I kept looking for that script in our office and suddenly found a stick folder with just three pages, the first with a picture of Gandhi.  It was such a mediocre synopsis narrated so badly, I was very angry with him for making me search for it throughout our office. In another instance, a bound script submitted by a prospective filmmaker was lost in transit to Mumbai and he was not ready to believe, though the couriers have given an apology in writing.  It just could not be traced.  The guy was so agitated.  He not only wanted the cost of printing and binding the script, but wanted a lakh as compensation to rewrite as he claimed he didn’t have a backup of the same. He alleged that we were scheming to use his script without his approval.

Those who got a chance too were very unprofessional.  They didn’t know what a budget actually was.  The budgets were prepared very superficially and even before the shooting was over, the film exceeded the budget.  Added to this was huge wastage of resources, that didn’t add any value to the film.  In one of the films, there was a scene in which a wedding card is handed over.  I am not exaggerating.  They bought 10-15 varieties of cards in packs of hundreds. They were lying everywhere in the office and were later used as scribbling pads.  Similarly shots that were not required were shot and excluded too. Most of the bills were inflated and the teams didn’t like being questioned at all.  They felt they weren’t accountable to anyone, including the producer.  

The organization I was working for had incurred huge losses.  So did the other corporates, that entered the industry. So are the other independent producers.  They all suffer like the protagonist in the skit I quoted in the beginning.  

Just the way, farmers in India incur losses after feeding everyone, film producers too suffer after entertaining people.  After agriculture, in film industry, almost all the workers are freelancers.  There is no work guarantee.  Landless farmers in rural India get guaranteed work for 100 days under the MGNREGA.  There is no such support for the film industry.  They are all caught in a vicious cycle of poverty.

Though the studios have vanished in Kollywood, one can find many men assembled in tea shops in the vicinity and with weak bodies and a lot of enthusiasm and a dream of making it really big in the industry, discuss stories and eagerly waiting for miracles to happen.  

Will the situation change?

The Gift List

“I really wonder why people suddenly change after they get what they wanted. One day they are sweet and the next day they are not. One day they are there with you, the next day they are not. One day you are important to them, the next day you are worthless. One day they love you, the next day they don't care about you. That's how ironic people and things can be, pretty shits, pretty lies wrapped up in ribbons and the worst part is that kind of people still get what they want in life and we are left behind crying for them and wondering how they changed”.

The above message was posted by a friend on Facebook.

All of us at some stage of our life experience “used and thrown” feeling.

When I was young, Deepavali at home was very different.  Apart from new clothes and crackers, our house was filled with many sweet boxes (around 40-50,) various fancy gifts and greeting cards, received from my dad’s business associates.  My dad was then handling purchases for a large factory and these were given mostly by suppliers.  We didn’t have a refrigerator then and even if we had one, the space would have been insufficient to stock all the boxes.  My parents redistributed all the sweets without any delay to our neighbours and relatives and sometimes even to strangers passing by.  My mother was very skeptical to feed us food made outside and was very selective in serving them to us. The gifts included stationery items, wallets, key-chains, calendars, penholders, pocket knifes, diaries and occasionally some kitchenware.  My dad allowed us to use only if it was really required.  Though some of them he preserved for future use, many he redistributed.  We kids were more excited about the greeting cards he received.  I honestly feel manufacture of such beautiful cards is now suspended.  He received many cards during the season.  After acknowledging the greetings, my dad used to allow us to take them.  Between the three of us, we divided the cards.  Some designs were repeated, while some were unique.  There was a tough competition for the unique ones.  After taking those cards to school for a day or two for flaunting, we recycled those cards.  My brother made lovely models of cars with those beautiful cards. We drew designs and improvised the cards and mostly we used them to play “words building” (we cut them into tiny square pieces and wrote alphabets on one side).  All these activities gave us immense pleasure.

But suddenly, everything changed one day.  My Dad’s boss died and the agency was terminated.  This happened a few months before Deepavali and suddenly there were no sweets, no gifts and no cards.  We were so upset about it.  My Dad too would have been upset.  But he never expressed.  He had a different priority than worry about the gifts – to provide for the family.  We wondered how things can change like that!  The thought “were those people who visited us not our Dad’s true friends?” though not discussed openly was always there at the back of our minds, for a very long time.

When I started working, one of the assignments was to assist the Product Management Team.  Throughout the year, they organized what was called “Campaign” a sort of periodical marketing activity.  It involved short-listing of names of Physicians who prescribed our products regularly for distribution of gifts.  The prescription generation was constantly monitored and accordingly the gift list altered.  When the support ceased, the name was removed.  Lists were also prepared for forwarding gifts and greetings to the distributors.  This list was finalized based on the date of the latest invoice.  If no invoices were raised in the preceding few months, the names were removed.  It was as simple as that.  No emotions involved.  Absolutely scientific and mechanical.  My involvement in this activity influenced my perception about the sadness I had suppressed till then.  I wondered why I have been wasting my emotions on some activity like this! In fact, I realized that many people silently manage a mental list of people to whom they can extend gifts like, love, support and help.  When they feel the returns aren’t commensurate with their benevolence, they alter the list.  Of course, there are some who are very poor in such calculations and extend unconditional love and help.

Most of the relationships are formed based on a need and when the need ceases to exist, the relationship too ceases.  Not understanding this mechanism, we invest a lot of emotions on those commercial relationships (not necessarily business but personal ones that are treated thus) and feel disappointed.

Daddy, you are in the other room!

In the Mahabharata, Yaksha asks Dharmaraja; “What is the greatest wonder?” To which, Dharmaraja replies; “Day after day countless people die.  Yet the living, wish to live, forever.  O Lord! What can be a greater wonder?”

Dear Daddy,

This is my second letter to you.  The first one I wrote when was about 10 years old when we went to our Uncle’s house for a vacation.  Amma dictated that letter.  It was more to inform you our return journey date, so that you can receive us at the station.

After so many years, I am writing this to you.  But, you would never read this.  We are all yet to come to terms with your demise.  We (I and my siblings) are strangers to death.  You and Amma lost your parents very early.  In the last four and half decades, there was no death in the family.  Whenever a relative passed away, either you or Amma attended the funeral or ceremony and we had complete immunity against that pain.  As Sekhar said, we always associated death anniversaries with a “get-together” of cousins and eating gaarelu and boorelu.

I have lived all my life with you.  I am surprised no one has asked me “how are you going to cope with the loss?  You have lived with him all your life.” May be they are convinced that I can handle it or feel I deserve this.  I think people are conditioned only to say a few standard consoling words, praise the departed soul, discuss the rituals and the funeral feast.

It is not just that I have lived with you, but have spent a lot of quality time with you and enjoyed it thoroughly.

We have been friends from the beginning.  We liked each other’s company. We were alike and also different. We never fought and were always on talking terms.

You hardly addressed me by my name.  I have always been your Amma or your grandmother, Subbamma.  But you are so broadminded to not only name me after Amma’s Amma, but also to believe that I am her reincarnation.  I came to know this only last year, when you mentioned it to a friend of mine, that Ammamma’s last wish was to live at our house. So, when you had a daughter, you really believed, she has come to fulfill her dream.  You believed in so many things that I don’t believe at all.  But there was never friction.

It’s almost two months since you left.
My mind is filled with your memories.
Every morning I wake up with moist eyes.  Till the last day you woke me up.  Now I wake up on my own.

I am reminiscing the time we spent together.

Even as a toddler, like the pug in the hutch ad, I literally followed you wherever you went. You too happily carried me or allowed me to walk with you everywhere.  I was with you when you went to fetch water, to get milk, watch films etc.  I came to your office, your business associates’ offices, banks, Government offices, literally everywhere you went. You considered me a “lucky mascot” and when something wasn’t working the way you wanted, you took me along.  I am sad I don’t have even a single photograph of you holding me.

Our outings continued even after I had grown up.  Mostly we went to the vegetable market together.  When Doctors advised you to stop cycling and carrying weights, you came to my office, picked me up and then together we went to buy vegetables.

Even after I started working, I continued to study through correspondence/part-time and you encouraged me thoroughly.  Every time I had an exam, you accompanied me.  The exam centres were in some remote areas in the outskirts.  Most of the times, you did a recce of the location.  You rode me to those centers with great enthusiasm carrying books to read while I attended the exam.  I failed in some exams too.  But that didn’t demoralize either of us.  We were just happy with the process.  Once, except you and me, there was no one on the highway.  I was so scared that day.  Also, when you took me to the Railway Recruitment Board exam, it was drizzling.  We had to cross Adayar river at Ekkattuthangal.  The present bridge was yet to be constructed.  It rained so heavily that day, by the time we returned, the causeway was partly submerged.  Bravely, you rode over that.  I was very scared that we would get washed off. You enjoyed taking risks.

By the time you stopped riding, I bought a scooter, and then you accompanied me on the pillion. Life had taken a full circle.  While you enjoyed pillion riding, I didn’t.  I was very scared because sitting behind, you tried to control everything.  The route, the speed and the movement.  You involuntarily gave signals to other motorists and then directed me to give way to them.  Also, your frequent ischemic attacks were a matter of concern and I had put my foot down to take you along with me after a while. May be I should have bought a car.  You never liked hiring taxis or autos.

Did you know that I was constantly living with fear for the last 20 years, ever since you had your first Transient Ischemic Attack.  You had them most in the nights or early in the morning.  Every night I used to peep into the bed room just to check if everything was fine with you.  I was scared even if you stopped snoring. Sometimes I used to come close and check if your breathing was normal.  Many times you saw me doing it.  I could see the happiness in your eyes when I did it.  I was worried if you spent more time in the toilet also.  You used to wake up very early and make a lot of noise in the kitchen.  If not for Varsha’s telephonic call, I would have ignored the day you fell on the stove with boiling milk when you had an ischemic attack.

I was always on an alert mode. I kept cash at home for emergency and stopped wearing nighties because, the first time you had an attack, it took a few minutes for me to get ready for the hospital.

You were so adventurous.  You locked me and Amma inside and went for morning walks.  You climbed up trees, scaled walls, got into water tanks and sumps. Wanted to fix everything. Your philosophy was; “ if someone can do, I too can do.” In the process, you got injured many times. We were very worried.

Even now, involuntarily I peep into the bedroom and suddenly realize that I don’t have to worry about you any longer.

How much you loved me! How special you made me feel.  I had the habit of watching TV before sleeping in the nights.  Sometimes I switched it off, many times I dozed off while the TV was on. Though you went to bed before me, you used to wake up in between, silently walk into the drawing room, check if I was asleep and then shut down the TV.  Sometimes, when I was awake also, you came to check. Now I switch off the TV before going to bed.

You always waited to have dinner with me.  During weekends, you waited to have lunch also.  Even when I got delayed at the Radio station on Sundays, you waited for me.  There were times when we had lunch at 4 pm.

You admired me so much.  You liked my meticulous planning and execution.  You liked the way I managed my money.  You liked the way I worked at home.  You loved the food I made. You were so proud to hear my voice on the radio. You were my best fan and critic. Even when you were confined to bed, you wanted to see me cutting mangoes for pickle.  Probably you saw yourself in me.

Though you were proud of me, you were also sad and at times felt guilty, for you have influenced some of my decisions that have gone wrong.  You have raised us at International Standards and I don’t think beyond India, parents take responsibility for decisions of their grown up children. Also, you have often quoted that individuals are responsible for their own Karma.  How restless you were every time I spoke to my male friends.  I don’t know if it was anxiety or hope.  There was no need for anxiety, as my friends are harmless and they are in my inner circle because they are worth it and if it was hope, I am sorry for disappointing.
I didn’t like anyone bullying you.  I tried to protect you as much as possible.  I even tried to make you more assertive and make you feel more secure.  I wanted to help you in getting rid of your emotional baggage, but you were reluctant to get out of the shell.  I have helped so many of my friends, but feel sad, I couldn’t do it to you.

A friend of mine says, people always praise the departed and never have any complaints against them.  For a change, I am also angry with you.  I had requested you to organize your list of contacts.  You had maintained four or five telephone indices. Same names are repeated with different phone numbers in different indices and we had a tough time tracing people.

You encouraged us to learn.  You initiated us into reading.  You taught us communication. You made us learn languages.  You were democratic.  Never imposed your ideas.  Imparted civic sense.  Raised us as responsible citizens. Gave us a platform to lead a righteous life. There is nothing special about fathers raising their daughters like sons, when they have none, but raising daughters like sons and giving them equal rights when there are also sons, is really special and you are certainly a special person. Thanks for everything.

I never told you “I love you” because I always felt such statements are too dramatic. I didn’t like falling at your feet also, for I don’t like tokenism.

To think of you in the past tense is so difficult.  In fact, I don’t many times think you are gone.  When I am in office, I feel you are at home.  When I am at home, I feel, you are in the other room watching and listening to us.

JAB WE MET

I think it was 2004 summer.  There was an article in the Hindu about “women entrepreneurs” and there was a mention about a team of women, who were ex-employees of Citibank starting a business. Those names sounded very familiar.  Particularly Uma.

I & Uma studied together from 6th to B.Com.  Even after we finished our studies, we kept in touch.  We attended some of our friends’ marriages together and I had attended Uma’s wedding too.  I once in a while I called her on her office phone.  After a while, she left Citibank or rather India and went abroad.    I came to know this through her office when I called her to greet her on some festival.  I lost touch.

With great optimism, I called the number mentioned in that article to check if the referred “Uma” was my friend Uma.  Yes she turned out to be my friend Uma.  V.Uma at school.

Uma, who opted for a voluntary retirement scheme at Citibank went to US for a while with her husband and returned.

She was in touch with R.Hemalatha, whose neighbour was Rm.Sivagami .  She was in touch with Sudha Ranganathan also, who settled down in Gulf after her wedding. When Sudha visited India in July/August that year, we had our first get-together at Woodlands.  We exchanged our phone numbers and email ids.  None of us had a mobile phone then. It was on that day, for the first time I heard the term “Facebook” when Hemalatha mentioned that she was in touch with our friend S.Lakshmi on Facebook.

K.K. Usha is one person who has never lost touch with me I should confess.  A year after our college, she shifted to Delhi and after a while, her parents too went to Delhi, lock stock and barrels.  Still she called me once in a while, particularly on my birthday.  She never forgot my birthday because it is her parents’ wedding day. When she came to Chennai for a bereavement in late 90’s, I visited her in a relative’s house too.  After that meeting, for a few years, she wasn’t in touch.  In 2007 or 2008, again on my birthday, she called my residence and my parents gave her my mobile number. ( I got a mobile phone in 2005). We had a long chat and she gave her new email id to me.

Before Orkut, before Facebook and before WhatsApp, it was just emails and we started exchanging a lot of mails.  I almost forwarded a mail to them every day.
In July 2009, I opened an account with Facebook and Hema was one of the first few friends I made on the social networking site.

S.Lakshmi, P.E.Uma and T.A.Geetha, Uma Maheswari (not exactly in the same order) found us on Facebook.

B.S.Sailaja too found me on Facebook and sent friend request and after acceptance was incommunicado for a very long time.  Still, I posted a greeting card on her wall, which was liked by her brother.  I got in touch with her brother through messenger, who in turn, turned her on, on Facebook.

Facebook too has been evolving and started giving a lot of suggestion of friends.  One of them was “Sujata Mohan”.  I don’t know why the suggestion came.  My profile was and is incomplete and those days, there was no mention of my school/college/office details.  I was curious to know who that Sujata Mohan was and peeped into her profile.  OMG! It is none other than N.S.Sujata aka Sujata Soundarrajan. Her son had opened an account for her and probably she was searching my name and so Facebook suggested.  Till date, that is a mystery.  I immediately sent “friend request” to her and established contact.  Such a sweet darling, she came all the way to Chennai enroute Salem and met me and Uma in our respective offices. She also specified a date of her next visit and requested, I organize a get-together.

In the meanwhile, Hema met M.Padmavathy in some supermarket and got her contact.  Of course, I had interacted a few years before, as a distant relative of ours happens to be an ex-colleague of Paddu and her husband.  However, after Hema gave her mobile, I re-established contact with her and invited her for the get-together during N.S.Sujata’s visit.

Padmavathy was in contact with Kota Santipriya, Rajasri and Renuka and they were brought into the fold.

Kota brought in Bhama and Vanitha.
Vanitha brought In Tamarai Selvi
Tamarai Selvi brought in Gitanjali, V.S.Chitra and Zeenath.

It was Vanitha’s idea to have a grand get-together in the school to commemorate 30 years of completion of 10th Standard.  We could not do it as all of us could not join at a given time.

Platinum Jubilee celebrations were being planned at school and Tamarai Selvi was in touch with the organizing committee of the Platinum Jubilee celebrations of our school and was constantly updating us.

In the meanwhile,  we have all been meeting every time some guest from Bangalore (PE Uma and NS Sujata) US – S.Lakshmi, Delhi – (KK Usha and TA Geetha) Sudha from gulf were visiting Chennai.  (We had lost touch with Sudha Ranganathan after our meeting in 2004, but rediscovered on facebook.)

During every meet, we were discussing all friends and wondered where they were and how they were.  KK Usha said, she has found that there is a lady by name “Chitra Palakodeti” on Facebook, whose profile was matching with our V.Chitra.  I too found that profile and saw the few photos she shared in it.  But no contact details were available and there was no activity.  But I saw her friend’s list in which her husband also featured and found that he was working in Pondicherry.  Also I googled her name and found that she was an office bearer in an association called “Palakodeti” clan or something like that.  I passed on this information to Padmavathy, who in turn called Chitra’s husband and got her contact and she is part of the gang again.

P.Sudha was in touch for a few years after her marriage in early 90’s, but then lost contact.  After several years, when her brother was getting married, she posted an invitation, hoping I would get it.  Since there is no change in my address, I got it and I got her too.

Uma Maheswari was in touch with V.Lakshmi and R.Padmavathy and she brought them into the fold.

Veda happens to be a neighbour of Hema and so, Hema brought her in.

Though both H.Viji’s parents and in-law’s houses are in our locality and I meet her extended family members once in a while on the road, V.Lakshmi, brought her in.

T.A.Geetha’s husband was in touch with Sundari’s family and so TAGs introduced Sundari.

I met Sujatha Shunmugam’s mother in a shop and got her contact.

V.S.Chitra introduced K.Gowri and V.V.Srilatha, who were her classmates at Ethiraj College.

Nagalakshmi and V.Lakshmi had a common friend and when I tagged a photo of V.Lakshmi on which Nagalakshmi’s friend commented, she had access to the photo and so she got in touch with me.

Nitya Kalyani, who was both Nagalakshmi’s and PE Uma’s friend, came on board.

Soon afterwards Nagalakshmi was on board, she was referring to a “Namagiri” who happens to be her relative and also her classmate at a later stage, I searched for our classmate Namagiri Lakshmi and saw her profile.  D.Abhirami was in her friends’ list.  I sent a friend request to Namagiri Lakshmi and messaged to Abhirami.  Both didn’t respond.

During the Platinum Jubilee Celebrations, I found someone resembling Jayanti.  I approached her and checked if she is Jayanti’s sister.  She is indeed her sister and she informed Jayanti and within half an hour, Jayanti was in school.  She was excited to know that, so many of us were already in touch and wanted to know the whereabouts of Abhirami.  I told her about the message I have sent and that I was waiting for a reply.  She wasn’t convinced.  She visited Abhirami’s maiden house and spoke to present occupants and learned that the property was leased out and the remittance is being made only in Abhirami’s favour, but her whereabouts not known.

During the celebrations, I had approached Sarada teacher, a distant relative of Prasanna and enquired about her.  N.S.Sujata was very particular that I somehow find Prasanna and R.Usha for her.  Sarada teacher wasn’t sure who Prasanna was, but felt that I was asking about a girl who joined Navy, but knew no other details.

When I went to cast my vote during elections, I met a college mate. On seeing her, I remembered that she happens to be a cousin of Sudha Ramanujam. I got her contact from her and soon she was on board.

I received a friend request from “Bhanumathy Shivakumar”, but there was no profile picture.  As a matter of principle, I don’t accept friend requests from unknown people and since her identity wasn’t clear, I did not respond. It was pending and in the meanwhile, she changed her profile picture and immediately I accepted her friend request.

Abhirami responded to my message and also prompted Namagiri Lakshmi to join.  She also gave Prasanna’s contact. (N.S.Sujatha's treat for finding Prasanna is still pending)

When V. Uma attended a function in Mumbai, she met J.M. Lakshmi and she is included.

Prasanna got B.Sukanya’s contact and she joined.

H.Viji, gave G.Rajalakshmi’s contact and she was included.

“Whenever you see colour, think of us” claimed an old advertisement of Jensen & Nicholson. But, every time I saw a paint advertisement, I used to think of N.Gowri, whose father was working for Jensen and Nicholson. Several years ago, when she finished her PhD, there was a congratulatory advertisement with her photograph.  But I missed noting the contact numbers. I realized she is Gowri Sundaresan and so was searching for Gowri Narayanaswamy and Gowri Sundaresan in all permutation combinations, but failed.
G.Rajalakshmi’s sister and Gowri’s sisters were classmates at school and luckily were in touch and through that link we got Gowri’s contact.

Gowri  who is settled in US, is in touch with M.S.Sujatha and Subha Bharati and so they are brought in.

During a recent Bandh, S.Bhavani, who generally travels by Bus, took a suburban train and so I was fortunate enough to meet her.

I got an idea for this blog when my friend Subha Bharathi asked me how I managed to get in touch with so many friends.

Thanks to technology, particularly Facebook and WhatsApp, we are all together after so many years.

P.S. Dear friends, all of you are precious.  The process of inclusion of a friend is elaborate wherever we got them with great effort and not based on the importance assigned to them.

CHANDAMAMA KATHALO CHADIVA

I grew up with a lot of books around me.  Books of all kinds.  I had rigid likes and dislikes even as a child and I was very selective in the books/stories I read.  Most of the stories I read as a child were from Chandamama. My Dad’s collection included Chandamama magazines from early sixties to late eighties.   Every summer, I read and reread the same stories.  Whatever little I have read has stayed with me forever and has been instrumental in shaping my character and behavior.

I have forgotten the titles of the stories, the characters’ names, the authors, the year of publication etc. But the gist is etched permanently in my mind.

I am sharing some of them;

THREE ADVICES

A poor farmer unable to make ends meet goes to a far off city, leaving his young wife behind.  He works for a rich man as domestic help, who promises to pay the farmer his remuneration at the time of returning to his village and provides him food, shelter and clothes.  The farmer works for the rich man for almost 20 years and decides to retire and conveys it to his master, who has incurred heavy losses in business and loses all the wealth.  Unable to pay the promised payment at the time of retirement, the master offers to give the farmer three advices in lieu of dues.  With no other option, the farmer agrees and collects three chits with advices and walks back to his village. After walking for a longtime, he rests for a while under the shade of a tree and reads the advices;

 Don’t be curious about others’ affairs and ask unnecessary questions.
 Don’t take shortcuts
 Suppress your anger till dawn

The farmer laughs at the advices and begins to walk again.  In a deserted place, he finds a strange looking man tying gold coins to branches of the trees and notices almost all trees around covered with gold coins.  He finds this amusing and almost asks the man with a strange appearance as to why he was doing it, but suddenly remembers his master’s advice and walks past the man.  The man calls the farmer and tells him that, he was tying gold coins to branches for a very long time and was looking for a person who would not question him the rationale behind his act.  To his disappointment all passersby had questioned him and so he killed them and hung to trees little far away and took all the gold they were carrying and tied them to the trees and the cycle continued. The farmer was the only one who had not questioned him and so he gladly gives all the gold he had accumulated over so many years and leaves.  The farmer realizes that by adhering to the master’s advice the farmer not only didn’t get killed, but also got all the gold.  Happily he collects all the gold in bags and starts walking towards his village.

Some more merchants join the farmer enroute, who after walking for a while, decide to take a shortcut to reach the destination faster and invite the farmer too to join them. The farmer is initially tempted, but suddenly remembers his master’s second advice and decides not to deviate.  All the other travelers take the shortcut.  After walking for a few days, the farmer meets his fellow-travelers who had taken the shortcut in a town.  He learns from them that they were robbed in the deserted route.  The farmer thanks his lucky stars and moves forward and reaches his village late in the evening.


He goes straight to his house.  His wife doesn’t recognize him and so he introduces himself as a merchant passing through their village and requests permission to stay in their house overnight.  The wife requests him to stay in the cowshed as the man of the house is away and so it is not appropriate to let a stranger into the house.  The farmer feels very proud of his wife and lies down in the cowshed.  He intends to surprise his wife, who is living in the dilapidated house the next morning. After a while, he sees a young man entering the house and lock it from inside.  He gets very angry, but as per the third advice, decides to question his wife the next morning and suppresses his anger.  Early in the morning, the young man walks out of the house and standing near the gate, shouts “Mother, I will go and get some food for us and also for the guest in the cowshed” and that’s when the farmer realizes that his wife was pregnant when he left the house.  He runs towards the young man, hugs him, introduces himself as the father and showers him with gold coins.

I follow all the three advises.  However curious I am, I refrain from asking unnecessary questions.  I don’t take shortcuts and I never express my anger spontaneously.


THE WAVERING MIND

This is my all time favourite and I have quoted it in another blog.

A rich man, who is also a connoisseur of art, organizes a Harikatha (a composite art form comprising storytelling, poetry, music, dance and philosophy) before an invited audience at his home.  Impressed with the performance, he decides to reward the
Performer, and gets into his room, opens the safe and brings out some gold coins and places them in the tray with the Tamboolam (Betel leaves with areca nuts given to a guest traditionally). Within a few minutes, the host changes his mind and replaces the gold with silver and again silver with a few currency notes.  Observing this and understanding the wavering mind of the host, the performer narrates an episode from the life of Karna, extempore.

A poor Brahmin visits Karna’s palace, seeking alms.  At that time, Karna, who is known for his generosity and righteousness, is massaging his body with oil from a silver bowl.  On seeing the poor man, Karna offers the silver bowl in his left hand, spontaneously.  The Brahmin objects to this and requests Karna to use his right hand for donating, as using the left hand is considered inauspicious.  Karna justifies his stance by stating that the human mind is always wavering and while he changes the bowl to his right hand, there are chances of him changing his mind and refrain from gifting such a precious bowl to a stranger and that gifting/donating should always be spontaneous.

The host having understood the hidden meaning in the story narrated out of context and rewards the performer with gold, as planned originally.

When I decide to gift/donate/ give away, I follow this principle.

WHAT YOU GIVE, YOU GET

I think this is a Jataka story.

The story goes like this; Two widows, live in the same neighbourhood.

One stormy night, a monk knocks at the door of both the ladies and tells them that the house of another lady in the locality is destroyed in lightening and requests help.  While one lady hands over rags, another lady generously gives warm clothes and bedding.

After several years, on a stormy night, the houses of both these widows are destroyed and they go and seek help in a nearby monastery.  As they stand drenched, a monk hands over to the generous widow warm clothes and bedding, where as he provides rags to the other widow.  When questioned, he says that’s what they had deposited for themselves.

Though this situation might sound irrational, this has gone deep into my mind and every time I am helping or giving to someone, I don’t think I am helping them, but I feel, I am doing it for myself.


NO ONE IS INDISPENSABLE

This story is about an old woman who owns the only rooster and fire in the village.  The entire village wakes up to the crowing of the rooster and borrows fire from her for cooking.  She is very proud of this fact and one fine day she leaves the village to the nearby hill with her rooster and fire and doesn’t return.  She does it to see how the villagers survive without her.  The biological clock wakes up the villagers as usual and when the old woman is not found, the villagers make fire with stone and continue with their lives.  The old woman feels very sad to note that she is not indispensable, as he has been thinking.

I have understood this truth very well and realize that life just goes on and no one is indispensable.

P.S. The title is borrowed from a song from the Telugu film EE Abbayi Chaala Manochodu, meaning I have read the story in Chandamama

CURTAINS UP

There is an article in today’s The Hindu, regarding bamboo and vettiver curtains.  The article, particularly the photograph, took me back to the early 90’s.

When I took up my first job in the early 90’s I walked past the corner of T.T.K. Road, where these curtains were (are) woven, every day - the junction of Sriman Sreenivasa Road and T.T.K. Road.  An old man and his wife were seen busy weaving bamboo curtains.  The man was very tall, dark and very weak.  He had difficulty in walking.  His fingers and toes were stiff and little deformed probably due to arthritis, but he was always active, either slicing bamboo or weaving.  The old lady was fair and weak too, but was very supportive.  They spoke the Madras dialect of Telugu.  The footpath was completely occupied by them.  Close to the compound wall in that corner, was a makeshift bench, with bricks and a slab that was wide enough to sit and probably five feet long. I always felt sad for that old couple who had to work so hard in that age. On a few occasions, a middle aged man, as tall as the old man and as fair as the old lady, probably their son and his wife were seen with the old couple, arguing, fighting and thrashing them.

After a few months, the old man became too old to work and probably was also sick.  It was raining on and off and there was no work for them.  Still, the old man lied on the makeshift platform, day and night, rain or shine, with a tarpaulin tied above.  The old lady brought food from home every day and left after he had eaten, leaving him alone.  I wondered why no other family member stayed with him and why the old man was not taken home.  Probably their house was small to accommodate him or probably, they didn’t want to lose this prime corner or the old man was adamant about it.  Whatever be the reason, the scene was very pathetic.  The old man was very tall and his legs were stretched beyond the platform.  The tarpaulin too didn’t provide adequate protection.  When none of his family members were around, the old man begged.  I felt very sad that a skilled artisan had to do this. I always gave him money. At times I gave him snacks.  Every Friday, I gave him the banana that was distributed in my office after the pooja.  My salary was just 800 rupees those days.  Though I had sympathy for the old man, I couldn’t do anything more.  During a weekend at the end of the monsoon, the old man died.  Immediately, the tarpaulin was removed; his old clothes thrown away and the place cleared and his son who was never seen working and only fighting with his parents started working very cheerfully in the same spot.

Witnessing the old age, sickness, poverty, loneliness, helplessness and finally the death from a close-up affected me a lot.  Every time I passed through that spot, I felt very depressed. I thought I should do something for the homeless and the less privileged.  Even after two decades, I am still thinking.

Even today, whenever I think of aging, loneliness or death, I think of that old man. This article has brought back his memory and the associated pain.

P.S. Link of the article

http://www.thehindu.com/society/bamboo-and-vetiver-curtains-come-to-the-rescue-of-chennaites-to-beat-the-summer-heat/article17556949.ece

DOWRY, THE H1 B OF INDIAN MARRIAGES

“After H1B news, Dowry rates in Andhra/Telangana crashed more than TCS/Infosys shares”

Social media was flooded with this joke, soon after the declaration by Trump.

Dowry has been in existence from time immemorial and across all continents.

I don’t know about other States, but in the South, particularly, Andhra, Telangana, Tamilnadu and Kerala, it is prevalent, but in different forms.

Dowry is given in various forms; as hard cash, fixed deposits, gold and diamond ornaments, silver articles, land and buildings, consumable durables and household articles.

While in Tamil Nadu and Kerala, it is mostly in the form of gold, in Andhra and Telengana, it is mostly cash and sometimes, land and buildings.

The reason why only those two States are included in the joke is mainly because of the fact that a significant number of H1 B Visa holders are IT professionals mainly from these two States and also their bragging about the dowry.

A friend of mine who had worked in Andhra & Telengana told me once that, every time he interviewed Telugu speaking candidates, he questioned them about dowry and he was shocked with their replies.

He said not even a single person spoke against it.  They justified it by stating that;

·         it was part of their culture,

·         they too pay dowry for their sisters

·         they have to take care of the expenses of their respective wives for a life time

·         that’s the best way to get a suitable partner

·         if they don’t take, they would be looked down upon

·         after all they have spent a fortune on their education and getting a job and its time they get back what they have invested

·         It is considered an elevator to success.

We are proud non-conformists.  My maternal uncle refused to accept dowry in 1950’s, the first among the clan to do so.  

Those were the days when dowry and bride price co-existed.  Depending on the law of demand and supply, either dowry or bride price, were decided.  People got married very early and grooms, whose marriage was delayed and those without regular income or assets and widowers, had to pay a bride price, which was known as “Kanya Sulkam” to marry.  Available brides were too young and so to have an adult partner, older men from Telugu speaking areas travelled down South and literally bought wives from Kerala and Tamil Nadu, where the gender ratio was different and also child marriage wasn’t prevalent.  

My uncle was a trendsetter of sorts.  My brothers and some of my cousins also refused to accept dowry. My uncle once even advised me to say “no” to dowry and also refuse to indulge in outdated rituals in wedding.  He died soon after I finished my studies.  I now think how proud he would have been to see an empowered “me” saying no to many things, average Indian women long for.

When my parents were looking for a “suitable boy” for me, we encountered several funny characters.

During our meeting sessions with the prospective grooms’ families, while the women folk were indulged in assessing my height, weight, behavior and attitude, the men, particularly the patriarch was busy making a valuation of our house and ascertaining 1/4^th of the share, I am likely to get.  My Dad was bombarded with questions like “what is the total area?; what is the buildup area?; what is the ongoing rate per sq.ft?” etc.  Many of our relatives suggested that, my parents declare to the world the approximate cost they intend spending on my wedding so as to attract good grooms. 

My Dad once went to Gudiwada, a small town in Andhra, to meet a prospective groom’s family.  The groom was working as a clerk in a quasi Government co-operative society and was living with his widowed mother in a dilapidated old tiled house built by his grandfather or his great grandfather, along with his many uncles and cousins in different portions.  His share of the undivided property was a medium sized room in which he and his mother lived.  During the meeting, the broker had told my Dad that the groom’s family was expecting a dowry of 2 lakhs.  That was too much money in the mid 90’s when a sovereign of gold was approximately Rs.4,500/-.  The ongoing dowry rate for a clerk was about Rs.30,000/-./-.(Yes the grooms are categorized based on their net worth, education, income, family background, appearance and responsibilities)  My Dad was very curious to find out why an average looking guy with a very poor background wants such a huge dowry.   He was shocked when the broker told him that the groom had bought a life insurance policy and has been paying premium regularly.  If by chance the groom dies after marriage, the sum assured anyway would go to his wife and so, he has decided to collect that money in advance from the bride’s father.  Yes. You read it right. He had the audacity to say this. My Dad decided not to take it further.

Consumerism has spread into all areas including marriage market and prospective grooms wait to commit to the bride’s family hoping to get a better bid. A family known to ours was looking for a bride for their grandson.  The guy was working in US and was planning to visit India for a month and his family released an advertisement and shortlisted 3 girls.  The parents could not decide on which of them was best and have told all the three families that a decision would be taken only after the groom lands and if the groom says "yes", within a short period they would have to arrange for a wedding and believe it or not, all three families agreed to this and even booked halls and paid advance to service providers for a tentative date given by the groom’s family.  The guy landed and selected a girl and married her.  I don’t how the other two girls and their families felt about the whole thing.  It is certainly beyond my comprehension.

Where is love and divinity in all these transactions? 

It is not just Telugu families that are crazy about these issues.

A few years ago, a colleague of mine returned from a tour, depressed.  When we asked him the reason, he replied that during his return journey, members of a marriage troupe were his co-passengers and though the groom was a school dropout, his new bride was given a dowry of 50 sovereigns of gold by her parents and though my colleague was a graduate, his in-laws had only gifted his wife 20 sovereigns and also burdened him with marriage expenses. His self-esteem was very badly affected with this comparison. I and some of my other colleagues tried to pacify him stating that educated women hardly wear gold and even if they, the husbands should not value their “self-worth” based on how much gold their wives hold, but failed miserably.  None of the men around were convinced.  They justified that gifting of gold was directly proportionate to their worth.

We had a housekeeping person from Kerala, whose annual income was less than a lakh. He said he was lucky that he had a son and his friends who were in a similar stratum and had daughters, had already saved nothing less than 100 sovereigns for each of the daughters.  I wonder what all people forego to buy so much.

Education, exposure and even technology couldn’t bring about a change in the mindset of our people.  Very unfortunate.

THE LADY DETECTIVE – NO, AN ANALYST

My friends call me a CID. They do so because I am instrumental in finding many of our classmates after decades.  They call me so because of systematic recording and retrieval of information in mind and my analytical skills.  They call me CID Sakuntala and my friend P.E.Uma coined a new name; “Charukuntala”.

I didn’t get opportunity to use my analytical skills officially, except during my brief Auditing and Administrative assignments.

Jigarthanda as per Wikipedia is a cold beverage that originated in the South Indian city of Madurai in Tamil Nadu.  It translates to "cool heart" in English.

I have read about this in a few newspapers and magazines, but none of them could substantiate the meaning.

With my “CID” brain, I have analysed it and would like to share it with you.

One of the main ingredients of Jigarthanda is Almond gum.  Gum is called “Jiguru” in Telugu. For several years from 16th Century onwards, Telugu rulers ruled Madurai. Many people including Muslims from the Telugu speaking areas migrated to the South during their reign.  They were the ones, who introduced this drink. A cold beverage using edible gum would have become Jigarthanda.

Unfortunately, we don’t have a sense of history and have failed miserably in chronicling it.  

P.S. Images courtesy – The internet