BABA YAGA AND A MIGHTY SAGA

A Recent photo of Lakshmi Akka  and me taken against the backdrop of the house by its present owner 

 Circa 1968- Three little girls in Grandpa KVG' s house in a small lane in Malleswaram, Bangalore were innocently playing a game of a Russian witch Baba Yaga threatening hapless humans in her clutch.Lakshmi was the Ring Leader playing the Witch.....me an obedient follower trailed by the youngest of the trio...little Nandini. All that I can remember now are the grunts and blood curdling yells of Ugh Ugh Russian Blood that we emitted energetically with a lot of warlike movements in our effort to simulate Baba Yaga's fierceness and fury. Today, I wonder how KVG thattha allowed all this frightful din and noise... the meticulously strict man that he was and the generally mild children that we were. Maybe he had gone out on his endless shopping expeditions and we chose the moment to run riot. The Game ended but not the Game of Life.                               

         My association with Bangalore continued with my relocation in the city after marriage. My parents once wanted to trace the house  and wander into Memory Lane.  This was way back in 2001, twenty five years ago.  We succeeded in locating the house, even a very old neighbour who was living in the area since Grandpa's times. Forgotten faces were recognized, old memeories and events were shared over loving plates of snacks and hot, filter coffee. Appa and Amma were also there to jog memories and nudge mental  recall. We came away, satisfied and happy that a souvenir of our very esteemed and affectionate Thattha was still existing in  the house in  4th Main, 7th Cross, Malleswaram.

          Cut to 2026... almost 60 years later.  Lakshmi Akka recently was in Bangalore on a visit. We decided to trace and look up Thatthas house. In our heart of hearts, we secretly dreaded the very  realistic possibility of the house not existing there....being ruthlessly destroyed and replaced in Bangalore's relentless pursuit of sleek modern structures. Somehow, twenty five years later after my last visit to the house....this search became very significant and meaningful.....thirty years ago,  the vicissitudes of life had not visited us.....the house had still been a haven of Happy Memories.  Life had flowed like a river in thirty years, tossing and tumbling us, the children of the house against sorrows and grief over loss of dear departed ones.  We waited on the shore, sombre and silent hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of the little house, that window to a fleeting memory of absolute happiness experienced and shared long ago; a lamp to light our path and lighten our hearts.

     Imagine our joy and profound surprise to find the house exactly as I had last seen it , twenty five years ago, in the same 4th Main, 7th Cross, Malleswaram. There were a few anxious moments when we walked past the house, almost missing it amidst the innumerable cluster of structures  that had come up next to it. But I walked back, somehow the house seemed to be pleading with me to recognize it  and be welcomed into its warm presence. I was confused and distressed that perhaps our shelter and last link to our earlier generations was also gone. I finally looked up at a window and instantly a mental jigsaw fell in place. I recognized the window from distant memories and knew this was the HOUSE  where Thattha lived; housing sweet and shared memories of abundant joy and happiness, of vacations, picnics and festivals ; of Sundaresan Chitappa's wedding, KVG Thattha's Shasthiabdhapoorthi etc. The list was long of events embracing the  warmth and happiness of life, of emotional plentifulness, of feasting and festivities; all symbolizing the Ebb and Flow of Life.

      As I stood before the ancient house, I was at once ecstatic that the house had been discoverd and humbled by its powerful message of Life.  Great was the joy and happiness that its warm interiors had exuded. SMALL SPACES CREATE LARGER THAN LIFE MEMORIES THAT NURTURE AND NOURISH OUR SPIRIT  AND SOUL. HAPPY MEMORIES OF SHARED OCCASIONS  GIVE US SOLACE IN OUR SORROWS.  As we left, with a final wave to the house and its present owner, I was eneveloped with a profound feeling of CLOSURE. The House represented and radiated the benevolence and blessings of Thattha and his children; our parents. It's sturdy walls were sending a strong , sllent message of positivity and optimism. I could almost feel the silent , metaphysical presence of our parents and grandparents.. in the chair on which he used to sit, in the kitchen where Patti turned out delicacies fragrant with ghee and her immeasurable love for her grandchildren. Its very existence for more than half a century stood testimony to its inherent resilience, something that was valued by its owners, down the line. I had a sense of having finally come to terms with the reality of Life. In the shared excited memories of laughte and festivities of yesteryears, I finally learnt that Life is Mortal but the Joys of Youth are immortal,helping us to navigate the Organic path of Life. As we left with a final wave to the house and its pleasant owner,the Gnana laden lines of Bhaja Govindam echoed in my ears.

          Punarapi Jananam, Punarapi Maranam

          Punarapi Janani Jatare Shayanam

          Ih Sansaare Bahu Dustaare,

          Kripaya Palaya Pahi Murare THE CLOCK DOES NOT TURN BACK ON LOVELY DAYS LONG GONE ;IT STEADILY TICKS ME INTO HOPEFUL DAWNS AND HAPPIER TIMES.

A HUMAN FIRST AND FOREMOST

Our stay in Mysore was short and sporadic with perhaps  a dozen or more trips to Bangalore to see Appa in the course of a year. In between  the two cities, a house of some sort had to be run with its share of Domestic Helps etc. As always, Domestic Helps come in all types and colours.  Some are  talkative,  some are sullen and come to work with a long face, some want to know everything about the new employer. While in Mysore, at first obviously I had no idea of the quality of their work. But one thing, I learnt pretty fast.... the Bais or vellai kaaris in Mysore are extremely dignified and  decent. Roopa, a young woman of thirty five or so came to work with heavy references. A smiling, cheerful girl... she once asked me what my children were doing. Mysoreans have a quaint way of  figuring  out one's social and ethical variables through this one  question which says all. I told her I had none expecting the usual sympathy or curiosity or any of the zillion usual responses.

  Instead, Roopa said in a very dignified manner that she was sorry to have  asked the question. I was impressed that this smiling girl from a different background should have such finesse. Over time, Roopa stopped coming and started sending her aunt, an elderly woman to work in my house. For some unknown reason, like many new servants generally are, this woman was slightly wary, hostile and resistant., vaguely disapproving. The language barrier did not help any.... I wanted to reassure her that I had no intention of harassing or overloading her physical fuel tank.  She spoke a dialect of Kannada , not very commonly spoken or understood.....once, there was also a slight fracas and she told me that she would not wipe the dining table. I was also upset and there was some underlying tension. So I thought it was best to step out of the way and let her do what she want. I soon found that her work was very good ; she would scrub and  clean till vessel and floor alike sparkled.  She was also extremely punctual...would turn up on the dot. This silent, single, woman..... Roopa had once mentioned that her aunt had not married but she regarded her aunt as her mother and therefore she lived  with her. Workwise Roopa was not great but her sense of family and bond impressed me.

   Mahadevamma, as she was known also settled into a a slow, steady rhythm, her work of shining quality and silent sparkle, very much like the  sturdy resilent woman herself.  The woman who had once sullenly refused to do a small job out of  sheer cussedness was now literally snatching the duster out of my hands to  do the job.By nature very systematic, cooordinated and thorough, she would not shirk or skip; a perfectionist to the core. Scrubbing vessels was not a tedious, hasty chore but a silent, steady worship in the altar of Work. She would weave a steady rhythm in the scrubbing and rinsing with quiet commitment, totally immersed and totally engrossed. Time stood still while vessels gleamed. Once my husband also commented whether there was any need to wash for so long. To which I replied that I had not set her to work at the vessels. Deepawali came and I got sweets for both Roopa and Mahadevamma. In her decency, Mahadevamma remarked that it was enough to give one one person...Roopa

Soon the time came for us to leave Mysore...we had known this all along. The decision, necessary as it was, was heavy on our heart and mind....the delightful little city with its dainty, clean shops and people had enchanted us in so many ways. We could not come out of the spell it had cast on us ...Mysore's picturesque landscapes, its vestiges of royalty, its spiritual  landmarks and temples...above all its numerous parks all had firmly etched on our mindscape. Mahadevamma also came for her last day of work .... went about her work with usual thoroughness and dedication....no indifference or casualness. It was an usual workday for her....no matter we were leaving the next day. Work was her soul; her sustenance

 After she finished her work daily, she would normally leave asking one of us to latch the door. Today however, she did a huge Namaste to both of us individually and stood silent for a long time as if she wanted to say something but could't. It was a heavy, poignant  moment hanging in space waiting to be picked up. and shaped by human hands. The three of us  just waited in silence as if afraid that the magic of the moment would disappear.  It was almost as if she wanted to say that I like coming to your house to work... now that you are going... this ends.  A chapter ends for me as also for you. Tomorrow  we go our separate ways. The unspoken empathy filled me with a sense of destiny and the truth that all good the present  is all that matters...things like our stay in Mysore must come to an end. So many happy experiences; so many happy memories in a quiet charming little city, where one had the time to savour and the sense to distill and discern,,,,, Valuable and  enabling lessons  for the Examination called LIFE.

I had lot of pending jobs....so I stirred. Whereupon she left wthout looking back, No request to latch the door as if afraid that words might shatter the silence of the unspoken. The moment vaporized into atmospheric particles; I wanted to chase and snatch the moment to keep and cherish it. But it had disappeared for ever without a trace.  The fragrance remained, invigorating my tired body and energising my sleepy senses. The memories of Mysore will always remain but the kind, quiet empathy of the silent maid  are verdant mental-scapes which will nurture and nourish me forever and ever on tired , long days.

A short Stay and big takeaways.

Some months back, my paternal aunt, Padma Athai as she is affectionately called, came to stay with me in Bangalore. She is a super senior citizen but young and brave  in heart which is how she was able to undertake singly the long flight. Padma Athai  is a very sociable person and has made many good friends over decades of my uncle's professional life; some of whom have almost family like ties with her...they have stood each other  in good stead whenever needed. She finally settled in Delhi to be close to her daughters  but here also she has maintained a set of friends in a relationship of healthy and happy give and take. She independently manages her routine; among which is one of cooking herself  I have known her to set aside and send portions of some special dish that she has prepared at home to friends on occasions or also because it happened to be their favourite dish. Dishing out friendship along with her delicacies is something which comes naturally to Athai.

                I was wondering how would she spend her time in Bangalore. She however had her plans. She has meticulously maintained the phone numbers of all the people whom she wanted to meet in Bangalore.  She started calling them up systematically....the tag line was simple and short. " I  can't come over; but you are most welcome to visit me".  Many people came to visit her, with a home-made sweet or savoury, with love and affection stirred in and infused with care. Athai herself had taken great trouble  to bring fragrant Agarbathis, the incense of friendship and colourful shawls which she presented to her  friends. And very specially for her dear elder brother, home made delicious red carrot halwa. Athai and friends caught up with each other, traversing distant  memory lanes. There was so much of catching up to do, so much of information to be shared....and cooking tips.....Athai is a good cook.  The camaraderie was good....the vibes, positive.

                 Athai's friends were diversely talented people, with interests in music, cooking, scriptures etc. Everyone had an experience, a journey to share. I have wondered at Athai's ability to make friends even with a youngster. Many a time, she tells me, her friends have been wooed by her dishes and meals.  My house became the House of Friendship: a community cutting across generations converging in response to a telephone call of friendship made by an elderly lady.

            Athai had not stepped out of the house. Yet she had reached out and extended a friendly hand. The roads in Bangalore were bad and crowded but the Roads to Long Lasting Friendship are not long and bumpy. I was surprised and touched at what little it takes to make people happy. In this case, Athai's efforts to convert phone contacts into physical meetings. A hot cup of tea offered with a warm smile and warmer heart is all that it takes to build bonds of empathy and affection. In turn perhaps, more caring human beings and a better society.  Definitely Food For Thought.

Padma athai's 90th

 Padma Athai's 90 th birthday lunch event was a   very informal,gathering of family and friends to felicitate a very warm, affectionate and multi-talented lady  with a wonderful family.

The Kuratthi and her kuravai Kutthu

Kamala was a Bharatha Natyam icon and a role model for every Tam Brahm girl inclined to the fine arts of classiscal music and dance. Tributes have been pouring in from all quarters for renowned Bharatha Natyam dancer Kamala,who passed away recently. Watching her perform live made every girl long to emulate Kamala's movements and expressions. Such was the power of her dance ....it swept the versed and unversed into a flood of a dance extravaganza. It was the year 1970. i was a ten year old....a Me Too to the Bharatha Natyam art form. My father was in the Faculty of the Indian School Of Mines; my mother a homemaker, trained in Carnatic music and nurturing fond artistic dreams for her daughter. My voice could not lend itself to the manouevres and modulations that the Carnatic style demanded. The next best alternative was dance... I was also inclined to the dance form because where Sangeetham could not find a path, my knack for Talam and Rhythm paved the way for Bharatha Natyam. It was then that Kumari Kamala . as she was always known came to Dhanbad in Jharkand to perform a claassical repertoire....and what a performance it turned out to be for the sheer brilliance of the Nrittya form and the musical choreography. So I started learning Bharatha Natyam from a teacher who came from Calcutta to teach children Of the Coal Belt. But there was no soul in my dance.....even I realized it. My feet just padded to the Thai Thayi beats of the teacher who punctually turned up once for classes in two weeks . The dance classes were routine and drab...the master taught sincerely and pedantically. He could not however inspire and kindle the creative spark; it was mundane,lifeless and just that.It was at this juncture that Kamala burst uopn my Dance world like a meteor blazing a trail of sparkling brilliance. I almost remember her performance as if it happened only yesterday. Kamala darted with fleeting, dainty, tiny steps from one end of the stage to another. She was here and she was there.....ingum irunthal....angum irunthal. Around the time of Kamala's performance,my Dance Guru changed. I started learning from Shri K. R. Radhakrishnan, Nattuvanaar and Dance teacher in the Ramiah Pillai baani. Kamala had also trained in this style and she faithfully adhered to this baani. Now when I think back, I realize destiny had a hand in the whole matter. Guru Radhakrishnan had also done Nattuvaangam for Kumari Kamala for a period of time, Also he had a deep sense of quality music and padams.. the lyrical Tamil songs soaked in metaphorical love and devotion to the divine Lord. Coming to Kamala' performance, I watched in spell-bound awe as Jathiswaram followed Alarippu... then onto a Varnam, padams and an electrifying Thillana. The varnam that day was the grand, majestic yet rarely known Swathi Thirunal Dasha Ragamalika composition Kamala Jaasya with the lyrics fitting into Adi Tala with mathematical precision. I was not much immersed in the soft, subtle Nayaki Bhavas of the Padams but the crisp, catchy, Kutrala Kuravanji dance from the verdant Pothigai mountains made me sit up. It was a light, tacky song- Pachamalai Pavazha Malai composed aptly in Raga Anand Bhairavi. The dancer, a disciple of Kamala admirably danced in a jaunty, folksy manner to this lilting song. I sat through, completely captivated and spell-bound, admiring both the gaily coloured,bold check patterned paavadai with a matching blouse, her beads and pearls as well as the dancer's raunchy whirls and twirls. The next day, after my dance class, I requested Shri Radhakrishnan rather hesitatingly to teach me the Kuratthi dance. I told him how I had been totally taken up with the kuratthi experience... that the song and dance were lodged in my inward eye. The sport that he was, Guru Radhakrishnan taught me in a very short span of time, the dance with modified steps compatible with a beginner's ability. Wonders will never cease. I got a chance to perform Pacchai Pavazha Malai on the stage, complete with kuratthi dress and paraphernalia....strings of chunky and gaudy coloured beads and the kuratthi hairdo which like Andal's is coiffed to the side of the head with braids of flowers and beads adorning it. My mother sang Pacchamalai Pavazha malai melodiously to Guru Radhakrishnan wielding the cymbals in staccato Nattuvaangam. Kamala's performance kindled a spark in me; a lifelong love and passion for the fine arts. My dance life was short...but the learning experiencewas evolving. The lyrics of the transformative song Pacchamalai Pavazhamalai are loosely translated as follows: From rocks of coral'n' vales of green, lush and plush with dreams complete, from the land beautiful of the Tamils, do I, Valli,come with secrets to share and a future to tell! With a spring in my step and a stringed garland in my hand, do I dance ...THAM THAM THAKAJONU THAI THAI THIMITHAKKA THATTHOM THATHINTHAKKA THOM THOM....THATHINTHAKKA THATTHOM.... Oh TAMILNADU... the land of milk and honey;of learned and creative people, to its deep and dense jungles, where tuskers and wild life live in harmony with nature That land of golden paddy and sweet honey, to forests of monkey entwined trees and gushing little streams of sparkling crystal water; Do I, Valli, consort of the gracious Lord Muruga, come with a spring in my step and a song in my heart, to aspire the company of the learned and blessed,of the wealthy and the wise..... THAM THAM THAKAJONU THAI THAI THIMITHAKKA THATTHOM THATHINTHAKKA THOM THOM....THATHINTHAKKA THATTHOM....

The Kiki Park in Jayalakshmipuram Mysore

 Kiki park near my house is a typical Mysore park with creeper entwined arched walkways, a neat oval garden with a Goddess with a Water Sprinkler in the middle. There is a Children's corner where  children can play on swings and seesaws. There are benches for adults to sit and relax. Also  animal figurines like a horse and a parrot, very unusual in a park. One finds elephants usually cut out of the shrubs in a park.

          I did not think much about this odd feature  of the park till I read an interesting and touching story behind  the parrot. Apparently a family in the locality near the park had a pet parrot called Kiki. The entire family  was very fond  of the parrot .When the parrot died, the family installed a  seesaw in the shape of a parrot in the park so that children using it come to know about their dear pet. What a touching gesture and what a quaint,cute way to spread the message of love and kindness. A resident of the locality writes that he was so inspired by the story of Kiki that he named his pet dog KIKI!  

  Thus the park came to be called Kiki park after the parrot. In fact, nobody refers to it by any other name. I think the owner (s) of Kiki must have been Enid Blyton fans...Kiki is the talkative parrot in one of her story series. 

SHADY, ARCHED WALKWAYS

                                                                        

KIKI

                                            

                                                      

OVAL GARDEN LIT FOR DUSSERA

                                                            

                                          ANOTHER SECTIONAL VIEW OF KIKI PARK

The Paavai Vilakku (The Elephant lamp)

 

Meenakshi Bhalla and her World of MB ( Make Believe)

• She bore the name of an all powerful goddess, Meenakshi but all these years later, I can only recall her as an avid fan of  a very non-spiritual literary genre, that of Romantic Fiction. She was the type who makes friends easily, a nice girl, with a cheerful face and a permanent warm, smile. A trifle gawky and unstylish, but the warmth was there for all to see.We were all students of the Arts stream in the Intermediate Course at SSLNT College, Dhanbad. Dhanbad is a large coal based industrial town in Jharkand. Its demography consisted of engineers, scientists, businessmen and miscellaneous  contributors to the local Economy. It was a brave new world right out there, with technocrats and small industrialists alike toiling  to make some money in the land of the BLACK DIAMOND and the pioneering work of spreading quality education through English was being done in stages by the nuns of the Carmelite order. Carmel schools were opened at different community/ industrial colonies …..thus we had a main  and older Carmel school at Digwadih, a Suburb of Dhanbad and then another came up later in Dhanbad to meet the  demands of the growing business class there.  We, the children of this nascent very powerful socio economic order attended the different Carmel schools and our value systems were ingrained fairly early…..concentrated study in order to achieve set professional and economic goals. I have gone into great detail over this in order to highlight the general milieu and consequently, our  tastes and hobbies.
• I studied in Carmel Dhanbad and Meenakshi came from Digwadih Carmel. She was a  year junior to me but definitely very adult in her literary tastes.We were all students of SSLNT College, the only Women’s  College in the area with predominantly Hindi speaking students. The Carmel crowd, with their different and better academic accomplishments, therefore stood out. By the same token, we therefore mingled also only among ourselves, i.e. the Carmel group. I do not remember our first meeting . I suppose it must have been with a cheery, “HI! I am Meenakshi”, kind of  greeting and  very soon, a new hitherto unheard and unknown genre of books started circulating  widely in the friends’ groups. HEY PRESTO!  To the  giggling, awkward bunch from the prudish MORAL SCIENCE sermons of Sr. Felicia’s class, it was as if the floodgates of the world of Adults had been opened.
• School life had given us Enid Blyton, Richmal Cromton, Frank Richards, Alistair MacLean etc with their varied fare of adventure, fun and excitement all instilling values in mild doses. We certainly had not heard of Mills and Boon in the unsophisticated, professionally middle class world of the Dhanbad neighborhood…. our mothers were not the type who would have ever read  a Mills and Boon. They were staid, no nonsense types with their feet planted firmly on the ground and expecting the same value system in their children. Reading was greatly encouraged except during exam time. A visit to Rajendra Market definitely had a treat in store for the bibliophile- the purchase of a Famous Five or Secret Seven.
• However now the Fives and Sevens made way to the world of Adult Passion.  “Hi”, and Meenakshi’s curly head would bob uo from the covers of “ Virgin Bride” and the book would change hands after she was done. Alluring, colourful book jackets with a picture of man and woman in differing degrees of intimacy; the ubiquitous symbol of a rose tucked between the catchy logo of mills& Boon; all designed to draw the unsuspecting teenager. The  naughty childishness in us urged on to glimpse the absurd ( We were still at the stage where Romance was considered absurd) world of a Romance novel. Typically  one of the girls one day, piped up with" Man of Granite " is very good". "Why",chorused the rest.  Because the hero is unscrutable; the heroine can't read his mind and  he has very stern looks". So playing Hard to Catch and possessing dark, forbidding looks were the key to the spell that M &B books cast on the SSLNT gang.. 
• Now there is one secret, that I will let you into. Very often, a title with a voyeuristic undertone was given ,accompanied by a passionate love scene on the cover just to attract readership. Gentle romance was encouraged but not blatant permissiveness. M & B readers had their guidelines laid out…. exotic locales to set the romantic tone and mood, some intimate scenes to accelerate the path of true love and to provide meat to the reader, and the predictable ending of a happy marriage. The heroine coud have plain looks but she had to make up this deficiency with her personal qualities like smartness, elegance and a degree of female and professional independence, all of which must be sacrificed eventually in the altar of True Love. True Love was the single most goal of these women. By contrast, the hero would have perfect physical features, modelled on a Greek God ( no wonder, Greek heroes were a big favourite with the writers ) and the most essential quality of being impervious to feminine charm and guile. Of course, the heroine would succeed in bringing a change of heart after many trials and tribulations.
• So, if one got the above formula right, one made the grade  and joined the group of successful writers of the Mills and Boon books. MB’s collection tumbled onto us with audacious titles…..DARK AVENGER, HANDSOME PREDATOR and the like. To this day, I have wondered how Meenakshi managed to lay her hands on to such a big collection. How did she escape the watchful parental eye etc.?   
• Mills and Boon readers have spanned generations of women.Like so many others, I can’t understand the spell that they cast on their young readers.  Perhaps it was because of the first peek that these books offered to most of us into the fascinating world of adult behaviour.Perhaps we identified ourelves with the poor waif of a heroine who had to face  emotional challenges while struggling with the practical realities of life. Which is why it was all important for us to find out if the heroine got in the end, what she deserved.
• Otherwise M & B fiction  had very little  values or ideas to offer. If anything, these books showed their heroines in a poor light—women with no mind of their own, incapable of leading a life of economic and social independence. Finding Mr. Right was what life was all about.
• We passed out of SSLNT. The once close group of friends  dispersed and scattered to various destinations in the course of  life’s changing fortunes. I, like so many others lost touch with Meenakshi. To date, she remains elusive , as elusive as those Mills and Boon heroes that she fancied so much. But there is one thing, for sure.  I hope and believe that life dealt her a good hand; that a nice, simple girl from the back of beyond succeeded in  fulfilling her romantic  dream.
• M & B has gone desi nowadays. So young readers can read of either  Deepak or Shyam, replacement of  Peter Dedalus etc.
• 
  

Rambo Has An Adventure In The Land Of Eternal Happiness

Wonderstruck by all that they had heard and seen, Sunil and Rambo walked on. In this strange country, they saw orderliness, cleanliness in the buildings and roads, and people going about their work briskly and happily. Soon they hit the City of SUSTAINABLE ETHICAL EMPLOYMENT. As the name said, the city bore signs of development.  They saw parks and roads, shops and malls, hotels and houses but did not have a coin in their hand to buy even a drink. “ I think I’ll die of thirst and hunger”, said Sunil almost in tears. “ Come on, Sunil”, barked Rambo encouragingly. “ Take heart. I am sure we’ll run into some refreshments soon “. Sure enough as if  on cue, they came upon a small Darshini called Akshayapatra which was selling sandwiches, chapatis and snacks. “Wonderful”, they said, rubbing their hands in glee and then their faces fell. “ How could they pay for the food? “ Not to worry”, said the genial looking man at the Cash Counter. “Here we serve all  without prejudice, even those who cannot pay. Service above Profit is our motto. But those who can can afford must pay according to their ability. All you have to do is to sit in front of your plates and mentally order the food that you would like to eat.” Rambo and Sunil looked at each other in amazement. Whoever heard of a hotel serving free food?

They sat down at a table, ravenous with hunger. “Tomato Sandwich,” Rambo licked his mouth in anticipation and immediately two sandwiches appeared before him. Similarly Sunil got a Masala Dosa.  They tucked into their food hungrily, watching a fat man also eating at the next table. The man kept on ordering while dish after dish appeared before him and  disappeared into his cavernous mouth. Rambo and Sunil wondered when and where it would all stop. They were to know  soon enough.

The man ordered and waited for the  next dish to appear on his plate. But nothing happened. Instead a piece ofpaper appeared on his plate but it was not just one piece of paper. An endless roll of paper started to stretch out on to the table, on to the floor, like a carpet. Rambo and Sunil stared in amazement. Sunil went a step forward to find that it was A WHOLE REAM OF BILLS. Must be BILLS FORI ALL THE FOOD THAT THE MAN HAD EATEN. The man almost fell off his chair in shock and fright. He got up to walk away rapidly to the exit without drawing notice. But just then two men approached his table and stood menacingly on  either side of him. “ Trying to run away without paying your bill, you greedy glutton. Dirty dishes await you in the kitchen ”, they roared, marching him off to the kitchen.

Rambo and Sunil’s eyes almost fell off at the scene they had just awitnessed. Hearing a sound, they turned around to find the proprietor clapping his hands and saying loudly, “ Haha….. THIS IS THE PUNISHMENT FOR TAKING ADVANTAGE OF OUR GOODNESS HEAR EVERYBODY. TO THE NEEDY, WE ARE GOOD BUT THE GREEDY, BETTER TAKE HEED”.

Rambo and Sunil quietly exited. So should you if you ever visit the Akshayapatra Darshini

Where Have They Come?

It turned out to be even more giddying little later for they suddenly found themselves losing height and flying lower and lower. Houses, people and animals suddenly and slowly grew larger and they were flying crazily and frighteningly close to rooftops. Nothing was in their control as they swung close to some tall building and suddenly and almost violently were lifted clean off it. “ Phew that was close,” muttered Sunil alarmed. suddenly a big patch of ground opened out before them and as suddenly and alarmingly as it had begun, their crazy flight came to a sudden abrupt end. the two hit the ground suddenly with their breath nocked out and their heads in a whir. “Goodness”, said Sunil breathlessly.“ Where have we come?” “We will soon know “, said Rambo who had already got up nimbly  and was running ahead. “ Come on Sunil. Hurry up. This is our big adventure.”

On and on they ran till they suddenly  came upon a huge signboard mapping their location. WELCOME TO THE LAND OF ETERNAL HAPPINESS, it said. THIS WAY TO THE TO THE TOWN OF GOOD WILL”, it pointed towards a particular direction. Both looked at each other in wonder but decided to follow the signboard. They walked on, now tired and hungry but not seeing a soul on the way. “ Hey Look”, said Sunil suddenly pointing his finger.”Isn’t that a policeman? Looks like one.” It was one. On drawing nearer they found a man dressed in a policeman’s uniform.  “ Excuse me”, said Sunil to the policeman. “ We are new to this place. Can you guide us to somewhere where we can get food and shelter?” “Welcome to our World of Eternal Happiness”, said the friendly policeman.” “ You look to be from a different country. Right now, you are in the Town of Good Will.  Here we have schools and colleges where  our children learn the qualities of honesty and hard work and to earn a sustainable living in harmony with nature and society. “ Over there”, he waved pointing out his hand in one direction, “Is the Big City of SUSTAINABLE ETHICAL  EMPLOYMENT . See those buildings and factories. People work  hard  there  to create GoodWill and Wealth, the tools of Prosperity. There you will get plenty of whatever you want because this is the festive season of Diwali.”

Rambo's Wish Comes True

Wooshhhh,…. there was a strong gust of wind.  As if to make his words come true, Rambo heard very close a loud sound… FWAPPP as if a big bird was flapping its wings vigorously.” Oh , What’s that?”, cried Rambo, startled by the sudden loud noises. “What’s happening here?” Suddenly Rambo found himself growing lighter and shaking all over. Totally frightened, he looked down at himself and WHAT A FRIGHT HE GOT FOR ON EITHER SIDE OF HIS BODY, TWO SMALL WINGS HAD APPEARED. To his horror,the wings grew bigger and bigger even as he looked on. “ Help, help,” he shouted to Sunil.

     Sunil who was intently lighting a cracker with his back bent, looked up at the cause of the commotion. IMAGINE  his  consternation…. Rambo had grown two big strong wings and even as Sunil looked, Rambo was slowly being lifted into the air. “ Hey…hey”, shouted an alarmed Sunil and grabbed Rambo to save him. BUT WONDERS WILL NEVER CEASE. ,"Hey”, shouted Rambo. “Look Sunil, YOU ARE ALSO GROWING WINGS, perhaps because you touched me and the spell has passed onto you!”

   Sunil looked down upon himself. To his astonishment and dismay, he found that two tiny stubs of birdlike wings were protruding from his sides too, growing bigger by the minute. “ Oh, whatever is happening to us”, he cried in fright. He was soon to discover for both of them were lifted clean off the ground higher and higher into the air i. “Yeeeeek Rambo”shrieked Sunil clutching Rambo in fright. “ What’s happening to us?” “ We are flying and stop howling like a baby. This is an ADVENTURE of a lifetime and enjoy yourself. ”, announced Rambo.

Indeed that is what happened exactly. Higher and higher they soared into the skies till they were flying in a clear propelled manner, a dog and a boy clutching each other for dear life as they were carried into this big unknown adventure. On and on, they flew over land and seas. It was an eerie experience spanning space in a straight course, with the inhabitants of the earth below looking like midgets. “Gosh,” said Sunil who had by now recovered and was thoroughly enjoying himself. "I feel like a spaceman, flying on my own, with the wind against my face and head almost in the clouds. It’s gratifying and giddying…..”.

Rambo is disturbed

Rambo, the Labrador was quite unhappy. How he liked to sun himself on the terrace, with his ears flapping spanning his cute face and generally gaze idly at the world passing by. but his idyllic world would soon be disturbed. Why? Because Diwali was around the corner. To the world at large, it was the festival of Lights, the triumph of Good over Evil- a time for festivities and celebration.Men and children shopped merrily for crackers while women were busy cleaning their homes and preparing elaborate sweets. “ All fine”, thought Rambo to himself. “ So long as these human beings just feasted and made merry, I have no problem. But it is those crackers which my friends on Spencer Road burst which bother me very much “. “ Bow, Bow”, he moaned. “ Nobody cares about us dogs.....nobody  understands the torture and torment we undergo when crackers are burst. It’s as if  our brains explobe and our skulls and brains aaare shattered into a million ragments.... So deafening is the noise in our earsOur nerves are taut and strained from the physical trauma and pain. Many of us even die of restlessness and anxiety, BUT WHO KNOWS AND WHO CARES?

But Rambo was not one to leave matters like that. Always a dog of action, he decided to approach his best friend Sunil and his friends from the neighbouring apartments to seek their help in the matter. Of course, they were boisterous and fun-loving but good children at heart and would understand his problem. So Rambo got up from his comfortable perch and padded off in search of his best friends. To his luck, he found Sunil alone messing around with some cracker which he was about to light, “ Good”’ thought Rambo.” Sunil is quiet and steady. He will think clearly and help me.” “ Wait. Wait,’ said Rambo. “One minute Sunil, don’t light that cracker. Crackers cause many problems to us dogs”. And Rambo went on to tell him his woes.

But Sunil was in no mood to pay heed to all this. “ Really Rambo” he said, “Are you sure all dogs suffer from the noise of crackers so much? Maybe you are an exception. Also bursting crackers so much fun.” “ Bow Bow”, barked  Rambo in despair. “ How will I ever make humans like Sunil understand our distress? How I wish we dogs grew wings to fly away from this cracker polluted world of Human Beings?’ 

x

నాదనీరాజనం | Nadaneerajanam | 14-08-19 | SVBC TTD

Rambo Goes for a Walk

We have met Rambo, the cute tawny labrador with friendly eyes, who came into Mr. S's family as an one year old pup. Male pups generally are boisterous. Rambo was no different, his unruliness getting out of hand when he was taken for a walk. He would pull forcefully at his leash, worse try to break free with a violent jerk, while excitedly sniffing some unknown smell. Labradors are great sniffer dogs and are used for  smelling  and tracking down  their targets. Most mornings, there would be this curious sight of Mr S. walking a Rambo, who would be trotting by his side in a zig-zag manner, sniffing and trying to dart here and there. It was a typical Catch 22 situation; both of them eager for a walk but feeling stressed and exhausted at the end of it. " There has to be a better way of walking a dog," thought Mr. S. " This is becoming more and more tiresome by the day." So he and Vivek shopped and brought home an accessory called a "Body Harness."
      The Body harness, as the very name suggests was a tool to restrict an animal's movements while walking, and gradually guide him to a steady and sedate walking gait and pace. It was wrapped around a dog"s body and clipped onto the leash: thereby preventing the dog from pulling forcefully and causing physical harm to his master. Next morning, Mr S and Vivek , in preparation for a long, vigorous walk, set about fastening the harness onto a slightly bewildered Rambo. He eyed it suspiciously, guessing astutely that this was some new means to outwit him. He wiggled this way and that and generally  tried his best to get rid of the thing. But, of course he did not succeed in his attempts and was very resentful and rebellious at the end of it all. " Come on, Rambo," said Mr S, clicking his fingers. "Let"s go for a Walkie Walk, shall we? We have a new outfit to show everybody." But was Rambo happy and proud? No! He was most resentful. " Walkie Walk indeed," thought Rambo in disgust. " This is more like a Hospital patient walking cautiously and tentatively with the help of a nurse and a stick. I can't smell and explore to my heart's content and I definitely don't like it, no sir."
      So Rambo with his back up in rebellion against the new contraption, pulled and pushed with all his might. He did not succeed as much as he would have liked to, but gave many sore moments to both Mr. S and Vivek, who took turns to walk him.
      Suddenly Rambo noticed a rat near an overflowing garbage bin on the side of the road and in his excitement, almost toppled Mr. S  with his sudden rough and violent lunge towards the bin. Mr. S grimaced. " Serves him right," Rambo  thought  triumphantly. "Tit for tat. He has no business to restrain me from my right to explore and enjoy. I am going to give him a dose of his own medicine". 
    " Will you?", said a voice very suddenly and loudly. It also sounded very stern, startling Rambo so much that he almost jumped out of his skin. He looked around to see if Vivek or Mr. S were shouting at him to come to heel but no it was not them, In fact, they were talking to each other. Also, how could they know what he was thinking- his own, bad, wicked thoughts.
      Apparently he was imagining things. " No, you are not", said the voice again, very loudly and very close to him and for added effect , Rambo got a smart rap on his head.
 By now, Rambo was totally bewildered and frightened too. He couldn't see or smell anyone, yet he was hearing things and being physically knocked. Who, in heavens, was this person or creature scolding and punishing him? " Am I going nuts? he thought. Have I lost my hearing and sense of smell, for which we Labradors are rightly famous for."
      "" No, you  are not," said the unseen voice again. " But soon you will go nuts, going by your past and present record. As if to enhance the effect of these words, Rambo was roughly pushed to the ground, and he fell in a shivering, trembling heap. Rambo was beside himself now in confusion and fear. Who was this unseen, unknown  person who could read his thoughts and curb his rebellious and restless nature?  Did that stupid Harness have anything to do with all this? Of course, he was Rambo the Rebel.... his BODY MAY BE IN CHAINS...... BUT HIS SPIRIT WAS FREE AND BELONGED TO NONE. That being so, he still had to deal with the baffling problem of this hidden enemy.
      Rambo pulled himself together and tried to get up from the ground on which he had fallen. But suddenly a stick appeared from nowhere, giving him another smart tap on the head." Who are you, Sir?", croaked Rambo in a quivering voice, by now reduced to  a mass of jelly.  "Why are you after me? Please show yourself." "I am Canon Canine, the king of DogWorld," boomed the terrible voice suddenly and stridently, "All dogs in the world of Humans, both stray and pet are my subjects and have to  obey my rules or else......" The threat in the voice was unmistakeable. "But I have done no wrong. Why are you attacking me ?", whined Rambo petulantly.
     " Ah, ah ", said Canon Canine. " An interesting question deserving a proper answer, "Rambo, see I even know your name. Of course  you are a domestic dog, and pet dogs are generally obedient and gentle because their families take good care of them. But you, Rebel Rambo  are not one of them. You are rebellious and that is why", emphasized Canon Canine, " you need a helping { or is it, hurting) hand", guffawed Canon Canine". Here Rambo interrupted this tirade with a protesting, "That's not a fair judgment. I am good and gentle." "Is that so?, roared Canon Canine mightily.  I don't see it, going by your behaviour. You are giving your master, a gentle, kind person like  Mr. S a lot of trouble. He  looks after you with so much affection and you don't deserve  his goodness". " Of course not", said a miffed Rambo." How dare you accuse me of such bad things? I am obedient and good". " Well, if you want to show me that you obey your master, prove it by learning to walk properly on a leash", said Canon Canine. "Like this", and suddenly a big, tawny Labrador appeared at Rambo's side, striding beside him in firm and steady lopes. Rambo stared open-mouthed at Canon Canine for that was who the big labrador was ! "Do you know", said Canon. "You cause pain and discomfort to your master, Mr. S during your walks His hand pains when you pull suddenly and unexpectedly; yet he does not let go  for fear that you might get lost or meet with an accident in the congested Bangalore roads.  Have you ever realised  that you are the cause of such a big problem, you DimWit?".
      Rambo felt very small and humble. He realised that he had been thoughtless and uncaring. He felt contrite and immediately wanted to make amends. But first he had to get this terrifying and dominating Dog King off his back. "I am sorry, Mr. Canon. I feel terrible at how stupid and careless I have been. I promise that starting today, I will walk quietly and steadily at my master's heels. So please don't threaten or frighten me." "Good dog, do just that and won't I step out of your life" said Canon , extending his paw in a friendly gesture. Rambo took it in trepidation but  Canon shook paws in a firm and warm grip.
       " Goody, goody dogs are not 
          In the nature of my business;
         They are sissies, more is the fun with the
         Saucy and cocky; the rebellious and headstrong;
         Tra la la... Look out, I wander high and low in  DogWorld
          to catch the unruly dog, the knave master and to
          Set the record straight of both man and Dog.
          All is well, I go my way.
          Something is not, I have my say," 
 sang Canon in a high pitched voice and with a short bark, vanished into thin air, as suddenly as he had appeared.
      And do you know Rambo is behaving so well these days  that Mr. S sometimes removes his leash and sets him loose to romp freely but carefully in certain "safe" stretches. Rambo has also built a rapport with his master while walking and both have come to enjoy their walks,
      " I  smell the raw, wet earth,
      the  goodness of grass, of flowers;
      of living creatures, big and small,
      good and bad.
      Spaces I span, Distances we fly,
      My master and I, our body and soul 
      Harnessed to achieve greater goals.
      Off with you, Body Harness.
      We have no use for the likes of you.
       Here we zip into the very Zing of Existence",

sang Rambo, as he walked the streets of Bangalore  in a smart clip. And do you know Canon Canine came to look up his protege just only once  and so pleased was he with Rambo's behaviour that he awarded him the title of " Loyal Rambo".
    Now wasn't that a nice and interesting way to learn doggy values! If only more dogs were like Rambo, wouldn't Canon Canine be put out of business?

        

On  turning sixty

Yesterday, i turned sixty. I officially became a senior citizen, entitled to the tidbits the government and banks  give away to an ageing populace to help them cope with living standards sans a study income stream.  But I had not been working. So I was not missing anything.

        Was sixty just a numerical? To me, it did not seem different from forty or fifty. In fact, I was feeling  and getting better than the earlier decades when there had been niggling health issues, some of them quite bothersome. At this point of time, i was happy that I could handle my responsibilities  more satisfactorily and I was thankful for that. There were other dependent souls and I could not afford illness or physical inadequacy.

       In the Tambrahm spiritual schedule, turning sixty is quite an event in one”s life. Ours is a patriarchal society So For a man, it is marked by elaborate homes and poojas in the Vedic tradition. It is considered the second marriage in one’s life  and the extended family consisting of children and grand-children gather on the occasion to felicitate and shower their love and affection on the couple with expensive presents even as they pray for their long and healthy life.  Many also observe the Shastiabdhpoorthi to ward off evil portends which may otherwise mar their lives and fortunes. That set me thinking  quite a bit. In the good, old days, a man reached  sixty years, the peak of physical and social achievements like  raising and settling children, achieving professional and economic goals . So it was time to bid goodbye to the Grihastha  Ashram and move on to the next stage in a man’s life, namely the Vaanaprastha Ashram. His social world was bidding adieu to him, making place for a different dispensation; a whole new Bucket List of things to do.

Of course, when my husband entered his sixties, there was no such grand event. There had been no fanfare or festivities..The elders in the family had blessed him whole-heartedly and we cherished and flourished with their blessings.

          Now when I touched sixty, affectionate aunts and uncles called me to send their warmest wishes. A close cousin tracked the event and sent me a delicious cake filled with the chocolaty sweetness of her affection. So too now, the overtures  of all near and dear ones on the occasion overwhelmed me. After all the excitement had died down, I sat down to do some introspection. One thing was for sure…. my bucket list was long  and strong. Doubts gripped me…… did i have the timed will to do them all. Family consisted of only my husband and myself… there had been no organic growth. I was never to  know the challenges of birthing and bringing up children; the best school for learning soft and hard  skills  to face the ups and downs of life. But, this was not to be, in my case.Maybe, I was the loser. for want of it.

  An empty nest meant definitely less work in the domestic front, thereby freeing more me-time to follow your heart and chase your dreams. But time is a very elusive tool in the hands of a vague and uncertain creator. It is only too easy to fritter it away. So firstly, I had to take hold of myself.L ike Murphys law ,where work expands to fill the time available, a housewife could stretch or shrink her tasks. This meant prioritising and   scheduling, both of which were daunting and challenging at first glance. But I set to work with a firm resolve and stout heart. This meant that i had to auto motivate myself to strictly follow a daily routine that would free up time to engage in  mentally creative and socially constructive , I reiterated to myself that activities would broaden my horizons, thereby elevating the mind and spirit. Time and again, I reiterated to myself that i was doing all these things to nourish my inner self  and achieve meaningful goals. The moment, I anchored myself,I  found myself filled with a strong sense of purpose. My mood soared and  happiness engulfed me, even before I had embarked on my journey.

The Hues and Tunes of Spring

In nature, seasons change and festivals the world over celebrate the change in seasons. Festivals are a melting pot of social and cultural traditions of different communities and ethnic groups and they are always celebrated against the backdrop of different seasons, while denoting the underlying resilence and toughness of Mother Nature; resilent yet yielding, tough and yet tender.

    After the chills and  desolate landscape of winter, the nascent sun, shines mild and gentle, bathing the budding earth with its brilliant orange tint. The blossom peeps out enquiringly, the early bird chirps. Nature is now in full bloom, the proud peacock dances, displaying its multi coloured plume. Spring is the season of rejuvenation and rebirth . The old order changeth, yielding place to the new. Even as old, dead leaves fall in woody heaps, trees cover themselves in a colourful canopy. There is celebration in the air: the mild fragrance of flowers invigorating the senses. There is celebration in nature, a  dreary landscape slowly comes to life.

People, young and old, strong and the feeble join nature in her dance with joy and cheer.  In north India, Basant Panchami and Holi celebrate the advent of spring in an aggressive flash of colour and wild abandon.  In South India, the birth of  Rama is celebrated in milder moods to the accompaniment of gentle devotional music. Music fills the air even as the heady, woody fragrance of the Sampangi and the Mallige permeate the senses engulfing  all in their refreshing, scented fold.

It is a time of celebration , joy and gratitude. Gratitude for the bounties of nature uplifts the spirit which soars like a bird in the sky. There is hope in the heart and happiness in the visage. Seasons signify the constant flux of life:  Winter is the season of death and destruction even as spring embodies fruitfulness and the hope of the human spirit.

The early mango and mallige vie with each other to sanctify the air. The  Mysuru Mallige is like a queen welcoming all to her heady, fragrant bower even as the tart, pungent scent of the unripe mango heralds a season of abundant fruitfulness.

Fragrant hues are here, there and everywhere. They fill our mind and our senses  as we chant the name of Rama and sing Bhajans in his praise.  Colourful Pandals are gaily decorated with lights, with idols and pictures of the God, beecked in fragrant garlands of the season. Festivity is in the air and spirituality in the aura.  The serenity and happiness that one experiences on hearing a Ramanavami concert In an open air venue, under the cool, summer sky and glistening stars  is to be savoured.  The air resonates with the vibes of like minded souls in a prayerful communion. In the words of Shelley,

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need

Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud

I fall upon the thorns of life1 I bleed!

  Like the poet, the languorous human spirit, along with nature, wakes up from a slumber deep and dreary to unify into  a fierce spirited force to take on the tumults of life and become “ my words among mankind------- to unawaken’d earth”. Along with the West Wind, the human spirit becomes the trumpet of a prophecy- If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind.

The Dealmakers

 For some inexplicably strange reason, human beings as a rule resist and almost resent change of any kind. Time was when people believed that they don”t  make them like that anymore.Of course, such people always have  irrefutably logical reasons for such an attitude. An oldie but a goodie. Diehard tendencies to cling to the hoary past including material possesions  have provided many a hearty laugh, going forward on a positive note..

The old order changeth, yielding place to the new. But there are instances when it doesn”t. The rice ladle and the idli kadai  that I bought from the store lost their handles within the year and became unusable, But the cookware and utensils that  mostly comprise  my kitchen  have been given to me by my mother as trousseau. She in turn got them from her mother more than half a century back,Many a tumble, many a knock have they taken, but not a dent , nary a scratch, They have lasted a lifetime and are good for many more years to come. Modern cookware is sleek and stylish but sound of body and sturdy of constitution, these oldies can well stand on their own.

Old folks are old fashioned. Being old fashioned has got to do with being  traditional. Old fashioned in atttitude, upbringing, value systems, lifestyle choices etc.etc. Being traditional and old fashioned  was the core of middle class  social climate of thirty years ago. Not misuse and throw but save  and stretch available resources to the maximum to optimize utilization. It was this mind-set which led my mother to lovingly preserve her mixer grinder for years on end.” No offers on exchanges for me”, she would say.” I won”t trade this trusted one for some new fangled,unknown one “.” My seasoned kitchen - mate  ”, she would proudly tell her friends.” It has a long way to go hopefully”.

As if to give the lie to her words, soon after, the mixer packed up, that too while mother was in the midst of her kitchen chores. The old faithful sputtered and shuddered before collapsing totally. The mechanic came and pronounced that the motor needed to be rewound. “ A costly affair”, he said. “ Better go for a new one”. But mother was unfazed. “ I’ll call in my brother S to help. I’m sure the mixie doesn’t exist which he can”t repair”.Now a word about Uncle S. Uncle was the biggest collector of old electrical gadgets. He specialised in bread toasters and mixers. The greater the degree of breakdown, the better because  he could occupy himself pottering around with it. All the household gadgets that were faulty found their way into his collection, plus the hand -me-downs from friends and relatives.

It was one of these “ eccenteric “ gadgets that Uncle offered generously to mother in her hour of need when he came to collect the mixie for repair.. Of course, he duly warned that sometimes the lid came off the jar while grinding  and flung the contents onto the user”s face!  Predictably, Mixie  No.2 did not work for mother and she went after Uncle, hammer and tongs. Amidst this state of kitchen chaos, there were exasperated sighs all around, with father  persuading mother to buy a new one. But mother stuck to her guns.  “I’m sure S can repair it. Why waste money on a new one?”

Then one morning, Uncle S turned up. “ I’m sorry my mixie conked out on you, But don’t worry. Your mixie is as good as done because I’m going to Delhi where spare parts will be available at Ajmal Khan Road. Meanwhile, as a stop-gap, you can use Mixie No.3 which actually belongs to my sister in law. She’s moving abroad and she couldn’t bring herself to dispose with her mixer, which she won in a cookery competition years ago. Knowing my partiality to oldies, she has left this mixer with me”. And with that grand announcement, he plonked Mixie No.3 on the kitchen table.” I’m sure it will serve you well till I return from Delhi with your kitchen-mate”, was his parting shot.

Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without. Three cheers for a generation that sincerely believed that they were saving for posterity and went all out to get a good bargain.

Cruiser Comet

A Regular Warhorse

 Uncle K was a distant relative. An ebullient, kindly soul, the only passion in his life was cars. Like vintage wine, he liked them old and seasoned. “Nothing like an old warhorse”, he would joke. Uncle K was an old time resident of Bangalore Cantonment. He lived in a cute, little bungalow with a stately portico. All old Bangaloreans possessed cars. Like ornaments embellishing a beauty, Uncle also owned a car  which adorned his portico. Being a frugal man, he preferred second-hand cars   which came cheap. They therefore were permanently in a state of repair.  If the clutch worked, the accelerator did not and so on. This provided Uncle with a ready excuse for not taking his family out and thereby saving on fuel. It was a joke that he fancied diving under his car to driving it. Kids in the family clarified prepositions with a joke,” If Uncle K is not on the driving seat, he is under it “.   Uncle liked nothing better than to potter around his car. Cleaning and wiping the car was a routine exercise never to be missed. Like a mandatory visit to the doctor, Uncle’s car was routinely pushed or pulled to Nambisan’s garage, almost every other day because it needed a tinkering job. The mechanics of Nambisan’s garage were his best chums. “These guys can hold their own against any technician from even General Motors“, Uncle would comment enthusiastically. Uncle was constantly changing his cars. One day it would be a Morris Minor only to give way to a Plymouth after a few days. Father would joke with mother, “What is the CCV (the current car in vogue) “.  We had occasion to wander into Uncle’s automotive world when some guests came to stay on holiday. We did not have a car and they had to be taken around. “ Do you think we can ask K his car to take our guests around,” father asked mother to which her reply  was that she really could not say because she had never seen any of his cars on the road. After much deliberation, father decided to take a chance and borrow Uncle K’s car. Much to everybody’s surprise, Uncle was expansively generous when approached. “Sure, sure, why not?” he said. ”This Hillman here is a regular war-horse. You can do miles with her engine purring like a contented cat. A ride in her is as smooth as a Mediterranean cruise which is why I call her,” Cruiser Comet   ( CC, for short ) ". There’s one minor hitch however”, he added, pausing significantly. “The fuel tank has rusted and it leaks.” He produced an empty petrol can and asked father to directly connect it with a plastic tube to the carburetor.  “You can easily do ten to twelve kilometres with the contents of this can. So plan your trip accordingly”, was his parting piece of advice. That was how Cruiser Comet (  CC ) arrived home  on a sacred mission.  We planned a tour of Vidhana Soudha and Cubbon Park after considering CC’s fuel capacity. Mother, the guests and I piled into the back of the car. Father was at the steering wheel with Ravi, my brother by his side.” Hope CC at least starts,’” Ravi piped up most inappropriately making our guests look slightly apprehensive. “The battery in his previous car drained because he didn’t use it  for months”.  Despite Ravi’s apprehensions, we had an enjoyable and uneventful trip to Vidhana Soudha and Cubbon Park. Ravi was the ever- faithful assistant to father, holding the petrol can on his lap. A plastic tube draped through an open window by his side connected the can to the engine through an opening in the bonnet. We must have looked an odd sight because some passers-by stopped an d stared. Never one to stop making wise-cracks, Ravi said, “I feel like a nurse administering drips to a patient.” Our collective euphoria was short-lived however. As we approached Queen’s circle, CC decided to show off her tricks. She stalled and sputtered before grinding to a dead halt just ahead of the intersection.  Father tried repeatedly to restart the engine. Like a stubborn ox, CC refused to budge. Traffic was whizzing by in an alarming manner. We all got out hurriedly to  enable the men to push CC to the road- side. “Why did I ever rely on K’s assumptions and suggestions,” cursed Father under his breath. “Apparently I have miscalculated the mileage that this car can give.”  So saying, he walked off to the nearest petrol-bunk to fill up the plastic can. He soon returned with a full can and we resumed the brother-hold-  can routine. All of us sent up a silent prayer as father inserted the key into the ignition. Lo and behold! CC sprang to life however and we reached home without further ado. CC was duly returned to Uncle K, the next day with father giving a blow by blow account of her exploits. Maybe it struck a sympathetic chord somewhere   for Uncle offered to drop the guests at the railway station in CC, of course!  Father agreed and Uncle drove the guests to the railway station, with all of us  packed like sardines. As we drew into the station parking lot, Uncle seemed a little ill at ease.  He turned to father and said, “You won’t mind if we have to leave quickly? Father looked a little perplexed. Uncle hastened to explain, " I want to leave before the parking lot gets filled up because then I’ll have a problem negotiating CC ". “Why”, asked everybody in a chorus. Uncle K shot back in a serene matter of fact tone, “Because CC can’t go on reverse. Her reverse gear does not work "!