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 "!

The Early Years

 So that is how Narayani stepped into the folds of the distinguished RSA family,little knowing her altered status  which was to place on her tender, young shoulders the responsibility of running a household in keeping with the stringent requirements of a rigid patriarchy even while upholding and fostering the social and religious traditions of a large extended family.At the tender age of eight, Narayani was just like any other Brahmin child bride of the early twentieth century, Schooling did not extend beyond the first or second standard, depending on the age, at which the girl got married.it was not considered necessary for a girl child to be educated- all that she needed to know was calculating the milkman and dhobi’s dues. She was reared and trained for the societal important twin tasks of child bearing and running a household which also involved doing heavy domestic chores. In the stifling milieu that was the lot of the Brahmin girl child, Narayani’s  intellect and talents were like a flower in bloom. Music and books were the dearest companions of this young girl at an age when other girls would have been  engrossed in fineries like jewellery and clothes. Not to say that Narayani was an ascetic. I, her granddaughter observed that she had a fine taste in jewels, clothes and utensils which was exhibited when she systematically went about the task of acquiring items for her daughters’ wedding trousseau. In that age of intellectual darkness, grandmother developed a taste for classics like The Three musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo.  She knew all the tales of the Bhagavatha Purana. Her recall and narration of scriptural stories was astounding, putting us, her grandchildren, who are living in the digital age  to shame. She had a thirst for learning and knowledge which was insatiable. In her old age, when cataract dulled her vision and she could not read, she would request her grand children to read from these books.  She read and reread, never bored never tired.

As was the custom in those days, she waited for puberty to go to her husband’s house. The initial years of her married life were tense and filled with anxiety because  the birth of her eldest child, my mother, was considerably delayed. In those lonely, long years,  music was her close companion. Shakespeare said, “ If music be the food of love, play on”. Well, music was the stuff that Narayani’s life was made of and those nimble fingers danced on the harmonium keys even as she sang in G, pitch 5.