The aspirational Bangalore!

The aspirational Bangalore!

My memories flash back to the days when we were young and full of lively spirits! Bangalore was the most beautiful place to live in during my growing up years (through the seventies and eighties). I would love to call Bangalore of yore, a veritable heaven on earth! There were lovely parks, gardens; and lakes; streets were lined with lush green shady trees. Change of seasons were hardly recognisable; except for fallen dry leaves and flowers from trees signifying coming of autumn; the weather was cool and pleasant throughout the year. Summers were fleeting; temperatures hardly touched 32 degrees centigrade. The local houses were built keeping in mind the circulation of fresh air and Bangaloreans preferred to keep their front doors open through the day; there wasn’t any need of ceiling fans or ACs. Youngsters played cricket on the streets, during all times of the day. The City had few localities with medium class infrastructure. There were very less potholes on the roads as the vehicular population was low; People mainly owned two-wheelers. Owning a two-wheeler (the ubiquitous Bajaj scooter and Jawa Motorcycle) was the ultimate aspiration of young office-goers, those days. Young men were addicted to watching movies, listening to Radio and of course, the ubiquitous street-cricket (gully cricket in local parlance). Showing signs of rebellion, as students we used to bunk classes and sneak off to watch movies or play cricket surreptitiously avoiding getting seen by teachers and more importantly parents! Being sanctimonious with one’s parents was expected. Most of the young people were wary of their parents, especially dads; not that the parents were harshly critical or didn’t shower love or affection towards their children occasionally; but as parents they were supposed to exercise their right of judgement over their children and have strict say in their upbringing. Social mores demanded so. Luckily my parents were very protective and rather naïve; and didn’t want to believe that their son had a streak of rebellious nature in him too! Bunking classes to go to movies and Hotels. Though I don’t remember having ever taken undue advantage of their gullibility (small transgressions here and there are acceptable)!

Over the years, Bangalore has transformed into the garbage-ridden, stinking city that it has now become with interminable traffic movement during all hours of the day and night! This fundamental environmental aspect apart the culture of the City has changed drastically over the years. There has seen a major shift in the composition of people. Information Technology boom of the nineties and later years, brought in huge influx of young people from all over the country; while the earlier employment opportunities were limited to Public Sector Industries and few Banks, that had their Head Offices in Bangalore. With the founding of ‘Infosys’ which became synonymous with Information Technology and Software boom, many more IT software companies opened their Offices in Bangalore. Call Centres and BPOs came with a bang in a big way. The incoming people brought in their own culture which gradually became part of Bangalore culture. Youngsters were exposed to Western culture as part of their Companies’ outsourcing technology efforts, largely catering to US or European clients. The expression ‘Bangalored’ came into being, synonymous with outsourcing in US. More number of pubs and restaurants came into existence to cater to the demand from young people. High-rise apartments became the norm rather than individual single-storey houses built on ‘30x40’ or ‘40x60’ sites as was the culture earlier.

With the boom came the aspirations of the young people. Travelling to US and Europe by International flights was becoming the norm among younger generation. The Bangalore HAL Airport had hardly any flights outside of India in our younger days. I recall that I had visited HAL Airport as a young boy by bicyle to watch the take off and landing of Aircraft; this made me bloat like a baloon for days, it was as if I had landed on the moon. The IT software Companies sent their young smart people to various centres in US or Europe where they were headquartered to service their large clientele base. The aspirational middle-class Bangaloreans had now begun their journey onwards towards the World scene!

Pardon my saying so, it is nice to hear when my circle of friends and a large family of uncles, aunts, their children, relatives acquired through marriage, etc., wonderfully roll out the names of cities and towns in US, UK, Canada and Australia, pronouncing the names exactly like it is spoken in US or UK with the lovely accent rolling off their tongues like Americans or Britishers. I think that their knowledge of World Geography has increased amazingly, thanks to their children! Many a time, it had prompted me to google the place in question and look into the maps of US, Europe or Australia, searching for the exact location. Most of the people I know have either a son or daughter (includes son-in-law or daughter-in-law) in US or UK or Europe studying or working there. How things have changed! Wonderful!

As proud parents of an aspirational generation, it is but natural to talk of their childrens' achievements when they make it ‘big’, both in terms of educational qualifications as well as earning incomes in Dollars, Pounds or Euros. We are proud of children acquiring highly coveted technical qualifications, master degrees, doctorates from well acclaimed Universities in US, UK or Australia or employed on H1B, L1 visas, Green Card etc., in client locations in US! Some of my friends even know the various stages of Visa processing in US. Not so, in our younger days, our chief pastime was confined to listening to Hindi film songs (on Radio) apart from playing cricket at all times of the day! In our minds, studying and acquiring educational qualifications was just incidental and not important. Studying was a waste of time (in my mind at least!) as more important things like cricket or movies was on the top of our minds!

Now as parents, it makes us feel that we have finally ‘arrived’ in society on aspirational terms. When we meet our friends or relatives in marriages or some social functions, the natural topic of conversation would no doubt end with toasting our children and their wonderful achievements (conversations would also alas, include immediate transport arrangements using ‘Uber’ or ‘Ola’ app and reaching their nests!); Great! It is nice to hear proud parents speak with self-importance on their newly-acquired elevated social status, thanks to their wonderful children.

My thoughts turn to the issue the present generation of the parents would eventually have to come to terms with. Like they say, with every change there comes some pain too, which is inevitable! What would eventually become of us the parents when our children who go abroad, settle down comfortably in those wonderful places, never to return to India! Staying away from beloved children, pining away for them; would our thoughts rue the aspirational society that created this mess in the first place? Certainly not. I am sure our present day generation of parents are much smarter and wiser. We would think of new ways to deal with the situation as and when it arises. It is in nature’s way of things that children grow up and fly away from their nest; eventually they have to make their own futures. I think it should make us extremely happy and proud that our children have a very bright future ahead of them, with the World literally their playground! We should be proud that our children would eventually make a difference to the Society that they live in (be it in US, UK or Europe or Australia); when they rise to the top of their professions, wherever they are! Some of them may even get to be CEOs or Astronauts or even MPs or Prime Ministers/Presidents in their respective countries, who knows! Aspirations and achievements never cease to amaze!

The Mouse Hunt

The Mouse Hunt

The small mammal close to humans, the house mouse, can cause extreme reactions in us, humans, if they infest our homes. There was one such house mouse which had invaded our home recently and stayed put for more than two weeks. You may not believe it, the tiny rodent started playing with all our human emotions and created short circuits in our brains. I am not exaggerating. All of us, in our family were on tenterhooks, waiting to explode at any time, due to the ruckus created by the tiny mouse. To be fair to the mouse, all this was not the fault of the tiny rodent, it was just living its life under our auspices, enjoying the warmth of the refrigerator motor unit cubicle and the cool climes of the kitchen cupboards.

It all began on a rainy day, when the weather was cool in Bangalore. We thought, Bangalore was slowly regaining its original rainy climate (the climate that existed so many decades ago) when the days were rainy and the skies overcast. Our home was cool and dark. We had to switch on the lights to lighten the gloom inside our home. On one such gloomy day, while cooking lunch, my wife noticed some sounds emanating in the kitchen cabinets below the granite kitchen platform. When she told me that, this could be the handiwork of a house mouse, I was aghast. I told her, she was imagining things. The problem, was, as always, my sceptical behaviour. I do not believe in things, until I see them with my own eyes. My wife was insistent, that I was wrong, as usual. The kind of light banter that happens routinely in most households, continued between husband and wife, back and forth.  The next day, she told me that more sounds were coming from the cupboard and she was quite certain this time, as she had seen the mouse with her own eyes, scurrying within the cupboard, when she had the cupboard door open to pick some house hold items from there. It was my turn again to be adamant. I told her that her imagination was running riot, she had better rein in her imagination.  She scoffed and challenged me to open the cupboard door and verify it for myself. I am normally hesitant to challenge the rodent family or for that matter even the roach family or lizard family. I have to admit to myself, (not in front my wife, of course) that I am, rather scared of the house pests. Not that, I would run away from them, if found in the vicinity; only that, I would not dare to put myself in the pests’ path and go looking for them in cupboards or elsewhere. As usual, my wife accused me of being less of a man, if I dare not shoo away the mouse from our home. She felt vindicated with her assessment, when I refused smugly to look into the kitchen cupboard.

As can be expected, the mouse had to venture out of its hiding place, in search of food some day. Within the next two or three days after its first sighting, the mouse came out from the kitchen cupboard and scurried into the room. Even then, I did not notice the mouse. Only from the reactions of those around, I could gather that a lightning bolt had hit in the vicinity. This time around, I was convinced that there was, indeed, some pest, going about the house and a strong, positive action, was required from me. Being the man of the house, I retrieved the mouse trap from the loft and gathered all my wits for setting the bait using the mousetrap. I searched for some help online, looking for a perfect bait that would attract the mouse into the trap. Some of them had suggested, cheese would be the best bait to trap the mouse. We did not have cheese in the house, so the next alternative we had, was, a small toffee. The bait was set and the trap kept near the refrigerator, where we thought it had gone into hiding, the previous night. On the next morning, we were eager to see the result of our smart move. Nothing in the trap. The mouse was not really bothered about the toffee. Our neighbour rubbished and laughed at the idea of a toffee as bait and said, ‘no way; the mouse will not be attracted by a toffee, you are simple wasting your time’ (You see, we were so desperate that we had consulted our immediate neighbourhood looking for the best ways of trapping a house mouse). The next day, we purchased rat poison from the retailer nearby, who told us, that this is the best way to get rid of rats. We placed the rat poison nimbly near the refrigerator with a fond hope that the mouse would be dead the next morning after having tried the poison. But, our mouse was made of sterner stuff, it was, in no way attracted to the poison. The rat poison idea too, had failed to achieve its objective.

My wife reminded me of a funny story which goes something like this. It appears that Saif Ali Khan (son of Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi and Sharmila Tagore) had once taken out his shotgun to go after a colony of Indian mole rats that was pestering his neighbourhood. The story goes that Saif Ali Khan was called in every time an Indian mole rat was spotted in the neighbourhood and he was nicknamed the ‘Rat hunter’ as he had hunted down the rat every time with alacrity. His more famous father was nicknamed the ‘tiger’ as he had hunted real tigers in the jungle, while his son had followed in the footsteps of his famous father and become a ‘Rat hunter’!

Back to our mouse story. Based on one of our neighbour’s suggestion, the next day we kept a burnt dry coconut piece as bait in the mouse trap. The mouse seemed to have guessed our intentions and remained disinterested even in the dry coconut offering. The next bright suggestion came from our house maid. She said that there is a new mouse bait available in the market, called magic mouse trap or some such thing, which had an extremely sticky substance smeared on a piece of cardboard. She purchased the thing and bought it for us. All we had to do was place the cardboard contraption in the path of the mouse. Our maid had all words of praise on the new mouse trapping device; she had tried it out several times with positive results. She was confident the trap would work. It seems, the bait had been manufactured in such a way, that when the mouse, scurries over the cardboard piece, all of its four feet get stuck right there. The mouse would be left whimpering for someone to rescue it from the sticky cardboard. All one had to do was, dispose of, the whimpering stuck mouse, outside of their homes. Our mouse was smarter than any of us and avoided treading on the magic cardboard for days together. We all looked like fools and were left holding the cardboard contraption without any success.

We had formed a formidable team of mouse hunters to trap the mouse. The house maid as the team lead; as man of house, I, was the second lead, wife being the chief co-ordinator and rest of the family members, the curious onlookers. All our efforts to catch the mouse had failed and the team had, almost, given up on its mission.

In the meanwhile, our smart mouse was creating havoc within our house. We were, of the impression that the mouse would just move around on the ground floor alternating between the kitchen and the room. It had no dark place to hide elsewhere in the living room. We never expected that the mouse could climb up to the first floor and invade our bedroom. It did just that! One evening we saw the mouse scamper across in our bedroom and go back to its hiding place inside my writing desk kept on the first floor living room. My writing desk held all sorts of attraction to the mouse, it was an ideal hiding place. I had stored photo albums, old books, dusting clothes, toolbox kit and many more in my writing desk drawer. There was an opening behind the writing desk, which was convenient for the mouse to hide itself within this desk drawer. I avoided sitting at my writing desk for a few days, due to the fear of disturbing the mouse or its position. The mouse had made it a habit of moving from first floor to ground floor kitchen refrigerator during the night times and staying in the writing desk during the day times without fear of any disturbance from us, the humans.

Using all our wits and with the help of suggestions from various family members and neighbours, we finally hit the jackpot after two weeks of mental torture. We set a fried piece of savoury doughnut snack as the bait in the mousetrap, by dangling it, via the small metal wire inside. The hapless mouse, at last, felt bold enough to try out the tasty snack. This was its undoing. The mouse was finally trapped and the housemaid, the team lead, disposed it off, outside our home. All the team members, heaved a huge sigh of relief and felt good for having trapped a wily house mouse which had eluded capture for over two weeks. The successful team has been disbanded for the time being!

Endangered species

It appears that we modern humans, that is the present-day people living all over the World (‘homo sapiens’), evolved sometime over 200,000 years ago.  This figure keeps on changing with newer research studies!  I think for most part of their evolutionary lives, men and women were purely meat-eaters in their dietary habits! Hunting, gathering and having fun eating all moving creatures that were palatable, and provided sustenance, I guess.    I understand that as a consequence of human migrations into new regions of the world, there has been the extinction of many animal species indigenous to those areas. Human hunters apparently had played a large part in the extermination of large species of animals including majority of the larger ones like mammoths, mastodons, giant sloths, etc. Most of these extinctions apparently occurred within a few hundred years and we humans were very likely the trigger that set off these catastrophic events. I am digressing, this is not a piece about palaeoanthropology. Pulling myself back on track,  I simply wished to point out to my dear readers, that I was born a strict "vegetarian" in my dietary habits (or more precisely a lacto-vegetarian in today’s parlance). Being vegetarian in today’s World has its own kind of drawbacks or disadvantages; to put it mildly, this has jeopardised my place as an honourable member of the society! In other words, due to my vegetarian dietary habits, I had sometimes been an object of ridicule and sometimes made fun of; this is my claim, of course, judging from people’s reaction!

Having stayed in the Middle East for quite a few years, my dietary habits were always a source of discomfort and embarrassment to me. Most of my colleagues at work and friends outside work were strict non-vegetarians! They loved the variety of dishes that were offered in the innumerable swanky Restaurants and were proud of their dietary habits! They happily gobbled up the choicest dishes available from all over the World served in the best Restaurants of that place. One of my colleagues at work always constantly needled me pointing that I was missing out on the good things in life; tastiest and best food in life by following the 'vegetarian' route! After all, what’s the use of living such a miserable ‘vegetable’ life, if you cannot taste the best food the World had to offer to non-vegetarians!

While travelling on Middle-Eastern flights, I have always been rather embarrassed to point myself as a vegetarian to the stewardesses. You see, the stewardesses do not like passengers who disturb their rhythm and create interruptions, while serving/distributing food trays. During one of such flights, I still vividly remember, the beautiful stewardess, giving me a cold stare when I told her that I was a vegetarian and would like a vegetarian meal; she stared at me hard and coldly, I thought; she was hoping that I would soon revise my dietary choice so that she can swiftly get on her way to serve other passengers! I can still feel her chilling looks on me (she wasn’t that beautiful anymore!); looking at me as if I was an alien from another world. I felt more embarrassed as other passengers in my row started staring up at me too with horror, as if I was pointing a loaded revolver at the stewardess! Unfortunately, adding further fuel to the embarrassment was the fact that all the other passengers in my row were of Middle-Eastern origin. I couldn’t find a sympathetic Indian face who could understand my plight and lend me moral support in the situation! I didn’t budge; I gathered all my inner strength and stood my ground repeating my request to the stewardess. I could see the chilly-cum-mildly hopeful expression on her face fall once again; which gradually turned into a stiff forced smile (no doubt, she was trained well by the Airline not to give chilled looks for long, directed towards passengers!); she realized that I was steadfast in my resolve to have a vegetarian meal. However, my beautiful stewardess was made of a stronger mettle; she wasn’t the one to give up the fight so easily. Making a last-ditch effort, she announced that she didn’t have any vegetarian option as it was a short flight. It was my turn to show dismay and we were back to square one. But I too, wasn’t in any mood to give up. Travelling continuously over a period of years, I had gained in confidence and had learnt the art of dealing with ‘beautiful-cum-chilly-looking' stewardesses; I asked her what are the options she had in her ‘pantry’ or whatever they call it on aircrafts. She thought for a moment and told me that she could give me a cake at the most. Getting wary, I instinctively asked her if it was made of egg (I was a strict vegetarian you see!); to which she replied she didn’t know.  Even  I knew rhat cakes have an element of eggs. The stewardess was steadfastly looking at me with piercing eyes now! I could clearly make out that she had her doubts confirmed that here was a specimen from some other planet!

After all, how long can you hold up an airline stewardess, however beautiful she might be to look at; she has to attend to many more passengers! After such high drama in the air, I felt defeat pass over me. I said, never mind, I didn’t want any of the food the airline has to offer. The stewardess moved away serving food trays to other passengers; the smile back on her face. She looked beautiful once again!

I don’t know if my luck had turned on that day! The beautiful stewardess was back in minutes holding out a small pack of chocolates towards me. I gratefully accepted her offer and promptly pocketed it. Being diabetic, I wasn’t supposed to eat chocolates you see, but I had a family which loved any variety of chocolates!

There was another incident that stands out in my memory clearly to this day. We had a party going in our office and many dishes had been ordered from an Arabic Restaurant nearby. The choice of vegetarian dishes was limited, as I was the lone vegetarian in the office. After the food order was received, the dishes were served, spread out on a table. Some of my office colleagues had already started nibbling away at their choicest picks. There was a dish looking very much like an Indian ‘Roti’, that was spread out on a tray. I was looking across the dishes wondering which of the spread was suitable for my consumption. I was trying to determine if it was a plain ‘Roti’ or some stuffed ‘Roti’, perhaps. Making up my mind, I finally zeroed in on one ‘Roti’, which looked quite inviting! I picked it up. Suddenly I heard a voice saying that it was a meat preparation. As quickly as I had picked it up, I instantaneously dropped the ‘Roti’ back in the tray; scrubbing at my hands as if I had touched a hot iron rod! Seeing my reaction, there was shock followed by laugh riot all around. All my colleagues had a field day,  guffawing at my expense. One of my colleagues, of Middle-Eastern origin, felt insulted and announced that he couldn’t eat the stuff after seeing my extreme reaction. I promptly apologised and hurried back to my cubicle. I couldn’t eat any food for the entire day! It was bad behaving the way I did, I had also unabashedly insulted my colleague. I could offer no explanation, other than the lame excuse that I was a vegetarian! As a parting shot, one of my office colleagues, in half jest told me that she would make all out efforts to convert me to eat chicken before I finally left the country. However, her wish remained unfulfilled, as I have steadfastly remained a vegetarian to this day!

During my entire stay in the Middle-East, I have hardly come across a person with strict vegetarian dietary habits like me (including not eating eggs or even onion/garlic), which made me realize that I and some of my ilk were part of a miniscule group of people surviving on their last legs of human evolutionary cycle! In my opinion, the vegetarians could be hardly around 1 or 2% of the World population, if such survey could ever be conducted! Could I take the liberty of mentioning that this tiny vegetarian group of surviving people (or ‘tribe’) is certainly a vanishing species or an endangered one; soon to be named perhaps as, ‘homo-veggy’ or something similar shortly after disappearing from the human evolutionary cycle!

what's in a name?

What’s in a name?

Shakespeare in his famous play ‘Romeo and Juliet’ had said, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”.  I would say that Shakespeare was far off the mark here! This was after all a play written in the 16th century. Does this line still apply in 21st century? I don’t really think so, judging by my experiences of carrying a name such as mine all through my life!

I was never happy that I had been named ‘Nagaraj’ by my parents. In my youngers days I was always cross with my parents for having been named so. It appears that my parents had offered oblation to the snake god before I was born. This sacrifice had borne fruit in the form of a child and as an offering to the snake god I was named after him. People had all sort of weird ideas, those days. But how can we question faith? 

 It appears that my parents had been childless for quite a few years and so they had been going around visiting all sorts of temples and pious places before they stumbled upon this practice of offering ‘oblation’ to this snake god. Perhaps this snake god was so pleased with their offering that he blessed the couple with a son. This is all fine. My parents had their wish fulfilled, but how were they to know that being named after this snake god would lead to all sorts of experiences, mostly embarrassments, later in my life.

Having the snake god’s name is fine, but I also had another name, ‘Hari Prasad’. This is another interesting story why I was named so. It appears that as part of his daily rituals my father was reading or reciting various chapters from different Vedic manuscripts or texts. While reading a particular chapter named “Harivamsa” from a vedic text, it seems my mother gave birth to me. As the gods had granted my parents’ wish of having a child, they had named me after the chapter in the vedic text. So I was saddled with two names from two different contexts; or was it that both the gods had been so pleased with the devotion of my parents that they decided to join hands with each other in granting their wishes! But the question remained which name would take precedence over the other. Was it that the superior “God” had a precedence over an inferior “God”? I don’t know. It was a just a matter of toss, perhaps? Anyway, the crux of the issue is, I was stuck with the name ‘Nagaraj’ as per official records in the school certificates. Personally, I would have preferred my other name to be incorporated in my school records, but then I didn’t have a choice, did I?

The names that is handed out to their children by their parents is a very curious custom if I may say so. While mapping out my family history recently, I came across a custom that seems to be rather bizarre. My grandfather and great-great grandfather had the same names from my father’s side of my family history. Similarly, in the case of my grandmother too, her father and her great grandfather had the same name. When I delved deep into my family history it came to light that many grandsons were named after their grandfathers, probably to perpetuate their memory. This is also the practice with many western customs including American and British subjects, I understand from Google!

My school name is quite commonly found in Karnataka State. If I were to google my name, the name would gather a million hits. But then all these addresses would be from Southern States only. As long as I resided in a Southern State, there wouldn’t have been any issues connected with my name. In the school I used to be called ‘Naga’ or ‘Raja’ variously by my friends and I didn’t think this was funny. I took it in my stride though I didn’t like people shortening my name.

It was only when I was posted out of the Southern States that things became different. I was working in a Bank in Haryana State in a place called Ambala Cantonment. The local staff would make fun of my name and call me as ‘Snake King’ or ‘Cobra’ and spell it wrongly too either as ‘Nagraj’ or ‘Narraj’. The staff were curious as to why I was named after snakes. One of them had asked me half in jest, if I was from a ‘Snake Charmers’ family? Though I offered an explanation as to why I was named so, I think he was quite convinced that I did belong to a ‘Snake Charmers’ family. Perhaps it was then, it struck me, had I been named ‘Hari Prasad’ I wouldn’t have had to face all the embarrassment.

When I moved to Middle East all hell broke loose! My name became a constant source of embarrassment. You see, Arabic language does not have the alphabet ‘G’. The word ‘G’ is substituted with the alphabet ‘J’. This is the genesis of all problems. When I applied for VISA to this Country, Kuwait, my given name was T Nagaraj S/o Aphale Vasudeva Rao Thothadri as per my Indian Passport. Kuwait Government wants an Arabic translation to be submitted along with the Passport. As per Kuwaiti laws only Arabic translation holds good and English spellings are of no concern to them. They issued a Visa to me with the name ‘Najraj Totadri Vasaudev Apal’ which became my official name as per records. Look at how spellings got changed based on Arabic language translation. This is how Kuwait works, I was told, when I brought this to the notice of Kuwait embassy. Fantastic, who am I to question them.  If I have to stay in their country, I have to follow their rules and customs. Reasonable, right?

As per Arabic custom, a person’s name will be succeeded by his father’s name followed by grandfather’s name and finally by the surname. Great!

This became my official name in the Bank’s records. I was literally reborn here in Kuwait with a new name; to my Arabic colleagues as well as the local people there, I had officially become ‘Najraj’ or ‘Totadri’ or sometimes even simply ‘Apal’. I was apalled, literally.   How did this spelling come into picture. My surname was Aphale.  This was shortened, I suppose.  Anyway, I used to be called variously by different people. In the beginning when some of my Arabic colleagues addressed me as ‘Totadri’, I didn’t quite know that they were addressing me! I realized this later when my Indian colleagues prompted me that I was being addressed to.  Funnily enough, they thought I was dumb or even better, deaf.  Deaf and dumb, rhymes well!

Many a times, Arabic colleagues working in  different Departments used to call me on the phone for various official matters; they used to address me as ‘Mr.Totadri’; it was then that I finally understood, I had officially been reborn in Kuwait with all the above names!

My Indian colleagues in Kuwait used to call me as ‘Snake King’ or ‘Cobra’ once again here. I was ‘Snake King’ to my boss, always. He didn’t address me by any other name. The IT Department head who was an Indian guy regularly called me ‘Cobra’; he used to leave phone messages when I was not there addressed as ‘Cobra’. The name stuck. Initially, all my colleagues in the Office were amused when I was thus addressed. I felt embarrassed too, but once this name got stuck, I was quite comfortable with it! I used to console myself that it was fine as long as I still had a name!

May be, Shakespeare was right, after all, does it really matter if I am called a Snake King or Cobra or whatever. I would always be the same person, no matter what.  After all, my wife had accepted me and stayed married for so many years to boot! Reason enough.

Remembering Grandma

It has been my great fortune to have lived and spent a large part of my young life with my grandmother. My grandmother, who lived up to a ripe old age of 95 years, was an exceptional and an incredible person. She was gritty, pleasant, affectionate, tolerant and many more. I cannot find more epithets to describe her. She was full of wisdom. She was a larger-than-life individual, especially in the eyes of her numerous grandchildren, I am one of them. She was everyone’s favourite grandma.

She had been married at a very early age, when she was just 12 or 13 years old. My grandfather was 35 years old at the time of their marriage.  After bearing 10 children in continuous succession and widowed soon after, one would expect that a person in her position would have been worn out and given up on life! But not my grandma. She took on herself to bring up all her children without any kind of moral or financial support, or any other help from those around her. Her eldest son (that was my father) was 25 years old at the time of my grandfather’s death. There was a gap of 2-3 years between each of her children. She was 41 years when she was widowed and left to fend for herself with her large family; with no money or security in a big town (that was Bangalore then). My grandma and her large family of 9 children (her second child had died during childbirth) survived the initial ordeal with a great deal of grit and determination. The family had to go through untold misery, pain and struggle for survival on a daily basis. This period may be notorious for such struggles for survival and this may, perhaps, be the common recurring theme of many families during the era of the 1940’s in India. However, this does not take away in any way or diminish the pains and struggles of each of the individual families, they had to undergo for survival during that period.

Perhaps, the long period of family struggles and hardship had shaped my grandma’s character, providing her with the grit and determination and the will to fight for herself and her family’s survival. This may hardly explain her cheerfulness and affectionate nature, which I guess she may have inherited from her parents. She had very little in terms of formal education; she just attended primary school. She reminded us of her educational qualification from time to time to motivate us to read well and prosper in our luves.  As she hailed from a small, nondescript village in Shimoga district in Karnataka, I am not sure what kind of primary education she may have had there, in those days. Her parental family background had been of limited influence in her life as she had married very young and left her parents’ house at an early age, soon after marriage.

My grandma had a large influence on my upbringing and early part of my life. She had her say in most of the important family matters and had been a ‘go-to’ person for all issues concerning the family and the children’s future, e.g., naming of the children, when they should attend school, when should the boys undergo the ‘sacred-thread ceremony’, when should a girl be married, etc. Though she was duly consulted and she had her say, the final decision would rest with the main person involved in the matter. She did not interfere and push her own thoughts or agenda, she would only provide her counsel, as an elderly and wise person.

I was in the habit of having long and deep discussions (or let us simply say, arguments) with my grandma concerning religion, faith, God, etc., needling her with outrageous suggestions, which, provoked strong responses from her on many contentious issues. Though we had strong arguments on various issues, she was not the one to give in easily. She argued her case long and hard. As soon as the issue was settled one way or the other, she would affectionately call me her biggest rival.

My grandma was a source of great strength and comfort to all of us in the family. When my father and my two other uncles passed away prematurely, she stood like a rock absorbing all the shock, pain and distress. When the rest of the family was uncontrollable in their tragic loss, I remember her sympathetic comforting words to the rest of the family members, quoting the God’s will and other scriptures; human beings were nothing more than mere pawns in the Almighty’s chess board and she would say that these are testing times; we cannot abdicate the responsibility of fulfilling our destiny chosen by God; life, simply has to go on, despite all odds. This was, perhaps, the sign of her strong beliefs in the Almighty and the Hindu scriptures. She was a very pious, God-fearing and religious person. She had been indoctrinated into the strong Hindu  beliefs to an extent that she was prompted into shaving off her head, following the death of her husband (that is my grandfather). She had steadfastly continued this ritual of shaving her head until her death in the year 2001.

My grandma was a great believer of traditions and rituals. She used to partake of full meal only once in a day (that was lunch alone).  In the evenings, she would have some light snacks and milk. She continued this habit of having a lean diet till her death. She followed the traditions of fasting once in a fortnight on the ‘Ekadashi day’. A strict rule she observed till her very end.

My grandma was a great cook. I still remember her simple, yet excellently cooked food using only the basic minimum ingredients which, however, tasted heavenly. The food she cooked did not have any exotic or extraordinary ingredients. Most of the dishes she cooked were based on regularly available ingredients, the food was cooked, however, with lots of love and care. My cousins and uncles still rave about the extraordinary taste she squeezed out of ordinary ingredients; and the food she prepared tasted great.

I remember her constant and all-encompassing influence in my early formative years. Looking back, I believe it was her calming presence that gave me the strength and courage to survive, especially in the turbulent phase of my life, post the death of my father. If it was not for her presence, may be, I could not have lived through steadfastly with the trauma of my father’s death. I always believed she calmed down my teenage rage and tempers with her sagacious presence in my life.

My grandma was healthy and strong all through her life. Her robust health was her greatest asset. I have never seen her fall ill with minor ailments. Only in her last few years, after she turned 93, she was admitted to a hospital for treatment, may be just 2 or 3 times.

My only regret was that I was not in Bangalore when she passed away. I was posted in Mumbai at that time. I could not attend her funeral and have a last glimpse of my dear Grandma. This reminded me of the beautiful quote so eloquently expressed, which read, “Those we love, don’t go away, they walk beside us every day, unseen, unheard, but always near, so loved, so missed, so very dear”.

Bhoot Bangla - A live story!

Nelson Mandela had said somewhere that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it and the brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear. Nice quote. Gives me courage to say that fear is nearly almost present in all of us! May be to a varying degree, perhaps. I think it is the human gene that is the culprit! ‘Fear’ gene (or whatever technical name the scientists would have given this gene) may have been passed on to us right from our evolution days (either as homo sapiens or homo erectus or some other earlier species even). Who knows? What I am trying to do here is to justify that we all fear something or the other, especially the unknown. 

The word fear is defined by Merriam-Webster dictionary as something or someone to be afraid of; to expect or worry about something bad or unpleasant. Basically, it is an unpleasant emotion caused by the threat of danger, pain, or harm. Fear drives people to do many things. Both good and bad. Though most of our fears are irrational and unfounded. 

It takes me back to the time when I was young, may be 9 or 10 years old. I had this terrible fear of unknown. Let’s call it fear of ghosts, because that was the nomenclature commonly used those days! I used to stay with my parents on a quiet street in a lonely area of Jayanagar (Those days Jayanagar was lonely and dimly lit during night times). There was this empty house on our street. During our stay of 7 years on this particular street, I never saw this house ever tenanted. This house wore a dilapidated look because of lack of maintenance. Shrubs and creepers had grown all around the house which gave it a decrepit appearance. In the mind of 10-year-old, this house had an eerie look! Whenever I used to pass this house during day times I had this habit of staring at the house looking for signs of any activity in the windows, though I clearly knew in my mind that no one resided there. However, during the evening times (around 7 PM or so just when the Sun had set and darkness was creeping upon) the house used to acquire a sinister look (in the mind of a 10-year-old). While passing the house one evening, on an errand, I kept staring at the house. I paused just slightly before the house as I could see some dim lights coming through the front bedroom window and I had this feeling that some shadows were moving behind the windows. I felt a creepy fear pass over me slowly. My pause turned into a short run. I reached the end of the street. The blood in my veins kept pounding as I kept looking back towards the house while on run. Just at the end of the street, there were two corner stores located, quite brightly lit. It was here that I was headed to for buying few things (I don’t remember exactly what I wanted to buy from corner stores). After completing my purchase, on my way back, I didn’t have the nerve to cross the empty house once again. I thought of taking the long route from the other end of the street by crossing over to the adjacent street. This again had its pitfalls as there was another empty house across that street too! This kept playing on my mind and I decided to take my chances and take the short route home. I closed my eyes and sprinted across the street (crossing the empty house) as fast as my young legs could carry me. I opened my eyes only after reaching the safe environs of my home. This sprint was the fastest blind run in my life. I could have given Usain Bolt a run for his money for the fastest 100 metres dash! My heart kept pounding and the blood gushed through my veins. I kept this incident to myself. I was ashamed to admit to my parents that I was scared. The next morning it was again the time to pass the empty house on my way to the shop. As was my habit, my eyes kept darting towards the empty house. I looked at the house through the corner of my eye. I couldn’t dare to look at the house directly as shivers were running through me. I didn’t see any activity happening in the house. The house stood empty as always! Nobody had occupied that house. I still don’t know if the play of lights and shadows that appeared behind the front bedroom window of the empty house that night were just the wild imagination of 10-year-old boy or something else! 

Continuing on this incident, I had connected this “haunted house” phenomenon to the Hindi movie titled ‘Gumnaam’ which I remember watching in the late sixties or so with my parents. After watching this movie, I was quite convinced that ghosts did exist, after all, (though the movie plot said that it was the female character who was carrying out this charade to deceive somebody or the other). I don’t exactly remember the plot of this movie now. This movie with its haunting melodies preyed on my mind for quite a number of years. I was scared of going out alone on the streets late in the evenings. I used to come home before nightfall (after play) as I was scared of late evenings. This was the time when shadows creep due to interplay of light and darkness; I always avoided staying late outside the house after 7 PM. This timing of 7 PM was sacrosanct due to my irrational fears. The fears that I had developed as a young boy age had persisted into my late teens and even during my youth.

This thought leads me to another incident that left an indelible impression on my mind. I was posted to work in a village branch during my first stint after joining a nationalized Bank. That was my first exposure away from my close-knit family. This was a remote village in the rain-fed area of Malnad region in interior Karnataka. The village was notorious for its rains and coffee estates. There was hardly any accommodation available for rent in the village. On the very first day a colleague of mine who was also from Bangalore offered to share a huge old bungalow with me for our residence. The problem with this bungalow was that this was situated outside of the village limits, though hardly a 5 minutes-walking distance from the Bank branch. This was the last building in the village environs. There were no houses on either side of the building. The house was located on a very lonely stretch. Thick shrubbery had grown on either sides of the house. My colleague and I used to keep all the rooms in the entire bungalow locked up except for one room which we used as sleeping quarters. We didn’t have any cots to sleep. Just our basic rolling beds were placed at the opposite corners of one room, which we had occupied. Rest of the house was just left unused. The house had a tiled roof. As the house was quite old, we had got it at a very cheap rental bargain. My colleague who stayed with me was a courageous and smart person. I could see that from day one. He was staying there alone before I joined him in a sharing arrangement. Within a month or so after my joining the Bank Branch, this colleague of mine had to go on leave for a week to Bangalore. I was left all alone in this huge bungalow. It was the rainy season. Rains were copious that year. The night after my colleague left for Bangalore, I went back to my bungalow with a stout heart, mentally determined. I stepped in the house, heartily singing, wanting to mask the fear of what was in store for me during the night. The rains had commenced and were very heavy that night as if the skies had opened up. Water was dripping here and there inside the house, in the crevices between the tiles. The owners didn’t want to spend on repairs as the rent was too low. Rains drops were lashing at the windows which was making an eerie sound. I had finished my night dinner at a nearby village restaurant before retiring for the evening. The long night had begun! I could hear the hooting of night owls somewhere in a distance amid the rain sounds. My mind was in a twirl. I sat on my bed opening a book to read. I couldn’t concentrate. I could feel the blood rush across my spine to my head. My imagination had gone wild and was playing all sorts of tricks inside. I had kept the lights on through the night. There were power cuts in between. I lit some candles. The flames were casting long shadows and dancing to the movement of the wind from the gaps between windows panes. I could feel the shivers running along my spine. All the thoughts of ghosts and whatnot rushed through my mind! I could hear the slight creaking of doors as winds kept howling outside. This experience was like a scene straight out of a horror movie! The fear was so intense that I thought I would not last the night! I was fighting with all my strength and tried to keep up my spirits by singing loudly; I was trying to be as rational as possible. I couldn’t sleep the entire night and was totally awake with fear! What a night that was, I could still feel the shivers creep up my spine even now, as I write this! There was no TV or Radio or anything which I could switch on to spend the night. I kept looking at my watch every now and then hoping the morning would arrive soon which would end my nightmare! That was the longest night of my lifetime! When I went back to the Bank the following day after surviving the horrid night, my colleagues at the Bank were waiting to know my fate, if I had survived! They asked me how was my night at the “Booth Bangla”! That was the first I heard of the bungalow being called that. I was kept in the dark. All the colleagues at the Bank were very young and full of spirits. In fact, all of them knew about the bungalow and told me stories of how this “Booth Bangla” had been vacant for a number of years and nobody had dared to occupy for fear of isolation and its sheer size coupled with the poor maintenance of the house! I also later learnt that how a colleague who was earlier staying in that bungalow vacated the place within a week totally numb with fear! It appears my Bangalore colleague was the only one who had the gumption to move into this bungalow and continue to live there for some time. He had taken this up as a challenge and he had won the challenge. Coming back to my story, I did spend the entire week alone in this huge old “Booth Bangla”, I don’t know how I survived. Each night was a terror and nightmare! The toughest week of my life! But here I am, after so many years, still very much alive and kicking to relate the story! Despite surviving the ordeal, I wouldn’t dare call myself a courageous or a brave person! I didn’t stay long in the house after that particular horrendous week. One more colleague of mine offered to share his house which was bang in the middle of the village, where I later shifted and happily spent the rest of my stay in the village. My hero colleague who had stayed in that big old bungalow for may be 6 months or so shifted shortly thereafter. 

The only thing we have to fear is the fear itself!  Doesn't this explanation sound reassuring.   Psychologists have long hypothesized that the fear response have honed human survival skills by generating appropriate behavioural responses. Again evolution. How nice! 

where have all the readers gone?

Where have all the readers gone?

 

Where have all the readers gone?  

This question had formed in my mind recently.  It left me wondering if this is a vanishing tribe. The young people I know, hardly read books.

In the days gone by, it was a common sight to find people waiting at Railway stations and Bus Stations spending their waiting time glued to paperback thrillers.  As kids, we envied these people hoping to catch a glimpse of the book's title with its lovely cover illustration.  We had a huge crush on paperbacks!  Where have all these paperback readers gone?

Not a day used to pass, without a visit to the local library during our younger days. The libraries were full of people. Young and old.  Young people were in a mad rush to pick the popular fiction of the day.  The old were happy to read newspapers and magazines. There was a huge rush in the aisles where fiction used to be kept.  Some of the popular fiction of the day was rarely to be found on the shelves.  If one spotted such a book, there was a mad chase to pick the book before it vanished off the shelves!  Sometimes, the librarian used to keep some of the popular books with him to be issued to his/her favourite customer.  You had to be in his good ‘books’ to become a favourite!  The libraries which were dotted on every street, seems to have closed shutters.  Where have all these libraries with voracious readers gone?

Each Railway station or even Bus Station had a bookstall with wonderful paperbacks stacked away behind sturdy glass walls.  The paperback covers had sizzling illustrations in beautiful colour and was a dazzling sight to behold!  Some of the passengers and passers-by in the stations stood staring at the book covers with a longing; hoping they would be able to afford to buy them one day! Where have all these railway/bus station bookstalls gone?

The street bookseller sat on the footpath with a huge cache of old books with pirated versions of crudely reprinted books spread out before him.  People had to navigate this bookseller to jostle heavily crowded footpaths weaving their way to their destination!  A group of passers-by stood staring at the books displayed, hoping for a cheap bargain for a book of their choice.  Rifling through the books, we had to sometimes settle for a version with few pages missing!  The bargain with the seller would start once the book of choice was selected.  Happy with the bargain, we used to be delighted to take home the book looking forward to read through the book as early as possible.  Where have all these street booksellers with bargain-hunting readers gone?

In our younger days, rich people living in handsome bungalows owned a huge collection of books both fiction and non-fiction.  These books were displayed proudly in gleaming teakwood/rosewood book shelves having glass panes for doors. I have vivid memories of visiting some of these houses and envying the rich people, wondering how they could afford to buy so many books! I could still visualize the grey-haired man of the house living in a handsome bungalow reclining on an easy-chair, with his favourite book in his hand, his glasses perched on the top of his nose.  Where have all these book collectors with reading habits gone?

My memories take me back to my college days where you could see fresh young faces just past their teens perched atop the corridor stairs or door steps reading fiction behind stealthily covered college text books .  More young animated students were to be seen arguing among their peer group defending their favourite authors!  Where have all these fresh young animated readers gone?

In gardens and parks around the city, during the lazy afternoons, one could see people sitting on benches below the green shades of trees contentedly reading away their favourite fiction (Mills &Boons, if they were young women) and occasionally dozing off!  Where have all these happy readers gone?

This brings me to the collection of my books purchased over a lifetime, gathering dust in the book shelf perched in the corner.  Ridden with guilt, I look over and pick an interesting book to read.  I hear an alert notification from my smartphone showing arrival of a whatsapp message!  That is the signal to drop the book, back in the shelf where it originally belonged!

The TV in the living room is showing the Amazon Kindle ad where an old couple is glued to ‘Kindle Reader’, browsing the Kindle in the glare of soft warm light, hoodwinking their partner; signalling the advent of a new era!

If indeed there was no ‘Apple’ that possibly invented the smartphone (to whom we owe gratitude for inventing this time-saving and time-wasting device!) or for that matter the ubiquitous Internet, the dear late lamented “readers” would have been very much present to this day.  What the hell, this is a more exciting world that we live in!  Smartphones, tablets, phablets, note, palm-tops, and what not; gleaming new devices everywhere, what could be more wonderful?

Books, who wants them?  It looks nice on the book shelf, doesn't it?

 

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