PLUMBER PAVADAI

KILLIJOSIAM EH......?

No one knew  how he came by  that strange  moniker  Pavadai but that is  how  everybody  knew him. In tamil,  the word means a long skirt that girls wear. Near our  apartments was a colony inhabited by domestic  workers, electricians and other petty  vendors. 

     Pavadai  was no different.  Most of the  time,  he would be seated on a bench facing the road, smoking  a beedi  and watching  idly the passers-by. “ I have done my first year in plumbing in the Polytechnic”, he boasted. So we started  using him for our  plumbing jobs. But  we soon found that it was an  idle  boast. 

        Pavadai’s  fortunes started  looking  up when  a water crisis  hit  the city. Water  in our bore well sank so low that it could  not be  pumped to the overhead tank at one  go. The pump would get heated; so it had to be switched on  and off  intermittently, a task that  was tedious  and  time consuming . The apartment  association decided to appoint  a plumber to  do  the job. Pavadai  agreed to do the job after  demanding a hefty  salary.

   Sometime later, the rains poured and our  bore well became full. The pump was also working okay. It was then decided to dispense with Pavadai’s services. But who was to bell the  cat? Pavadai,like many of his  ilk was bad tempered. However, much to our  surprise  Pavadai went off meekly  when told that  his  services would no longer be required.

   We were  not yet  done  with Pavadai. On Day One of the new routine, the water pump packed up, refusing to budge  like an obstinate mule. After  trying everything possible,  an SOS was sent to  Pavadai who responded only after  repeated  calls. When  he ultimately  turned  up, Pavadai  couldn’t resist rubbing it in, “ What, Sir? You couldn’t even  manage  one day without  me. These pumps are rusty,like  horses, they need some coaxing and cajoling  to work”. No one knew  Pavadai’s  trade secret  but he soon had the water pump whirring to life. 

So Pavadai made a comeback with  renewed honours  But we were  not yet  done  with  Pavadai. The odd home chore be it cleaning or changing a tap required Pavadai’s services. Radha, my neighbour sent for  Pavadai one day. “ Pavadai, you know that we have an apartment at Besant Nagar? “ of  course,Amma”,he scratched his head.” The apartment has been  vacated by the previous  tenant. It requires a total clean up. “Certainly, Amma.I will  need to purchase cleaning materials  like Lizol, Pril” and he enumerated a whole list of cleaning  products  that he would want

“ Also Amma”,scratching his head.  “An advance of Rs.1000 to buy some cleaning material.  “ You are charging a bomb”, said Radha. “OK Pavadai but do a good job”.  “Consider it done. Amma, you know me for some many years. Have you ever had cause to complain?”

  Radha  however had plenty of reason to complain when she went to have a look-see of the  apartment before the  new tenant  moved in The entire apartment  was dusty, looking  as if it had not been  swept for ages and the bathrooms  were  filthy. “Oh, my God!” thought Radha, putting  her hand to her head. “What has Pavadai  (not) done? How will  I get  the  house  cleaned up before those people  move in. Just let me get my hands  on  that rascal”.

          But  Radha never managed to  lay her hands on slippery  Pavadai who showed a clean pair of heels  after pulling off the “ job”. No doubt he had his reasons to do so because folks needed  sometime to forgive  and forget! As for  him, he had forgotten the whole business with the first glass of the fiery liquid as it went down  his throat in the neighbourhood Tasmac  shop. But these upper  folks were so silly, making such a fuss over  small  change.

          Things  continued  in the manner  till the  next water crisis. Once  again,  the rains failed us. Wily Pavadai  saw fresh business  opportunities  in the widespread  water woes. He handed in his papers. He then  hired a small kiosk and put up a signboard  that read, “ PAVADAI  PLUMBINGS- BOREWELL FORECASTS MADE HERE. His business  reached new window highs.Despair drove people to approach  him for advice on whether to  sink a bore well or not. 

     Pavadai had a general  rule of thumb to carry out his business. He procured  a talking parrot. Whenever  somebody approached him with a problem, he would refer it to the parrot. “Killisami”, (-parrot god) Pavadai would  address  the  parrot  in tones of great respect. “ Sir wants to  know your  divine  views on whether to sink and bore or not”. After a  pause,  the  parrot would intoned in a deep voice, “Aama”,(meaning yes ).If the parrot  kept  quiet, it was  taken  as a negative. Pavadai  would  then  elaborately  convey  the parrot’s decision to  his  clients. Whatever the dispensation, the people  took it  as an  Oracle. 

   Pavadai’s  fame as a water diviner spread  far  and wide. People  travelled from  far to consult him. His  success rate was astounding. Who cared whether  the man or the parrot  showed the way. All that mattered  was Pavadai prospered. “Thambi”, said Pavadai to the young scallywag, his assistant  rubbing his hands gleefully. “ Killisami  has brought  us money and fame. l must pay  my debt to him. What better way than to build a small shrine near our shop and install him there on a golden perch. Also  our people love gods. They can offer prayers to Killisami and gifts when they come to consult me. A Double  Whammy -:) a God for them and gifts for me”.

    So that  was  how the Thaneer Theriyum ( the Tamil  moniker for one  who knows where water is ) Killisami Aalayam in Visalakshi  Gardens, Mylapore came about. And water diviner cum  godman Pavadai made good hay while Dame Fortune showered  smiles on him. But as the wise old Tamil saying goes, neither  good nor bad times last long, they are cylical by nature. Consequently Pavadai  fell upon hard  times. Fewer people  came to  him for  business. The shop and shrine- both  were a deserted look. My maid reported that he had  rubbed the local councillor the wrong way, having gone  wrong  on a critical  bore well  prophecy. “That  councillor Periasamy is after his blood because the lakhs  that  he sank into  digging a bore well just sank without  a  trace of water. Ever since, no one comes to Pavadai  any more, Amma”, she said. “ As you  sow, so you reap”, she concluded with an air of wise finality.

       Then one day, Pavadai brought down  the  shutters fully and finally. He just couldn’t  carry on any more. I also forgot about the whole business, involved in my own affairs. Months slipped by and it was  election time again. It was again a time of promises of plenty and propaganda of the powerful. Elections were the  hunting ground of the opportunistic and the idealistic, the gold-digger and the do-gooder alike. A van carrying  drums,trumpets, a mouth organ,musical instruments et al  we parked outside  our apartment  block. On the  sides was painted  in bold  letters, the caption, Isai Vazhi Therthal Prachara Kuzhu(Election propaganda through music). Pavadai was conducting the orchestra and singing a song which  went somewhat as below : 

Come one, Come all.

Vote for drinking water.

A plate of rice,

Electricity  and  surpluses, 

Perks and prosperity. Vote  for Change,

A bigger and better  Tamil Nadu !!!!

Pavadai  had found his calling!

One Up for the Kallidaikurichians

One up for the Kallidaikurichians

 Around the year 1920 a lot was happening in the political landscape. The country had been seared by the bloodbath of Jallianswala Bagh. The winds of social awakening and political change were sweeping across the country. Men and women were quietly coming in batches onto the streets, braving vicious lathi charges, even firing and going about their job of waging a non violent silent battle for their motherland. But deep, down south, in the quiet town of kallidaikurichi, away from the hurly burly of politics, life went on at an unhurried pace. Men tended the land while the womenfolk washed and cooked and young girls played Hop- Scotch on the river banks.

Elsewhere in a house in Vaithiappapuram street however life’s routine had given way to more exciting things.Preparations wre underway for the marriage of two youngsters- the eight year old Narayani with seventeen year old Sahasranamam. It was to be a grand traditional wedding- Narayani’s father Viswanathan was a man of considerable means and he was forging an alliance for his eldest daughter with a scion of the most affluent and influential family in Kallidaikurichi- the RSA family. In keeping with the stature of the two families and the traditions of the times, a five day marriage with festivities and feasting was to be held. The pandal kaal was  erected and a grand pandal was put up.  Those days, marriages were elaborately extended affairs.People and priests alike took their time in  chanting mantras and completing various rituals. One early photograph of Sahasranamam thatha shows him standing near a vintage Ford car. One can imagine the young bridegroom smartly dressed in a dashing suit going around Kallidaikurichi  perhaps in an open Ford car on the wedding eve.  Petromax lamps carried on their heads by men dressed in white twinkled along with the night stars.  Colourfully  dressed and decked women carried fruit and sweets trays, their excited voices  blending into a steady clatterwith the shrill notes of the nadaswaram.All the relatives, close and not so close gathered to usher the young couple through an endless series of nichyathartham, jaanavasam, kasiyatrai, and of couse the most important ritual, the muhurtam. Seer bhakshanams were made in fragrant ghee, distributed to the sambhandhis and partaken with relish.  Children ran around and played in wild abandon oblivious to the gentle, not so seriou rebukes of parents and elders. Silks rustled and jewellery glittered.  Clearly Kallidaikurich was in a festive mood; an important marriage was taking place.

But the child Narayani was too young to absorb it all. A precocious child, blessed with a sweet, singing voice, she was probably thinking and rehearsing some note or tune while the festivities were going on.and as if a complement to her abundant musical talents, a vocal music concert of none other than the legendary Sangeetha Kalanidhi  Kallidaikurichi Vedanta Bhagavthar was organized. Elsewhere also in Kallidaikurichi, Narayani’s cousin was also getting married on the same muhurtam.  Maha Vaidyanathaier’s kutcheri has been arranged on the occasion.  Kallidaikurichians, by nature musically inclined had gathered in large numbers partly in curious expectation to hear the great man from the more modern and culturally progressive northern parts sing. But slowly the crowd at Vaidyanathaier’s concert started thinning out. Vedantha Bhagavtar’s resonant, melodious singing was drawing the crowds.

I never found out if this was true. But the story definitely did the rounds, circulated for the most part by Gopala Thattha, a shadow character in our narrative.As Gopala Thattha would say gleefully, “ One up for the Kallidaikurichians...!”

Along with Narayani’s trousseau and seer, Gopalan, trusted lieutenent of Viswanathan Thattha accompanied the gifts and valuables to the groom’s house. In those days this was a common practice. But Gopalan Thattha stayed on in the household, living out his life under the hospitable roof of the newly weds.

Music Masala

Chennai music season venues are a melting pot of human character.  In the Mylapore Fine Arts, a maami was heard loudly  remarking that she wanted  a good view of Hema, Prema's saree colour combinations. She went on to say that one came to such concerts  to observe such juicy titbits. She had come along with a batch of relatives and what better place than a Sabha venue to do some catching up with in the loudest of tones. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her adjusting her heavy silk and talking animatedly with a sweeping glittering flourish. " Not a single Hema Prema concert have I missed this season, she gushed in shrill tones. What a melodious voice they both have? Indeed what a pure. Classical style they adhere to ? Of course I head straight for the canteen fifteen minutes into the concert. Better be an early bird to tuck into the sizzling crispies. Else you'll miss out on the good stuff. First and fast everywhere is motto. By the way, is so and so musician wearing a new jewellery for her concerts?....... ", she trailed off.

Elsewhere, as I was making my way to a seat at the start of a concert, a loud whisper calling out my name mystified me. I turned around to find  Bhama, a long lost relative beckoning to me furiously. " Come here ", she said peremptorily." This is a better seat and we can of course exchange musical notes". As I sat beside her, she informed me that she had to make a  note of the ragas because her daughter who learnt Carnatic music would have to be updated. As the artist commenced the varnam, she checked out with me whether it was in the raga kambhodi, nodded knowledgeably as if to say ,"I thought so" and dutifully made a note of the raga in her diary.Music could not hold her for long before she asked me whether I had found a cook. I must have looked bewildered because she went on to say that I had mentioned a problem in our previous meeting which had been a couple of years back.I tried to get my focus on course when she interrupted to ask why the singer was repeating Raga Kambhodi. I politely told her that he was singing Shankara bharanam, not Kambhodi.For the umpteenth time, as I tried to soak in the music wafting to me,  Bhama  came back with an irrepressible, "Oh, Vasanthi, almost forgot to check with you. Is your sister-in-law looking out for an alliance for her son? My cousin's daughter is an ideal etc.etc......"

I realized that music was not going to be my cup of tea at that point of time. Notwithstanding, I reflected on the unique character of the Chennai Music Season  which had something to offer for every palate; the gourmand, the  home-maker on the lookout for the stray piece of gossip and lastly of course, the music aficionado.

Mental and Not Physical Drudgery

Do you know how the dosa batter industry got a head start? Well, a lady in Chennai got this idea because she always outsourced her batter, finding the job of removing the batter and cleaning up after that too irksome. Well we don't even have the patience to feed the raw ingredients into the grinder container and switch the grinder on.And our grandmothers did  the  grinding manually. Why, my own mother would sit down and grind idli/ dosa batter in the stone grinder, rotating the stone with her left hand while feeding and circulating the dough with her right hand into the hole. I remember being fascinated as a kid by the huge stone grinder in grandmother's house and all the grandchildren taking turns to feed the dough while the cook desperately tried to shoo us away.

LPG burners arrived when I was in the fourth standard. I have vague memories of my mom cooking on the kerosene stove and sending me off to school.Anybody who has had any experience with the primus stove would know how tough it was to get the thing going. Life became easier with the arrival of LPG. Refrigerators and cars were the greatest life style symbols that one could aspire for. Yet our mothers cooked fresh breakfast; no fast foods or instan t mixes and sent us to school on time.While the kids divided their time between academic and physical activities, the mothers chugged away with the daily domestic routine of washing, shopping etc.In bthe pre TV era, mothers spent the afternoons, doing various types of handwork, crafts etc.Not for them, those endless sitcoms and soupy- weepies destined to give  a pain in the neck or back.

My grandmother  would squat against the aruvamanai, that indispensable chopping accessory in a South Indian kitchen and slice a variety of veggies into uniformly regular half inch slices for the good old avial. She employef a cook but thw job of chopping vegetables was never relegated to her whereas I flip my lid if my vegetable chopping maid fails to turn up.Squatting on folded knees  against the ammi to grind coconut paste or a thuvayal and wAhing clothes on the washing stone were all easily completed chores. Our mothers and grandmothers belonged to a generation that believed in doing physical work specially for the sake of the family good. Simple domestic activities like cooking, knitting,embroidery, drawing rangolis etc.were highly pleasurable activities because of their social and aesthetic value. Many of our mothers were not high ranking executives earning fat pay packets but the enduring values they imbibed in us help us today to live balanced lives, without getting carried away by the perpetual race of one upmanship and pursuit of material mirages.When my fingers stiffen due to excessive use of the keypad or mouse, I think of mothers and aunts stringing  jasmine and drawing kolams. They had finger coordination, strong legs and straight backs and therefore did not suffer from the various musclo- skeletal diseases plaguing modern youngsters.

Modern day technology has changed life styles with the deluge of conveniences that if has brought in its wake.  Information technology has helped us to explore and learn and eased the tedium of umpteen daily and lifestyle chores. But every now and then, my heart Iongs for the simple,wholesome pleasures that our ancestors enjoyed.

The Town of Birth

Kallidaikurichi is a quaint little town tucked  away amidst the foothills of the Western Ghats in south Tamil Nadu. It was and still remains a thriving centre of extraordinary cultural and economic progress.Situated on the banks of the river Thamirabarani, this town with winding green fields, vividly verdant unfolds a rich ecological emerald landscape.An ever so gentle  breeze wafted through the open fields, the lush paddy sways in a dance like Wordsworth's daffodils. In the olden days, after a rejuvenating bath in the crystal clear waters of the Thamirabarani, the folks of Kallidaikurichi  walked through the fields with small kudams of water, the men balanced the kudam on top of their heads, the women balanced it on their waist, their wet garments swishing with their dainty steps in a dancing rhythm. Sometimes one did not like to hurry back from the river. Sitting on a small rock, gazing at the lush countryside and throwing small, smooth pebbles was the favourite pastime of many a village lass. But this was a luxury which many could not indulge in. On a clear, sunny day, one couldeven see through the clear water, the glistening brown- white sand on the river- bed.Diving repeatedly into the cool,calm waters and applying the turmeric paste rubbed on a  rock was sheer ecstasy.The clanging of a temple bell, there were ever so many temples in Kallidaikurichi hastened their steps to the Pillaiyar kovil situated on the ghat of the Kannadiyan Kalvai. After a quick obeisance, their steps took them  home to a joyful routine of simple domesticity. Simple folks, who lived simply. In the evenings, most of them would troop back to the sastha, Pillaiyar or Amman temples and get vibhuti and the  prasadam, which tasted divine perhaps because it was seasoned with the sincere bhakthi of the Kallidaikurichi people.

      Agriculture was the main occupation in Kallidaikurichi. The people there grew paddy, groundnut,sugarcane and red chillies. Perhaps Mutthuswamy Deekshithar had bestowed his blessing on this village because the people had  high levels of musical talent. So it came about that Patti and thattha both were born in this wonderful town of Kallidaikurichi . Patti was born a good eight years after thattha's birth.

Prologue

It all began one day, thirty three long  years after my grandmother died. Ambi Mama, my maternal uncle send a WhatsApp message that Narayani Patti's death anniversary was being observed on the following day, reminding the family to abstain from consuming forbidden food items and say prayers for the well-being of all. Every year, Mama would diligently call up my mother Lakshmi, Patti's eldest child regarding the death anniversary. Somehow this time, it was different as it transported me tin a Time Machine to the world of this remarkable woman who had remained wrapped in cloistered virtue, like many of her generation. Narayani Patti  was short and lovably rotund but her warm, fair face, adorned with her sparkling nose-ring and earrings mirrored the warmth and graciousness of her multifaceted personality. Her talents were many but she was not one to show them off. A deeply religious person, extremely large hearted and generous, adaptable to the requirements of the family that she married into, she touched the lives of us, her grandchildren and ignited the spark in us. All this from a lady who probably never went to school, whose hunger for knowing and learning was unmatched and appeased only by the intense passion with which she almost devoured books. Many are the anecdotes and glimpses that we get into her life which was an illustration of rural traditions that was observed by many rural wives of the landed gentry of South Tamil Nadu of the period from early to mid twentieth century. This, in no way is a tribute to a grand, gracious lady- she would not have liked it, the simple humble person that she was. By sharing memories and experiences within the near and extended family circles, I hope to weave a rich tapestry in  her myriad qualities and the rich, deep colours of her personality. Her greatest lesson was her great skill in finding and pursuing a purpose in life within the constraints of a socially inexorable domestic regimen without complaint, without churlishness. In the end is the beginning, let's laugh and cry with her as she cruises through the journey of life.