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  • Teach him to hit back: Inculcate a small dosage of courage‏

     
    ” Teach him to hit back.” This was what I told a net friend, who followed my earlier suggestion to teach his child some simple hymns and asked how he should proceed further. He was taken aback;  I could hear his gasping for words.
     
    ” Sir, are you the correct person whom I wanted to talk to?.”  He continued as if by my mistake, he had entered a Hyderabad biriyani hotel, wearing an exposed sacred thread across his shoulders. ” Earlier you exhorted the importance of guiding children through the path of devotion and hitting or kicking was not a part of it.”
    ” Exactly.”  I conceded.” Retaliation was not a part of it but I want your son to be taught that art too. Let him learn a few more short hymns with meaning and then you can go to the next level. Simultaneously, you should teach him to be fearless and that includes hitting back , if necessary.”
    Another net friend was more outspoken, when he wondered, ” the other day you spoke like a saint and today..”.  I intervened and completed, ” and today, I am talking like a Satan, right ?”
    “Thank you sir, my wife wants me. ” He wanted  to escape from me, but I tried to detain him.” Young man, please ask her to pick up the parallel phone.”
    ” Sorry Sir, she never speaks on parallel connection,”  said the dutiful husband and  put down the phone. Now, let me explain to you why I wanted the fathers to inculcate a small dosage of courage into the veins of their children. I consider that as important as the knowledge on their culture, customs and class room study.
    All of you know that I am not a saint and a few know that I am not a Satan even. It is not an issue which affects you. It doesn’t even affect my own people because they are aware that I can neither do the good of a saint nor the harm of a devil. The issue here is not that at all.  My emphasis on emboldening the kids is due to my experience that at the individual and community level Brahmins are not as bold as others. I wish I am proved wrong.  All the other communities are united in their assessment that brahmins are spineless.f
    That blot has to be removed. In the olden days the Brahmins were revered as ‘Boodevas’ or gods on the earth, as they were unselfish and dedicated their life in prayers and for the welfare of the society.Today, they work for their own uplift. The devotional path I suggested earlier was to ensure a smooth sail and what I am advocating now is also for the same purpose. We are not even hissing now, when biting has become unavoidable  to save our self, our pride, our family, our stand in the society. Building your body to make it fit to resist diseases and hit back the one who hits you, is equally important as studying Vedas or sastras or singing hymns . I say this from my experience. If you disagree with me, you can put down the phone. Your wife might want you.
    Though born in the citadel of Kerala Iyers, Kalpathy, I was raised in a non-brahmin  environ, ours being the only brahmin family there. My father chose that place as business prospects were good there. Timber sales was prospering, as merchants from the neighboring Tamil speaking state, thronged . Our shop was near the Railway station and the floating public was a prominent source of business. Muslims formed a good percentage of the population, mostly doing menial jobs, railway porters, coolies and also as some shopkeepers, street vendors etc.  The timber brokers were mostly Muslims and right from my childhood, I had closely observed their skill in negotiating with the buyers and sellers and reach at a price acceptable to both. Once the transaction is struck, then starts the negotiation with the Railways or truck managers for transporting the wood to the respective destination. The mostly illiterate or semi literate Muslims exhibited unbelievable skill in negotiations and getting the work done. So were the moothans, pillais, Chettiars and others in the Palakkad angadi or wholesale market, which I used to visit often along with my father.  They had no pen power, Most of them didn’t know even to sign their names,  but their mind was sharp and their body was strong. The early experience with big and small  merchants helped me much  later, when I took up an entirely new profession, after my retirement in a senior position in the  Government service. That was selling clothes ! As the area manager of Bombay Dyeing company, I could negotiate with MDs and VPs of corporate houses for their requirement of uniform clothes for their workers  and also with small retail outlets with equal ease. Five years I worked in that capacity and obtained a number of saris for my wife at concessional rate. Chasing in hot sun, settus and mudalies is no hardship at all, if you can make your wife smile with a new Bombay Dyeing sari every other day !
    The Muslim kids were just ‘thrown’ to the market, soon after they completed their elementary schooling or preliminary training in the madarsas, religious schools. Mostly they had to feed themselves and even feed their parents and siblings soon they enter the teen age.The kids used to catch fish, bring vegetables from the Palakkad angadi and sell in retail, carrying them on their head in a basket initially, then in a bicycle or engage in other petty business like buying firewood from big shops and selling to tea shops and hoteliers. When boys from other communities complete the SSLC or enter the college , the Muslim kids would have started their own shops, though in a small scale. As they were forced to stand on their own legs, right from their first- alphabetical age, they had to struggle for existence and that helped them immensely to face the life courageously. They had to fight for their very survival. That made them, men. There is a saying in Malayalam, “Maappila kutty, mony kutty- Mulim boys are smart.”
    On the other hand, in the agraharam across the river, even in very poor families, children were somehow sent for studies and most of them did well and were able to complete the matriculation. They were given a lot of affection and the over protection, in some cases, made them meek. They were  obedient to their parents, a commendable quality no doubt, but excess obedience curtailed, at least in some cases, their ability to think objectively and analyze problems impartially.  The excess doses of god-fearing the ‘Ummachi kannaikuthum’ threat, and ‘don’t touch this, don’t touch that’ advises, all made with good intention on the part of the parents, contributed for the lack of intrepidity in the kids.They lacked the spirit of adventure.
     No doubt the children grew as ‘ideal’ sons and admirable students but their presence was scanty in play grounds or literary debates or college elections. By virtue of their abilities they should have been in the forefront in all the above fields, but they were mostly at the back seat, except in the classrooms. Those who had to stop their studies at the matriculation level, either joined as clerks, teachers or worked as gumasthas under the shopkeepers. Some got trained in shorthand and typewriting and caught the next available train to Bombay and prospered. Among them, how many took efforts to start their own business or work independently,  I do not know. Those who were forced to stay back and work under moothans and chetttiar or Muslim settus too had ample opportunity to start something of their own independently, initially in a small level which could have been expanded and enlarged in due course.Very few attempted that . However, many of our boys who joined as servers in hotels, opened their own shops with the support of their kind brahmin employers. General tendency was to stay safe under the patronage of the employer, instead of  venturing out  in the sun and toil. Avoid adventures and risk taking, was their general stand.
    “Sukama kulikkanam, chappadanam, thoonkanam. – nice bath, sumptuous food and sound sleep “- Simple and contented life That was their aim.”What else is required in life,?” you may ask.  Nothing more then. Not now.
    A farmer knows how to protect his crops by scaring the crows or killing the rats and pigs. Our children should know that.
    How to train them in scaring the crows and killing the pests ?These are some simple methods I find useful, from my personal experience. You are welcome to hear these suggestions or keep down your phone. Your wife might need you.
    1.Likes,dislikes, jealousy,affection, compassion, desires and all such characteristics accompany babies when they enter this world. Love them as innocent babies but treat them as grown ups. They watch your movements, hear your words and learn them when they grow and try to imitate you at a certain age and worship you for a short while and dislike you when you do something not to their liking. Never neglect your kids.”avan kozhanthai thanae, avanukku enna theriium- he is a kid after all, what does he know?” attitude of yours is not acceptable to him. Many of your words and behavior will be remembered by him till his last day. I am awestruck sometime at the questions my grand kids ask . We never dared to ask such questions when we were of their age and even many years latter. From the very early days, the kids  absorb what we say or what they see, and retain them  in their memory and question us when they come across a contrast or contradiction. So, behave in the presence of your child.
    2. When your kid toddles and falls, don’t rush to help him to get up. Let him raise on his own, doesn’t matter even if it ends in more slipping and continuous wailing. When you teach you kid swimming, you can only show the technique. You cannot swim for him.  He has to swim. The first step for that is regaining the balance on his own while toddling.
    3. In the initial stage, the parents first and then the siblings influence the child, most. All in the family are the role models for the kid.  A child  grown in an abusive atmosphere is unlikely to become a calm and compassionate adult. Never scream at anyone in the house, even at your wife, an innocent woman obeying your every word. If she is a type who retorts, naturally you will not shout at her but you will shout at the kid. Avoid that. He will retort when he grows up and you sag.
    4. Never beat your kid. You are at the wrong end of the stick if you use a stick to discipline your child.  ‘Kozhanthaikalai aditchu valarthanum’- is an outdated method. We raised four kids without hitting even once, without even screaming at them.  My father raised six of us by disciplining us just by rolling his eye balls and staring us for a few seconds. I like the type of punishment the parents award here, in USA. That is called ‘sit out’ . The kid is made to sit in a corner for 10 or 20 minutes, not allowing to mover or talk. For a honey bee- like vibrant kid, it is a big punishment. I don’t mind sitting in a corner for hours together. That is why I am not given that punishment by my children.
    ” Appa, will you stop singing for five minutes ?,” they request. They are intelligent; I raised them without the help of a stick .
    5.Allow the kid to play outside if you are satisfied that the area is safe. Let him earn the friendship of the Nature and see for himself the beauty of the sky, trees, birds and animals. The Nature is a big, benevolent guru.  Let him play with other kids.  If he comes home complaining that his friend hit him, ask him to return the hit next time. Don’t show excess concern at anytime, if he returns home, get hurt, even if he fractures a limb.Take him to a doctor and get the problem attended to. The kid should play, fight with other kids, fall, get hurt, get drenched in rain, get roasted in the sun, get used to all type of weather.  Make him weather proof. that is not done by encasing him in your sari folds or enriching him with unlimited pampering.  If you want him to grow into a healthy adult, efficient and responsible, helpful to himself and the family and useful to the society, allow him to face the waggeries of the weather, the waves of the ocean of life.
    6 Allow the child to talk and ask questions . Never say, ‘vayai moodu’ or shut up. many questions children ask are difficult to answer. Try to answer as many questions as possible and  as many times as required, patiently and intelligently. That will increase his inquisitiveness. The ‘Shut up’ order will dampen the spirit of questioning. Don’t be a land roller on his inquisitiveness . A grand daughter of my extended family, Anika (3 +) was repeatedly chatting seated on the back seat of the car and her mother, Aashu, who was driving the car was going on encouraging her. I didn’t question my niece, a medical specialist, why she was doing that stupid thing, which might divert her attention and also tire the kid, thought I wanted to, as I was trained to think before questioning. That waiting paid me. The kid was telling stories, fabricated from her own imagination and the learned mother was encouraging her.”You know mom, the huge Vancouver mountains developed their own wings and suddenly raised up, up and up and dashed the clouds, tushum, tushum and it rained filling the Vancouver lakes and, and, our house front, ah, I swam, I swam and Avuukth jumped into the water and flashed——” her story went on .
    7. Some kids might be hyper active like Ishaan, my sister’s grandson. He is in midway between 3 & 4, aggressive but extremely affectionate.  For a week end, my nephews and nieces had come to my eldest son’s house here, in Baltimore, as they do often.  My daughter in law was making dosai  and she served the first round to the mail members as is the usual practice. Little Ishaan, watching from a corner, was fuming in anger and dashed into the kitchen, pulled the dress of Meghana and in a voice mixed with anger and helplessness, yelled, ‘Amma needs dosai’. His mother’s eyes swelled with tears and mind with motherly pride. “Here is my son who will stand by me, when I grow old,” Mahima would have thought. Mothers who hear me will understand the sentiments better. Why only mothers, I hear you asking. Because, mothers are mothers and fathers are fathers. The grand pas, like me, become mothers, as we recall  the enjoyment and excitement we had as fathers, although long back, when we see the grands kids talk wisely or play naughty.  We were all happy though surprised at Ishaan’s  action in seeking justice for his mom, who was ‘starving’ while his father and his brothers were served the snack, one after the other. He could never watch and tolerate the ‘injustice’ done to his mom. You know how his parents are diverting that kid’s surplus energy? Apart from his usual per-school course, he is coached in soccer, swimming, Tennis and piano. Kids are power stations and that vital force has to be diverted to creativity. Thrashing them in anger is throttling their creativity.
    8..Never create an impression in the mind of the kid that the God is a school teacher with a stick or a police man with a gun.Teach him to love  God. Show him the sky, sun, moon, clouds and stars, if he question where the God is . Then he may ask why you are worshiping the idols in the temples and pictures in your pooja room. Tell him that they too are gods. If he grows with the knowledge that God is every where, he will love Him and NOT Fear Him..  One of the reasons for our men becoming my feather-minded, is the fear of God induced in them, in their childhood. They should not depend on God for every answer they write in the exam papers . I have seen Brahmin boys touching the feet of Ganesh or Saraswathy in the pictures on the writing pad they bring to the exam halls and reverently lifting that hand towards their head or eyes, before answering each question. This is not an exaggeration. Their parents should have instructed them to believe in their own strength. They could crack a coconut after they pass the exam, before the Ganpathy idol in the temple close to them.
    Allow them to grow as a powerful personality , having faith in their own strength, fighting their own battle. And fighting means kicking back if he is kicked and hitting back if he is hit. Train your kid for that. God will help him.
    Now, you may happily put down the phone. your wife wants you to prepare coffee. Don’t hit her, as she has not hit you. And nothing wrong in obeying the affectionate demands of your better half.  All brave men do that. You have become brave after reading this article.
    Baltimore,
    April 8, 2012
    Comments:

    Namaskaaram maama,
    Sowkyamaa?
    Adhputhamaa ezhudirukel!
    Bhuvaneswar
    ———————————————————————————————————-
    Dear friend,
    I read your message “to hit back’.  It was so interesting that I read it in full in one go.
    When one looks back, and thinks calmly, one does get a feeling that what you have said about the young Brahmin children’s rearing up.  While some of the actions of the elders are certainly useful, not allowing their children to be on their own, to face the world of reality later in their years, is perhaps a greatest disservice not only to themselves but to the growing generation of youngsters too,  We are presently in a world where talent alone is not enough, you should have other skills to succeed in life.  If a youngster is trained, from his early days, to be on his own, to think of his own, etc., it would enable him to face any situation.  Alas, we find, even today, that children are doted upon and only a very few children have the freedom to do things that they would love to do by themselves.  This has to change, and I am sure your message will bring about a radical change in the minds of every person – man or woman – the benefits of which would go not only to the ilndividuals, but also to those around them.
    Thanks a lot for the thought-provoking messasge.
    A. Venkatesh
    —
    D. Bhuvaneshwar

  • Porulankai

    I venture to write on a topic which I am familiar with – ‘porulankai’- that moderately sweet, round, eatable stuff, which your mother or grand mother prepares to delight your palate. I am sure that, this is a topic of interest to all of us here.
    Porulankai is not a ‘kai’ like thenkai, a seed or vazhakkai, a vegetable. It has nothing to do with podavalankai, though their names sound they are twin brothers. You know that they are opposite in appearance and character. I had a friend in my college, the Lab. attendant, Mathan panicker. He had nothing common with ‘mathan’, our pumpkin. That guy was lean like a ‘payar’ and tall like a panamaram, palm tree. Names can be deceptive often. Kunjukuttan was my classmate. He was neither kunju nor kuttan; was a Kumbakarnan in body-size and also in snoring. We often used to fight for the last seat in the last bench. So was another one, ‘Dayalan’ who was the most unkind, cruel friend, I ever had. He used to sit and weep in a corner when other children go near to wipe his tears, he used to kick them at their abdomen. Kicking at abdomen is one of the cruelest acts, as you know.
    Back to my topic again. Unlike his cine- star-stylish, fragrant, rich girl friend, Laddu, Porulankai is not endowed with a glossy skin or tempting projections and curvy features . What pains me most is that, even the gods go by looks. Otherwise, why do they accept laddu for neivediyam and not porulankai. Even dark skinned, dull faced appam is accepted by them, probably because of the shiny skin,  but I am yet to receive porulankai as prasadam from any temple.
    I am a Palkkadan porulankai, wheat skinned, hard to break and spicy in nature and my sahadharmini is Thekkan Maaladu, fair, frail and comely. Maaladu, as you know is a favorite item in Thiruvananthapuram area, golden- yellowish, soft to feel and breaks with a mild press. If you have a mamiyar from TVM, as I do, she might be bringing a dozen or two of those sandy, sweet balls when she comes to meet you. The problem comes when the stuff is too hard. The problem is for you and not for her. Her teeth, all, might be as strong as they were, when she brought out your wife to this world. And, what a wonderful product she has brought out! Long live mothers in law!
    I did some research on Porulankai as I thought it would be more useful than many topics of our current discussion.  I took the assistance of my friend Seshu, from Ambasamudram, who has crossed all the samudrams (oceans ) in the globe, as the caption of a commercial ship, as the subject of study is as complicated as, ‘whether Brahmins should eat brinjal or not’. Bye the by, you know why bringal is not to be eaten by brahmins? Because, there is egg in it ! That is why it is called ‘eggplant’. You are shocked and are in a hurry to find out the prayachithams for gulping different dishes of eggplant. There are experts in our group to help you. The harm already done cannot be undone.
    This is what Seshu says on porulankai:
    “Porulankai is not  Palakkadan. Its origin  is Thanjavur, Kumbakonam or Mayavaram. It accompanied the migrants to the bank of the Kalpathi river, as one of the food items, safely stored in the ‘mootai’ or cloth bundle, hung on the shoulders of the ‘pilgrims’.( The word ‘pilgrim’ is used to satisfy his ego, as he has a paper on the first migrants to USA, later named ‘pilgrims’.)
    The original name of this snack was porul valan kai – seed or substance full of ‘porul’ ( meaning, essence etc). What was that ‘porul’ ? Remember, our forebears had to undertake  an arduous journey on foot, lasting several weeks or months and  there was an urgent need to induct some courage into their blood so that they were bold enough at least to hiss if not to bite, while encountering  enemies en-route. The usual ‘thair sadam’,  innocent in looks and invertebrate in nature, was not the ideal food for that purpose, they realized. More over, like all  good things, its life is limited. So, in their wisdom, our worthy patties of yore, invented porulankai and added some chukkuppodi, powder of chukku or dried ginger into the dough so that the ‘satwa’ spice ingrains a bit of ‘Raajasa’ gunam or courage in their mail folk. This porul, ‘thathwam’ is the basis for the favorite snack to gain the name porulankai. It is the spice content that made it unfit for the consumption of gods., as the gods are ‘sathwiks’ and they eat porulankai only when they appear on the earth to kill demons.  ”
    The Tamizhan Seshu’s thesis hurt my Palkkadan pride and here is my version:
    Porulankai was indeed invented by a Palakkadan mami and it has derived its name from the word, ‘urulan’ in Malayalam, meaning round in shape.
    It is now for the learned members of this group to discuss and derive at a conclusion on this important topic. Please also discuss how ‘paruppu thenkai’ got that name, when there is no thenkai, coconut, in it? We two here are busy here, breaking our head to find out how ‘cheedai’ got its name.
    Baltimore.
    ————————————————————————————————————–

    A website of Tamil/Malayalam speaking brahmins, should essentially discuss the uniqueness that binds the brahmins  together – daily rituals, festivals, periodical ceremonies, food habits etc. Therefore, Porulankai eminently justifies its place in this website.
    Porulankai is sweet, but not sufficient enough for one to clamour after it nor does it induces fear in the minds of the diabetes brigade. Endowed with Blessings for long shelf life and sturdy physique, it may not have the seductive looks of Ladu or Halwa, as Shri Perinkulam laments. And yet, as we all know, plain Jane always make a better bride than coquet Caroline. Long shelf life makes it an ideal companion for distant journeys. Its other virtues are that it is dry and not sticky and hence parceling is easy. It does not boast of Atthar’s aroma nor can one condemn it as stinking snowball.
    Porulankai certainy owes it origin either to Thanjavur or Thirunelveli and certainly not Palakad.
    Thanks to Shri Perinkulam, the son-in-law of my Thiruvananthapuram, for provoking me.

    V.Mahadevan

    —————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–
    Dear Siva anna
    What an excellent write-up on a sweet bomb that is relished by one and all for its hardness, flavour and taste….’Poruvalangai’?????  Its indeed a difficult sweet to make, but if eaten in the afternoon around 4 PM at TEA time, it cannot be beaten by anything.
    I should really admire and appreciate the topic that you have chosen to write about when the serious discussions on child marriage, when to perform Poonal and what not to eat or how many times Sandhyavandanam in the forum.
    When I told my daughter about the impending marriage decision to be made at an age when the children are just kids…….’she says its nothing but kiddish’.  How can the parents decide on their young ward whose horoscope itself is not done yet, but think about marriage alliance……?  Is not it ridiculous?  Are we going back to the stone age or 18th century?  What happened to all the scientific developments and education that we gained over a period of time?  This is what they have learned??????
    We brahmins are INDEPENDANT thinkers and can decide themselves but of course suggestions and advices are always welcome.  These old schools’ books of thoughts will never be accepted by youngsters of today.  But those who wish to continue, let them do so and are free to do so.  Let them not force them on others.  Today’s girls are SMARTER than the MENFOLK and will definitely have their own views on their life and we can only guide them in the right path not with force but with love and education.
    I have been seeing in the forum which always advises what the women of our community to do, how they have to do, how their mothers did, what the present women not doing, etc. etc. and showing women always in a negative perspective.  Still the MEN EGO takes the driver’s seat in the community and in the forums as well.  WHY this kolaveri against our women where women are worshipped by one and all and above all by our Sringeri and Kanchi periava in the form of Goddess Saradambal and Kamatshi?
    If a boy did not get alliance, the next immediate bow goes against the girl and her mother.  What about the mother of the groom?  Still how many atrocities these so called husbands and their mothers carryout against the new woman of their house / life?
    When I go thru the matrimony, many grooms based abroad write “presently on assignment in XXXX place, will go back after 3~4 years to be with my parents”…… so the girl has to forget about her parents [both girl and boy are shown equal love and education without any parity].  I am reading in many Ladies forum, how the husbands’ mind and behaviour change once they see their parents / esp mothers in a weird way?  If he is not level headed and be neutral why do they even get married?  Let them be a bachelor……
    Why every one wants a simple, slim, fair, respect to elders, domestically trained, employed girl as wife / DiL……….. and what not to treat her like a product life long without any respect?
    With the heated topics making rounds, its a SIGH of RELIEF to read the mail on a very common sweet Poruvalangai with humour…………is an icing on the cake.  I loved the intro given about your class mate and friend too in the discussion.
    Its beautiful and thanks again.
    Kind Regards
    Shanti Subramanian
    5-4-2012

    April  2, 2012
    Comments:
    The article porulankai is enjoyable.
    A joke to relish
    Regards
    K S Subramanian
    Hello Mr. Sivasubramanian, let me add something to your mail. I am sure the original name must have been PORUL VILANGA URUNDAYI!! to prove its mysterious appearance, taste, hardness etc.
    Sundarajan

  • The smell of the soil – chapter 10

    “Appa, I fail to understand why you should be so remorseful,?” asked Ramya, unable to find better words to solace the wounded soul. “You had no other go than doing what you did. The circumstances were so tiring, inescapable.”‘”Your acts were least selfish, solely to satisfy the minimum needs of a dying father.”  Consoled Chami.”If I were in your situation, I too would have acted the same way,” reacted Seshu.The remaining two, Ramu and his mother, sat silently, unable to find a single word to console the deeply depressed man, they themselves struggling to come out of the weight of the load compressing their souls.Ramya prepared some hot coffee quickly which everyone enjoyed as a stress-reliever.Swamy continued:Next time, before coming to the hospital, I went to meet Gowder, having decided after a prolonged mental war, to seek a hand loan. I explained to him that father was in a bad state and an advance of fifty rupees would be extremely helpful. He handed over the amount and when I hurried to assure that it would be returned soon in installments, he was kind enough to respond, ‘Periaya samiyai nalla pathukkunko. panathai nan pathukkaraen- you take care of your father- I will take care of the monetary part.””Swamy vanthirukkan-Swamy has come.”  Mother, sitting near him, informed Appa.”Asthiyai odara vellathlaem podanam- my ashes should be immersed in flowing water too. ” His voice was low but not very incoherent.
    The next  instruction was, “kaathilaenthu kadukkanai eduthu ennodu kaariyathukku eduthukkunkol- remove my kadukkans, ear tops and use the money for my last rites ”
    We never wanted to do that. Gowder’s assurance was a ‘chumai thaanghi’ a weight supporter.
    Two days continued liked that. I spent most of the time sitting with him reciting ‘Vishnusahsranamam’. His facial reaction, sometime, told me that he was hearing the mantras. I was not sure. But his lip movement had stopped. I realized that slowly that light was waning. Amma poured a few drops of Gangajalam to wet his tongue and also asked me to do the same. I did that and also whispered the panchakshara mantram into his right ear. I could virtually see that soul leaving the body, or I thought so, when his breathing slowed down and stopped.
    ‘Appa poyatchu, vizinthu namskaram pannu.”  Said  Amma, after she  prostrated at his feet. I did so and while getting up, touching  his feet, I remembered, how every time I prostrated before him, he used to bless me, lift me up, holding my shoulders and hug me close to his broad chest.
    Krishnaswamy Gouder was waiting near Appa’s bed. He too prostrated and gave me some cash. ” Ayyarae, Pitchandi will be with you and send him to me whenever you want any help. ” He said pacifying me, ” I have to leave now for Coimbatore on some urgent work and shall see you on return.”
    The total cash I had including Gouder’s latest contribution was seventy rupees which was just sufficient to meet that day’s expenses. I did not want to sell Appa’ s  kadukkans as I want to keep them as a parting gift for the family, from him.
    “What about chithappas, your siblings?” enquired Ramyu, ” they didn’t come to see thatha”.
    “They could not come. One was in the hospital with a broken rib and the other immobilized at home with some viral attack,” Sundram clarified, ” they had sent some money but it reached only after a week.”
    Pitcahandi was the only one to accompany me to the cremation ground other than the vaadyar and his people who carried the dead body.
    I recalled several instances when, hundreds of pandits used to follow Appa to the Yagasalas .The memory of several villagers crowding our house- frontage during the festival time to seek his suggestion and advice also filled my heart. Had his death occurred in our village, his last journey would never have been so lonely.
    After paying vaadyar his dakshinai for that day, the balance amount I gave to Pitchandi for buying fuel for incinerating the pyre. While the tongues of the fire were growing
    towards the sky, I imagined that Appa’s soul was transcending beyond the borders of this world. How often he used to grow the sacred fires for homams !The fire waves were slowly receding. Alas, there was no enough fuel ! And I didn’t have a pie with me !
    While I was looking at the sky, not knowing what do to do, Pitchandi, pulled out a handful of varatties, cow dung cakes, from the heap piled before the caretaker’s hut, which was in the same premises but a few yards away.  When he, stealthily pulled the second lot, the caretaker came rushing, shouted, “thiruttu rascal_ you wretched thief,”  and was about to slap him. Instantly the caretaker’s wife came out of the hut, and yelled at her husband, ” eriyaratu pappanda, pavi. It is  a Brahmin’s body which is on the pyre.”  pushing her husband aside, she threw enough firewood to feed the fire to complete the job and turning towards him, said in a pathetic voice, ” En vayathilae oru pootchi, pottu valarallae, you could not give me an off-spring, who knows that this Brahmin’s blessing will not fulfill our desire ?”The next day when I went to collect the ashes, I gave Kuppamma, the caretaker’s wife some ten rupees, which I had borrowed from a friend but she refused to accept.
    The Brahmin’s blessing did fulfill her desire. An year later, when we were sitting on the front veranda , after  completing the first anniversary rituals , Kakkamma came to our house, with a sweet, tiny baby in her arms.
    ‘Ithu Ayya kudutha arulinka- this is the blessings of your father and you should give him a good name.” Kumbhidaromungo” the baby’s father who appeared from a corner where he was standing as a mark of respect, came forward and  kept a bunch of tender coconut seeds, probably from the tree behind his hut, before us, and pulled back reverently.Without any hesitation, I called the baby,’Dharmaseelan’ and rewarded that happy couple with some cash, clothes and food.
    ” How did you manage funds for the remaining rites spreading over more than ten days ?” enquired, Ramu,” you asked for help from your boss?”
    “No, I sold Amma’s mangalsootram,” Swamy replied with no regret in his voice, ” anyway, its purpose was over.”Little Swan rushed weeping, from his bed  towards his grand pa and demanded, ” thatha, tell me too, a nice story””Sure, my jewel.”  Swamy made him to lie on his lap and told a story of a happy family where there was plenty of food to eat, wardrobe full of clothes to wear and piles of firewood and cow dung cakes in the cowshed to feed the fire.
    ===================================================================================
    Comments:
    The heart feels heavy after reading this.
    Great Story.
    Authentic.
    I can smell the soil.
    Regards
    GV
    ——————————————————————-
    Hi Shiva

    As always every thing has to end !!!
    we will miss your story till you pen another
    But the ending of this one was was very emotional
    Did these things happen to your near and dear ones or is it imaginary
    take care
    regards
    Ramani krishnan

  • The smell of the soil – chapter 09

    T
    ” No doubt, one would like his parents to be with him, for ever,” Seshu said to Swamy ,” but your Appa lived long, lived like a yogi  and was it not time for him to call it a day, drop down his mundane frame and leave for paralokam, the other world, ?” he asked.
    “You are right,” I agreed, but I didn’t want him to die at that time for the simple and shameful reason that I didn’t have a pie even for his cremation, leave away the thirteen days-long rituals, following that.  Gowder  would have given some advance, but how to ask when I hardly worked for him only for a few days . And it was also against the principle Appa had taught me .”
    Evey one felt extremely sad.  Ramu and Ramya were shocked to hear that revelation. Ramu knew before, that his father was financially broke but had never realized the situation was so lamentable.
    ” What a pitiable condition, Appa!” Ramya mourned. ”hmm, then what else did patty say ?” She asked. Ramu and Cheenu looked at each other sharing their mental disturbance . Seshu lodged his right forefinger on his nose to share others concern.
    Fear, fertilized by intuitions and imaginations, was growing like a huge palm tree in Amma’s  mind and she was so alarmed as if she was seeing the fast approaching death, like a monstrous predator, right before her.
    ” ‘Swamy, I am telling you honestly,” my  mother, with a heavy heart and swollen eyes, told me. ” something deep in my heart tells me, that Appa is going to leave us soon, to reach paramapadam (salvation) which he has been talking about,  more frequently these days. When I closed my eyes for a moment, sitting in a corner, a woman with disheveled hair and devoid of kumkum- dot on her forehead, appeared  at  the front gate and asked for alms. I went with a handful  of rice and a small coin, she didn’t accept them but pointed her finger at my mangalsutram and asked for that. I do not remember now whether it was a dream or my illusion but she was not there when I opened my eyes. Your Appa is an astrologer. Ask him the position of  planets in his horoscope” She thought for a moment and continued, ‘don’t do that. He may suspect that we doubt about his longevity.’
    ‘Amma, rub off all these apprehensions which are nothing but the product of your weak mind and superstitious beliefs”  I advised her but suddenly paused for a moment, as that ‘something deep in mind’ laughed at me and ridiculed,” Swaminatha, you are not speaking truth, again. Didn’t you shiver with fear, when your father told that he saw your grandfather standing at the entrance of the hospital ward ?’
    Amma wanted to see father . When we went near his bed, his eyes were closed and lips were moving as he was silently doing some ‘japam’, Vishnusahasranamamam, perhaps .
    “Appa, mother has come to see you’ I told him. He gave out a hand signal asking her to take a seat . His lips continued to move. After a while, his eyes opened up when he  whispered at her ears, ” I could not keep up the promise I gave to the Agnibagavan, the god of fire, at the time of our wedding  that I would treat you like a  queen in my house. You were no better than a maid servant . In the next birth if I get a chance, I will repay my debt. Help me by praying for that.’
    “‘Amma couldn’t say a word in reply. She wiped off  his tears with her sari tip, took his right hand towards her head, gazed at him reverently, got up, sat on the floor near his feet, held them close to her chest , slowly placed her head at his feet and sat motionless, closing her eyes, like a statue.
    ” ‘Swaminatha, konjam elaneer konduva- get me some tender coconut water, I feel thirsty’ Appa muttered, lifting his right palm and directing his thumb towards his partially opened mouth.
    I put my hand in my pocket, there was not a pie in it . Before coming to the hospital, whatever I had in the wallet was handed over to Pichandy, Gowder’s servant,  for buying the school uniform, books, bags etc for the children. I wanted to go to Gowder’s house on the way to hospital and ask for a loan but didn’t do so as Amma was with me. I blinked for a moment looked around and noticed that there was a tender coconut seed  near the adjacent bed . Amma was still at Appa’s feet placing her head on them. I did not waver for a minute. Picked up that coconut, cut it open, transferred the water into a glass and slowly poured into Appa’s mouth, drop by drop, to the last one. His face  glew with satisfaction.”Namma aathu thenkaiyodu neer ethra madurama irukku. Devamritham than !- the water of the coconut from our backyard tree is so sweet, like divine nectar’ ‘nee nannaa iru, Swaminatha. you will never suffer in life’- Appa blessed me.
    Then, he explained in a low voice, supplemented by his hand movement, how his father brought the coconut seed from their own farm  and planted it at their back yard on an auspicious day, when a garuda bird flew over their head. “Look, look, there is garudan flying below the Pazhani hill, which I can see from here, ” he chased me, ” go and see outside, worship the divine bird .”
    I went out  to satisfy him; there was no bird in the sky but came and told him a lie again, ‘ yes, appa. Garudan is flying across the Pazhani hills.’
    Then I went out again, blew on my head with palms and wept, ‘Appa, lies after lies, appa lies after lies.’
    The son of the old man adjacent to Appa’s bed called me, from inside and asked, “Sami, did you give the coconut water to my father ?”
    ‘Amam appa. yes, I did. He asked for that and I gave him”
    ‘Romba nantri, romba nantri” he expressed his gratitude folding his hands at his chest, with unexplainable satisfaction and reverence and said, ‘ my father has passed away just new. How lucky he was to drink water from the hands of a sacred brahmanan!’
    I shrunk under the weight of unbearable shame. The son believed my lie. But the soul that just departed would never pardon me.
    “Lie, after lie, Appa; lie after lie appa ” I wept inconsolably that night.
     


  • The smell of the soil – chapter 08

    Soon after the boys returned from their work, Chami asked his father to get ready to return home, after food.
    “Let Seshu stay for two more days,” Swamy requested.
    ” Yes, Charm, “Ramu seconded his dad and told his friend, ” You proceed now. I will drop your dad this week end “
    “No problem,”  Chami consented, “bring your parents too .”
    At the dinner table, Chami raised the issue of the hospitalization of Ramu’s grand pa. “Mama, tell us what happened, before
    I leave”   He requested Swami.
    ” Why are you anxious to know about the horror, I went through.” Swamy said, nodding his head  to say, ‘no’ .”Let it die with me. “
    “Appa, how long are you going to carry that albatross on your neck” Ramu asked and pleaded, “share with  us. you will have some relief.”
    “And Appa,  we should know our family history.” Ramya too requested.
    After food, Swamy continued the story of his plight soon after coming to Pollachi.
    ” ‘Speak, truth; speak always truth; speak truth under any circumstances.’  This was Appa’s first dictum to his children, much before teaching us the alphabets. The second one was, ‘ never accept anything from an outsider, given free;  and never aspire for others property, under any circumstances.  And the third was, ‘ walk holding your head high and straight and bend it only before your elders, gurus or any respectable living being  and God. “
    Appa, had followed his own rules, till his end, but I deceived him. “
    He paused for a moment and clearing the sweat on his forehead with his upper cloth, continued.
    “On the day he was admitted in the hospital, the first question my father asked me was, ‘paisa irukkoda ?’ -Have you enough money for the treatment ? “
    “Yes, Appa” I replied without blinking. That was my first lie to him, as the amount I had, was meager.. Probably that noble soul knew my financial condition and that was why he didn’t last even a week. That night, we hardly slept as he was continuously talked despite  his irregular breathing and irritating body pain.  ‘ I was no doubt a pauper, often afflicted by the biting poverty but my unflinching faith in God and repeated recitation of hymns , was a great rejuvenatory aid. It was like wearing a spotless veshti, after bath and applying viboothi on the body and remaining serene throughout the day…”I am clean, physically and mentally- I always use to feel and that feeling stood like an indomitable watchman at the the main gate of my mind.
    ‘It was not easy to lead the life, I lead. There were several  diversions ready to overtake my principles and several attractions to subjugate my determination to follow the virtuous path. My unscrupulous adherence to religious and spiritual principles  harmed unpardonably and irrevocably the interests of my wife and children. Had I chosen to work even as a gumastha, as you are forced to,  now, your mother would have had more than a couple of saris, which were her only assets apart from her mangalsoothram and metties. She would have perhaps hoped for the  minimum comforts a wife, mother and housewife was entitled for but I failed to provide even that. She would have perhaps, cursed me. Who knows the mind of women ? What is the purpose of being a wife when her husband could not provide a square meal a day and a new cloth once a year?
    ‘You and your brothers did well in studies and you would have received merit scholarships too, had I sent you to college. Had there been an institution for higher studies close to our village, I would have certainly allowed you to go, but to send you to Palakkad was an impossible task then, as I had no means of meeting your hostel expenses.
    ‘Come close to me,’ he directed and continued,’ Rasu vaadyar told that our land has gone and that was the main reason for you to leave the village and come here to work. I have no complaints. While leaving our ancestral house I knew that I would never be able to go back and live there. That was why I collected a handful of mud from there, placed on my head reverently and another handful I have brought with me which is placed in our pooja room in a small earthen pot. Throw that mud on my body, before you light it up, so that it will carry the smell to my next birth.’
    ‘Appa,asambandham pesathunkol- don’t talk non sense; you are hail and hearty and I will take you home in a couple of days’  I protested, but he continued.
    ” Your wish will not be fulfilled . Death is awaiting at the threshold of this building to carry me away from you. Appa came in my dream two nights before and asked, ‘Konthai Vishnusahasranamami japitchukko-you can start reciting Vishnu sahasranaamam. His tall frame, thick tuft, forehead, broad chest and hands with white horizontal triple straight and bright lines, is still visible to me now.
    “Appa turned to the front door of his ward as if he was looking at some one standing there and continued, ‘ thank god, he is still there; he will not go without me. Swamy you go and fall at the feet of your grand father. He is a great soul’
    ‘And do not forget to spread my ashes on the cremation ground near our village pond  where  the leftover of  our ancestors are mingled, irrecoverably,after dropping a spoonful in our pond.You need not go to Kashi or Triveni.  Go, say abhivadhayae to thataha” .
    I placed my hands on his forehead and called the nurse to check the body temperature . It had suddenly shot up.
    The nurse called the duty doctor and an injection was given.” Let him sleep. If you wish, you can go home , refresh and come back.” the doctor advised.
    While walking towards home, I remembered that I too had a dream a couple of nights before. A brahmanan of Appa’s description stood before me and instructed,’ Swamy poonal edam pottukko’  -change your sacred thread to the other shoulder”.
    For the first time since Appa was admitted in the hospital the fear that we might lose him gripped my soul . Added to that was Amma’s fearsome words that there were bad omen when father was taken to the hospital. ” One of the pictures from the wall of the pooja room slipped from the nail and fell on the floor. Its glass frame shattered .Moreover, my left eye has been fluttering for no reason. Ennodu thali balam poyatchuda Swamy-I am going to lose my mangalsootram’”
    The  cyclonic storm  has started.

  • The smell of the soil – chapter 07

    A road in Moncombu. Buses ply to changanchery on this road


    After Swamy’s pooja lasting for an hour, Seshu showed mami how to operate the dish washer, washing machine, coffee percolator and other appliances.
    “Despite Ramya’s instruction not to handle these devises, I want to you learn the usage, so that you need not depend on her for minor kitchen activities.” He said to her. ” More over, will you allow her to cook, when she is on her monthly menstrual periods?”
    ” Siva, Siva-never” she replied, closing her ears with her palms,
      .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                refusing to hear a word more on that topic.
    “To stand on your own legs, is the first thing you should learn in this country, because the youngsters are fully engaged during day time and even at night, they might have some pending office work to complete at home” .
     Seshu said, entering the main hall and after all were seated.”  In India, while driving though a city or village , you can stop your car and ask for the route. Here in highways, you have to go by your road map or mechanical guide, as there will be none on the road , to show you the way.  Moreover, you cannot stop the vehicle at seventy miles speed, anywhere and every where you like.  At the most, you can enquire in a gas station, that is our petrol bunk. Without knowing driving, you are a bird with no wings. Men and women in their eighties and nineties  drive their own vehicles, shop in malls, collect their provisions and load in their vehicle. None with a bamboo basket on his head carrying your load will be behind to help you, as we see in our towns. The shopping complex is away from the apartments and as you do in our place, you cannot walk down to buy milk or vegetables, putting a thorthumundu, towel on your shoulder. And no hawkers with push carts in front of your house. you cannot  stop a taxi or auto as we do in our towns, as there are no autos or cabs on the road . In the busy New York city taxis ply and you can hire them on the spot.  public transport is available freely there, and in most of the other cities, office goers have to use only their own cars.”
    “Oh, athu periya budhimuttachae- it is really difficult, then”  remarked Swamy.
    ” Appo sayantharam denam kovilukku poka sathikkathu- I can’t go to temple every evening.” lamented Mami, with a gloomy face.
    ” I cannot go out even for a walk as the weather is bad ” Swami worried, “does it mean that whole day, we sit inside the house looking at each other’s face”
    “Why not? your faces have not lost their charm yet” Seshu chuckled. “I will teach you to operate the computer. you both can learn within a few days. That devise is my constant companion. You can read your newspaper, hear music and send mails. By four,  Swan will be here with his mom. Then it is velai and pooram-festival here.”
    “Inke jasthi thaangathu- we may not stay long here,”  remarked mami.
    ” You will continue to stay because this is your life-center, where your son and his family are . You will be prepared to sacrifice, as I am doing, all your other favorites  and would prefer to stay here . In due course, your longing for the smell of your soil will vanish.”  Seshu remarked, a naughty smile illumining his face.”
    The couple delved into deep thoughts and after a while, Swamy asked, ” Seshu, what will you do, in a situation where you physical facilities neither permit you to travel to USA or make unsafe to live alone in our village.?
    “Vrudhasramam- home for the aged. I have already decided on that” Seshu was categorical in his statement.
    “There, at least some one will lift you up if you slip on the floor or face a stroke, and take you for medical assistance. At your own home , if you fall on the ground,  your wife cannot lift you and if she falls, you cannot lift her.  You may come out and shout for help and someone might come but no vehicle will be available or the hospitals might be ill equipped. Moreover, in the home for the aged, all are aged and therefore, you have many things to share, including your regrets of the past, retardation of the present and the uncertainty of the future.”
    “What is there to he uncertain?” asked Swamy and chuckled.
    “That is true,” Seshu agreed, ” anyway, it is too early for you to think about that, as you are now OK and Ramu will never allow you to go to Vrudhasramam”.
    “You are right mama, I will never admit them in the Home for the aged”, Ramu, who entered, overhearing the conversation, from the kitchen side door, after parking his vehicle, said.  ” I will transport them here somehow every six months, obtain green cards so that they can live here indefinitely and go with us to India occasionally. And if they insist on staying at our native village, I will provide enough support, by hiring people at whatever be the cost. If that too doesn’t work, we will resign our jobs here, work in some cities in India and keep our parents with us.”
    His parents were so proud of Ramu and tears swelled in their eyes.
    ” Ramu,  You are a worthy son and we are all proud of you”  Seshu, shook Ramu’s hand in appreciation and then without losing his composure, added, ” remember, it will be a Herculean task for you to act as you desire, as there is a third party in the game. Your little son, whom you would prefer to be educated here. Anyway, let us not worry about that now.
    In my case, I have made up my mind, whatever be the objection from my son that my last resort will be the home for the aged, where I can breathe my last, smelling  the earth, which gave birth to me and my ancestors and my leftover can mix with that soil. I do not want my son or his wife or child make any sacrifice for me.”
    “So, the smell of the soil is haunting you too !” Ramu asked smiling, and opened the back  door.” OK, take care, I was passing this way and just walked in to see, how you are doing “
    “Chappittuttu poda , Ramu-eat food and go” requested his mom.
    ” No time now, mom.” In a few seconds, the crunching noise of the garage shutters rolling down, was heard.
    At four, when Swan returned along with his mother, rushed to his room and made sure that all his cars were in tact.
    “Old people are nice, no doubt, but that doesn’t mean that I can trust them with my cars,” he mused and then, in a flash, he was with them, holding their hands and commanding, ” come on, I will take you to the  restroom.”
    Children keep up their words though they do not compromise on their toys.
    Comments:
    I had ample time  this morning when I went thru ‘ the smell of the oil chapter7 and8
    and the flow of language is like a lullaby. What you have described is verbatim is
    the true state of life in U.S.A How do you find time to thatch the flowers into fragrant
    strands which do not wilt for a very long time. One story is entirely different from the
    other. You do not employ the situations conceptualised in new stories. You are
    highly imaginative and thinking.
    Where are you now? in Hyderabad? or in U.S.A?
    anyway I am one of your ardent fans.keep writing.
    with best wishes
    pc ramabadran


  • The smell of the soil – Chapter 06

    The next day being a working day, Ramya got up at six, had her shower, lighted the lamp before the deities, spent a minute or two in silent prayer and was ready in the kitchen to attend the morning chores. Coffee with breakfast was served to the youngsters, who awoke at 6.30, soon after they finished their shower and dressed up for office. Three lunch packets for the office goers, a small packet for the kid and lunch with normal dishes the elders prefer, were also ready, by seven. Then, she herself dressed up for office and woke up the kid, gave him a shower and by eight all the youngsters were ready to leave for work and the kid to be dropped in the pre-schhol, on the way to Ramya’s workplace.
    “How swiftly and efficiently this girl works!” wondered the elder couple, though they were sad that the tender -age kid,  had to be woken up so early and sent to school.
    “This is the age for him to sleep” commented in a sad tone, his grand pa. “If not now, when will he sleep ?” the same opinion the grand ma expressed in different words.
    “These are common here,” consoled their friend, ” life starts early here; you will get used to it in a few days. In fact, it is good that children are practiced to wake up early and persuaded to sleep early”
    “Why persuasion ?” chided Swamy, still unhappy that Swan was denied his due morning slumber.” They will automatically slide into sleep, when they are woken up so early in the morning. Did you send your child to school before he was five .?” He asked his friend.
    “I didn’t and you too didn’t because they grew in a village in India” replied his friend .”If we were in Delhi or any other metropolitan city, we too would have woken up our kids by 6 or 7 in the mroning and sent to school before 8.0. And Swamy, Swan goes to play there and he enjoys that; he also gets a nap of an hour or two. There is no need for you to worry and keep your face so grim and puffy ?”
    “Will they beat the kid ?” inquired the grand ma, the worry now trans-placed to her face.
    “Not only the teachers, even the parents cannot slap or ill treat children here” Seshu assured. The two shrunken old faces   glistened.
    ” So, seniors!”  Ramu greeted the elders while leaving for his work along with Cheenu, and gave some instructions.
    ” Do not open the main door, come what may. Our contact numbers are neatly pasted on the wall of the fridge and call us, if needed. No need to answer commercial calls  and no need to worry, if you are unable to follow the pronunciation. Don’t venture a  stroll outside.
     Ramya or me will keep calling you once or twice.”
    “Why did he say, ‘don’t open the door, come what may?’ Inquired Swamy, ” will someone enter and shoot us with a pistol, as we see in pictures ?”
    ”That possibility is not there in this area, which is safe .” replied Seshu. “The inside temperature is regulated by a mechanical device, which will get upset if the door is opened. More over, the cold breeze will enter in and make you uncomfortable”
    “If some one wants to come in or we wanted to go and say hello to the neighbors?”
    “No chance for both” Seshu clarified again with a smile sailing through his face, “none comes without prior notice unlike our place, where people going for a stroll enter, enquire welfare and enjoy a cup of hot coffee from manni’s hands or a pan-chew from your casket. Even, we came yesterday with prior notice. The neighbors are strangers for you and you cannot knock their door and when they show their face, say ‘hello’ or ask, ‘how many children you have’ ? ‘”
    “Amma, you have to prepare only rice for neivediam for Appa’s Sivapoojai. I have told you how to use the rice cooker and oven and don’t light the lamp or stove.” Ramya’s instructions followed. “The lamp is already lit and it will last till evening. No need to wash any vessel, leave them in the sink. I will switch on the  dishwasher, in the evening. No need to switch on the washing machine too, just leave the soiled clothes in the basket.”
    She, then  asked Swam to hug the seniors and say ‘bye’, which the kid did with elegance and love. Then , on his own, he was about to fall at the feet of his grand parents when they stopped him,  satisfaction surging from their heart that the kid was trained to follow the traditional path of respecting the elders.
    “Thatha, you can take any car you want, and play.” Swan gave permission, then paused for a moment and suddenly realized that he was too liberal , came back, turned towards both the grand parents and suggested,”You take one car, the blue one and give thathi, the red one” After taking a few steps towards the exit, he returned again and looking sympathetically at Seshu, suggested, ” thatha, you too take one car, any color you like “
    “Thanks ra Kanna” All the three elders attempted to hug the child but he vanished like a lightning .
    ” I will pick up Swan from his school, on my way back from the office and will be here by four.” Ramya told the elders, while closing the car windows after occupying the driver’s seat. ” your sons will not be back before seven”
    ” Ithu enna vesham da Seshu ? ” What type of dress is Ramya wearing, ?” mused swamy, alarmed at the dress of his daughter in law, after her left.
    “This is how the working women dress up,” Seshu explained, “there is a dress code for every thing here. Wait for summer,you will see how men and women don,  to expose their body and not to cover it. Summer is a festival and they want to enjoy every ray, when the sun is not harsh.”
    “Maha mosam” commented mami, “can’t Ramya wear a sari and go to work ?”
    “Manni, that is not done; Sari is not a convenient wear to drive the vehicle or move freely up and down the elevators and escalators. More over, that is not an accepted wear in most of the offices. Do you know that the ladies here do not even use hair oil, as the customers and co workers do not like pungent smell ?”
    “Pottu illai, poo illai, valai illai” Mami complained that Ramya was not wearing bangles and her head and forehead are barren.
    “Mami, pottum poovaum vetchukkindu inke velilae ponal, ellarum avalaithan paruppal -if she goes out with all those usual adorations of women in India, everyone in the street and office will be staring at your daughter in law.Will you like it? ” asked Seshu.
    “Vaideeka kudumbham” lamented the couple in unison, ” Viswanatha khanapatikal pon, Swaminatha sastrigal mattuppon!- daughter and daughter in law of Vedic pandits . How shameful!”
    “How is your daughter in law ?” Sundaram wanted to know, “does she too don jeans and shirt, or whatever you
    call   it ?”‘
    “All working women are like that, Sundu” — clarified Seshu, bringing some brightness on the faces of the couple.
    The telephone rang and Swamy picked it up. ” Appa,  Ramya here. I just dropped Swan in the class and he wanted  to tell  you that you can play with any number of cars . He also liberally allows you to use other toys too, if you like them. One more instruction from him- ‘vizathunkol -don’t slip on the restroom floor, as Appa was warning you yesterday. I will come and hold your hand as I did  and till then, don’t enter there’.”
    The old couple pushed away in a corner, all their adverse remarks on their daughter in law’s attire  and enjoyed the affection, kind treatment and generosity of their grand son, while their eyes swelled. Even a thousand dollar cheque form their son would not have made them so happy.
    Words, especially form a sincere heart and a  sweet, silken tongue of a close one , subjugate several sour feelings.
    COMMENTS:
    I enjoyed reading Smell of the soil chapter 7; you are highly imaginative. Words
    flow like water from a falls-  pure and placid.
    with best wishes
    r ramabadran

  • The smell of the soil – Chapter 05

    Sleeping child
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter  5
    “You throw away all these?” Swamy asked Ramya, surveying the stock of waste Newspaper and cardboard cartons piled up in the trash can.
    ” Weekly twice, all the trash accumulated in the two big wheeled -boxes are cleared by the Town Sanitation department, and  materials such as paper, tin or plastic waste, collected separately, will go for recycling.” She explained.
    “You recover some money?”
    “No, dad.” Ramu answered expecting some more questions from his father.” In fact, we pay some amount for clearing the waste which is included in the monthly service bill”
    ” Trash is generated in tons in this country” commented the old man and added with a smile,” with this much waste, I cam make sufficient money in India, to pay my electricity bill. ”
    The door bell rang. Swamy was excited to receive his old friend Sundaram along with his son, Chandru, who helped Ramu to come to USA and secure a job in his office. They came to meet Ramu’s parents and spend a night or two over there. The old pals had a lot to share about their insipid past.
    “While pushing the tube-deflated Hero bicycle through the street of our village, did you expect that one day you would fly over the oceans and we will meet here in this country to share our food on a posh dining table in a palatial building owned by your son,?” asked Sumdaram while Swamy raised his head and glanced at his son, when the word,’owned’ was mentioned. Ramu twinkled his eyes and nodded his head to sign, ‘don’t worry dad, one day it will become my own’.
    ” Sundaram, we are indebted to your son for making this possible” Swamy replied, passing on a ‘thank you’ note to Chandru, by a nod. ” All the agonies undergone by us to bring up our children, vanish like a due drop, at the sight of a sun-ray, when we see them happily settled in life.”
    “Good” Sundaram agreed, ” but tell me frankly, are you able to cast completely your past, forgetting all the cuts, bruises and scratches it inflicted on you, and enjoy the new riches rightly due to you, willingly shared by your son?”
    “No, Seshu ” admitted his friend,”that exactly is my problem. And I have a reason, very valid one, for that. The injuries inflicted on me by the past is not just skin-deep.  It sliced my inner self with its mighty weapon named ‘poverty’, into slices. That wound will not heal till my last breath”
    ” I was not from a ‘rajavamsam’ royal family ” clarified Seshu, “but I do not worry much over my past, drenched in poverty because it was not my making. I rejoice that I could come out of the dreaded dragon’s grip, though after a long spell , thanks to my son.”
    “My case is not that simple, Seshu,”  Swamy said and his son mildly rebuked, “Appa, poverty is not a sin. Forget the past and enjoy the present”
    “True, Ramu” Sundaram agreed, “poverty is not a sin but it can force you to commit sin, as it happened in my case. And therefore, it is not possible for me to forget the past as Seshu could.”
    Every one around the dining table looked anxiously at Sundaram, worrying what sin did he commit.
    “Appa, enough” Ramya took over the situation as women always do.” Enough of this talk before ‘annam’ rice. You can continue after you finish eating.
    The dining hall became silent, but for the movement of vessels.
    Later, when they all reassembled in the drawing room, Ramu, anxious to know what was bothering his father asked him to continue from where he had  left.
    Swamy was mum for sometime, his mind wandering through the thorny path of the past.” I should have somehow managed to stay in my village till the last days of my father,” he mused, “no, it was impossible. it was impossible” He consoled himself.
    “You have told me that thatha wanted to die in his ancestral house but could not, as you shifted the family to Coimbatore. That is all what we know”
    “Why did you shift him in his old age?” enquired Seshu.
    “Because I had no job when my old school building collapsed and it would have taken an year or more, for the management to construct a new one. My ancestral agricultural land was captured by the Land Reforms Act. I had no bank balance or any other source of revenue to lean upon.  Recommend by a student’s father, a mill owner offered me a gumastha’s job, which I accepted and decided to shift my wife and children, under unavoidable circumstances, to Pollachi. I wanted to leave my parents in the village under the care of a distant relative but my mother insisted that I should take them along with me.
    “If something happens to your appa, who is here even to send a telegram to you ?” she asked .
    “If something happens to me there, will your son bring my body here and convert it into ashes on the bank of our village pond, where the bodies of my great ancestors were burnt to ashes? ” enquired my father, unable to suppress his anger in leaving the house.
    ” ‘Appa, I assure you, nothing will happen to you in an year or so after which we will come back to our own place.” I tolld him. What I didn’t tell him was that our ancestral agricultural land had been taken away from us, lest his heart would have stopped pumping blood, at least for a short while, had he known that shocking news”.
    .
    “Nee Brahammavoda? Areyou the god to decide when I will die?” asked Appa, his heart still steaming .”
    I was certainly not. Within a week after reaching Pollachi, Appa’s health deteriorated and he had to be put in the hospital. The total cash available with me at that time was less than one hundred rupees, after meeting the travel expenses and settling some dues in my native village. Krishnswamy Gowder, my new master had promised free rice and vegetable as a reward for the daily pooja I agreed to perform in his house and therefore, feeding the family was not a very big problem. Accomodation also was free. But cash? How to ask Gowder for an advance within a few days after taking up the job.?”
    Swamy stretched his legs as if the pain in his heart was spreading to his feet. Ramu sat on the floor pressing his father’s leg seeing which, little Swan came running towards them and started pressing the other leg as if he wanted to prove that in no way, he was less considerate than than his dad. The old man, overwhelmed by the care and consideration of his progeny, combed slowly Ramu’s hair and collected his grand child, put him on his lap and started pressing the kid’s tiny, rose petal-like feet. He wanted to sing  but it got stuck at his throat. The child’s grandma came to support her husband and sang a lovely cradle song, in a low rhythmic sound and that folk song, like the small waves of the village river, moved up and down which made the kid to slip into the bliss of sleep.
    The old man too, agitated over the memory of his father’s death in a most undesired place but slightly smoothened  by the song, fell into sleep.
    Ramya collected the kid and took him to her bedroom and Ramu held his father’s hand and lead him to his bed.
    The wife supporting her child and the husband supporting his father! How well- knit are our families, whether they are in India or abroad.!
    Comments:
    Top class narration.
    Heart warming scene sketching.
    I had no problem visualising this touching scene in my mind’s eye.
    Is it only me who, reading this with an Iyer’s perspective, sees shades of R K Narayan’s Malgudi days in these stories ?
    Please keep sending me my personal copy.
    The same posting at our Iyer123 group gets closely packed into one long unreadable para unlike this decently spaced email to my personal email address.
    Awaiting chapter 7 eagerly.
    Regards
    GV

  • Why me ?

    “Why me?” -A story from my blog
    There are many occasions, when we ask the question ‘Why me’? , when we receive an undeserved blow unexpectedly, when a calamity happens in the family or the doctor diagnoses a deadly disease in our body etc, etc.  That is understandable, though what is not understandable is why we didn’t ask that question when we are the recipient  of an unexpected favor, or fortune like a luxurious smile or lovely look from a damsel, whom we loved and who loved someone else!
    Forget about that. This is not the time to joke.
    I am now going to tell you about a friend who made the God to ask that question!!
    He was Varahamurthy born and brought up in an ultra orthodox highly disciplined Telugu Brahmin family. He messed up everything  in his life. He hacked his family name, destroyed his family property, earned nothing of his own except bad name, eschewed every relative including his wife and children and estranged every friend, except me . In that respect, I’m lucky. I have plenty of friends whom no body wants. ‘Good for nothing’ they are for others, but good for me!
    “PuthrasikhAmani!”, my father used to ask biting his strong teeth galvanized by Guntur tobacco juice, during my college days,” from where did you find such absolutely unserviceable attappetties ( cardboard boxes)?”
    Varahamurthy fell sick ; One kind soul picked him from his apartment, dumped in a hospital  and sent word for me. His condition was hopeless. His body was like a cyclone hit cycle stand . He could not move his limbs but his speech was coherent.
    “Why me, why me in this helpless condition?”
    My friend asked looking deep into me eyes and then screamed,”Nenu othalaeya, I won’t spare him”
    “Whom ?” I enquired, “who is  that poor guy awaiting to be killed by you?”
    “God, our kuladeivam Narasimha swamy for destroying me and dumping on a hospital bed like a banana peel .” His sagging eyelids tried to raise.
    “But, Varham, come on. You and you alone are responsible for your downfall and why blame your family deity. Not once did you remember Him. You never went near Him and He too never worried about you”
    “No Sivudu, nenu othalaeyanu, I won’t spare  him.”
    He tried to get up but could not. Then looked at the distance and shouted, “Osthunaru, osthunaru, He is coming, He is coming !”
    I knew that his end was nearing. Mildly massaging his head affectionately, I  advised , ” Rani, manchithi, kaalumukku, dandam pettu- good,  let Him come; fall at His feet . Your family deity has come to save you.”
    “Dandam pettanu, champesthanu- I won’t worship Him, I will kill him ” He was adamant.
    “OK, punch Him, punch Him with all your strength” I encouraged him, like an enthusiastic fan from the viewer’s stand, “let you somehow have that Divine sparsanam, in your last moment”. He enjoyed my action, through his eye’s corner. I did everything to boost his strength, except whistling, so that the punch remains memorable in God’s mind fir long.
    He drew full breadth from the well of his abdomen and tried to lift his right hand to punch the God  who perhaps was visible for him.
    His right hand which did not move an inch till then suddenly raised up, his fingers folded to form  fist and he threw a forceful punch in the air. His hand then dropped with the same speed it moved up.  
    “Katham, katham. Devuda katham !” He yelled.
    I could see his eyes shining like torch lights focused at a distance, his lips overflowing with seamless smile and his head moving to sides as if he was enjoying the fall of the huge form of the Lion-man combination of the God, unable to stand Varaham’s punch, right in front if him.
    All motions then, stopped.
    Varham would not have remembered his kuladeivam till his last moments but Narasimhamoorthy did appear before him to receive his punch and embrace him for ever. 
    Comments:
    Wah! What a forceful narration, Shiva! The hairs on my hands stand erect!
    Swamy S from Melbourne

  • Substandard son

    “How do you ask me to look for a girl for your substandard- son, Ammalu ? His, looks, his talk, his behavior , his dress everything about him, is substandard”

    “But he has studied up to the highest standard, xth.”
    The girls nowadays, do not go by the educational qualification alone .They aspire for a smart boy and a not-that-smart mother for him. In this case, the latter part satisfies, though.”
    “It is OK, Paru, none can change the Fate. Let him marry the girl who loves him and we both will suffer.”
    “Who  is that useless girl, may I know ? “:
    “Sure, you should, because she is your daughter”
    Love and regards,
    sperinkulam