Oh what a feeling!

Varsha, my niece (my eldest brother’s daughter) was born when we (I, another brother & sister) were still studying.  She was really cute, chubby, intelligent and very communicative.  We spent all our energies and time on her.  We would turn restless when she slept and waited near her bed till she woke up.  We would immediately lift her, the moment she stretched and moved here eyelids.  Many nights, after everyone at home slept, I used to peep into the room in which Varsha slept with her mother. (I am sure, my other family members too would have done this. I should thank my sister-in-law for not imposing restrictions of any kind.) Like all other children, she smiled while she was asleep.  Some nights, when I was lucky, she opened her eyes and spotted me staring at her standing near her cot in the dimly lit room. She acknowledged my presence by giggling and making funny noises and kicking her hands and legs very vigorously.  She loved playing “hide & seek” with me and to initiate me into the game, she covered her face with any material she could grab.  She loved the way I uttered “dobuchchi” a  phrase most Telugus utter while playing “hide & seek” with kids.

Soon after, I started working.  She knew my schedule and waited at the gate in the evenings, looking for me.  When staff members of an office in the neighbourhood walked past our house, she knew it was time for my arrival. She loved chocolate éclair lollypops, jujups (soft gel sugar candies) and Thirattipal (sweetened and condensed milk) and I brought any of these for her regularly.  Immediately on seeing me, she jumped with joy and made a sound similar to “tlick” – goodies in her parlance.  On days I reached empty handed or pretended to have come empty handed, she would mercilessly throw my slippers and bag out and tried to push me out.  It was fun to watch her do this. 

She started speaking very early, though only we (the family members) could understand her unique language.  One evening, as usual, she stood near the gate and as it drizzled, she told a passerby, “Chachichi alo, vaana, goggu le” (Charusree raaledhu, vaana kurusthondi, godugu ledhu – meaning Charusree is yet to return, its raining and she has not carried an umbrella).  She was less than a year old, but her concern and expression impressed us.

Another evening, as I reached home, instead of running towards me as she usually did, Varsha ran inside. There was a lot of noise from the kitchen and my mother yelled at her for spilling milk and water and messing up the kitchen.  Ignoring everything, Varsha managed to reach a vessel containing snacks my mother made that afternoon, brought a handful and stuffed my mouth enthusiastically uttering “tlick”.  We were all so amused at her thoughtfulness.

Time flies.  Varsha is now a young lady.  She has graduated recently and has started working.  With the same enthusiasm she exhibited as a tiny tot, Varsha is now giving us treats.  Last weekend, she took me to a picture.  The show was great.  But more heartening is her gesture.  It is a great feeling.  Thank you Varsha!

ATITHI DEVO BHAVA

Recently I watched the Kannada film “Bettada Jeeva” on Television.  The movie made based on Jnanapith Awardee K.Shivaram Karant’s novel was very refreshing.  The screenplay, direction, cinematography, the locales and the performance of all the actors added value to the story.

The story set in early 1940’s is about a freedom activist escaping arrest, taking shelter in the house of an elderly couple in a remote hilly village, away from civilization. The hosts make his stay in their house an unforgettable experience.  We (I and my family members) traveled back in time as we watched the film. My parents, reminisced “good old times” when people were warm and generous and had leisure to pamper guests – known and unknown.

Even during my childhood, on a few occasions, we (my parents and siblings) spent our vacations in our relatives’ homes.  We bathed in the common bathroom (which comprised of just four walls, door and a roof were also considered a luxury) ate in the verandah (the menu was decided by the lady of the house) and slept on the terrace gazing at the sky.  There was a lot of space and leisure and absolutely no restrictions.  We played, chatted or just read books and never got tired or bored. We too have received a lot of guests at home.  The present scene is different.  Drastic changes in lifestyle have taken place in the last two decades; primarily due to IT revolution, economic reforms and massive urbanization.  Strangers are no longer welcome in any homes due to security reasons and there is a significant change in the attitude towards guests. People are so busy with their own lives, accommodating guests is no longer enjoyable. Holidaying is now associated with resorts and tourist spots and visiting relatives happens only when there is an occasion or an agenda.  Guests now look for five star comforts and are reluctant to adjust.     

My sister, who was present at home that evening, shared the essence of a discourse she recently attended at Chinmaya Mission with us.  The orator questioned the audience as to what according to them was “Hindu culture”?  There were many answers to this question; while one said the culture is synonymous to Indian languages, another said it was the attire; someone said it is the way the elders are treated and another the rituals and so on and so forth.  After listening to these ideas, the speaker shared her experience.

The speaker was once traveling in Central India and stayed with a large family.  She observed that, late in the night after the dinner was over, the womenfolk were busy cooking.  She questioned the host as to why they were cooking after everybody had eaten their meal. The host replied that they always kept food ready for four-five unexpected guests and that, they were replenishing food.  She concluded her speech stating that the hallmark of Hinduism is feeding hungry guests; Atithi devo bhava – meaning “guest is God”.

My sister has a reason for quoting this to me.  While I don’t dispute with the concept of “Atithi devo bhava”, I get into frequent arguments with my mother on the quantity of food cooked at home.  My mother was born and raised in a village.  Paddy and lentils were cultivated in the land owned by her family.  Food was cooked on firewood and the process was very cumbersome in the absence of gadgets, cooking gas and electricity and hence food was cooked only once in a day and that too in large quantities.  The same food was served during lunch, dinner and carried forward for breakfast the next day morning.  Food was cooked not only for the family members, but for the shepherd, domestic help and dhobi.  On certain days in the week, few students from the gurukulam (a residential school where Vedas were taught) had food in their house. (The responsibility of feeding poor students who studied at the gurukulam was shared by all villagers in turns).  Extra food was cooked for unexpected guests too. There was no question of wastage, as the leftover was fed to the cattle. 

Coming to the present, we have almost all gadgets in our kitchen.  Firewood and charcoal vanished without trace.  Cooking an elaborate meal takes not more than an hour.  Though only three of us live in our house, my mother wants to cook at least for five or six.  She says it is for unexpected guests.  In the recent past, we have not had any guests, particularly unexpected guests at home.  My argument is when food can now be cooked quickly, why should it be cooked in advance?  Neither our domestic help nor the beggars in our locality are keen to take the leftover food. We don’t have cattle or dogs to be fed.  We end up either eating the excess food (I feel this is the main reason for my obesity) or recycling.   Disposing of waste food is a serious problem in cities.  I am yet to convince my mother.

EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT

Recently I visited my friends’ home and during our conversation, the hosts (a couple) expressed their displeasure about a common friend who sought the couple’s help during a crisis and has not bothered to acknowledge/reciprocate their gesture. This has affected them very much. 

It happens to all of us.  At some point or the other in our lives, we feel “exploited” and “used & thrown” by our friends and relatives.  While it is a fact that some people are opportunistic, there is another dimension to this problem, which we ignore.

While we happily help strangers, feel good about our work, pat ourselves for being Good Samaritans and forget the episode, we perceive help rendered to family and friends differently.  We treat it like an accounting entry, where there is a debit for every credit transaction and create a suspense account for ‘help receivable’ at a later date and eagerly wait for “Return on Investment”.  When we don’t get the expected returns we feel sad and disillusioned.

In the English film 36 Chowringhee Lane, an old English teacher on the verge of her retirement, lives a reclusive and uneventful life.  A chance meeting with an old student brings vibrancy to her life.  The student requests the lady to let the student’s friend; an upcoming writer, to use her apartment during the day when she is at school, for working on his project.  The lady agrees and the student and the writer (also the boyfriend) use the lady’s apartment to spend time together under the pretext of writing a book.  The naïve lady showers love on the young couple and keeps in touch with them even after they marry and settle down.  The young couple avoids the lady, which she fails to understand and when she understands, she is shattered.  

When I decided to remain single, the image that flashed in my mind was that of, Jennifer Kendal's, who played the protagonist in this film.  When I first watched the film as a young girl, I felt sad for the lonely spinster, but as an adult, I feel she need not have invested so much of her emotions on some random acquaintances and made up my mind never to live like this character and feel exploited.

Whenever someone complains or discusses this issue and I suggest that he/she looks at the problem differently, he/she feels that I am good at preaching. But, honestly, I practice what I preach.  My formula for handling this is;

I help people around me as much as possible, which gives me a sense of purpose and satisfaction, but at the same time, I ensure that I don’t go out of my way to help by compromising on my values or sacrificing my needs and I also don’t let people take me for granted.

I try my best not to speak about it to anyone else and do not expect acknowledgement.

When I need help, I seek help and not demand help even if it is from a person whom I have helped earlier and express my gratitude for the help received.

Passing judgments may not be correct.  But it is essential that we know to judge people and are alert.

Believe it or not I get rewarded exponentially!

A LOVE STORY

This is not a story of two teenagers from different faiths falling in love and eloping; this is not a story of a middle-aged chronic bachelor and a confirmed spinster falling for each other; it is not the story of a widower and a widow in their old age getting together for companionship.  It is the story of an estranged couple, who have rediscovered their relationship.

The lady in reference now in her mid-sixties lost her father when she was very young. Her mother raised this lady and her four or five siblings with great difficulty.  This lady completed college and managed to get a government job.  Since her siblings did not complete their studies and didn’t have any permanent jobs, the responsibility of running the household fell on her shoulders.  She was determined to remain single to take care of the family, but her ailing mother coerced her into marrying a relative, who like her brothers, was unemployed, hoping that he would not restrict her from supporting her family. Post marriage, her burdens increased and unable to manage two homes, she moved back to her maternal home after a few months.  Her husband could not adjust with her people and demanded that they move out.  She did not yield and one day, in her absence, her husband and her brothers had a fight over a trivial issue and her husband left home.  Her pleading and efforts of friends and relatives to bring him back failed.  Years passed.  The lady continued to live with her enmeshed family and her responsibilities multiplied. 

                                            

The lady who over a period of time had come to terms with her fate, dreamt of a happy retired life, but unfortunately soon after she retired, got a call from her estranged husband after decades of separation.  He suffered a massive heart attack and was hospitalized and had no one to support.  He needed her help desperately.  (How this man survived after he left her home is a million dollar question!)  The lady had to pay his hospital bills and get him discharged.  She was hesitant to take him home and arranged for his stay in a dormitory.  After a few days, when she invited him home, he was adamant and refused to step into her house and demanded that she moves out with him.  He continues to live in the dormitory and she takes care of all his expenses. viz., rent, his food bills, medical expenses, telephone charges and conveyance. As her pension is not sufficient, she is forced to work. He meets her at her office during the lunch break and as he longs for home-made food, she gets him food everyday.  Her siblings are aware of the developments, but are playing it safe and are silent.  She desires to live with her spouse, but is too shy to reveal it to her people.  He does not want her to support her family and she doesn’t want to leave her dependents and the stalemate continues.

MYTHOMANIA

Honesty and integrity are two attributes I value most in life.  A friend of mine often says that either I am a reincarnation of Harischandra or his descendent.  (I made a mention about this in an earlier blog!).  That’s a little exaggeration, but it is a fact that I get irritated with dishonest people.

I had a classmate, whom I admired a lot.  Even at a young age, she was very independent and confident and absolutely uninhibited.  Her social skills were excellent and impressed everyone around.  She used to talk to me a lot and I discussed her at home often.  Based on my inputs, my people at home somehow felt that most of the things she told me were untrue and it was hard for me to digest their judgment.  I met her a few years ago, after a long time and after we exchanged pleasantries, I enquired about her friend in her neighbourhood, she often used to talk about while we were studying together.   While we were at college, my friend informed me that, her friend (who was studying in another college) secretly married her boyfriend, as he was going abroad for higher studies and decided to be discrete till they settled down.  When I met my friend almost after a decade, I got curious to know if her friend was still married to the same guy.  I got the shock of my life when my friend denied having known any friend by that name.  Like Kamal Haasan who tried to draw Sridevi’s attention in the climax scene of the Tamil film Moondram Pirai (Sadma in Hindi and Vasantakokila in Telugu), I narrated all the stories she told me earlier to facilitate her recollect the past. Alas! She could not recollect anything.  I am still unable to come to terms with this episode.

When I started working, one of the office assistants who worked with me was a very talented and charismatic person.  Though a school dropout, he was very intelligent and artistic and his presentation of even a mundane job was very good.  He was a poet and a artist and made wonderful artifacts from junk.  He was also a habitual liar.  He lived in a world of his own and often narrated stories about his imaginary friends, lover, social work, and the wonderful opportunities that were knocking at his door.  All of us (I & my colleagues) could make out from the tone and modulation of his voice and body language, whether what he was telling us was “real” or “reel”. (Reel is a euphemism for enjoyable lies in Tamil). The stories were narrated in a very interesting manner and I should confess, all of us enjoyed them thoroughly and we even started keeping track of the stories and the characters.  The most blatant story he had narrated was that of a lady he had met in his neighbourhood, who was not only my look-alike, but was also my namesake.  The only difference was my characteristic smile.  He narrated all this in a very convincing manner.  This guy in reference was not reporting to me directly and hence I didn’t have any clash with him.

But, when I took up another assignment in a different organization, I had a tough time.  I had to manage the office independently and handling the office boys and security guards who lied for silly reasons was very irritating.  I had to work really hard to initiate them into speaking truth.  I had to constantly monitor them, remember things and cross verify every transaction and advise them often not to lie.  It was really embarrassing to reprimand adults for lying.  Over a period of time, things were streamlined and those who reported to me understood the need to be honest, except one guy, who was a compulsive liar and was unreliable.  He did not deliver as expected and every time he was sent out on an official work, he would vanish from the scene and return with funny excuses.  He was also stupid and could never tell a believable lie.    To bring about a change, I started collecting fine, every time he lied and managed to collect a few hundred rupees.  With my perseverance, he changed and tried to be as honest and transparent as possible with me.  Reforming this boy into a reliable and trustworthy person is one of my biggest achievements.

The stimulus for this blog is the topic for discussion in a popular Tamil TV show recently telecast, wherein the participants spoke about how dishonest an average man is, in the present scenario. Most of the participants felt that there is nothing wrong in being dishonest and it is absolutely impossible to be honest in the present day world.  While harmless lies are entertaining, serious lies are an indication of erosion of values.  Is the epidemic of mythomania on the increase?

BRAND BABA

When I was a ten year old, on a Saturday, a billboard of the English film “Ape & Super Ape” was placed near the shrine hall of our school.  There was a rumour that a special screening was arranged for the students that Sunday evening and the entire class discussed the film or rather the special show.  The teacher too made an announcement that there was going to be a free film show and all were welcome.  Though not a film buff, I was eager to watch the film with my friends. My school was little far away from home and not willing to let me go alone to school on a holiday, my dad too accompanied me.  The crowd gathered there were not my school mates.  Most of them were old.  I failed to see the excitement of watching a children’s film in their eyes.  A screen was erected in the playground and with the help of a projector, the film was screened.  To my disappointment, it was not “Ape & Super Ape” but a documentary on Satyasai Baba of Putaparthi.

I and my dad sat on the ground with all the other guests and watched the film.  As Baba appeared on the screen, the audience became hysteric. While some clasped their hands, some patted their cheeks with great reverence and many screamed “Sairam”.  All this appeared very weird to me. I was not till then exposed to such a mass hysteria.  The Baba on the screen walked through the crowds, produced vibhuti (holy ash) from thin air, blessed his devotees and gave a lecture.  As the people around me watching all this got excited, I was very disappointed and irritated.  Disappointed -because I went there to watch another film and irritated - with the reactions of the people. I wanted to leave immediately, but my father, did not want to distract others.  During the first interval, we left the place.  Though I don’t remember the exact date, it was a milestone in my life. That day, I realized, I was agnostic and that I cannot enjoy religious activities.  I cannot attribute just this event to my orientation. It is also because of the kind of exposure I got in my formative years.  Though both my parents were strict disciplinarians, they were also democratic.  Ideologies were never imposed and they encouraged us to read a lot, which resulted in we (I & my siblings) becoming rational and freethinkers.  However, my mother was (still is) worried about my radical views and was afraid that I would end up hurting my relatives and friends, most of them being ardent believers, with my logical arguments and ensured that, I did not get into any serious discussions with any of them.

But, there was always an urge; an urge to argue; a desire to make fun; a desire to prove a point.  The desire was suppressed for a very long time.  When I started working, I got my first opportunity to freely express my thoughts. I had some very friendly colleagues who were also great believers and followers of several Godmen, including Satyasai Baba.  One day while at work, a colleague shared the experience of his cousin, who was then serving as a surgeon at the hospital at Putaparthi.  The surgeon in reference happened to be in the team of Doctors who performed the first surgery at that hospital.  When the first patient was wheeled into the operation theatre, Baba entered and blessed the patient.  The patient who was awake when Baba entered closed his eyes as Baba left the room and so the doctors were in a dilemma.  They did not know whether anesthesia had to be administered to the patient or not and so a doctor took a needle and pricked the patient.  Baba returned and said “Never test God” and walked out.  My other colleagues, almost all of them post graduates and graduates of Science, were very excited.  Though I got very angry, without losing my cool, I questioned, “if Baba is capable of administering anesthesia with a hand gesture, why doesn’t he heal all the patients himself and why should he build a hospital and employ qualified doctors? Are the doctors working at that hospital so dumb?”  My colleagues, who till then assumed that I was a religious person, got a shock of their lives.   Another colleague, who thought who can influence me, narrated his experience.  He once went on a pilgrimage to Putaparthi impromptu and reached the place late in the night.  He had trouble in getting an accommodation at the Ashram and his wife suggested that they return.  He then prayed to Baba and expressed his strong desire to have a Darshan the next day.  As he opened his eyes, he suddenly remembered that an ex-colleague of his was holding a key position in Prasanti Nilayam and approached him.  His ex-colleague not only helped him with the stay arrangements, but also facilitated a close Darshan of Baba the next day.  When my colleague stated that this was a miracle, I attacked him stating that it was a clear case of prejudice and another form of corruption.  My best friend Murali, who was then my colleague started to narrate his experience, but before he started, he made me promise that I wouldn’t ridicule him.  I kept my promise by remaining silent after listening to his experience, but my sarcastic smile compensated for my silence.  My colleagues, who loved me as much as they loved Satyasai Baba, hesitated to discuss religion in my presence.  One of them even lent me the book Begone Godmen by Abraham Kovoor.   After reading the book, I argued more vigorously. 

Over a period of time, my attitude towards religion got neutralized.  I now don’t get excited in arguing or in proving something.    After Satyasai Baba’s death, much was written and spoken about him, while some praised, some criticized.  I still don’t consider him as an Avtaar.  He was just another human being. A brilliant human being, who was a cut above the rest and much ahead of his times.  He was very much aware of his strengths and weaknesses.   Though a school dropout, he knew the principles of management very well. He planned, organized, communicated and developed himself into a brand – Brand Baba.  His charisma and aura attracted millions of people across the globe and his nondescript village became an important destination on the world map.  I don’t consider the tricks he played to attract people as miracles. But his social work is certainly remarkable.  He built several hospitals and institutes.  Telugu-Ganga Project did not see the light for more than two decades and Chennaiites had to wait for a long time to get drinking water, despite Chief Ministers of both Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu holding several rounds of talks and lot of money getting exchanged between the States. It was finally completed after Satyasai Baba took up the project. 

When Sai Baba died, several Telugu TV channels telecast his videos and in one of the videos shown, he was paraded in a wheel chair in an auditorium where his devotees waited for his Darshan.  He looked so weak, pathetic and disillusioned and I felt very sad for him.  Life is nothing but a trap for many, including him.  When he died, there was an immediate rift between his trustees and also between devotees.  The fights are still on. 

(I planned to publish this blog on April 24th in sync with the first anniversary of the day Sai Baba was declared dead in 2011.  I was busy and hence could not post it as planned.)

FIRST ANNIVERSARY

Exactly a year back, on this day, I started blogging.  Though I have always been a storyteller, I never considered blogging as an option.  My niece and brother have been blogging for quite some time, but I never ever thought I would join the bandwagon. 

When I read Khushwant Singh’s “Death At My Doorstep” early last year, I got curious to know how people would remember me after my death and requested my friend P.R.Govind, an avid blogger to write my obituary.  “Request” is not the appropriate term, as I pestered him every now and then to write my obituary.  He obliged and as planned, posted it on 1st April 2011.(Goodbye My Friend)  As I posted this link on my facebook status, my friend Vivek Joshi, requested me to write his obituary.  When Mr.Govind was hesitant to write my obituary, I could not empathize with his sentiments, but when Vivek Joshi requested me to do the same for him, I too got little sentimental.  So, to satisfy my sentiment, I wrote a post-dated obituary and posted it on my blog and thus I started this wonderful journey.

Twelve months, 20 posts, 903 page views, the pleasure in incredible.  Though I have never crossed the Vindhyas, my blog is not only read across India, but across the globe.  It is indeed heartening to note that, within minutes of my posting a blog, some one starts reading it.  Most of my friends who have patiently read my blogs have given me a feedback.  While appreciation is motivating, criticisms are enlightening.  “Not at all dirty – a tribute to Silk Smitha” has had the most page views.  Though the very title of my blog “Sorry my dear friends!” sounds apologetic, my girl friends are unforgiving about my observations and the remarks I made in my blog.  They feel I am prejudiced.  “Pride and Prejudice could become controversial” – warned my well-wishers.  Fortunately, it didn’t.  I wrote it without any prejudice.  An unknown reader read it everyday for a week exactly at the same time and I was eager to know his/her views.  Sadly he/she has not left any comments on the blog.  After I post a blog, I keep monitoring the page views, the audience, the traffic source and the search keywords.  I was amused to see a person keying “which direction head should be placed during sleep is best to have child for childless couple as per Vastu?” and probably my recent blog, “What’s this Vastu di?” was one of the results he/she got.

This new found platform for expression has given me immense pleasure.  The only disadvantage is that people who are very close to me are little guarded in their speech now and whenever they say something controversial, they immediately request me not to quote them in any of my blogs.

It has been a wonderful journey and I take this opportunity to thank Vivek Joshi, who initiated me into this, Govind for being my Guru, my niece Varsha for helping me to start the blog,  my brothers Hemantha Kumar and Satyanarayana for not just regularly following my blog and appreciating, but also for letting me to express myself thus acknowledging my adulthood (through out they have been very protective), my friends Anuja and Aparajita for giving their unbiased opinion when I share the content with them before posting, my friends, Murali, Prakash, Ganga, Uma & Uma, Geetha, Lakshmi, Padma,  Sujata, Aparna, Sharmila, Rupali, Srividya, Anup, Natarajan, Nitin, Sudha, Bobby, Radha, Hema and others, whose names I have missed and all the unknown followers across the globe, who have read my blog.

Though my parents, my sister, my sisters-in-law, my brother-in-law, my little nephews and niece don’t read my blog, I will be failing in my duty if I don’t acknowledge, as they all contribute to the development of my personality.

Being an eternal optimist, I know there is a long way to go and the best is yet to come.

I thank all my readers and close with a request to please leave your valuable comments on the blog or mail to pcharusree@gmail.com.

Thanks once again!

Regards,

Charusree