Is Someone Really Listening?

 Recently, my brother texted a message to me with a mention of some money.  After reading his message, I opened my mobile payment service app for some verification and was surprised to find that my brother’s name appeared on the top of suggested payees.  On another day, my launderer delivered clothes and when I opened my mobile payment service app, his name topped.  In this case, there was no exchange of messages, but the mere vicinity stimulated the prompting I suppose. Whenever I do searches on internet officially on my office machine, related advertisements appear on my social media and on my phone search engines and I don’t understand this connect.

 

In this context, I want to share another story, which is in no way connected to technology, but I feel they are similar.

 

When I was around 8 years old, there were two Indian Almond Trees (Badam) in our locality.  One in a neighbour’s backyard and another in a gated farm. The process of extracting the tiny nuts from the corky fruit is tough but exciting.   Though many children in the locality stormed these two places to collect the fallen fruits, our parents who were very strict, never allowed us to indulge in this activity.  Occasionally, we got the fruits that were carried by squirrels, parrots & crows and dropped in our garden.  On a rare Sunday morning, I & my sister with a few girls went to the gated farm to collect Badam fruits.  A boy living there generously distributed the fruits he collected and preserved in a large bamboo basket, to all of us.  In our tiny hands, we could collect 5-6 fruits.  Both I and my sister brought them home safely and kept them on a window sill, silently.  We had guests at home that evening and I was busy helping my mother in the kitchen, preparing and serving snacks to the guests.  After the guests had left, I remembered the fruits we brought and looked at the sill.  I couldn’t find them, but I found the shells strewn around.  When I asked my sister who was my partner in this activity, she replied that my dad had cracked open the fruits and distributed the nuts to everyone at home. I was so shocked, I started crying.  I climbed the stairs, sat down on the steps, away from my people and cried continuously.  I must have cried for two hours at least and the saddest part was nobody noticed my absence.  I was very sad because, even as a child, I never touched anything that was not mine.  Also, I never ate anything alone.  It was always shared, however small the quantity was.  I was very disappointed my siblings, particularly my sister did not notice I wasn’t around when they ate those nuts. More than this, I could not digest the fact that, my dad, whom I considered a very fair person, casually cracked open those fruits without checking whose they were and giving them away.  This was like an insult to injury.  The pain I experienced in those two hours was cumulative.  I recollected all sad experiences till then and cried for them too.  I was very angry.  How can my parents and older siblings who are very strict in everything else, be casual when its convenient for them?  The pain increased  when no one even attempted to pacify me.  When it was time for dinner, my mother called for me, first to help her set the table.  I don’t remember how that drama concluded that night.  From the next morning, life was as usual.  I had completely forgotten about this episode that had happened some four and half decades ago.

 

But why am I remembering this now?

 

That gated farm vanished.  The house garden that had a Badam tree redeveloped. But our locality now has many Badam trees.  As avenue trees in some lanes and in many backyards, including ours. The tree in our backyard too has started yielding and on most of the days, I find a fruit or two on the same steps, I sat down many decades ago and cried for hours.  The first time I realised this, I had goosebumps.  I wonder, “is someone really listening?”  It might sound silly, but I experience absolute bliss everytime I find the fruit, particularly, on those steps.

THE GRAVEYARD

Many years ago, I used to regularly go for long walks in the morning.  I used to do this for almost 9 months in a year and during monsoon, took a break and started again by mid-December.  This was my routine for many years.  I used to walk through many residential colonies and in the route were many cinema studios, which had a glorious past, but at that period, were shut, abandoned with wild growth of plants and trees.

 

My dad had built our house in a farmland that literally had no roads or electricity at the time of construction.  The colony developed as we grew up and we celebrated every first in the locality.  The first tar-road, the first milk booth, the first bus route, the first phone, the first television in the neighbourhood, the first bank, the first clinic, the first medical store, the first fancy store etc.  The list is endless.

 

I don’t remember the year.  May be, it was some time in the early 2000’s.  On one December morning, when the roads were dry and there was no indication of rain, I resumed my morning walk.  Everyday, I took a different route and it was always a circle route.  On that day, while I was nearing my house after I walked for almost 3 kms, in the vacant land of an erstwhile studio, amidst the wild growth, I saw many tombs.  Not only that, I also saw a huge gate and a faded hoarding indicating that it’s a crematorium maintained by Chennai Corporation.  I was shocked.  For a while, I thought I was dreaming.  But then, I was walking.  Generally, in all my dreams, I am mostly lying down or at the most, sitting.  Also, the sun was shining bright and people around were already busy with their works.  While I celebrated every first in the locality, I could not celebrate this.  Tears started rolling down my cheeks.  I imagined my own death and funeral.  I always feel sad for my pallbearers, as I am very heavy and feel guilty that I would be a heavy burden on their shoulders. Then I imagined funeral of other known persons.  “Lousy thoughts”.  I cursed myself and entered home and rushed to have a shower.  I didn’t discuss with anyone at home.  I took a break again for my morning walks and when I resumed it after a week, I had a shock again when the graveyard vanished completely.  The whole experience was surreal.  This time I decided to speak to my family about this and when I did, my sister informed that it was a set built for a film shooting and shut my mouth.  I could never imagine that possibility.  It was looking so real.  The board was rusted and the paint faded with traces of ash and having all details like ward number etc.  There was no way I could find the film for which this setting was built and who that great art-director was.  Ever since, every time I see a graveyard scene in films, I try to observe whether it has any resemblance of the one I had seen.  Unfortunately, I could not.

 

But why am I recollecting this episode?

 

Recently, our office shifted to a remote locality and the landmark is a graveyard.  We have to walk past the graveyard to reach our office.  Many of my colleagues are disturbed about this. But I have evolved.  I experience no emotions.  Even when its dark and I have to walk alone, I am not scared too.  With regard to the odour everyone is complaining about, whether it’s a bird’s flesh or animal’s or a human’s, its all the same for me.  I just close my nose. 

 

P.S.  The setting of the graveyard was built exactly in the same piece of land in which Jain’s West Minister that was in news recently is built.

 

 

endarO mahAnuBhAvulU andarikI vandanamulu

I am writing a blog after two years and so decided, it has to be a positive one.

The caption is borrowed from the first line of a Tyagaraja Pancharatna kruti. It means “my salutations to the great men”

In our day-to-day lives, we often get hurt because of the behaviour of people around us.  We are constantly criticized, ridiculed, excluded, marginalised, bullied, manipulated and exploited.  All these, many a time result in bitterness.  But there are also some people, who by their gestures or simple deeds, not only make us feel happy momentarily, but the happiness is etched in our memory for the rest of our lives.  I am going to share four such stories.

Two decades ago, I went on a tour with my then colleagues to South Canara.  The trip was arranged on a shoestring budget and we stayed in a guesthouse in Udupi and travelled to nearby places.  The guesthouse had only lodging facility. However, there was a caretaker, who for an additional cost, provided hot water for drinking and bathing and coffee.  Though I wasn’t an early bird then, during my stay there, I woke up early.  I had to share the room with three other persons and since I hate wet bathrooms and toilets, I got up early.  There was two to two and half hours’ time for our breakfast and so I preferred to have coffee.  There was no room service too and we had to go to the caretaker’s room to get it.  I was so uninhibited, I went to a stranger’s room all alone, when it was still dark outside and everyone else asleep. The caretaker’s room was dimly lit and had no furniture except a wooden bench, probably that was his cot and a kerosene stove on which he made coffee and a built-in oven for boiling water, in a corner of the room.  (Its very common in Karnataka to build a concrete firewood oven with a metal pot fixed inside permanently).  He offered the bench for me to sit while he made coffee for me.  He was in his late 50’s or early 60’s and was absolutely simple.  He just wore a dhoti (a lengthy piece of white cloth tied around the waist).  Even in those cold mornings, he didn’t wear a shirt.  In fact, throughout my stay there, I didn’t see him wear one.  The coffee he made was very aromatic and tasty.  Everyday, as I sipped my coffee, we chatted.  That’s hilarious because, I tried talking to him in broken Kannada and he in broken Telugu.  On the day we checked out, we vacated our rooms and waited with our luggage in the open area outside the guesthouse.  The caretaker came there looking for someone. He did not know to express what he was looking for.  When someone asked him, he said, “that madam” and spotted me.  Only then I realised, he was looking for me. As I wondered why he was looking for me, he signalled a lady standing at a distance to come.  I went near them and then he introduced me to the lady as the patient he was referring to.  I was surprised at the introduction. He introduced the other lady as a Physician. She probably was a practitioner of alternative medicine and was famous for treating diabetes.  Since I don’t add sugar to my coffee, he assumed me to be a diabetic and wanted her to offer me medicine.  That doctor told me that the caretaker was very sad that at a young age, I was a diabetic.  I thanked both the caretaker and the lady for their concern and explained that I don’t add sugar to my coffee because I don’t like the taste and that I am not a diabetic.

                                             ****

The next person I am going to discuss was my colleague G.  I have discussed him in a few other blogs too.  He was an office assistant and though very creative, not very consistent and so not very dependable.  Everyone had some complaint or the other against him.  But I never had any issues with him. We got along well. But I had issues with another person who was a manager, but not in the team I was.  He was close to power. He too wanted to become powerful in office and probably thought I was a threat and so bullied me a lot. I was young and a little naïve and I struggled to handle him.  His behaviour was very unprofessional and on days our directors were not in office, he ordered the A/C to be switched off.  (There were no fans or ventilation in office) After many rounds of discussions and requests with him and he failed to help, I took this to the notice of our directors, who advised him not to indulge in such silly behaviour.  Offended by this, he got a wooden door fixed over the switch board of the A/C, locked it and took the key with him and on days he wasn’t in office, we had to work in a room at a temperature of 35 degrees without any ventilation.  Around this time, a major conference of physicians was happening near our office and the organization I was working for was sponsoring a major activity in the event.  All directors and senior managers were away participating in the event and many colleagues were busy at our stall organized at the venue.  We were all advised to visit the stall and so I too went there but was very sad with the behaviour of the troublesome colleague on that day. His behaviour was very humiliating and I wanted to resign citing his harassment as the reason.  I have a very deceptive appearance and people generally cannot know even if I am sick or sad.  But this G, who was helping my colleagues at the stall, identified my sadness.  Though the stall was crowded, he came close to me and whispered “what’s wrong madam? I have never seen you like this before”.  Tears rolled on my cheeks (which is very unusual.  I am very rarely emotional) and I murmured, “I just want to leave this office.  Its no longer the place I loved so much.”  He did not say anything to console.  He took a fresh, tiny towel from a cover and handed over to me and said, “the guy in the next counter gifted” with tears in his eyes too.  I immediately started smiling forgetting all the pain.  Sometimes, all we need is an empathising soul around us.  I still have the mini towel he gifted me that day.

                                            ****

A couple of years ago, I attended an interview in an MNC.  The interview was held at their factory far away from Chennai, almost near the border of Andhra Pradesh. A cab was sent for my pick up early in the morning and my breakfast too arranged at the canteen in their office. The first round of interview was done in the  morning session and I and the other candidates were told that the next round would be in the afternoon, post lunch.  The HR coordinator who arranged the interview, led me and the other candidates to the dining hall again for lunch.  After lunch, when we were back at the meeting room for the next round of interview, he called me inside and politely told me that I wasn’t shortlisted for the next round and that I can take the cab he has arranged for me and leave immediately.  I was stunned.  Not for the rejection.  It wasn’t new to me.  But the sensitivity with which the HR coordinator handled it.  He could have very well told me about not getting selected before lunch.  But he ensured I had lunch, a vehicle arranged and then informed.  It took almost 3 hours for me to reach home and there were no eateries in the vicinity of that organization or in the route.  Throughout my return journey, I was very grateful for his behaviour.  It’s an unforgettable experience for me.  When thought of writing about this incident, I could not recollect the name of the organization and had to search on the internet for the same.  However, this gentleman’s name, face and his voice are still fresh in my memory.

                                            *****

 A couple of years ago, the organization that employed me, wasn’t paying salaries to its employees regularly.  There were also other issues and I left the organization.  They owe me six months’ salary.  While salary dues were paid to those who continued with the service and to those who served legal notices, salaries due to people like me are not paid. It was a group of companies and all organizations functioned under one roof.  There was no distinction between the employees of all the organizations and irrespective of the employer, all employees did work for all organizations. Though my appointment order was issued on the letterhead of a particular company, I received my salary from the accounts of other companies, mostly from one particular account.  That company is going for a liquidation and the court appointed liquidator is collecting details of creditors including ex-employees.  Though most of my ex-colleagues who are aware of this development are still in touch, none of them shared this information with me.  But one long-lost friend from the same organisation called me and informed and helped me to file a claim.  Though my claim was rejected, I am really moved at the gesture of the friend who reached out to me.  It was this incident, that made me write this blog.

If the placement service person who got me the job in that organization decides to write a similar blog, I am sure, I will feature in it, as many of the persons who he facilitated placement are fighting with him and claiming compensation. 

                                      ****

P.S. it's just a coincidence that all 4 persons discussed here are men

CORONA AND THE RETURN OF ORTHODOXY

I was in LKG when this happened.  I went to school in a rickshaw with my brother, two years my senior, along with a few other kids from our colony.  One evening, as we got down from the rickshaw, my mother ordered me and my brother to walk to the well, which was in one corner of our compound, away from our house.  She told us to keep away the books, notebooks, slate and other stationeries and carry the lunch bag with us.  My mother then drew buckets of cold water from the well and poured over us and the lunch boxes. The reason, there was a bereavement in the family of one of the kids who travelled with us in the rickshaw.  For the next ten days, after school, we soaked our clothes, had a bath and then entered home. 

Till date, all of us at home follow this religiously, whenever we attend funerals or visit someone for a condolence or even when we accidentally encounter someone bereaving.  It doesn’t stop here.  We mourn the death of any parenteral relative sharing the same surname for ten days. During this period, we don’t touch many things.  Whatever we touch or use, have to be either washed or discarded on the 11^th day and so we restrict our activities in such a way that there is no wastage.  During this period, we don’t touch the pooja room or the cupboard with idols, the pickles and processed food that would be carried forward, the refrigerator that has unaccounted food, the bureau with clothes, the beds, the curtains, the cushions etc.  Where space is available, a makeshift kitchen would be arranged and a simple meal cooked.  We have a family in the neighbourhood, who are as orthodox as our family is and every time there is a “bad news”, we take each other’s help to take out the essentials from the kitchen.  We sleep on the floor without pillows, beds and whatever we use during this period or accidentally touched, has to be washed thoroughly after 10 days.

Though my family is progressive in many aspects, when it comes to cooking and this activity, they prefer to remain orthodox.  Though I completely adhere to cooking and eating norms without any resistance, I hated this activity from the beginning for the following reasons;

           Most of the times, the relative was not known to us.                 

             As children, we were not allowed to go out and play with others or invite anyone home.

          The cleaning activity on the concluding day was very painful.

           After every mourning, my mother used to fall sick.

As a child, I wondered, why except the two families in our colony, no other family mourned the way we did.  I observed, the other houses were neat and tidy, the women presentable, receptive and had a lot of leisure. The reason, orthodoxy and multitasking are mutually exclusive. There is a lot of rigidity in the former. Also, there is no delegation or outsourcing of work involved and its very tough for the women.

Though I always expressed displeasure in adhering to this ritual, I never deviated.

After I started working, this became a little difficult for me to handle.

       I couldn’t attend any functions during that period.

             Couldn’t entertain any guests who wanted to visit home during that period

             Manage with just 2 or 3 sets of clothes for the entire mourning period.  

             Even for a minimalist  like  me, this is difficult.

      In mid 90’s, for two consecutive years, we had continuous mourning sessions.

      Recently, a relative created a group on WhatsApp and brought together hundreds of families (close to 8 to 9 generations). The moment I heard that, fearing we would be getting “bad news” frequently, I told my mother categorically that I will no longer mourn for relatives I have never met and would not follow any of the usual rituals.  She didn’t give me a reply.

      Last week, when I went out and returned home, I had to first go to the bathroom through the rear door, wash my clothes, bags, kerchief, mask etc., have a shower and then enter the house.

      My mother said “after the lock down is revoked and you start attending office, follow this every day. Period.

Har Ek Friend Zaroori Hota Hein-2

Recently, an old friend, who was my schoolmate with whom I reconnected on social media, posted two photographs on the occasion of her wedding anniversary. A recent one taken along with a VIP at her daughter's wedding, she and her husband performing rituals in expensive clothes and jewellery with a lot of floral decorations in the backdrop. Another photograph, taken outside a famous temple in Chennai (then Madras) with a group of young men, both she and her husband in simple and plain clothes, taken soon after their wedding. Those days, photography was strictly prohibited inside temples. The simple rose garlands were indicative of their wedding.

I remember that day very vividly. It was soon after I joined college. The friend in reference, though was a good student, had to drop out of school after 11th, as her father was bedridden and he needed round-the-clock support. She had lost her mother much earlier. On that day, just as I was entering the college, I saw her near the gate and greeted her. She asked me if I can help her meet some of her friends, who were also studying in the same college. She looked very tense. I told her I would inform them when I meet them in the language class, as they were from different departments. She then whispered, “I am getting married today. I want my friends to attend my wedding at the temple. You may also come. “ I was shocked. She was wearing a simple synthetic sari and all that she was holding was a folded plastic textile cover.

My parents and brothers were very strict. Discussing marriage, affairs, relationships, crushes etc., was a taboo. Doing anything independently too was unimaginable. With this kind of conditioning, I was very scared even to continue my conversation with her and I left.

That day, the first period was language.  Students from all departments, who had opted Telugu, assembled in Botany Department for the class. When the professor did a roll call, two girls from Economics and one from commerce were missing. Another girl from Economics told the professor that they might be late to class and requested that they are not marked absent. The college management was stricter than my family. The year before I joined college, a student while in class complained of headache and was not allowed to leave college. After college, she just managed to reach home and collapsed due to brain hemorrhage and died a few days later. The management was very strict and didn’t give Hall tickets for exams to those who took leave without approval and approval was rarely given. So these three friends entered our language class late. The professor not only refused to let them in, but also sent the girl who requested the professor not to mark absent, out. These three girls wanted to attend the wedding, but the security guy refused to let them leave the premises and they tried getting permission from the respective HODs and when they were denied permission, came to the class and the bride had to leave alone.

I then wondered why she had to do it! We were just out of school and very young to decide on our own. I have heard of stories of people eloping and then landing into trouble and suffer. I was not only pessimistic about that marriage, but also concerned about her. I kept enquiring about her till we finished college and subsequently lost touch even with the common friends.

I recently got connected to her through social media. She is now a successful entrepreneur, activist and an office bearer of a political party. Her children professionally qualified and settled.

When I saw both the photos on my phone, I felt happy and guilty, both at the same time. Happy because she is doing fine; guilty as I judged her and was pessimistic about her future. With my limited exposure and ignorance, I had concluded that her decision was wrong. When I saw her wedding photograph, I was very sad there was no lady or rather no one from her side, who attended the wedding. I immediately sent a message to her as to how happy I am seeing her now and what I thought of earlier. She too was happy that I was concerned then and happy now.

Having used the same title I used for a blog earlier,   I want to update about it. (https://pcharusree.blogspot.com/2011/12/har-ek-friend-zaroori-hota-hai.html?m=1)

I have got in touch with three of the four friends I discussed in that blog. While “S” apologised to me, I apologised to “C”. Remarkably, both “S” and “C” could not recollect much about that happened during our school days. Though “D” didn’t discuss anything about the past, I guess she would have read the blog. In fact, the first thing she asked when I got reconnected was if I am writing blogs and that she had read a couple of them. I am eager to reconnect with “V”.

I am sure there are going to be many more sequels to this blog, as I keep making new friends and distance myself from some and there is a lot of content that can be shared.

YE DUNIYA AGAR MIL BHI JAYE TO KYA HAI?

Ye mahalon ye takhton ye tajon ki duniya
Ye insan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
Ye daulat ke bhuke rawazon ki duniya
Ye duniya agar mil bhi jaye to kya hain?

I have been humming this song for the last one week.  No. I am not depressed. No one has cheated me.

I just imagined my great-grandfather coming alive and every time I imagine, this song comes to my mind.

My great-grandfather who was a scholar and an accomplished musician, died several decades before I was born. 

While my mother discusses all her relatives; close and distant, live and dead, my dad hardly spoke about any of his relatives.  He didn’t like visiting the painful past.  From what little he had discussed, we have learnt that after my great-grandfather was widowed, he had issues with his son and daughter-in-law and they sent him out of the house he had built.    He had some three or four daughters including my grandmother.  But those days, people believed that living with a married daughter’s family was sinful and avoided it completely.  The daughters too were not empowered to invite their old father home.  All the sons-in-law were struggling to make ends meet, fighting unemployment, successive crop failure and inflation. My great-grandfather was a non-conformist and his unorthodox lifestyle wasn’t approved by his relatives including my grandfather. So, he moved to another town and lived all by himself.

My dad, his brother and a cousin visited their grandfather during vacations. My dad said that his grandfather had a great sense of humour and was very passionate. He taught music and dance for a living during the fag end of his life. He cooked his own meal with occasional support from his students’ families.  During one of the vacations, he gave his grandsons money to buy tickets for a film show.  The teens happily left and returned home late night after the show.  The door was not bolted from inside and their grandfather was found dead inside the house. That night after a meal, my great-grandfather died happily in his sleep.  He lived life on his own terms and led an independent life till the last day of his life.

The next morning, my dad and his cousin travelled to the town where their uncle (great-grandfather’s son) lived to pass on the information.  Their uncle reluctantly attended the funeral and performed last rites, but had not intimated any of his siblings or relatives about the post funeral ceremonies.  (Invitations are not extended for death ceremonies and only intimation is sent) My dad wasn’t sure if those ceremonies were performed or not.  He discussed this information twice or thrice with me very briefly and with sadness.

Over a period of time, the entire clan migrated in a phased manner to different parts, looking for greener pastures, away from familiar surroundings, poverty and complex relationships.

Coming to the present scene, why am I suddenly thinking of this great-grandfather who died long ago? Because, he is in news.   

I just imagined, how my great-grandfather would have reacted, if he had come to know that his descendants are excited about his popularity now and even before I realize, I start singing this song from Pyasa. 

P.S. I am not revealing my great-grandfather’s name and why he is suddenly popular, as my dad never liked dropping names.

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.