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  • Applauses in advance for my Amla pickles, please

     

    I won’t have another eightieth birthday.- who said? I will have one more, the third and the last one this year, on December 8th, as it was on that date I was born, according to my horoscope. In fact that should be the correct date of birth, irrespective of what was written on my official records or on what star I was born.
    I can’t tell you what my parents did on my first birthday. It could have been a subtle affair within the four walls of their house or of the village temple. The real ‘celebration’, if I may use that word was on my sixtieth birthday, and never in between. Even my latest birthday was not a ‘celebration’, but a purely family affair within the four falls of my relative’s house. Not a single outsider was there, not even my closest friends or neighbors or even some relatives. Only while in USA with my children, they used to make a big show with get -together, gift distribution etc. ‘oh, Anna, theriyalaiyea- I didn’t know ‘, said my cousin sister’s hubby whom I met the very next day morning in the Ayyappa temple.

    How to start the day one after completing my landmark year?
    Special prayers, specific vows to do or not to do something? No fears. I can’t chain my self with ‘dos and don’t dos’.

    Maghar, kutchbhi karnaheina? Jaroor. Something has to be done and I did a great job. Applauses in advance, please!

    While returning from the temple yesterday, I bought two kilos of Nellikay, Amla from a wayside vendor, attracted by the heap of fresh, yellowish green, fresh vegetable balls packed with Vit C and other nutrients, in the lush cart. I made today, pickles under the able guidance of Nandur uncle, who was monitoring the progress of the great task I was involved in, through telephone contact. My maiden attempt in making pickle was a wonderful success and no promises or vows would have been given me as much satisfaction as this one has provided. If not at 80 plus when do I do what I want to do? Hope my daughters in law and their hubbies in America are hearing!

    I strongly recommend all my male friends to start learning cooking, if they haven’t already. As I mentioned earlier, the joy of feeding others with the food made by you, is unique.
    And unparalleled will be your aanantham, if the recipient happens to be your sweet heart!

    The first guest to taste my food after I started this job some three months ago, was Bhaskar, my youngest daughter in law Hamsadwani’s dad yesterday and he liked immensely my dosa, upma, chutneys and fresh decoction kappy. The message of my expertise would have already reached yesterday Boston from him to my daughter in law and in a few minutes it would have spread to other States of USA as well. In fact, another daughter in law Madhavi who left for USA, on Friday night, would have already done it after tasting my sample sambar and my name and fame as a master chef will already be floating in the chill American aakaasam or sky.

    I offered a beautiful maize bulb to my Lord during my daily morning worship as neivedyam , attracted by its appearance. It is a pleasure to slowly remove the thin silky layers of maize skin and observe the emerging yellow pearl like kernels. On the other hand we shed tears while doing the same operation on onion. So, ‘no onion as food’, said my seniors.

    Maize , yes.

    ‘—–kooyavaas cha may,
    Annam cha may,  akshu cha may,  vreehayas cha may,  yavaas cha may, bhashaas cha may,
    Thilaas cha may,  mudhgas cha may,  kkhalvas cha may, godhumas cha may,
    Masooras cha may, priyangavas cha may, anavas cha may, sayaamaakas cha may’

  • For a fees

     

     

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    ‘I need your help, Thirumeni’

    ‘I’m not a Nambudiri’

    ‘Aren’t you the Malayali mantravadi, people are talking about?’

    ‘No. But I know some mantrams and tanthrams . You want to attract some old woman?’

    ‘I can do that myself’

    ‘How old are you?’

    ‘Eighty’

    ‘Oh, then you don’t need my help’

    ‘My problem is different. I feel lonely. I feel bored; at times, awfully bored. Some one said, there is Kerala magician near the Central Park and he can help me. That is how I’m here’

    ‘I’m not that person. But, I can free you from your boredom’

    ‘Will be grateful’

    ‘Start cooking’

    ‘Why should I? There are women to do that job’

    ‘You want me to help you to come out of boredom?’

    ‘Yes’

    ‘Then, start cooking. The feeling of satisfaction in feeding others, especially your kin, with the food made by your hands, is unique’

    ‘But, I don’t know cooking’

    ‘You will learn it in three days’

    ‘I have, so far, not entered the kitchen. Any precaution?’

    ‘Only one. There is some relationship between the timing of your having the urge to empty your bladder and the milk’s anxiety to overflow, while getting cooked. Despite your watching it closely, the milk will boil exactly when you move away for fraction of a second, invariably for peeing’

    ‘So, stop peeing?’

    ‘No, you can’t do that. Switch of the burner before you go. Come back and switch on the stove again’

    ‘If I feel the urge again, when I come back?’

    ‘Stay permanently in the toilet and sing songs. That will remove your boredom’

    ‘I don’t know singing ‘

    ‘You will learn in three days ‘

    ‘If I don’t learn?’

    ‘Come and join me. We will open a Pan shop’

    ‘Who will prepare pan masala ? You?’

    ‘We will hire a woman’

    ‘Why we? I will hire her. I will start the pan shop. Why do I need your help?’

    ‘You have started thinking in those lines, right?’

    ‘Yes. I have. My mind has become active.’

    ‘You are free from boredom?’

    ‘Very much’

    ‘My fees, please’

  • You are not the lamps but the shine

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    (A Facebook post dtd  Nov 16, 2o16 )

    See the condition of the earthen lamps, which were so beautiful last night, the moment the oil and wicks in them got exhausted!

    Will I too be like this when my power pack loses it power? Will me too, nourished with selected vegetables and fruits and high class diet, keeping a watch on the Diet chart close to my plate, will become like these pathetic lamps?

    ‘Man, you are joking. Where is the comparison between you and these lamps? ‘

    ‘Are we not from the same earth?’

    ‘You are. But, you will shine again, when you get a fresh life. That is what our book says’

    ‘You mean to say that my body will rise up afresh, when recharged, like these lamps?’

    ‘Not your body, your soul’

    ‘But these lamps, the same lamps, become alive, when fresh oil and wicks are replaced’

    ‘Do they. They become alive again only if the wicks, dipped in the oil, are lighted’

    ‘Then why don’t me, the very same me, get lighted?’

    ‘Ha, ha, poor guy, you are not the body. Someone told you that you are the body and you believed. You are a ray of the light, which doesn’t go off. You are not the earthen lamps, you are the shine in those’

    मनोबुद्ध्यहङ्कार चित्तानि नाहं
    न च श्रोत्रजिह्वे न च घ्राणनेत्रे ।
    न च व्योम भूमिर्न तेजो न वायुः
    चिदानन्दरूपः शिवोऽहम् शिवोऽहम् ॥१॥
    Mano-Buddhy-Ahangkaara Cittaani Naaham
    Na Ca Shrotra-Jihve Na Ca Ghraanna-Netre |
    Na Ca Vyoma Bhuumir-Na Tejo Na Vaayuh
    Cid-Aananda-Ruupah Shivo[a-A]ham Shivo[a-A]ham ||1||

    Meaning:
    1.1: Neither am I the Mind nor Intelligence or Ego,
    1.2: Neither am I the organs of Hearing (Ears), nor that of Tasting (Tongue), Smelling (Nose) or Seeing (Eyes),
    1.3: Neither am I the Sky, nor the Earth, Neither the Fire nor the Air,
    1.4: I am the Ever Pure Blissful Consciousness; I am Shiva, I am Shiva,
    The Ever Pure Blissful Consciousness.

  • Ammalu is always right

     

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    I’m prepared to give your mom half my properties, if she takes you back, Ammalu’

    ‘She will take me back without your giving her a pie. But, what is left with you, if I’m gone?’

    ‘Why, my properties?’

    ‘What property do you have other than me as all other properties are already transferred in my name?’

    ‘Who, who, who did that ?’

    ‘Yourself’

    ‘Me, when, when, when?’

    ‘Then, then, then, when you forgot yourself reading your old love letters in your room, when I entered, showed you a blank stamp paper and obtained your signature ‘

    ‘You did, it, Ammalu? That was cheating your husband’

    ‘Was it not cheating your wife to keep the old love letters, read them alone, enjoy every word in it, after living with her for forty four yeas and becoming father of four children?’

    ‘Forty four years, four children! If we live together fifty five years, five children! And sixty six years–?’

    ‘You will continue to read your old love letters!’

  • Laughing loud at Yama ?

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    Cartoon courtesy   Ramki of Chennai

    ‘With so much load on your head, you are able to laugh and laugh so loud?’, commented Dr.Rao, , who stays a few houses away, when we met last evening. I was sad to see the man who had repaired the legs of several patients had to use a stick to walk a few yards!

    ‘What else can I do?’, I asked, ‘laughing gives more support than weeping’

    I had observed the power of laughing as a boy. There was a Rama Iyer, who worked as water carrier at the Olavakkode Railway junction. He was tall, seen bare chested mostly.

    ‘Mama, chiriyinkol – please laugh’. We, children used to request and instantly he used to produce a powerful, happy laugh for a few seconds. Probably, he had a minor nervous disorder but whatever it be, his action used to make us happy. Since then, I have never seen a man who produces laugh on request, instantly, happily.

    Invariably, I don’t laugh, except while alone, without a reason. I cut a joke at a lady who passed by, raising her sari much above her ankles, on seeing a small patch of water on her way. Her action reminded me another lady who pulled her sari -end away from me to ensure that it didn’t touch me if moved by the wind. There was no need for that as she was a meter away and unless there was a storm, the possibility of what she feared was not there! Over cautious was she, I thought.

    Had the present ‘madi’ lady asked me the reason for my laugh, I would have told her, ‘that much height is not required. A few centimeters above the feet would have been sufficient!’

    ‘You come back from America to observe the distance of the sari-hike of women passing through your front?’

    She would have certainly asked. As I had more valid reasons for coming back to my country, I would have explained those to her and by that time, the wet patch on the road would have gone dry and she could have gone back home without disturbing her sari.

    Dr. Reddy was perhaps right in using the word, ‘so loud’ . The
    lady’ s action didn’t merit a big laugh, perhaps. Yes, I feel now that I should not have laughed loud.

    once the laugh breaks out, it doesn’t go by any scale.
    That is the advantage of laughing. But, alas, all can’t laugh.
    Laughing is good for all, especially old people. The Lord of death will hesitate to come near. He wants people to weep. It hurts his ego, if his prospective victims laugh instead of weeping!

    ‘Are, Shivudu, navuthunAvA, naeanu evaru thelusa? You know who I’m, laughing useless fellow?’ He will ask me and also answer himself his query, while I continue laughing at him. ‘Yemadharma Raju- I’m Yemadharma raja!’

    ‘if you are a raja, you should come in a chariot or riding a horse!’

    He will have no reply. But while, going back home, he will muse and wonder why he was provided a dirty looking dark buffaloe and not a majestic bull or a smart bird like Garuda.
    My words will ring in his years for quite sometime. That is how we should be. Point out the poverty of the Lord of Death.

    Death is not everything. It is something, that is all.

    Im not interested in ‘something’.

  • Damn dirty

    A husband and wife fought in the neighborhood . Let them . Why did they marry after all, if not for fighting? But why should I be called to interfere? I don’t even know them! I enjoy such quarrels sitting inside my house near the door or widow so that I get a good view. But the other ladies called me to enter the battle ground. I went. After all, it was a Deepavali night. The crackers were not making enough noise to make me go crazy. If not during Diwali nights when do I go crazy?

    The next morning the second son of that couple came home and said, ‘uncle, you know why I pulled you back?’ Then, he showed the scar on his hand muscle and added, ‘my mother bit me last month. I don’t want you to be bitten by her’

    ‘Even dogs don’t bite me’, I said, ‘they don’t like my smell’

    ‘Uncle, it is not a joke, getting bitten by one’s own mother’.
    There was sadness in his voice.

    ‘Now I guess why your dad was shouting at her’, I told him.

    The engineering student replied calmly.

    ‘No, uncle. He slapped her as he was fully drunk’

    ‘Your dad is a drunkard ?’ I asked him surprisingly as he appeared to be a honorable man like me when I met him the other day, for the first time.

    ‘Now I guess why your mother went crazy’,  told him what I felt.

    ‘No, uncle’ said the elder son, in the final engineering, who entered. ‘They both got married only because of the compulsions from their relatives, not because they liked each other’

    ‘Now, I guess why you two sons are so reasonable, intelligent and smart’

    ‘No uncle’, they said together, clearly, firmly and with no tinge of anger in their voice. we want to show them that we can come up in life despite the damn, dirty environment’

    I still feel the force and hatred with which the boys pronounced the words, ‘damn dirty environment’ .

    I knew that they were actually cursing their parents and not their fate or environment  Please note that I didn’t say, ‘I guess’ this time.

    Allow your children to grow in a peaceful ambience. Otherwise, they will curse you throughout their life- ‘damn dirty’ !

  • Ammalu is always right

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    Cartoon courtesy  Ramki, Chennai.

    ‘Ammalu what is your problem if me, as an art lover, enjoy the artistic beauty of the straight lines and curves of kolams, while your friends light the Deepavali lamps?’

    ‘You are going beyond the curves and bends of kolam drawings. There the problem starts’


     

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    ‘Who is that woman boarding the Volkswagen?’

    ‘That is not a woman, not even a human. It is a dog. There is no green sari or Volkswagen there. The pet puppy is entering an auto ricksha with a red color body frame’

    ‘Auto rickshaw in America?’

    ‘We are not in America. We are in Hyderabad’

    ‘Ammalu, when did I land in India!’

    ‘I’m not Ammalu. I’m her mother’

    ‘OMG. No wonder why I was blabbering!’


     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Ammalu is always right

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    Cartoonist. Ramki of Chennai
    ‘While my grandmother was alive, she used to give me oil bath twice a week. Then, my mother followed that good practice. I had to simply sit on a stool; they applied oil, massaged all over the body and after half an hour washed from head to toe with cheekai powder and removed water with a dry towel. They both said, ‘your wife will continue this good practice. But that did not happen. Now, I have to take bath my self. What a pity, Ammalu!’

    ‘Say so! I was wondering how could one woman spoil you to this level of degradation! There were two behind your ruin!’


    ‘A bit more intelligence, a bit more beauty, a bit more managerial skill would have made you a wonderful wife, Ammalu’

    ‘To make you a good husband all those qualities are required. not in bits and pieces but in tons, SP’

    —————–

     


     

     

  • Olavakkode stories to my rescue

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    My wife trusted me but not my words. My teachers trusted neither me nor my words. My employer spent most of his time watching through the glass partition to see whether I was in my seat or not. Nothing abnormal in any of their behavior. But, my daughter, my only daughter, to whom I used to buy kadalai mittai, peanut toffees, for ten paisa everyday, disbelieving me?

    While driving to her work, every early morning she talks to me on FaceTime and today, she enquired whether I had followed her instructions on the treatment for my feet-itching.

    For the past one week, she has been asking me to apply coconut oil and then liquid moisturizers and then use socks, during day times.

    I ignored. I tried to turn her attention.
    ‘How bad is the early morning fog, over there?’

    ‘Don’t change the topic, please. Have you applied the oil and lotion I suggested and covered your feet or not? Say ‘yes’, say ‘no’.

    She didn’t give me time to think of an excuse and I had to instantly tell her a lie.

    ‘Yes, Konthai, I have.’

    ‘Show me your feet’

    That was an unexpected blow!

    ‘You drive carefully’, I tried to escape .

    ‘Appa, I asked you to show me your feet’

    No escape. I showed her my feet. I could dodge my wife, my teacher my employer, but not my daughter.

    Lo and behold! My feet were covered with socks.

    But how? I never wore. Is some MalayAlam mantravAdam roaming here without my knowledge?

    My face turned blue with fear but my daughter was pleased .

    ‘Good dad. Have you bought the medicine which I asked you to buy?’
    I didn’t. But I said ‘yes’ instantly, expecting the MalayAla mantravAdam to work.

    ‘Show me please’, she ordered.
    I searched the entire medicine chest. It was not there.

    ‘What do you say now? Why did you lie to me?’

    ‘Me, lying to you, my only daughter for whom I used to buy peanut toffees ( intentionally I didn’t use the old fashioned name ‘kadalaimittai’)

    ‘Ok, dad! Pack off from there. You have a serious memory problem and it is not safe to leave you there ‘

    ‘Memory problem? Are you kidding Aparna?’

    ‘I’m not. You forgot that you wore socks. You forgot that you did not buy the medicine. These lapses, despite my telling you everyday, for the past one week’

    ‘Shall I tell you the selected words with which your mom used to scold me, to convince you that my memory is as fresh as MuttaikAri’s mittais?’

    ‘MuttaikAri? Who is she?’

    ‘She was a Rajasthani woman from whom Appa bought our house some seventy years ago. There was rumor, a strong one, that she killed her husband who was a Brahmin, came to Olavakkode and started a mittai or sweetmeat shop. As a kid of eight, I used to enjoy the charm of her face, always glittering with a concealed smile and the folds on her long and fair hands falling generously’

    ‘Dad, you are talking to your daughter!’

    ‘So what? She was eighty then and me eight’

    ‘And what else?’ ‘

    Who won’t be captivated by my story telling skill! I continued:

    ‘She had a caged parrot, which used to talk often. ‘Rukmini, pAl konduva! Get me milk, Rukmini- was the parrot’s favorite usage, imitating her mistress.

    ‘Who was Rukmini? Another old woman, Mittai’s cattle shed caretaker. Rukmini used to sit in a corner of the back yard and smoke churuttu, country cigarette, spreading her long hairs, after completing her chores and a fresh bath every night. Banian Venkataraman, from Perinkulam, who halted for a night at our house, got up at midnight for easing his bladder and seeing smoke and fire emanating from her mouth, mistook her for a yakshi and screamed in fear. Shall I tell you about the skin folds which hanged on her dark hands?’

    ‘No need. Your memory is strong. You can continue to stay there. But, keep an your MalayAlam mantravAdi.’

    ‘Thank you konthai!

    ‘And don’t forget to buy the medicine I suggested’

    ‘Yes, konthai. Drive safe’

    PS. Imagination has negligible role in the Olavakkode story. In fact, I have narrated those incidents earlier in one of my blogs

  • Ammalu is always right

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    ‘Can you write one line in English, without eight mistakes, Ammalu?’

    ‘Mom said it was not necessary. ‘Learn to read’, she said. ‘It will help you to read your husband’s earlier love letters to his girl friends, which you should use as a tool to harass him’

    I did that, I used; I won’

     

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    ‘It is enough if you and me know my actual age. It is not necessary others, especially your friends and my former women colleagues to know how old I’m’

    ‘Ok. In case they ask your age what should I tell them’

    ‘Tell them I’m forty or fifty’

    ‘If they ask my age?’

    ‘Tell them you are seventy or eighty’

    ‘If they ask whether I’m your grand mother, what shall I tell them, paternal or maternal?’

    ‘Say eternal, you useless woman. Asking unwanted questions’

    ————————-

    Ammalu, you are perhaps under the impression that I was a
    ‘good for nothing’ guy during my early days and became a good man only after marrying you. Ah, ah! You want to claim credit for converting me?

    ‘No, Sir, I have no claim as I failed’


     

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    ‘Ammalu, ‘purusha kesari’, I’m . You know the meaning of kesari?
    You think it is the sweet dish your mom prepares on my Eakadasi fasting days. Pity your knowledge. ‘Kesari’ is Simham. Simham is lion. So, I’m a Purusha kesari means I’m a lion among men! Lion is the king of animals. Do you have any such titles? No. is any wife called ‘kesari’?. No. Pity your tribes’

    ‘The very mention of the word ‘ wife’ sends high voltage electricity through the veins and arteries of the lions like you. Where is the need to call us lions or leopards?’


    ‘Can you write one line in English, without eight mistakes, Ammalu?’

    ‘Mom said it was not necessary. ‘Learn to read’, she said. ‘It will help you to read your husband’s earlier love letters to his girl friends, which you should use as a tool to harass him’

    I did that, I used; I won’

    ——————–