Gurucharanaambujha Nirabharabhaktah

The lotus feet of the Guru liberate from the birth-death cycle

Gurucharanaambujha Nirbharabhaktah
samsaradciraadbhava mukhtah

With the passing of my dance guru Radhakrishnan, an era has passed,- the era of dancing chalangais, tinkling nattuvangam,tireless and repeated rehearsals done with feverish pace to the grand finale of an Arangetram or a stage performance.It has slipped away quietly and swiftly, much in the manner of my Guru’s passing, leaving not a trace behind, only the fragrance of a bygone era.

Raadhai Saar, as he was known to his  close circle of students and friends  trained under the legendary Vazhuvoor Ramiah Pillai and took up Nattuvaangam for Kamala Lakshman, the famous disciple of Ramiah Pillai. Thereafter he started teaching Bharatha Natyam in various cities  where many conoisseurs spotted his talent and requested him to come over to their city and start  dance classes, promising him all help.It was one such assignment that brought him to Sindri, close to Dhanbad in Jharkhand, where my father was working. Raadhai Saar belonged to my mother’s native village of Kallidaikurichi in Tirunelveli District of Tamil Nadu, a place equally well known for industial barons who had their roots there as well as patronage of the fine arts. When one is away  and outside the native orbit, one tends to move in an emotional comfort zone, by seeking out people who  belong to your place. Raadhai Saar was known to my mother’s family and he had been told that my mother lived in Dhanbad, even before he embarked on his journey to Sindri.One Sunday, after finishing his classes in Sindri, he stepped out to look up my mother and thereby stepped  into my  childhood world-shaping and nurturing my aesthetic abilities. 

Mine was a musically inclined family. My mother was a good singer and since I did not have a good voice,she put me into dancing.I had already learnt the basic  Bharatha Natya addavus but at this point of time, my mother was keen that I adapt to the Ramiah Pillai school, with its emphasis on Nritya and Bhava. That was how I started learning from Raadhai Saar. It was hard work in the beginning; to relearn some and redefine many more addavus involving hours of rigorous practise. But Raadhai Saar was untiring in effort and unflagging in his almost child-like enthusiasm. He had the ability to achieve the best results without driving hard, patient and persevering  till the student got the Bhava and Addavu absolutely the way he wanted it. Herein was his greatest ability as a teacher-he was flexible. If a student had a problem in grasping or executing a movement, he would seamlessly alter it to an easier one, not for a moment losing sight of laya or tala. As a trained classical musician, he could effortlessly synchronize addavus with sangathis and mrugaas-for instance, he would choreograph a movement to match the elongated sangathi of the aananda nadanam aadinar pallavi in the Gopalakrishna Bharathi song of that name.

Learning with Radhai Saar was always very interesting. Under Raadhai’s guidance, my mother would sing the padams to which I would dance. Raadhai’s speciality was the Oothukadu Venkatakavi  Padams,  in which he never repeated a sangathi. His  vocal rendering and choreograph of “Parkadal alaimele “ ( immortalized by the great MLV) were exquisite.In those early days of rigorous addavu practice, I rememeber one particular gruelling session when nothing seemed to be going right.Sensing my frustration, Raadhai suddenly broke out into the lively folk dance of Kutrala Kuravinji set to the lilting Aananda Bhairavi song,” Pacchamalai Pavazhamalai”, completely transforming the mood  and need of the hour. 

Guru Raadhai taught  me for  a  short time, perhaps only three years or so but in these three years,I lived and breathed dance which is why, at the end of it, I turned out to be fit for an Arangetram ( Debut Dance Performance). Mine was the first and last Arangetram in the family and it almost became a social occasion, with relatives attending it and my grandparents even making me presents! It was a very happy occasion, with my mother and aunt singing the padams. After the Arangetram, there were a few stage performances but  somehow I started receding from the routine of daily and rigorous practice. Raadhai also left Dhanbad and I also got immersed in my educational pursuits. But we always got news about him. Radhai went on to teach in the Rishi Valley School and other prestigious places. The Tamil Nadu government also awarded him with a KALAIMAMANI title in recognition of his contributions to Bharatha Natyam. By then, my mother had also moved to Chennai  and she once again came in contact with Raadhai, who was leading a semi- retired life-earning pressures were off his shoulders and he was teaching and training dedicated students for the sake of art’s sake. 

Then suddenly last year, a strong desire to meet Guru Radhakrishnan possessed me. After fixing an appointment, I went over to meet him. I was seeing him after a gap of nearly forty years but was happy to see him, pretty much the same. Brisk and active at eighty-two, he was his usual warm self, playing host to the hilt. Together we rewound the past. He talked of his ongoing choreographs and I could catch a glimpse of the old sparkle in him. He insisted that we ( my mother was also with me) have lunch with him, his family hosting us with great affection. While leaving,I presented him with a cache of money, which he accepted after some persuasion. Later on , he was to call me to thank me for the “handsome”present.

That was the last time I saw him. The end came swiftly and peacefully. I always think of him as a competent Bharatha Natyam Guru, innovative yet never veering from his classical roots. Soft-spoken and simple, he lived according to his values. But the greatest legacy that he left  me was the aesthetic awareness that he created in me. Which is why I am able to transport myself into the celestial KANAGASABHAI reverberating with the Lord’s mighty dance, even when I am watching “Nadanam Aadinar” in a concert.

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Passwords (Farcewords) Challenged

As a child, my association with the word, “Password” was defined while racing through the pages of an exciting  Enid Blyton thriller featuring the Secret Sevens. It was a device which  the Hindi movie gangster of old used to utter in a deep, guttural tone  to establish his credentials  in the world of crime. And of course, who has not heard of “ Open Sesame”, the famous password used by Alibaba’s men to enter the wonder cave. Rarely did we come across the word elsewhere.

In today’s world, right from logging in, Password usage is the gateway  to  access some online sites, banking and  e-commerce. The moment, you open a site, a window pops up asking you to register with a Password. Easier said than done, for this requires you to think and key in, smoothly and swiftly.   

When I am in front of my computer,I must confess that I turn into a bundle of nerves, the moment an instruction to create a password flashes on my computer screen. My mind goes blank, as it used to do while writing a difficult math exam in school, long back. I become more nervous even as I realize I must think and type fast to avoid getting logged out. I just type in the first word that comes to my mind when the screen interface gently reminds me that the password has got to be alpha numeric and contain eight characters. By now, I am tense as a coiled spring, for fear that I may get it wrong again. Sheer luck, it  is accepted and I wait in victorious triumph for the site to open. But  nothing happens and I am not able to access the site, after going through the entire gamut of operations. I fret and fume.

I then proceed to a netbanking site, where I key in the password. As the next window opens, I stare with foreboding at  the prompter which glumly announces that the password typed is invalid and I should log in again. It further goes on to grimly remind that I would be allowed only two retrys to login, and in case of a failed login attempt, the site would be be locked as a security measure. I wring my hands in despair.

Next comes the change of password business, where I first have to key in the old password and the new password twice. As the encrypted password appears on the screen, my focus momentarily falters and I am confused as to how many characters of the password have been typed in. I look at the  screen for a clue, but dots on the space for password stare unblinkingly back at me. As I fumble,  I am told that I have been  automatically logged out for security reasons!  I am very sweetly reminded that  I would be allowed one more attempt to change the password, failing which the site would be locked!  Of course I could contact the Telebanking centre of the bank, always at the customer’s service for unlocking the site!

  Oops! I  just realized that I do not remember where I have noted the different passwords  for my railway and bus reservation sites!  Then and there, I decided that the Passwords were not my cup of tea. As for me, I am happy doing my shopping myself at the nearest super-market or   carrying my passbook for entries to my bank.

Lost Souls in a Stark World

Recently the gruesome murder of a school teacher by a ninth standard student right in front of  other students in mid- morning has sent shock-waves among parents, youth and all sections of society. Used as we are to opening the morning paper and reading the endlessly gory reports of  child abuse, student suicides ( they have almost become a daily occurrence that people have stopped to figure out the reasons behind it), yet this latest incident just cannot be dismissed  that lightly.  Where are we headed-  all norms of decency seem to have been given the bye and brutality and bestiality seem to be ruling the roost!

All that happened was some adverse remarks about the boy’s Hindi performance  with an intention to improve his progress. From all reports, the teacher was a kindly person who took an initiative to help weaker students. The boy apparently had hitherto shown no signs of deviant, violent behaviour. Then how did the Chennai incident happen? It is too horrendous to be dismissed as an one off thing-  it throws up a whole lot of disturbing issues. Who is at fault-  the  educational system, society or the children of today. In India, we usually have student suicides which again seems to be increasing at an alarming rate. Students opening fire in classrooms were incidents which only happened in the Western countries where juvenile aggression is attributed to a whole lot of psycho-sociological problems.These issues have to  be thoroughly examined and tough solutions found for we are otherwise headed for Disaster. 

The boy has said that watching certain media programmes prompted him to behave thus. That throws open a Pandora’s box full of squirming vices and vileness.Depraved politicians watch porno while legislative proceedings are going on and are brazenly shameless about the whole thing. Our films also glorify violence and all forms of aggression.

I taught in my Alma-mater for a short while, decades ago. The teenagers of yester-years  are all mature, strong independent women today. I am proud to say that we share a very tender, beautiful relationship through Facebook. But that idyllic student-teacher world ironically is almost farcical today.One thing is certain- children who remained flowers to Jawaharlal Nehru are certainly not that any more.The Age of INNOCENCE is lost. Welcome to the frightening world of Juvenile  Barbarism a harbinger to a depraved posterity.

The Great Shopping Tamasha

Shopping to the hilt!

Among my relations, I have a Chitappa who is affectionately ‘called in family circles “the weekend offer Chitappa” because he reserves all his purchases for the week-end when supermarkets and big names in retail vie in offering freebies and discounts. He is upto date on schemes of various super markets to the extent that even if one had to step out to buy a packet of rice, he would start off by saying, “why are you going now? “You should go at 3.00 PM on a Saturday to the supermarket back office where you will get a kilo of Basmati rice for as little as Rs. 50”. With marketing guys in a perpetual race to grab heftier market shares,bargains and offers deals and combo -offers from super, hypermarkets are bombarding us all the time and for folks like Uncle, it’s double whammy all the time. When Uncle visited Delhi, he loved nothing better than to explore the by-lanes of Ajmal Khan Road, in search of the best bargain in the Delhi-specific unorganized electrical/ electronic items market. Nothing was healthier, heartening to the soul than a cheery, “Sardarji, Kee Gaal”’ get down to business and wind up the bargain with a satisfactory hammering down of the price of a mixer from its quoted price of 1000 bucks to 500 bucks.
    

It was in the presence of this uncle that  my mom decided to sell old Newspapers to the street vendor. No sooner did she mention her intentions, than Uncle  said, “Forget this chap. Let’s go to Hyper mart, where you can sell not only old newspapers  but also old discarded household items of every conceivable kind ranging from clothing to kitchen utensils,from decades-old toasters and irons to downgraded electronic waste of recent origin for better value”. So that is how, Mom loaded all her sundry items into her Maruti van and headed for Hyper -mart  with uncle beside her.  The Sales girl patiently sorted mum’s things, valued them and handed over a packet of coupons to Mom. “What’s this?” said a surprised Mom. “Ma’am, this is our latest offer,” beamed the Sales girl. “Earlier, you could exchange your old,even damaged household for  articles of the same type from Megamart at a lower price. Now, we have gone a step further to give our customers a better deal. We issue coupons which they can exchange to buy articles of their choice at the discount rate mentioned in the coupon. I have issued coupons of a face value of Rs.5000/- which you can use  up entirely if you make purchases  with us. Imagine,you will be getting goods worth  Rs.9000/- by just spending Rs. 5000/- VALUE SHOPPING FOR  OUR VALUABLE CUSTOMERS  is our motto. Mom’s head was in a whirl. This was indeed a Catch 22 situation-instead of getting hard bucks for her old things, here she was saddled with discount coupons  and she had to think up ways and means to  utilize them. How on earth was she going to figure out what did she need  to buy ? Besides the offer was time-bound. “ Don’t worry”,  said Uncle. “ We can use up the coupons in no time. A household needs so many things- from bread to bedsheets,tooth-paste to touristers- an entire gamut of consumables and consumer products. Also you can pass on these coupons to your friends and relatives if you can’t use them within the OFFER period.It’s the  Steal of a Lifetime, whichever way, you look at it!” and he rubbed his hands in glee.

  

How Mom worked her way through the coupons is another story. At the end of their last visit to Megamart, Uncle wandered off to the marketing office, after excusing himself. ““Now what?” wondered a weary Mom. After a long wait, Uncle returned all in smiles. “All those who have used up their Coupons entirely get freebies like Free Mobile Talktime. I went over to collect freebies coming our way”, said Uncle on his way to the exit.

   

Just then a Mall executive waylaid them.  “ Excuse me”, he said.  I think you are Coupon Holders. Today, being the last day for using up coupons, Megamart celebrates tomorrow as  Grand Coupon Completion Day herein  the store will honour all those  customers who successfully used up their coupons. Additionally, there is also a Super Duper  Loyalty Award to these loyal customers-  tomorrow we will reissue fresh coupon to them for free. They don’t have to bring their old things. Don’t miss this Opportunity to shop to your heart’s content”, and he went on and on. Uncle listened, as if spell-bound. “Tomorrow, we should make it here’, he said turning in  Mom’s direction.

     Mom was not there! Anybody listening?

The Facebook Of life

First Daffodil
Daffodils, the flowers symbolising friendship, are one of the most popular flowers exclusively due to their unmatched beauty

An email had arrived  from Geetha  saying that she was coming to Bangalore and wanted to visit me. My excitement in anticipation of her visit knew no bounds  and my mind, at once  swirled with mixed emotions.  Geetha and I had been together in school in the early seventies in a convent in the coal city of Dhanbad, where every girl knew each other very intimately because we were such a small class .  But thirty- five years down the road, how would we react to each other? Would we warm up to each other or would be stiff and formal with each other? As schoolgirls, our affection had been unrestrained and unreserved; now life’s turns and twists had mellowed us. Yet, there was so much to talk about, so much to catch up with...... one meeting after three decades would not be enough!
    Geetha came and in an instant, adult ice thawed to school-girlish warmth as we hugged each other.  Time flew as we talked about this and that, about dear friends in distant places, about pranks played and prizes won, about favourite teachers, about our work and about our families. We held hands and walked down Memory lane;   sharing memories of a past that now lives in yellowing class photos. Geetha left with a promise to look me up whenever she visited Bangalore. We exchanged tokens but the  greatest gift was the nostalgic journey that we had jointly undertaken into a golden past. We had built our lives apart but the spirit of the Old Boys still egged us on. As Geetha remarked, “ Today we have met at a time when our children are taller than you and me ever were in school; yet our bonds are eternal and forever”.
    True, Age may have placed a wrinkle on our brow but  we are still young in spirit and soul. School-friends may live continents apart but they will always live in each other’s hearts.  Every generation posts scraps and souvenirs of its school-life  in Life’s Facebook, which cannot be  electronically deleted  or trashed.
           
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Sivakami's World

Sivakami’s world comes crashing around her when at eighteen, she  becomes a widow with two young children to bring up in the backdrop of nineteenth century south India. How this illiterate, young woman, belonging to an orthodox Brahmin family and bound by the social traditions of a rigid, unyielding society brings up  not only her children but also grand children in a remote, sleepy village near Tiruchi, thereby becoming a solid family bedrock  forms the seed of Padma Viswanathan’s novel,”The Toss of a Lemon”. The story of Sivakami could be the story of anyone of us.  This dimunitive,plain looking illiterate woman  who cannot walk in public gaze in daylight; who is required by social norms to shave her head and cast away all symbols of feminineness single-handedly raises her two children to adulthood and marriage.     
    At the time of the story, eight year old Sivakami is married to a village astrologer,  who has the singular misfortune of knowing beforehand  through a star forecast that  he  is destined to die in the third year after a son is born. As fate would have it, a son is born to the couple, and the occasion instead of being joyous becomes one of foreboding doom as Sivakami’s husband starts preparing in a matter-of-fact manner for his impending death. He has lands,in which his tenants grow paddy and other crops- revenue and other dues have to be collected, agricultural produce has to be stored and sold. All this is a man’s work- how can Sivakami manage all this, that too without going out to the fields?  So Hanumarathnam, her husband appoints a  supervisor who will take over all this work after his death! But Sivakami cannot afford to live in a state of practical ignorance. So, Sivakami, who hardly went to school starts learning from Hanumarathnam, how to maintain household as well as agricultural accounts, in order to equip herself for any eventuality!
    The prediction of Hanumarathnam’s death comes true and Sivakami is hurled into widowhood with all its macabre trappings. So what has life got in store for  a child widow who till yesterday was wearing delicate trinkets and playing pallankuzhi but now has to bring up two infants in a world where she cannot remarry but must live an austere life devoid of any comfort! Brahmin society required that a widow should merely subsist on minimum and not be a burden. Sivakami however carries her heavy burden on her light shoulders and accepts her new state with stoic pragmatism. Perhaps her simple, abiding faith in the household deity of Ramar, to which she makes a daily offering of fruits and milk stands by her in her hour of need. For whatever be her mental or physical state, throughout her life, Sivakam performs pooja to the Ramar, without blame, without expectation. Women those days learnt very early to cope with their lot whatever that may have been in store; some may have had a better life but destiny was never in their hands!      Women like Sivakami were tough and resilent; they managed to grab little time from the daily grind to indulge in “ladylike” pursuits like embroidery and weaving floral garlands. We also get glimpses of frugal and disciplined house-keeping of those days.-children sit around their grandmother Sivakami, after their return from school and she gives each child a nutrition laddoo which would last them till dinner-time; there were no fancy tiffins to suit varied tastes and tongues. Such disciplined upbringing stood the kids in good stead-they learnt the value of wholesome simple food without fancy or frill. Extended families were the norm, not the exception; especially in matters of extending hospitality, people’s hearts were larger than their hearths. Men were socially superior because they had to fulfil the role of Protector of the womenfolk; they demanded unquestioning and implicit obedience and we find the women accepted this situation without murmur or complaint.
    Sivakami does a fine balancing act of fulfilling her parental responsibilities without even stepping out of the house and without breaking social tradition.  She not only rears her children to adulthood but also her grand children, the children born to her daughter. Once again Fate plays a cruel game with Sivakami, when herdaughter dies during child-birth, and the role play of sivakami’s life is enacted out. Sivakami sees through six grand-daughters and three grand-sons through childhood, adolescence, marriage and even childbirths of  great grand -children. This small-made lady never has the time to think of herself or why fate has ordained her to live thus, there is so much of household work to be attended to- Sivakami makes all preparations herself for the various family functions, cooks are hired only for weddings etc. even while running the household and managing even the expenses of the grand-children because the son-in-law is a good for nothing.
    Frugality, kind-heartedness, patience, attentive care while performing household work were some of the values that Sivakami practised every single day of her life. Into this rivetting tale of Sivakami’s family is woven the socio-economic changes of British India and already the clamour of freedom is heard in the distance. Sivakami’s own son dubs her an “ignorant, superstitious” widow but conditioned to live as she does, Sivakami is unable to reinvent herself. This leads to a strained almost hostile relationship with her son; yet stout of heart and mind that Sivakami is, she moves on.
    Sivakami’s world and the times that she lived in may be bygone and forgotten. Yet the value system that Sivakami was, will always sustain us against the odds thrown up by life.