And We Shall Meet in Heaven

2018 was a year of tragedy for the extended/family. It’s quite paradoxical that though our death is destined from the very moment of our birth, it is something we fear most, especially of our loved ones, no matter the age, ailments or suffering they may be going through. When I heard of the demise of a young lady in the family, I was shaken for reasons beyond the loss that had befallen upon us. There were many times when she called to speak with me and I was unable to talk, sometimes even forgetting to return her call when I was free. And the eeriest thing was that I had a premonition of her going a few days before she did. I have been trying to rationally disconnect the two events - of my premonition and her actual passing - but, I, for some strange reason, blame myself for the unfortunate end to the life of a lively young lady; I find myself staring often into space wondering, “had I thought good thoughts, would she have been alive today”? Despite the rational mind reminding me that correlation does not always lead to causation, I am in knots. 

The family came together at end of the year to celebrate the joyous occasion of the wedding of my niece. It was a simple, yet tastefully arranged event, with ceremonies chosen keeping in mind the Vedic sanctity of the occasion as well as the feminist approach by doing away with those ceremonies that portrayed a strong imprint of patriarchy. The wedding featured, on center stage, the marriage of two equals, bound by love and respect for each other and the beliefs they carried. Even as I was coming to terms with the uncertainty of life that I had just faced, about a week after the wedding, I saw a message waiting for me. It was from a school senior whose sister, Chitra, was my closest friend in my school years. 

Chitra and I were almost inseparable, yet we were the strongest contenders in gathering academic accolades. 

Chitra’s brother, and mine, were  classmates and buddies, too. After my father was transferred out of Bangalore, Chitra and I lost touch and I was reconnected with her brother only when my own reconnected with him through social media. That was about two years ago, when I also collected her address to reconnect with her. And, even as I got busier with new professional assignments, I kept putting off sending out that mail to Chitra. I did have it on my to-do list but it remained unchecked from one list to the next. On the 15th of December last year, as I was catching up with messages that I hadn’t had  the time to read due the wedding festivities and duties, I found one from Chitra’s brother and was happy to see it in my ‘inbox’ - its always nice to hear from old friends who bring along pleasant memories from the past. As I read his message, that euphoria quickly transformed into a lump in my throat - Chitra had passed away due to a sudden cardiac arrest. I read and re-read the message just to make sure I had read right. I ran to the bathroom and stood under the shower as the cold water from the shower-head merged with the tears that flowed down my cheeks. There was so much I wanted to hear and know from her, so much I wanted to tell her…so many memories to reminisce and laugh about. But now that shall have to wait until we meet in heaven…

Raga Bilaskhani Todi, ‘Itni araj suno mori…’

The Journey, Most Certainly!

A couple of days back, I met a colleague from my first job. I was meeting S after a couple of decades and was apprehensive whether we would recognise each other. I rescheduled my day, advancing a few meetings to the early part of the day, in order to meet him at the airport. I arrived at the airport a few minutes before his plane landed and he took a while to collect his baggage and exit the airport. I seated myself near the arrivals, taking frequent breaks from the book that I was (am still) reading, to look around, in case he had exited and I missed him. My memory of S was of him being one of the most dapper guys at work and I instinctively began looking for someone similar from among the people who were walking out of the arrival gates. 

When I first met S, I had just finished my education - wet behind the ears, so to say. He was a few years older, having qualified himself a little more. Looking back, I would thoroughly disapprove of the person I was: brash, aggressive, immature and ruthlessly ambitious. I sure have come a long, long way from there: very measured and guarded in my ways - a stickler for propriety, calmer, certainly quite mature- more mature than I was, and the ambition factor has shifted from the self to the other/s. He and I hadn’t spoken since I made the move from my first job. But networking possibilities of today helped us reconnect as a group of batchmates from our first job. Yet, we hadn’t exchanged any personal notes except for the sundry, rather impersonal, wishes on birthdays. And since both of us are now pretty much reclusive on social media, we barely knew what we looked like at present. 

Cut to the airport: I must have appeared rather strange, what with the way I was staring at every gentleman who strode out, trying to gauge if he were the person I had come to meet. I suddenly noticed a rather short gentleman waving furiously in my direction. No, I didn’t make a dash towards him like it happens in the movies! I stared and wondered if time could have shrunk the tall guy I remembered S as being. Turned out that the gentleman had a slight squint in his vision, which explained his looking unintentionally at me. Thankfully, the man walked past me before I had the chance to embarrass myself!

And then I saw a family of four arrive - a mixed gender couple and their two children. They were received by the lady’s father, a bouquet in hand et al. After the customary hugs, the father walked away with his daughter and grandchildren completely oblivious to the existence of the man who happened to be his son-in-law, who, rather ruefully, pushed the trolly that held a pile of suitcases.

I suddenly heard my phone beep and it drew my attention away from the scenes at the airport which, by then, I had used to keep myself amused. “At Chai Point”, the message read. I turned and found him there, smiling, and still as dapper, but (I guess) in doubt if I were indeed the Shobha he knew from the many years back. 

Like most similar meetings, this, too, was a unique experience. Our topographies had changed, but we were a lot more mature. Suddenly there was so much to talk about…so much sense at that - our perception of life, individual experiences, personal losses and aspirations for a healthier and more peaceful future for ourselves and those that we love… And all the apprehensions from a few minutes ago vanished in the ether that surrounded us. Two hours, Upma-chutney and filter coffee later, the bridge was built. Today I met him, as if  for the first time…again. It’s moments like this that enliven the journey of life, the destination just fading in relation.

It was ‘yesterday’, once more…

Rambling Roll!

A few days back, when I was returning from a good swim, the red light at the signal forced me to a halt. I couldn’t help noticing the sticker on the rear windscreen of the car ahead of me - “Don’t follow me. I’m lost, too”. With enough time for my mind to think about the warning, the first thought was that the punctuation was good. When you are a classical musician you realise the importance of punctuations - those small pauses that are of a big significance in raga exploration. And, then, I wondered at the presumptions in the statement - firstly, that I was following the person and, secondly, that I was lost, too! 

On one of my trips abroad I had met a lovely Canadian lady who happened to be a teacher. In between discussing education, she did manage to remind me of one important life lesson: “If all goes well, good; else, it’s an adventure”! I couldn’t help thinking how exciting it must be, following someone who’s lost. The signal turned green and I had to banish the thought of following the person in the vehicle ahead of me that displayed the sticker that kept my mind occupied for the 70 seconds.

I have this (unpleasant) characteristic of jumping topics when I am on a rambling-roll. I remember Meenakshi, from my college days, would always complain that she had to pay a lot of attention when I spoke in order to keep track of what I was saying. That’s one of my many unpleasant habits that I haven’t been able to discard!

Casper, a week before he passed away

As I am busy leading a team in setting up a social entrepreneurship incubation and acceleration centre, I also face the anniversary of Casper crossing the rainbow bridge. It’s been three years now but his presence in my life remains almost real. Whenever I fly, I find myself staring out of the window at the clouds, desperately looking for some pattern that resembles Casper - happily prancing alongside. In going, Casper has left a huge void that I have accepted will remain; it has become that much easier to deal with losing him. His bed, toys, toiletries remain where they always were. I, sometimes, unfairly so, also search for him in Spooky…But after Casper left, I have found the truest friends in my life - those who stood by me through my grief. After all, he wasn’t just a pet-dog that I had lost. This year, too, I feed the animals in the shelter where Casper rests. Especially those monkeys, who manage to dry my tears and turn them into a smile each time I visit!

My mid-year life-review looks good - new professional achievements, more book readings, new ragas, new academic pursuits, lovely people around me. Could I ask for more? Except that Casper should have been with me…

Facepalm!

“Shobha”, I said, introducing myself as I held out my hand to take his.

He smiled, a smile reaching his eyes. “Nishad”, he responded.

I returned his smile and then blurted: “komal or shuddh?”.

I don’t know why on Earth I assumed he would know music but I felt idiotic almost immediately!

“Komal”, he responded, (deliberately?) in the same manner as the connotation of the note. 

I was surprised by his response and continued, “Ah, into music?”

“My mom is a trained vocalist…Gwalior Gharana…I’ve learnt some from her”.

“I should have guessed…the Goa-Konkani background”, I continued quickly apologising for being presumptuous. After the initial embarrassment that I had caused, we struck a wonderful conversation on music and what it meant to the both of us. 

There are just some communities that you would associate with Classical music, simply because they provide that milieu. There is a saying in Kannada that if one threw a pebble into the air in Dharwad, it would fall on the roof of the house of an artiste. The Hubli-Dharwad-Belgaum area of Karnataka has contributed such stalwarts to the field of Hindustani Classical music that one might almost believe the saying! Likewise with the Konkan region. So, I might not have committed the biggest faux pas in assuming Nishad’s training in music, though, of course, it was no business of mine to know. 

The komal nishad brought to mind one of my favourite ragas, Madhamad Sarang, the komal nishad being its differentiator from Brindavani Sarang. There’s something about the rishab in the Sarang family - the ‘sthirta’ that it brings along - contemplative and calm. 

Raga Madhamaad Sarang, rendered by one of my favourites - the (Late) Gana Saraswati Kishori Amonkar of the Atrauli-Jaipur Gharana:

RIP, Sridevi…

She was one of those divas from South India who made her mark, not only in the Hindi Film industry, but also Tamizh, Malayalam and Telugu cinema. A consummate actress she had everything that Indian cinema loved - a trained dancer who improvised her steps beyond the script of choreography, the lovely, expressive eyes, an incomparable sensuality and a complete hold on timing, especially when it came to comic acts. 

Who can forget that dialogue from her come-back film, English Vinglish - “Her eyes are like two drops of coffee in a cloud of milk..”

Here are some of my favourites:

Wink!

Priya Varrier’s wink going viral and she becoming an overnight internet sensation, though the male actor, whose name we don’t even bother to find out, despite a similar eyebrow dance couldn’t garner as many followers, can imply either one or both of two things:

1. Kerala is a truly matriarchal society and women rock

2. The government really needs to do something about job creation!

I've been able to learn so many Indian languages but regret, more than before, that Malayalam has remained elusive!

Pointless Pondering

It’s almost ten years since I started blogging. I began on Avinash’s suggestion as I spoke so much about my experience with music. Over these years my relationship with music, and myself, has transformed greatly. I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with some wonderful readers and got to know some better. It has been a journey, one that has been, in many ways, an adventure. While I have greatly minimised my participation in other social-networking platforms, even deleting all such apps from my phone, it may still be a while before I bid adieu from here as well. I enjoy writing and sharing my thoughts, however senseless they might be, and it has often helped bring order to the chaos in my head. I have met some wonderful people on the various fora that I am a part of, but I have now taken almost all of my interactions offline. An ‘emoticon’ simply cannot convey what the senses experience through the intimacy of personal contact!

In these years, I have also observed the social discourses change with time - the way we perceive our rights and duties vis-a-vis the democracy that we take pride in.       The world over, people are protecting their own identities more zealously, stemming from a sense of insecurity, and finding expression through protests, agitations and even a tectonic shift in policy. Economies are growing but with an absence of distributive justice - the gap between the rich and the poor is simply widening. Women have reiterated the power of their sexuality bringing to book and speaking against men who put themselves in a situation of power to exploit. Our cinema-scape has changed and so have our sense of aesthetics with regard to books, music and attire. After all, ten years is a long time!

I found it surprising that, living in the times that we do, we could not protect the rights of a film maker to make movie of his choice - on a subject and manner of his liking; that a ban on the movie was sought on the (mis)placed grounds that it was hurting sentiments of a section of the people and could trigger violence. As the politicians watched in silence to protect their electoral constituents, in contravention of the ruling by the Supreme Court, the fringe protesting the movie found more fuel to their fire. I watched the movie more out of a curiosity than any ardent appreciation for the filmmaker’s flare for movie-making. While I was bored, and at times, aghast by the regressive portrayal of the ‘beauty and the beast’, I still would respect his right to have made the movie, the way he did. 

‘Health’ has found a whole new meaning - strength of mind and body. The mantra is pretty simple - eat healthy, read lots, keep the mind calm with music and strength-train. The process is essentially multidimensional, literally and figuratively. While, on the one hand, some women fight for their space under the Sun, demanding their rights of equality and dignity, on the other had, unfortunately, we have also have women who subscribe to patriarchal practices, creating moulds for women to fit into. If I am around ten years later, alive and still sharing my thoughts, I do hope that we have no more moulds for anyone. 

One of my favourite Ragas, popular with the Jaipur-Atrauli Gharana; I especially like the drut bandish - 'raina dina raise kateingi...':

A fractured toe and other things…

A few days back, as I was having a conversation with my father, I switched between Marathi and English, seamlessly. That was kinda strange, since most conversations with my dad and siblings are in English. With my mom, niece and brother-in-law it’s English garnished with a good dose of Kannada and Hindi. 

Dad had developed an age related hearing loss and so we got him hearing aids which he so hates to wear - “that lady(audiologist) cheated us”. On this particular day, I assumed he had his hearing aid on and spoke in my usual pitch and volume, but all I got from him was a confused stare! I realised he was trying to lip read and since I was switching between two languages, he was lost. And then he told me, “Please tell me which language you wish to speak in before you start talking!” Both of us laughed. How do you tell an ageing parent to do what s/he must! 

My dad’s sense of humour is intact. A conversation with my niece : 

Dad - Why don't you write?

Niece - I have nothing to say!

Dad - But you must…it’s right to write or you’ll be left!

Yeah, right!

2017 was a wonderful year. It was a time for consolidation and moving forward. I found myself in the midst of some really lovely people - Vijaya, Sudha, Shefali, Manjul, Rama, Achintya, Sowmya…And the memories of the ones I lost - Ramesh Sharma..

Ever since Spooky was detected with a spinal problem, I have had to take him regularly to  the vet for therapy. I actually look forward to these visits to be in the company of all those animals and their parents. The conversations are all animal-centric and one might thing we were all eccentric! (Ishsh, my dad’s sense of humour makes an appearance every now and again!) On one such visit I met Deepa, who had brought her eleven year old lab for chemotherapy. We got along instantly - I guess a common suffering makes for a great bond. She lost her baby a few weeks thereafter. In many ways, Rusky reminded me of Casper…Deepa and I continue to remain in touch. 

I’ve had lovely conversations with people on how education is going to be a lot more expensive, how new age math. tutoring is actually doing more damage to the learning of mathematics, inter alia, and I have also made good progress on my own research on pharmaceutical regulations. Friends and family have been the wind beneath my wings and I am thankful for their presence in my life. I find myself in a very content space and my prayers are all about thanking God; I have nothing to ask of Her/Him.

(that's me with the flowers adorning my hair!)

I hosted a music concert at home on a cold winter morning and felt the lovely reverberation of music in the house. I also had the honour of felicitating Ustad Shahid Parvez and Pt. Ravindra Yavagal at another concert.

As if to end the year with a ‘bang’, I managed to fracture my little toe. When I mentioned that to Adit and Rakesh at the gym, they couldn’t stop laughing. But I’ve realised the importance of the little toe! May be it was its way of telling me not to take it for granted…

Looking forward to more such in 2018!

RIP, Shashi Kapoor!

Bloody Tales!

Many of the flavours of life come from the people we associate with - friends, extended/family, acquaintances. A niece from my large extended family recently became a mother. In a way, it now gives me the status of a grandmother and my greys could find a place of pride on my warped head! I can also happily, and justifiably so, dole out (un)solicited advice. At the same time I also watch the seniors in the same family brace for the problems that old-age brings along. It sometimes makes me sad to see the strong and able bodies of not so long ago, slowly lose their strength as the confident stride gives way to tentative, slow steps; as the once radiant faces now hide behind an ominous pallor; the sharp mind of yesteryears take longer to comprehend now; as the weakened vision sees a world changed far beyond the memories that it helped create. But I am also happy that I am in that space where I can, on the one hand, partake of the joys of a new generation, and on the other, be blessed by being there for the seniors when they need us around the most. 

One such experience lead me to donating blood yesterday. 

“Namaskara! I have come to donate some blood”, I said.

“Yes, Madam…”, the person at the counter said, as I waited in anticipation for him to complete the sentence. But I clearly misunderstood the pause in his sentence. 

He handed me a form and asked, “Blood group, madam?”

“A-ve”, I said, as I took the form from him and he reported to the person inside - “Madam is A-ve.”

“Is there I problem?”, I asked quizzically.

“No takers, madam!”, he responded.

I suddenly felt like I was out in the market selling a product that was not too popular!

“It’s a rare blood type”, I said, trying to convince him to take my blood!

“That’s why, madam. We rarely get a patient needing it!”

“Okay, so statistically, what are the blood types that are most in demand?”

He rattled of a list as I got busy filling the details in the form.

"So, all that's blood and mine is water?", I responded, feeling quite silly at a poor attempt of translating the Hindi film dialogue - tumhara khoon, khoon, or humara khoon, pani.

Once done, I told him, “It’s royal blood. Still not interested?” 

They took 350 ml, handing me a tetra-pak of juice in exchange!

Sigh, the value of ‘royal blood’! 

Life be Like Upma and Filter Coffee!

The last year has been the most wonderful one, by far. I’ve found peace through the perfect balance of family and close friends, and managed to (successfully) discard negativity from my life. It has been a great  experience, cathartic and one of discovery. I’ve read almost at the rate of a book a week, de-cluttered life - donated (books, my cycle, telescope, movies) generously, edited my contact-lists, refurbished parts of my home, learnt more about loving unconditionally from Spooky, got back to riyaaz and listening to music seriously and spent lots of precious time with my dad. Strange as it may seem, I’ve also begun loving my filter coffee and, this, my mom finds really hard to believe, given that I was a total tea addict! 

Why upma? Because it’s wholesome. It’s tasty. And, it is comforting. Much like the way my life is. And the filter coffee is just the perfect partner! 

Each time, it brings back the warmth of good times with friends and family, spent chatting pointlessly and sometimes, fervently, partaking of the company as enthusiastically as the plate of upma and sipping the strong filter coffee to keep the spirits awake. 

And as a friend would say, "cheers to that!". And as my response to that would almost always be, "blasphemous, I say!"

Being Outstanding

My father was really bad at telling us jokes - he would begin laughing even before he finished with the joke and all the drama that should add effect was absent. End result: he was the only one who ended up laughing at his own jokes! 

The reason I give that as a backdrop to what I share in the post is because it brings to mind one of the jokes he told us when we were children. My father’s education was tinged with the British ‘hangover’ - they left alright, but in the South of India speaking the Queen’s English was very important. It, therefore, became important for us to speak good English, read good literature in the language and write as if we were, what is referred to today rather jokingly as, ‘grammar Nazis’. 

So, dad had told us this joke once: a boy was punished in school once and sent to stand out of the class. This was at the time when corporal punishment wasn’t yet banned in schools. A teacher asked a class fellow where the boy was to which he said he was “outstanding”! Ha, I know, this was dad’s kinda joke.

The last few days have taken a toll on me. I was playing with Spooky when a wrong step caused a severe pain in the mid-left area of the back. I staggered into the house and requested the domestic help to get me a hot water bottle. In her desire and enthusiasm to please me by doing better than I'd asked for, or expected, she filled it with boiling hot water and didn’t notice a leak in it. I sat down and placed the bottle behind my back and in a second I felt a gush of steam followed by spurting boiling water on the right side of my back. Ofcourse, my reflexes worked well, but some damage had been done. I found myself in a strange situation where I couldn’t sleep on my back and neither could I sit resting my back; turning from one side to another, or even onto my stomach, caused excruciating pain. I found myself standing during much of the day - reading, writing, making myself that cup of comfort masala chai, learning about quantum entanglement and listening to music. I even contemplated sleep walking!

At the end of one such day, my mother asked me how my day was, and I simply said, “outstanding!”. Yeah, I’ve got my father’s sense-of-humour genes!

Stifled Minds and Muted Voices

I did not know Gauri Lankesh. Neither did I follow her. But I was aware that she was a noted journalist in my city of Bengaluru. That same Bengaluru that was witness to her being shot at so ruthlessly. The whole incident sent a shiver down my spine, as it did for many of the people in this country. While the investigations will find the reason for such a gruesome murder, the wider sentiments point towards a sense of growing intolerance given that this case bears similarities with a few other murders (Dhabolkar, Pansare, Kalburgi) that had shaken a country similarly. 

Since I share my views quite candidly, and to an extent, fearlessly, on social media, my worried, and doting, mother has warned me not to speak my mind and to be cautious with what I say (her favourite phrase with me is “Don’t be mad!”). It came as a surprise since she was the one who encouraged me to think and speak my mind. I was also amused since my poor mother thinks so highly of me that she doesn’t know that I’m an insignificant person in the scheme of things! What I say does not matter, and who is to tell her that? 

But this whole incident makes me wonder why we are so intolerant of opinions contrary to our own. It’s the diversity of opinions and ideologies that makes a society and a nation vibrant. It brings in checks and balances in the public discourse of a time and helps in the churning of ideas that can help take a Nation forward. Why should an articulate mind and strong voice pay such a heavy price only because the thoughts that are voiced are not appreciated by a section of the society?

We’re going to be a nation in introspection. We may not find answers immediately, but it will certainly awaken our conscience to the voices of other minds. Else we will be a Nation with stifled minds and muted voices…

The Woman in Army Fatigues

It’s strange that some of my friends think I lean right and some think I am a centrist. For the strangest of reasons, many of them also think that I aspire for a career in politics. I have often wondered what makes them think so - it requires way too much hard work and I do not have the stamina for that; it’s easier being an arm-chair activist and a laptop opinionator. The truth is that I do not have any strong political leanings and when something good comes out of the politics in the country, it must be appreciated. So, kudos to Shri. P.M.!

In appointing Smt. Nirmala Sitharaman as the Defence Minister in the recent Cabinet reshuffle, Shri. P.M. has won the hearts of many an Indian feminist. Women constitute about 50% of the electorate in the country, and while one might rue that enough has not been done in having this gender represented in the Parliament and in the Cabinet, the Prime Minister has shattered the glass ceiling by appointing Smt. Sitharaman. There shall now be two women as part of the prestigious Cabinet Committee on Security!

Come to think of it, this shouldn’t come as a surprise in the land that has been home to the likes of Rani Lakshmibai, Kittur Chennamma, Razia Sultana and Onake Obavva. I think our country was far less patriarchal then, than it is now! 

Smt. Nirmala Sitharaman takes over at a time when India is facing unrest in the State of Jammu and Kashmir, the continual problem at the LoC and the imbalance in Sino-India relations. We have witnessed how Smt. Sushma Swaraj has done a fine job with the MEA and hope that Smt. Sitharaman will bring along the feminine grit to problem solving in the MoD. With the army all set to welcome women in combat roles, I don’t think they would have any problem in taking directions from a lady-boss. Attitudes are changing and we need the best feminists to propel that change. 

Smt. Nirmala Sitharaman now joins 15 other Defence Ministers from the rest of the World.

Life, Etc.

The last year has taught more lessons than I can remember ever having learnt. Ironically, the face of death has taught me more about that of life. I’ve watched my parents become more frail from ageing, even fighting for life on a couple of occasions; I’ve also seen young, healthy people not get a chance at that fight. I’ve seen things come to an abrupt halt, in a matter of a second and in mid-conversation with life and these experiences have changed me and the way I’ve begun to relate to life. I sometimes wonder if it might be easier to simply close my eyes to it all, searching for that bliss in ignorance. 

A few weeks ago my father told me he doesn’t feel as energetic as he used to. And I hadn’t even noticed that! I look for ways to escape from all this and find myself preferring the company of strangers over that of people I know - strange as it may seem, the unfamiliar comforts me more than the familiar. I spend more time filling up the pages in my old diary, my handwriting getting shaky as I do so, I work on a puzzle everyday and read a little more. Believing I don’t know makes me feel more powerful with the intent to know than believing I do and I slowly give into the vulnerabilities of ignorance with the hope of being able to read more, learn more and experience more. I’ve began to note down memories I’ve created with those who have loved me as a way of leaving something behind after I’m gone. And I try to fill in as much happiness in a minute as possible! 

My conversations with strangers are more amusing than those I have with known people. I guess it’s because there are no expected conclusions to the conversations, so I can just be myself! I jot down these interactions, giving these strangers names of people/characters I might have loved to meet in my lifetime - Mr. Bond, Mr. Shaw, Mr. Holmes, Ms. Julie Delpy or even Mr. Fawad Khan!!

Here’s one from the 5th of July:

With  Mr. Gumshuda -

Just as I got home this afternoon, a man on a motorbike asked me for directions to a residence in the layout. He said he was going around in circles and wasn't able to locate the address.(Seemed a lot like me, so I could quite empathise with him!) 

I asked him if he had the name of the person or the house number; he gave me the name of the resident but given how reclusive I am, the name just didn't ring a bell. Then he tried giving me clues - "It has a view of the 'gere'", he said. I smiled, confused at first, and then realising he meant 'kere', since we have a lake on one side, noting that the man was either a Malayali (no offence meant), or, he had a bad cold!
"You mean ' kere'", I corrected.
"Yes, yes!", he said, assuming that that was the best clue.
So I gave him directions to get to the houses along the lake and asked him to try his luck.
"But, it could also be the other side, in which case you'll have to come back to the this point and take a right", I offered.

He turned his bike and told me, "this is like taking an exam. where you count 1..2...3 and mark the third one!" 

It took me a second to understand that he meant how he would guess the answer in a multiple choice exam.!

As he drove off showing me the 'thumbs-up', I yelled back: "Did you pass your exams.?"

"Yes!", he yelled in response.

"Then you'll find the house!", I responded a little louder so he could hear me.

He looked back, smiled and drove off…

(end of conversation)

And this from the 23rd of August (a translation of my conversation in Kannada:

With Mr. Gowda -

“Why do you deliver the paper so late?, I asked.”It’s already 7:45 a.m. and half the day is done!”

“Where, madam, it’s still so early in the day!”, he responds, suppressing a yawn. 

“That does not answer my question!”, I say, expecting an honest explanation, but going on, nonetheless. “It’s important to know the news first thing in the morning.”

“Why, madam, are you a politician or a celebrity? They are the ones who are interested in knowing what the media thinks of them.”

“Ah, so isn’t it important for ordinary people to know what’s happening in the world, the weather forecast, in case I need to carry an umbrella..?”

“Madam, you can read all that online, no?”

“Thanks for your suggestion! But why do you come so late?”

“I sleep late in the night, madam, and so I find it difficult waking up early in the morning..”

“Why do you sleep late - don’t you know sleeping early is good for health? Besides, when you know you have to deliver paper early in the morning, shouldn’t you be responsible enough to sleep early?”, I rattle off, knowing fully well that it wasn’t any of my business.

“Watching TV, madam!”

“Hmm..And what do you watch?”

“News, madam!”

(end of conversation)

Between Curiosity and Satisfaction!

Curiosity has been one of my greatest traits - it’s also got me into the greatest of troubles, not killed me yet, though! Come to think of it, I wonder why the cat has been an inspiration behind so many proverbs and phrases; I’d rather it were the dog since I’m not much of a feline person.

Talking of curiosity, I generally watch some talks or catch up on some random viewing when I’m preoccupied with mundane tasks. Over the last few weeks I have been watching a Pakistani series, ‘Dastaan’  based on the book ‘Bano’ by Razia Butt. The story is about the life of a young girl, Bano, in the backdrop of the partition of India, that resulted in the creation of Pakistan. Fiction apart, I got curious about the political climate, thinking and events that lead to this historic development. (It’s a different matter that as an add-on I also got completely taken with Fawad Khan!). And I wondered why India remained secular while Pakistan became a Muslim country. 

A friend in the public policy space suggested two books - Creating a New Medina by Venkat Dhulipala and The Sole Spokesman by Ayesha Jalal, both of which I am currently reading. I’ve also been listening to the debates on the drafting of the constitution to be able to get a better perspective to augment my understanding. It also brings back to memory lessons from history I studied while back in school. I don’t know what might be my take-away from all of this but for now the two books are keeping my curiosity well taken care of.

Epicurean (In)Experiences!

My brother and his lovely family are on their annual 'Desi Sojourn'. Last week they were in Bengaluru and stayed with us and I had the most wonderful time with his children. 

My SiL pleaded to be taken to The MTR saying she has been married into the family 15 years and we haven't been kind enough to have taken her to (what she thinks is) the Mecca of Karnataka (Brahmin) cuisine. I had been there many years, maybe eons, ago when my father had taken me; there was no waiting then - Dad had a junior who was close to the Maiyya family and so we got preferential treatment. Or, maybe, the population was far less then and so there was no need for a queue.

Since I wasn't too keen on the idea, I behaved mean and didn't help her organise it. So she called the main branch on Lalbagh Road and asked the gentlemen on the other end a few questions: Is the menu different at the different time slots? If I were coming the first time, when would be a good time? etc. until the man realised he had better things to do and hung up on her! I was bemused by her line of questioning, but she didn't give up. She called again to make a reservation for lunch, emphasising her South Indian married surname in the hope that she'd get some brownie points! He asked her "number?" and she rattled off my phone number before she realised what he actually wanted to know was the number of people. And then he hung up, again! She was very pleased with herself and we, too, realised that we wouldn't have gone to a place that required so much effort in planning and secretly thanked her. 

And so we drove down to MTR, Lalbagh Road, with the enthusiastic, curious children. We parked at the multilevel parking on K.H. Road and walked to MTR - since MTR is bang on the main road with heavy traffic, it was impossible finding parking. The walk from the parking area to MTR wasn't too long, but was certainly not a comfortable one. My niece was shocked by the lack of safety - "this is unsafe", she told me, as I held her small, soft palm in mine. "Are you hungry?", I asked her. "A bit", she said. "Good, this walk will help build your appetite!", I said, trying to sound chirpy to uplift her spirits. "This is very unsafe.", she reminded me. 

Manoeuvring through vehicular and human traffic and getting past some butchers wasn't the best way to build an appetite!

We reached MTR after about a 10 minute walk only to find the place overflowing with people! But we were smug because we had a 'reservation'. So we went to the counter and were asked for a token number - my SiL wasn't given any! And we reconciled with the fact that we would have to wait. We were lead upstairs to another waiting area which was overflowing with people. I began to wonder if the slab could take the load of so many people in the area. We managed to get some seats for the little girls sat there, their faces flush from the walk. After a few minutes of waiting, my niece stood up and announced "Okay, let's go!". I was in half a mind to listen but managed to convince her to stay. After a 30 minute wait and some sweet-talking ('bonding', as my niece referred to it) we were ushered into a room with a large table and a noisy window AC. But after that walk and wait, it seemed like we had reached heaven! And then we were served the food that my SiL was so keen on eating. It was tasty, alright, but the process was so impersonal. There was no warmth in the way we were served food. It was heavy and the menu was quite uncoordinated - masala dosa for lunch was not my thing! But my SiL was enjoying herself and seemed like we had helped fulfil her 15 year wish! The fact, however, is that we may have never gone to MTR had it not been for my SiL - it's just not my kinda thing.

I wouldn't rate the experience as anything beyond 2 on a 0-10 scale - I cook better, tastier stuff and serve with a lot of affection! Why else would my bro have cursed me for having put on 4 kgs in the 6 days that he was with me! It was my way of getting back at my SiL's lovely family who sent the best melt-in-mouth motichoor ke laddoo from the national capital!!

Dear Casper

It’s been two years since you left us but it seems like much longer. Each day in these two years has weighed in heavily on me - there isn’t a corner in the house that doesn’t have a tale to tell of you and the heart is simply filled to it’s brim with your memories. 

A few months back, I rescued a small puppy from the road and brought her home. Spooky was quite well behaved around her and you would have been proud of your protege! Sihi was with me for only two weeks, but my heart broke as I had to give her away. I really admire how your kind make a place in the hearts of people, to the extent that even sending the sofas you cuddled on for refurbishing becomes one big emotional experience.

Spooky has developed a problem with his spine and is undergoing laser therapy. He doesn’t jump as much anymore but loves the walks along the lakeside. Occasionally, he picks out your favourite toys from the basket and lays down next to them. Each one of us remembers you in our own way, most times warming the cockles of our hearts and sometimes just enveloped by these long silences of grief. 

The mango tree you loved running around has grown bigger and I sometimes sit on the strong branches recollecting the many football matches we played in the yard. You would be happy to know that I have sponsored the upkeep of a few monkeys in a shelter and thank God that I have had the opportunity to get to know some more about life and loving. It isn’t surprising anymore that I find myself exclaiming “They’re so much like us!” or “They’re better than us!”, when I watch them. I can’t thank you enough for coming into my life and helping me understand that the essence of life lies in loving unconditionally. 

Before I go, I have a confession to make - about six months after you left, I came across a Beagle pup named Casper in the neighbourhood; so convinced I was that it was you reborn that I plotted a ‘puppy-nap’ plan. Please do not hang your head in shame….

With Warm Hugs and Lots of Love,

Shobha

(I think it’s time you know me by my name, else how would you find me in heaven..?)