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  • Cultural dipsay, really ? An interesting chat

     Cultural disparity , really ?

    Early morning on Sept. 15th, I had an interesting internet chat with an unknown friend . That good soul, opened up his mind instantly, though that was our maiden meet through the net and he had no inkling whether I am a Rama or Ravana. Our only link is my stories.
    I would like to quote him verbatim :

    :51am Sep 16
     ” Sir, I was born in Kerala and brought up in strict Palakkad tradition in a place called Wadi in North Karnataka by my widowed, authoritarian disciplinarian grandmother. My wife was born and brought up in Delhi in Tanjore Iyer tradition. The difference is there for us to see. As I mentioned earlier my grandmother used to illustrate her comments with stories like “Vedam chollara vaayakkum brahmana”, “Mai ittukkaraya mamiyare”, “Tamburanekkaal enikkanu sambathu” etc. And the phrase I said I used with my wife was “Ory vai chottai kottinduttu poyendi, verum vayathode choundikki pora mathiri ponama”. Thanks sir, for remembering me in your post.

    Sri.Iyer’s complaint is the poochai-poonai disparity in routine conversation between the husband and wife is creating tension sometimes . “That is due to our cultural disparity” he asserts. In the example narrated above, with all the affection and consideration, when he asks his wife not to go out with an empty stomach, she takes it as an abuse.
    I disagree and I tell him so.”You have lived under the same roof for several years, talk mostly Hindi or English, your children also do the same way, eat mostly north Indian food and your children too do the same, both belong to the Iyer community and therefore there cannot be much variation in your practices and way of worship etc.Then how do you say that is a cultural disparity, I ask and  continue :
    Thirty years ago my sister, who is fluent more in Malayalam than in Tamil was married to an Iyengar boy, whose mother Tongue is Tamil but he is fluent  in Telugu. They are happily living without any cultural disparity.
    Their son, a medico, working in US, married a month ago a Telugu girl,known to him but chosen by his parents. The wedding was as per the Telugu tradition, the bride carried in a colurful basket brought to the pantaal by her maternal uncles and Chilakkara-vellam (cummin-jaggery ) paste applied on her head on the auspicious murhoortham, considered as the main uniting symbol .
    My only daughter married , ten years ago a Telugu Vaishnavite, their children now hardly speak the mother tongues of their parents and they have been living happily.
    My SIL’S brother recently married an Australian girl, strictly according to the Telugu vaishnava sampradayam.
    Yesterday I had been to the Greater Baltimore Temple to perform the sradham of my mother under the guidance of Sri.Murali Vaadyar. A wedding was taking place there, in the typical Tamil style with oonjal, kasi yatrai etc. The bride is an American girl in madisaru.
    Compared to all the above, your partner ship with a Tamil brahmin woman gives no hope for disparity .
    No, Iyer doesn’t agree.
    “BTW my brother married a Reddy girl and they dont seem to find any cultural disparities between them They speak a curious mix of PI Tamil, Hyderabadi Hindi and English. They seem very comfortable with it. She loves molakoottal and he loves Gongoora pachadi and all is well. May be when the cultural differences are wide they don’t matter, when they are close it irritates”.
    Now, you tell me when there is no ‘cultural disparity’ in the  ‘molakoottal-gongoora chatni’ mix, why should it be there in the ‘morkoottan-morkkozhambu’ mix ?.

    And, let me assure you that the married life of my net friend is booming and the disparity is only in the dialectics.
    Baltimore,
    Sept16, 2011
  • Why do we need money ?

    When I entered the Hyderabad  airport early morning on Sunday, to catch the BA flight for Heathrew, there was a small crowd before the coffee shop there and I was shocked to see my neighbor Gopalan Nair lying flat on the floor, surrounded by a few passengers.
     ” Oh, my God!” I yelled, ” have you called for an ambulance ?”
    ”No need, sir” an young man assured, ” he will  wake up on his own  in five minutes ”
    ”Are you a doctor ?”
    ”No, I am the owner of this coffee shop. He came with a five rupee note, asked for a cup of hot coffee with double sugar and when I told him that coffee costs 70 Rupees, he fell flat due to the shock’
    ”Seventy rupees for a cup of coffee ! ” My head was reeling and I held his hand so that I don’t fall. ”so, many passengers might be falling flat like my friend here every day, right ?”
    “Not many, just five or six”
    “That is not bad  for an airport of this size!”
    I bought a few bottles of water from the coffee shop, sprinkled on Nair’s face and when he did not get up, poured over his head a bottle-full . He emptied the content in the last bottle when he was able to sit up and asked me the standard question, “where am I ?” 
    When things had settled, I politely mentioned to him that he owed me Rs. 90.00 towards the cost of three bottles of water I had bought to bring him back to the conscious state adding again politely that had I taken him to a hospital the expenditure would have been many times more .We would have missed our flights too.”
    ” Rs.90  just for water!”  Nair became nervous and I prayed that he should not fall flat again. “I  would have, instead, bought a cup of coffee for Rs.70 and enjoyed ” He lamented.

    ”Exactly ” I now jumped from my seat and after making sure that every one around was attending to my speech,raised my voice, pointed my finger at Nair and chided him. ‘You could have done it but didn’t do. Why ? You wanted to save for your children in US though they are least bothered about saving. Have you ever traveled by air, at your own expense ? No. You always travel by sleeper class and that too because no less expensive seats are available in trains.( Open-mouthed Ammalu looked at me wondering when did we travel by a higher class ), Why ? You want to save for your children. And what do they do when they come here? Instead of boarding a train or bus from Palakkad to Guruvayoor, they hire a cab, go to Coimbatore, fly  to Cochin, take a cab from there to Guruvayoor.Twenty thousand Rupees at a stroke, is washed out for a family of 3 or 4 against a thousand or two, if they had chosen to go by train or bus. And you want to save for them, from your meager income instead of spending the amount for your comforts ? ”
    ” I have only this much with me; you may take your money and give me back ten Rupees” Nair pleaded, extending a hundred Rupee note.
    ”Nair, your pension is 20,000 Rs and income from rent and bank interest another 20,000 Rs. And you have planned a foreign tour with just a one hundred Rupee note in your pocket ?” I collected that note and ordered Ammalu, ” give him back ten Rupees.”
    ‘”Ten Rupees ?” Ammalu blinked as if I was talking to her in French or German, ” we didn’t take a single pie from home. You said that the air ticket is provided by our son, food will be provided in the flight and on reaching Dulles air port, Sharath will receive us and therefore no cash was to be taken with us. How did you forget that you deposited in our children’ NRI account even the few dollar notes they had sent for our travel expenses , saying ‘namakkenthukkudi paisa-why do we need money?’
    ” I forgot that, Ammalu. why do we need money,  isn’t it Nair ? ”
    ” So, we are in the same boat, sorry same flight, isn’t so , Sami ?”
    “Yes, we are in the same boat, sorry, same flight ” I hugged my neighbor and friend when Ammalu thrust his money back into his pocket .

    Baltimore, Sept 13, 2011
     
    Comments  ;

    Thursday, 29 September 2011, 7:07

    Simply superb!

    Enjoyed thoroughly
    Pl continue

    knr

  • Back to Baltimore

    So, I am back in Baltimore after a short visit to my mother-land where I attended  four weddings in the family, including two of different combinations- Iyengar+Telugu Brahmin and Telugu Vaishnavite+ Australian.  All went on well, by the grace of God. Neither my brother- in- law who booked my ticket nor my daughter- in- law to whom it was sent for confirmation, did note that the date of travel coincided with the tenth anniversary of the dreaded 9/11/ when terrorist destroyed the World Trade Center in New york and along with it, the lives of several innocent men and women, leaving behind a trail of  trauma and tragedy .’It is fine ‘ was my cool reply, when I was told about the date, ” everything comes for good; whatever has to happen, will happen’ . The date could have been changed but I was not for that. Family was not happy, They continued to murmur, till they got the message of my safe landing here. Some friends even looked at my face as if that the was last chance for them for that. Even if some thing bad  had happened, stars could not be blamed as I never go by their name to commence any act, though many nights I spend looking at them, admiring their unparalleled twinkling and unalloyed smiles.While I was moving towards the check-in counter, the young man in charge, aggressively got up from his seat and advanced towards me. ” What harm have I done to him; he can’t  be a reader of my stories ” I thought and moved a bit to a side, for safety. ‘ Don’t you remember me Uncle ?’ he smiled and held my hand.’ my elder brother was your son Ananth’s class mate”.’Yes, I do now recollect ; how do you do ? you are –?’ Several time, I  make such remarks to cover my forgetfulness.  Anyway, Naveen was so kind that he was waiting in the flight to guide me to my seat and place the cabin-luggage in the loft-box. I recollected some scenes in my story, “my maiden US visit ‘ while occupying the seat.Heathrew’s  passenger magnitude and diversity always hold me in awe. It is the busiest airport in UK and the third busiest in the world in terms of passenger traffic, after Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta, Georgia and Beijing Capital international airports. Among the staff many are Indians, speaking mostly Gujarati or Hindi.
    Sitting next to me in the flight from Heathrew to Washington  was an old Burmese lady who doesn’t know a single English word. The aircraft crew had to help her even in filling up the immigration and customs forms. In malls here I see many women who know only Gujarati. Language is not that indispensable, I feel some time. After all we did survive for many generations when language had not evolved. It helps a lot in developing understanding and improving the quality of life no doubt, but fighting on the basis of language difference and cutting each others throat is unnecessary. Man came first and not languages . Man came first and not caste or religions.
    Thanks to my possessing a Green card, no questions were asked in the immigration counter and no finger -print or photos.  My personal belongings were only  a few sets of dress and books and the rest of 54 kg weight was made of contributions from my sambandhies and sisters for distribution for the children here.
    ‘Appa, why did you bring home these empty Champagne bottles ?” asked Meghana, while clearing my handbag .
    “How small and air-tight are they ! I can carry my Navartna hair oil during the domestic travel’ I clarified holding the cute bottles.
    ‘Appa, you are awesome’ commented my son Sharath “like patti ammai, you too accumulate trash’
    “‘You were also taught the same way, Sharath” I told him, stretching my aching back at the comfortable sofa in his drawing room.” But you did not learn the lesson, because the thinking in this country is not saving-conducive. The paper waste you produce in your house in a week will be more than enough to feed a small family, for a day, in India. Each tissue paper roll costs two or three dollars and how thoughtlessly you use and throw them? And why such powerful half-a dozen bulbs in the toilet?’
    “Apart from champagne, you would have had your favorite red-wine too in the flight, I am sure” He commented.
    “I am talking with full senses; switch off all extra lights ‘” I instructed while Sharath and Meghana held my hands and took me to my bed room.
    ‘Appa is too tired” commented Meghana.
    ‘Don’t worry, he will wake up at night and write a story’
    Baltimore
    Sept 12, 2011
  • Oh,that is understandable.


    “All  you guys, ready for the interview ?”

    ” I am the only candidate here.” I replied getting up instantly from my seat, as if my bottom was pinched by a bed bug and looking around to find that ‘all’ in the hall, other than me. ” Can I come in Sir ?”

    ” Let the selected candidate come. ” He replied as if I had no business to be there.

    “So, Sir you have already selected a candidate ? ” I pooled up some courage and asked, “then why did you call me for the interview ?”
    Without bothering to answer, he went in, closing his right small finger and counting one to make sure that I was the only person awaiting there.
    A few more candidates joined and we exchanged notes. The officer came out of the room and drew a full circle in the air with his head . Now he has started counting the numbers by his head, I thought.
    We all got up and yelled, ” shall we come in sir ? “
    “Let the selected candidate come. ” He replied casually and before going in,  counted, one, two ,three, four , five, folding his fingers. Just to confirm the numbers, I am sure.
    Then came a damsel, her half-heartedly worn apparel hesitantly hanging somewhere in her body. She sat near me exposing her lovely legs further and started  patting her hair pushing it back and surveying her scanty clothes surreptitiously.
    The officer came out, an Ootty garden blossomed on his face . Throwing a lavish smile at the lady, he invited her inside. “Hearty welcome to our group, madam, The chief is waiting for you”
    We got up from our  seats and moved towards the exit door.
    ”Hey, where are you guys, going ?” He  stopped us .” We are now ready for your interview”
    “What interview ?” I flared, ” you have already selected a candidate and are asking her to  report for duty”  Humility was vaporizing from my tone.
    “That madam was selected in yesterday’s interview for a higher post ” The officer replied without looking at my face but counting us once again. ” And she is going to select one of you today”
    “Oh, that is understandable” we said in unison.
    We all now started to pat our hair and survey our dress.
    I was the last person to be called in and therefore could give others a bit of advice.
    To boys : ” Don’t sit shy tugging your hands between thighs. Look smart, look deep at the interviewer’s eyes and suffocate him with questions when you do not have answers for what he asks. If the gentleman who came out now is in the board, use your fingers to count the number of questions he throws at you. And before coming out of the hall, make a circle in the air with your head”
    To girls : Nothing cane be done now about your dress but make sure to pat your hair with your fingers and see that it hangs well before the eyes, providing just enough space to see through. Charm the fellows on the other side of the table by cooing’ oh, what a wonderful question ‘ , ‘ wish I were as intelligent as you are’ etc and in the case of old men admire ‘oh, how thin are your eye-glasses’ etc
    After the interview was over, the finger -counter came out and expressed his sympathy looking sadly at me ,” sorry, gentle man! you are the only one not selected”
    “Oh, that is understandable,”  I remarked smiling at him . Before leaving the waiting hall, he asked  me , “what are you counting with your fingers ?’
    ”I was trying to count the number of interviews I have lost ” I replied looking pathetically at both my palms, “but no fingers are left to count this loss”
    “Oh, that is understandable “
    He remarked and went in.

  • Childhood stories


    • ‘Amma, amma, kozhakkattaikki kannum undodi ? ‘ ‘Amma, amma, kozhakkattaikki kannum undodi ? ‘‘Kannum illai, mookkum illai, poi paduthukko.’‘Amma, amma, kaozhakkattaikku vayum undodi ?’‘Vayum illai keeyum illai, poi paduthukko’————————————–The dialogue between the kid and mother continues till the mom, fed up with the small one’s nagging comes out of the kitchen and to her surprise, finds that there was a small frog hiding in the vessel which prompted the kid to throw queries at her mother, who had asked the child to pick up the kozhakkatai from the vessel. Apparently the elder one had taken away the sweet-ball and in its place, a frog had found a temporary shelter.This is one of the childhood stories still remain afresh in my mind. Whenever my children or any one for that matter, question my wisdom, I never ask them , ‘po paduthukko’ -leave me alone. I verify. and believe my words, in most of the cases I have found the sweet- ball missing from the vessel! The kid in the story knew that what was in the vessel was not ‘kozhakkattai; but it was too young to understand what it really was. The present generation know that. So, thank God, if they ask your permission, instead of taking the sweet away from the kitchen on their own.

    • natarajan raghupathy
      nraghupathy@yahoo.com

    Dear Sir,

    Your write-up on an anecdote of a curious child is indeed not only humorous but also thought provoking.
    As a child I knew that the sweet dumpling (Vella Kozhukkattai) made in the Tanjore part of the Tamilnadu used to have a MOOKKU or a beak like kudumi as that of a coconut unlike the ones prepared in some other parts of South India where it used to be just a ball shaped small globe. Similarly, the Ulundu or uppu Kozhakkattai used to look like an Oyster shell in our part as against the globular ones made elsewhere in order to differentiate the salt ones from the sweet ones perhaps.
    In your story, I appreciate the inquisitiveness or the curiosity of the child who is trying to clear her lurking doubts repeatedly unmindful of the tired mother. It is this curiosity that generates knowledge and even discoveries later in life!!!
    Regards,
    N Raghupathy, D6/14, Kendriya Vihar, Yelahanka, Bangalore 560064; Tel: 22930014 / (M) 9844172976
    ——————————————————————————————————————————————————–
    Thanks. Brought back memories from several...
    CN Kumar 8:03pm Sep 1
    Thanks. Brought back memories from several decades ago when my Pati used to tell me this.
    Comment History
    Thangam Venkat
    Thangam Venkat 6:42pm Sep 1
    i used to tell this story to my students….and they really enjoy(ukg kids)
     

    TO:
    Tuesday, 20 September 2011, 17:50

    Message Body

    You just touched my feelings. I want to be a kid again.
    that was one of my favorite stories.
    I remember vaguely another one where a beautiful kid was hiding and one witch comes and keeps her nails all over the door…something like that..
    also another one is orayiram kili athile oru nondi kili….
    great time man…no X-box or Wii..just live stories
    I am Parameswaran, from Kerala now in USA
     

  • Every one has a problem


    Every one has a  problem



    ” Welcome, hearty welcome. come in please. this is your bed room.–bye the by when are you returning ?”


    ” I have just entered and you are asking me when I am returning ?”


    ” That is only to make sure that I remain throughout your stay here”


    ” May I know who you are and where is my son Ramu ? Where is my daughter-in-law ?”


    ” I am Ramu’s mom and he has asked me to take care of you till he returns from his tour”


    ” You are Ramu’s mom? Surprising ! I am his father and you have the audacity to tell me that you are my wife !”


    ” I never said that I am your wife and thank Heavens for that. But I am Ramu’s mom”.

    ” But how, how, how ?”


    ” Ramu calls me ‘mom’”


    ” Many boys and girls call me ‘dad’. You mean to say that I am their dad ?”


     ” How do I know? That is your problem.”


    ” Tell me at least, where is my daughter in law Rohini ?”


    ” Rosi is your daughter in law now and not Rohini. I am Rosi’s mother”


    ” I refuse to accept; tell me where is Rohini?”


    ” If you refuse to accept, it is your problem and if Rohini is not here it is her problem.”


    ” Tell me honestly why did Ramu marry Rosi, when she was already married to Rohini?”


    ” How do I know ? That is his problem”


    ” Every one has a problem here except you, I guess”


    ” Wrong guess. I too have a problem-Your arrival here.”


    Hyderabad,
    August 30, 2011

  • Yellow- pumpkin thokayal

    Half past one, midnight. Saturated silence inside the house and outside too unlike in Habsiguda where I could see a canine or a kitten and at times, even a neighbour crossing the road. Despite spending over an hour this evening working out in the gym and swimming , sleep, like an old- time mami is keeping away from me, tucking her ‘madisaru’ close to her knees, treating me as an untouchable. I can see her, she can see me but she doesn’t want to come anywhere near me. Luck too is like that. You can see it, but won’t come near you.
    I wake up from the bed and casually go through the mail box, when my gloomy eye -lids stop flapping for a moment, sighting the post from an overseas friend, an young lady, mother of a teenage son. I am deeply moved by what she has written. Permit me to share with you that letter which touched the finer fibers of my heart , with some minor editing and concealing her name .
    QUOTE :
    ” Good Morning Mama,
    Yesterday I made an ‘Yellow Pumpkin Thokayal’. I have no words to say, It was so delicious. I am not a cooking expert, actually I have learned some from the book after my marriage. Still repairing and working on the menu’s of the same. I was thinking of my Dad while having afternoon meal. My Dad was a foodie and was a great Dad. Everyone says, I am exactly like him. I am the middle child, I was so close to him. We enjoy eating my Mom’s specialties Bajji, Bonda, Neyyappam, Pokkoda, Murukku . My sister and bro was close to Mom. Enakku Peray ‘Appa Ponnu’.
    No day passes without his loving memories. During his last moments, I was in —- reading a book on Travelling experiences of an Englishman on the holy lands of India. It was so difficult for me put it in my mind that my father is no more. I could not attend his funeral. Poor Dad was calling out for me till his last breath. My Passport was under renewal. The last conversation I had with my Dad at home was ‘Dad I will bring Vicks Mittai for you and How much you need? Blah…blah..’ He passed away at the age of 76 due to heart attack and was progressing memory loss. (Diminishia) It was the second blow immediately after the death of my —– So many things happened in a short time. Why I am writing all these,mama ? Leave it Mama. Everybody has their own ‘share of Karma’ to unload.
    Oh, Where did I leave? Yeah…Mathan Kodal Thokayal… Mama, Why don’t you try this recipe it is very easy. If you are interested to try I will write it for you?”
    UNQUOTE ———————————–
    I wash my face, come back to my seat and pen a short reply addressing her as ‘ ponnea ‘, my child , shut down the computer, reach for my bed .
    No luck yet. Madisaru mami, the merciful sleep , is still keeping away from me. My mind’s wings get stuck in the bushes of the personal grief of my friend as if that grief is my own. For a moment I think what a fool I am ! Just a few days ago I took a vow that slowly I should free myself from the ‘asaapasam’ attachment from the worldly affairs or lead a life of detachment to attachment, as my young friend says, but now, I am getting entangled into a fresh attachment to this girl who was unknown till yesterday!
    Yes, our relationship is not more than a week or ten days old. It all happened when I received a letter of appreciation from an unknown person, for my latest Ammalu story.
    Quote again;
    “Dear Mama,
    I read most of your write ups, I do laugh a lot after reading them. By the way, How come the neighbor lady’s Sari in your cupboard? Just curious to knowJ You are a born writer MamaJ You made my day !!
    Regards,
    ——– ”
    UNQUOTE :
    While typing out the usual note of thanks, I noticed that she has a blog and visited it. I was impressed with the simple style of presentation and the quality of the contents and conveyed my opinion to her.
    From then on, almost everyday she has been writing to me about her personal life and family matters as if I am a close relative. Remember, she knows nothing about me, whether I am a good or bad man, saint or scoundrel. Yes, I hear your saying that,’ if she has been reading your posts she would have known that you are not a saint and the possibility of your being the opposite is not remote ” Agreed. truth coming from any corner has to be accepted . Anyway the fact is her compassion towards me is so pristine that even while sharing her grief, she thought about the pumpkin thokayal, a favorite side dish and desired how nice iit would be if I too could enjoy it ! And I know her hardly for a week ! My eyes are getting moist. How blessed I am!
    ‘Damn with my vow of detachment ‘ I said and went through some of the letters received from my net friends.. How many sons and daughters, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters, my stories have earned for me ! I have met hardly half a dozen of them but how close most of them have become by sharing their personal life with me, laughing with me,crying with me ! A Malayalee settled in an oil country floating in fortune,whom I knew hardly two weeks ago, weeps on the net, making me also weeping when he writes, “Uncle, my father had no money to buy medicines for his TB and other ailments, suffered for twelve years and died miserably in abject poverty ”
    A devoted middle aged man who has been sacked from service for no fault of him says , “Mama, tell me when you come to India,; I want to do sashtangam with ‘Abhivadaye’. ” My dear thammudu, younger brother, you have been performing sandhya regularly for the past 45 years and mother Gayathri will run away if you come anywhere near me. The other gods have already done that.
    “Appa has friends all over the world” my children used to say. That is an exaggeration emanated out of affection. But it is a fact that I have friends reading my posts in many countries; and they read my post because our friendship! And I am proud of their love for me .
    No, it is not time yet for me for detachment in life when I love this world so much, my children, grand children, brothers, sisters, uncles and aunts, family and friends, living and lived, trees and woods, animals and birds, Madras music festivals and madisaru mamies, palpayasam and pumpkin thokayal and every thing static or movable and above all my gods who are static in temples but so vibrant, so vigilant, so friendsly, so mischievous, and so motivating within my heart.
    I think I should sleep now. See you tomorrow, if I am able to get the frame of my eye glasses repaired. Yes, The frame got distorted under the pressure of my frame. After searching all over the house , inside and outside including the the TulsimAdam, the platform of the Tulsi plant, I could trace it trace it right on my bed, disfigured like my disoriented mind. There is a limit for the load- carrying capacity of anything and a small frame of spectacle is not made to carry a big load of my body. And at times, even minor objects, if got crippled, can create major problems- my Ammalu for example ( she is still with my dear MIL and that is why I am writing so boldly . And if she happened to see the mail, I will tell her that I see the world through her, she is my eye sight, without her I am blind, she is my world etc. etc. A husband should know how to twist the words and events to make his wife happy and a wife should know how to act she believes him, as Ammalu does.
    Hei, wait a minute – before I remove my truncated eye-glass frame from my equally truncated nose —
    ” Truncated nose ?” I hear your query, ” I presume the madisaru mami has come very close to you”
    Don’t worry about my nose. Mamies are kind to me, though from a safe distance.
    Oh, here is a post appearing on the screen, a short one, commenting on my latest Ammalu story, from a super senior net friend, in his seventies, eighties or even above. I jump and hit the roof, unable to control my laughter:
    “Ada brahmanaa ! Ennodu alpasanthoshathai kedukkavantha kodali allava neer ? Ommdu Ammalu letterai pathupputtu, Ennodu Ammalu aathai vittu asaimatten enkaral -what a spoil- sport you are ! After seeing your letter to your wife, my wife refuses to move away from the house even for a short while ”
    Love and regards,
    sperinkulam
    Ocala,Florida
    May 7 2011

  • Auspicious day for Sathyanaryana vratham

    ‘Loppudu ra amma, please come in,’ I welcomed the young woman who entered our house with some fruits , offered a seat, shouted for Ammalu as if I needed urgently a few Vayugulika pills to relieve the bronchial congestion. After fielding that standard question, ‘ithanni enthukkamma- why all these,’ I accepted the fruits from her, wondering who she was and why she had come with gifts to meet me . ‘Panthalu garu,’ She addressed me without occupying the seat I offered, stood in a corner and wanted me to suggest an auspicious day for performing Sathyanarayana vratham.Now the cat is out of the bag! My kadukkan or karnabharanam has mislead this poor woman to believe that I am panthalu or priest ! I could have told her that I am not a panthalu and if she wants, she can take back her fruits and consult some one else. But my damn ego stood in the way. Ok, I can manage for the time being if I could suggest a date for her pooja but I do not know how to look for that and moreover I do not have a panchangaham in my house. The Mathrubhoomi calender satisfies Ammalu’s needs and for me all days are auspicious! 
    ‘Ramma, ekkada unnavu? Where do you stay?’, Ammalu slowly came out of the kitchen as if she came on her own and not responding to my call. The visitor explained that she had come recently to our housing- colony and lives a few houses away.  She mentioned the name of her house owner.
    ‘That house is good,’ I commented, ‘but your house owner is a rascal’.
    ‘Athanu na suttalandi -he is my relative,’ she clarified.
    ‘Oh, then the tenet who lived there earlier was a rascal’.
    ‘Panthalugaru, oka muhoortham chepthara,?  She was back with her pet question .
    Ammalu was wondering what ‘muhoortham’ I was capable of suggesting but managed to divert the topic by her standard question to any stranger, ‘how many children you have and how old are they, ponne?’
    ‘I have two small kids, six and four; we have come from Khammam’.
    ‘Mimmalu choosthe na nanagaru yathosthunthi. You reminds me of my  father,’  Sharada (that is her name )said, turning towards me’.
    ‘Is he too, bald like me, with a squint eye, protruding nose and perverted teeth?’, I wanted to know how many are there in the world, like me.
    ‘No, he was handsome’
    ‘I see. He too was handsome earlier but has become like me now?’
    ‘No, Panthalugaru, He is no more now’
    ‘Ada paavame-poor thing’. Ammalu’s face became pale . I too felt sorry for  Sharada. ‘Sorry to hear that’.
    When we all returned to our normal mood, I asked her how did I remind her of her father.
    ‘Like you, he used to beat his fingers in air as if he was playing a  mridangam, while walking the street’
    ‘Might be a music lover, like me’
    ‘No, he had some nervous problems’
    ‘But I have no such problems,’ I was quick to point out.
    ‘He himself is a problem,’ Ammalu intervened unnecessarily. ‘Almost every young woman who sees him for the first time mentions that he reminds her of her father; but no one has said that I reminds her of her mother’.  Ammalu is a jealous woman. 
    ‘Every woman calling me ‘father’ is not your problem; it is mine’. I score one point above her always.
    Next day Sharada  came again and spent an hour with us, when we could learn more about her.
    She was the pet child of her parents receiving unalloyed affection and overnight, became an orphan, when her parents died in an accident. Her father’s sister who was more interested in the fortune left behind than in the child, brought her up and married her to her own son. Sharada could not complete her high school education and neither her husband nor her in-laws bothered about it . They subjugated her in every respect, ill treated her and even after two kids were born her agony continues. She is not allowed to dress well,  go out on her own or mingle with the neighbors.
    ‘Probably because we grew under the same roof and played together, he finds no charm in me and treats me not more than as a servant to satisfy his needs,’  she lamented. My husband doesn’t utter a single word supporting me, when my in-laws scold me’
    ‘Sharada, unless you pocket your husband, you have no moksham, relief from your deplorable present life,’ I advised her, as an experienced husband.
    ‘I know uncle and that is why I want to perform sathynarayana vratham but you are not suggesting a date’.
    ‘You cannot do that vradham alone and from what I understand from you, your husband may not sit along with you and do the pooja. Moreover, the God does not interfere in family  matters. He unites the couple and leave the field to them to play their roll’
    ‘Am I not playing my roll?’ Sharada asked .
    ‘I am afraid, you are not,’ I replied, ‘sex, food and dress are the three tools, in that order, a wife has, to attract her husband towards her and keep him within her possession. There is a vacuum somewhere in your behavior. And once your husband becomes yours, you have won over his parents. In fact, you have won over the world’. I was always an expert family counselor. 
    ‘Pavi brahmana!’ Ammalu chided me. ‘Kozhanthaikku  ithuva chollikkuduppa – Is this what you advice to this innocent girl?’
    ‘What else, Ammalu, look at her dress, look at her hairs. And touch your heart with your right hand and tell me, are those not the three tools or mantras used by you to subjugate me all these fifty and odd years?’
    She had no answer but her silent smile revealed her agreement.  She moved away from the scene under some pretext.
    ‘There was no news form Sharada for a full fortnight. ‘She is angry with your nonsense,’ Ammalu commented. ‘I would like to go and see her but she has given strict instruction not to enter her house as her in-laws do not like any visitors for her’
    ‘I will pass through her gate,’ I suggested, ‘and shall take care not to beat in the air with my fingers’
    Sharada, next day, came beaming with happiness and the glad news that her husband was promoted in his works and 
    ‘what is more important is that he shared that news with me. This is the first time in our married life that he, on his own, told me something about his personal and official matter’.
    ‘And he comes home in time in the evenings and gives you some cash for your personal needs ? And your in laws are treating you much better?’. I inquired though I was sure of her answer.
    ‘Yes uncle, in our ten years married life, yesterday was the first day when he brought some flowers for me’. The poor girl showed proudly the mullapoomala adorning her head’.
    I could not control my tears. She continued, ‘my in laws are treating me like their own daughter, though for me, you are not only a father but mother too’.  She was emotional.
    ‘Ammalu, paathaya ?’ Now , it is my turn to chide my wife and clear the tear drops from her eyes, ‘see how my three mantrams worked wonders!’
    ‘Tomorrow is the auspicious day for Sathynarayan vratham, Sharada,’ I told her without looking at the panchangam but with all the seriousness of a panthalu and sincerity of a father.
    Love and regards,
    sperinkulam
    ” Give a handful from your plenty to those deserving”

  • Every crow is a friend except the one which—–

     
     
    One of the blunders committed by me in recent years was that I showed Ammalu a recent post where it was stated that if a crow strikes or defecates on your head or shoulder, it is an indication of your pitrus’ anger. I do not know why the very next day, a crow found my head, of all the places, an ideal spot to empty its bowl. It was not, after all, a big issue to be revealed to my wife, but I told Ammalu about it, as all good husbands do. ”Come on, let us go to Palakkad and consult an astrologer” she ordered. She knows my view on such beliefs but still insisted that I should obtain the expert opinion as the issue relates to pitrus, the departed souls of our ancestors.
    ” I will accompany you,” she said. Meaning- ” I don’t trust you; you may come back without meeting him and bluff”
    “Was it a black crow?” asked Sri. Ramanunni jyolsiar, the astrologer, spreading a hand-full of the kavudi , dice on a mat. “Hyderabadil ella kakkakalum karuppa, jyolsyare- all crows are black in Hyderabad,” I replied.
    He was not pleased with my reply.”You have not watched them carefully” The astrologer admonished me in a mild tone and looked outside and for his fortune, found a bird perched on a tree.
    “Did you see that crow? It has a white patch around its neck. It is a brahmana pitru” I too projected my neck wondering what a ‘brahmana pitru’ was doing there.
    ‘’ The white patch is the viboothi mark of the previous janma “The learned man clarified. ‘Pathela, do you at least now realize why I want you to apply viboodhi on your forehead?” Ammalu asked me with a winner’s smile.” I do, I do,” I confessed, ” so that I can carry the white mark when I become a crow”
    “Hmm, did the crow simply strike on your head or did it do malavisarjanam?” The astrologer.
    ” I am sure that it was not a strike, as there was a dirty paste on my finger when I touched my hair”
    “Did the excreta fall on your shoulder or on any other part of the body?”
    ”It did fall on my shoulder ,” I confessed.
    ‘It is bad” His face became pale now.
    ”Right or left”
    ” Left”
    ‘It is very, very bad” He nodded his head to reveal that things were going wrong.
    “The last question. Are you absolutely certain that no other part of your body touched the ‘malam, the bowl-waste?”
    Now Ammalu’s face became pale. She looked at me sympathetically and perhaps wanted me to tell a lie as I am good in that. She knew that all our future and happiness depend on my reply to that one query.
    But you know that I speak only truth. “My finger came into contact with the ‘malam”
    “Which finger, right or left? The astrologer looked deep into my eyes and it was certain that was the last chance for our survival.
    ‘Paavi brahmana, oru poyyai chollappadatha-can’t you utter one lie and save the situation” Ammalu’s eyes pleaded.
    ‘Left finger”
    That was the end of it. The astrologer got up.
    He did not, however, pack off his dice. ‘Pitrukkal bayankaramai kopichiriikkunnu- the pitrus are extremely angry with you”
    ”Entha santhi jyolsyare ” It was a plead not a request from Ammalu.”Is there any solution?”
    The astrologer took his seat again, re-spread the dice, and closed his eyes, in deep meditation. I knew that he was seeking the blessings of his gurus and the planets in the sky so that the correct solution evolves in his mind.
    ” Oru Ganapathi Homam in the morning, thilahomam at noon and Bagavathy seva in the evening” The learned man has at last found a solution, thanks to the blessings of his gurus and the planets in the sky.
    ‘Enthakum-how much will it cost?” asked Ammalu.
    ”You have come all the way from Hyderabad and therefore I should be considerate. ‘Oru pathayiram uruppikayil othukkam ‘ I will arrange for ten thousand Rupees”
    I looked at Ammalu’s face. The astrologer’s demand was too big an amount to offset the ill effect of a bit of waste fallen accidentally on the body, she seems to be realizing.
    I was enjoying the fun. ”You deserve it Ammalu” ( I didn’t tell her that )
    Instantly the astrologer’s son yelled from the court yard, ‘Atcha, kakka ente thalayil kaashtichu – a crow defecated on my head”
    The leaned father shouted back. ‘Kakka kashtichal kazhukada, kazhuthea -wash it off, you fool”
    ” Jyolsyare, athu brhamana kakkayo, atho ?” I was anxious to know.
    ‘Kakka kakka thanne-crow is a crow and all crows are black, whether in Hyderabad or Palakkad. ”
    Ammalu’s face beamed. So simple. If a crow dirty your head, wipe it off and forget. And all crows are black, whether in Hyderabad or Palakkad.
    “Jyolsarukku ampathonnu roopai dakshinai kudunkol-give fifty one Rupees as dakshina to the astrologer” Ammalu commanded, picked hp her things and moved to the exit gate.
    “Our pitus will never let us down” She said, smile and confidence brightening her face.
    “You said it, Ammalu “I endorsed her comment. “Don’t you think it is childish to imagine that our grand father or grand mother, in the form of a crow, will strike our head or shoulder or dumb their waste on us? They are on their way to the Godhood and will such unholy ideas ever enter their mind? If they too act in a vengeful way, what is the difference between them and us ? And every crow which flies in the air is not our pitru”
    Sharing what we have with other living and non-living beings is a great concept of our culture and that is why every morning after bath, you pour a little water, for the Tulasi plant and place a handful of cooked rice on a clean surface, accessible to birds. Unlike other birds, crows are friendly, available freely in our premises and when you place a ball of rice, reverently remembering your pitrus , on the day of shradham, if you see the image of your pitrus in the crows, who rush and grab the offer, it is understandable. But that does not mean that you should consider every crow flying in the sky or one of them which strikes your head or scratches your face is your pitru. Mouse is the mount of Vigneswara baghavan and deserves our veneration. But will you allow a mice colony to come up in your kitchen ?
    ”Amma calls you for a tea” The astrologer’s son came running behind us. We went back and accepted the hot tea served along with banana and avil, puffed rice, by the astrologer’s wife and while taking leave of that affectionate family, Ammalu gifted the child some cash for buying books.
    ”Pitrukkalude anugraham paripoornam- your pitrus have blessed you” The astrologer blessed us raising his hands.
    “How true!” Ammalu exclaimed.
    “How true!” I too agreed.
    ”Look at that crow?” Ammalu, on reaching home, called for my attention towards a bird on the gate, cawing its heart out”
    It announces the arrival of some guests today. Every crow is a friend, whether it is a pitru or not”
    ” Yes,” I agreed, “except that one which finds your head or shoulder an ideal spot for emptying its bowel”
    Comments :
    Namaskaram and thanks for the wonderfulful skit. Hope you are aware of our magazine Brahmintoday which is published from Chennai for the past 90 months. If not pl visit brahmintoday.org to know more
    I would like to publish this article in one of the forth coming issue as it is or got it translated in Tamil of course with your kind permission and due acknowledgement
    vasan
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    Dear Siva,
    Very nice article! Good satire on the crow, your favourite topic, our misplaced superstitions and dubious behaviour of astrologers! . With your permission, I take the liberty of forwarding it to my other friends.
    Loving regards
    KVG
    ——————————————————————
    Sent from my iPad

  • About beliefs and practices- and also a word about my mother -in-law !!.‏

     
    ” 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.”
    ” Exactlly,” 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.
    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 publtic 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
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    Comments:
    Mama, pramadama ezutheerukkael.
    D. Bhuvaneswar