family

Questions are the answers !

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Children and their abilities to question are legendary. Coming from a clean slate, an inherent curiosity to know more and just be present in the moment.

Amongst the kids of friends and family, many questions abound. And some stay with me. More in that moment as their parents struggled for answers. Here are a few recollections.

  • ‘Why do you have to stand straight ? Can you just crawl around ?’


  • ‘Who invented walking ?’

  • ‘Papa, why don’t you wear a blue cloth on your head like that man ? ( Pointing to Manmohan Singh)’

  • Upon seeing a Korean Air plane, which is blue in colour : ” That is the only plane that flies in the sky”.

  • Papa, do you really work when you go to office or sleep like you do on Sundays ?

  • Mamma, ( looking at slum children ) can i play with them ? Why not ?

  • Uncle, are you the one from office, that my dad complains to my mom about daily ?

  • ( After watching Animal planet ) Animals are wonderful. So much better than my school teacher. Isnt it ma ?

  • If the rose can be red in colour, and it so good, why cant everything be red in colour ?

  • If i will be big one day, there will be somebody small also ? I need to teach somebody like you are teaching me.

  • After watching Discovery Channel : “If all people are the same, why do we have to fight ?”

  • Watching a news telecast : ‘These people have no other work’

  • Upon being asked what his name was : ‘You are the 10th person asking my name today. Please ask that uncle in that green T-shirt’.

  • Mamma, if God invented the world, he invented ice-cream also ? Are you sure, God invented vegetables also ?

Children and their questions / statements have always promised a hope for the future. That things indeed will be different. And to date, that’s a promise that never fades. At least as long as us adults don’t interfere ! That is !

Here’s to a great year of education ! And the next time he or she, comes up with a question, no matter how silly, no matter how odd. Perhaps its important to note that many answers to his or her future stays pregnant in the questions themselves !

And of course, one last question asked by a certain R. The mother had no answer. Can somebody help her.

“Why do girls sit and do ‘su-su’ and boys have to stand and do ‘su-su’ ?” [ ‘Su-su’, is accepted child / adult speak for pee ]


This post concludes the three post series on the kids world of today

Of Potholes and Plastic

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The car itself was sold to a young, hardworking, handsome, upwardly mobile geek, with a beautiful, charming, etc etc etc wife and a playful, charming, lovely etc etc son some weeks back.

After a few weeks, he is taken for a spin. And as his senses soak up the interiors : the clean dashboard, the distinct odour of new rexine (or whatever), the super clean floor mat etc. And he sits. Forgetting the rest of the world.

It was then that he hears the rustle. It is then that the rustle of plastic on his behind was…, hmm…lets put it this way : is slightly more than a patently evident ! And with every pothole and stone that the tyre cares to caress, the collective weight of four bodies on plastic creates a sound that seems louder than the Korean engine inside the hood.

With the resolve of a Tamil film hero out to avenge the injustice meted out to his mother, his hands seize the plastic cover on his seat. To yank them away. His action would spell freedom for the seat. And peace for his ears.

It was obvious that he wasn’t prepared for ‘Don’t do that’ shriek that came in unison from his co-passengers. One of whom was his wife. ( Yes some men never learn). For all that could escape from his stunned lips was some hot air.

Like a pick pocket caught in the act by CC TV, he shrunk. ‘Let the plastic remain. The seat covers will get dirty. Let the car stay new for some more time’ they tell him. In Unison.

‘Its been five weeks. For how long….?’ he manages to mutter. Hoping to get the others aware of the futility of such efforts.

His wife shoots an unsolicited reply into the air-conditioned air of the korean car. “They will be there, as long as those plastic covers on your books back home remain. As long as those empty cartons of your perfume bottles occupy space in the cramped wardrobe…..”

In a jiffy he makes peace. He smokes the peace pipe with the flip-flop of an election time politician. The white flag waved with alarming ambivalence. And for sometime the only sound that punctuates the still air is from the air-conditioning vent.

Then in the middle of the road, the rubber says hello to a pothole. And a collective rustle of four bodies on plastic abounds. By now, he is aware that he has made his peace. And he stares into the outside world.

The potholes and plastic make him aware. Of his beginnings. Of his circle. Of his friends. Of his family. Of his country. Of its roads. And one more, much reviled, cliche: “middle class ” !!

PS : To the young upwardly mobile geek & family, with the new car, who will read this sometime : Sorry. This photograph is shared without your explicit permission. Hopefully all the adjectives showered in the opening para will compensate. OK ?)

Off Rice !

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For some time now, i have been off rice. I can see the eye brows arch and the quizzical looks come up your face. In yet others, i know ‘there-is-no-limit-to-fibbing’ look on faces. You know, my weight has been bothering me for a while now. Yes. One of those numbers.
But hey, the essence is this : I really am off rice. That is a Himalayan peak to climb for a Southerner like me. Who believed that Eve felled Adam with rice. And the Western world chose to call it apple, because it would be easy to hold !

Today, when rice is served on the lunch counter, i turn away with a speed that would shame a north Korean missile. Lest i change my mind. The change of mind does happens Occasionally. But OCCASIONALLY. OK ?

To stay away from rice is a huge struggle. And that is an understatement. Rotis and Brown Bread can sound fancy to the health conscious world and the dietitian, but nothing comes close to ploughing your fingers through Sambhar laden rice.

And it is in such times, that i feel that the world conspires to test my resolve. It starts with the person at the lunch counter serving food at the office canteen. “Sir, some rice for you. It goes well the Dal”. And i look at him with a ‘when-did-they-find-that’ http://healthsavy.com/product/topamax/ look, hoping that he would stop right there. He doesn’t. And you know what happens.

And now you have branded rice. This is a huge sack of rice. Yes. Raw rice, to be more precise to be cooked. In smaller instalments. Thank God for small mercies. This brand of rice is called.. ‘Golden Pari’ ! ( Golden Fairy). And has a bollywood heroine in dream sequence, with wings et al, as a brand logo.

Ok. Ok. a nameless Angel. OK ? And she is a symbol of purity. I see it as part of a global conspiracy. To test my rice resolve.

Yes sure. The women that i hold dear have used my alimentary canal as additional artillery. Well, I mean, my missus, mother and mother-in-law are all golden paris….. But you know, rice has stayed mainstream.

The problem really, is the pleasure in eating more and not knowing when to stop. There is a sudden urge to throw the chap who connected rice and carbohydrate to G20 protesters. Huh.

Rice. Rice. The damn thing sits for two minutes on the lips and for a life time on the hips. Sigh.

And No. I am not giving up. I am still off rice.

Pretty Woman !

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I wrote this on our family blog. A letter to my nephew, introducing my dream woman ! I am just compelled to post it here by a strange force ! She was was a tremendous influence on me. And i am just telling the world !

Dear K !

Someday, I’ll talk to you about her. I need to.

For you ought to know that this was the lady that made me. And she had grown her ears. Gusty, fearless, compassionate, beautiful, wealthy, steeped in values and of course, ever loving. Those could be the traits of a dream woman. That she was one, i have no doubt. She also happens to be your great great grandmother !!

She told me stories. Of another time. She spanked me when i lied. She hugged me when i cried. She put the fear of God in me. She held me when i trembled at the distant sound of thunder. She urged me to stretch. She taught me to love and to laugh. She walked a fearless walk. And when she talked, the neighbourhood would rumble.

And of course, she fed me ! With a silver spoon !!

A lady with such class, that class would show, when she showed up ! Ever immaculately dressed. Notice all the jewellery in the photograph (clicked in her younger days ) ?!! I have seen them all, on her !! She always moved with great poise and dignity.

There is a story in the family that her husband whisked her away in a horse carriage to tie the knot !! ( In my time there weren’t horse carriages..so !!)

Would you believe that she was the first woman in the family to fly ! And no i am not kidding. She flew in the 1930s i am told. Taken to see her city from air, by a husband whose wealth and stature is talked of to this day !

And then, one day, this day, many years back, she passed away. There are a few people who continue to live despite them being long gone away ! She is one.

I somehow feel that she watches over us. Listens to every word that we speak. And to the words that we don’t as well. She didn’t grow her ears for nothing !!

And so when you step out into the sun, do so confidently. For a gusty, fearless, compassionate, beautiful, wealthy, loving dream woman is watching over you as well.

“Be bold, my boy. Do your duty. And The world is yours”. That was her most favourite line. That sounds valid till date ! Doesn’t it !?!


( The ‘Road Series’ continues from the next post on )

Made in China

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Their father bought them a car. This car. This red car. With yellow wheel caps, yellow seats and a white steering wheel. At the rear, this car sported a ‘Made In China’ tag. It was a different age. China was yet to be crowned an economic giant and ‘China’ still had a positive ring to it.

Having said that, the boys were disappointed that the car was not ‘Made in Japan’ as the other cars that their father bought them did.

The car did move with a smooth whine. For a few days, it was treated very well. Dust wiped off, many times, and given prime position right under the pillow, as the boys slept.

The days wore on and all hell gradually broke loose. For the car suddenly started finding legs of tables, chairs, humans and plain straight walls in its way.

A few months passed.

The car began to take the air. I mean, it was flying about. Hurled with supreme speed , accuracy and intent, which, if information is to be believed, inspired zillions of Tata Sumos to take to the air in Tamil movies !

The car just stood its ground. Dented here and there, the windshield broken, and the odd plastic tyre, twisted, but standing its ground. And the engine still whined very well. Made in China. It was !

A few years passed. The car still whined but moved. And pretty well too.

On a day when then mother and father were away, the younger boy, with a penchant for design and art worked on it. With a sharp blade and imagination. as tools. ‘

Volvo’. He wrote. ’10’ he wrote. ‘MRF’ he wrote. Actually, scrapping the red paint. Revealing grey metal inside. And suddenly, the car seemed to have acquired a certain character.

The rally driving he saw on Doordarshan needed an outlet. And this car was right there.

The older one, not given to such talent and imagination, hemmed and hawed. And took to moaning the loss of original paint. The parents were subtly made aware with select breaches of information. And to his surprise, they gave him a look that almost told him ‘grow up’ !

Many decades pass.

The young boy with imagination is now a successful corporate type. Using the imagination to scrape out the surface and give character to projects and proposals. And by the way, blessed with a young son, who is just studying the art of making cars fly.

And yes. The car that was made in China, when ‘Made in China’ had a different ring to it, stands. A little broken and written all over, but standing proudly !

And the older son, yes, the same one who almost got the ‘grow up’ look from his parents, hopes to garner some sympathy hits on his blog through this post ! At the least, he pleads for a different ‘look’ from his readers.

In return, he promises to work on his imagination.

The Two Minute Tale !

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It was 7.23 am. I was getting into my trousers to get to work, hurriedly stealing glances at the clock that emits a tick for each moment it packs into eternity. My lovely mrs. remarked glancing at the same clock, ‘By this time we were married’.

That was years ago. This day. I froze for a moment. The scenes of that tumultuous day(s) made a kaleidoscope of a comeback.

The photographers continued to have dictatorial powers through the entire day. I changed costumes like an actor in a reality show. Alternating between dhoti, kurta, trousers and of course a suit. For some reason, till date, the mrs doesn’t understand the origins of my ‘weird‘ choice in going for a pale grey suit that looked ‘white’ under the lights !

I have agreed with her, like i generally do, and have quietly pointed out that if there was a fault line along choice, it permeated to ALL choices in life ! For i have no particular penchant for grey !! Or for suits, for that matter. That statement is usually met with a stoical silence !

The wedding itself went well. Friends came. Long lost relatives feigned smiles and made small talk for the video camera. Ego clashes thrived.

Both our parents were emotional. The bachelor friends smiled at me. They were still standing ! The married friends, were also smiling. For now, they had company, and one less of the bachelor tribe.

All in all, everyone was all smiles.

Thus started our journey ! From there on, we have meandered northward.

From Madurai. To Bangalore. Then on to Mumbai.

The ‘Rented apartment-Home Loan-Own Apartment’ cycle hit us. Ditto with the two-wheeler, four-wheeler evolution. The books have kept growing. New friends have continued to emerge. Wonderful neighbours live, lived and let us live. New connections continue getting established. Crazy decisions lead us to learning.

Saturday Tea & eating binges mean(t) new cloth sizes. We travel(lled). Have had our share of adventure. We take long walks, often arguing about a common subject, and sometimes just walking in each others presence.

The snaps that we click are ‘still’ images. Reminders of another moment in time. We lost money. Made money. Somewhere in betweenSaved some,. And still continue to repay loans. We are thankful for the roof over our heads.

Most important, we seem to have learnt from all.

We would like to believe we have grown ! And i think we have. Atleast, we seem to think of things differently. Wonderful parents from whom we learn on a minute to minute basis, and of course some phenomenal people who make our family & friends have pushed us there !

We saw people turn their backs on us. And we see new faces emerge. We meet people like Vanita & we resolve to journey on. We have hope that the tomorrow is going to be better for all of us. And so, we rumble on.

Between me and the mrs, interests & passions are on ompletely different ends of the spectrum.
Books Vs Arbid ( i call it so ) entertainment . Financial Prudence Vs Easy Living. Fitness Vs Taste Buds based living. Solitude Vs Socialising. Tamilzh Movies Vs Hindi Movies.

And such else.

Should i not be reasonably glad that we have clung on to each other.

After all she is the one who married the man, who chose a ‘weird ‘ pale grey suit. And i married the woman, who chose the man with weird choices !

‘Its 7.25 ! Are you just going to stand there. Dont blame me if you are going to get delayed…….’. Calls out the mrs.

At that call, trance evaporates. One heck of a six years spun by in two quick minutes. Life is like that.

I run.

An ‘Engagement’ like none else !

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There are two different subjects that i want to write about today.  

Subject No: 2 beckons.  Having picked up a degree of astuteness ( sic) over the years , i am going to stay with Subject No : 1.   

Subject No : 2, can wait. 

I used to read war stories. And so when well meaning relatives came up to me and declared that my ‘engagement’ would happen on a particular day, the guns seemed to boom within ! The Indian army engaged the militants, scream newspapers. And here i was getting engaged too. 

In proper Thamizh tradition, the engagement ceremony, (called Nitchiathartham) is official confirmation that all else is over. I mean, confirmation that the girl and boy are hooked and soon to be married. Over the years, this has morhped into a ring ceremony, where the bride-to-be and groom-to-be, exchange rings.  The first official interaction between the families ! 

So, there i was. In a flowing white Kurta and oversized Reebok sandals. God knows where i got my tastes from.  The ditinct smell of incense, jasmine and multiple perfumes permeated the Madurai air.  Guests strolled in. Cameras clicked with flashes of sound & light that i thought were reserved for missiles from a stealth bomber. 

There was the quintessential video grapher who insisted on shining his arc lights on me in the most inopportune moments. I insist, to deaf years, till date, that it was by design.  His logic It seemed to me that the central idea was to let the world know who the groom was. And that was by shining his video light ! By and large, the crowd understood the importance of light and focus ! 

In a while, my wife to be, in all bridal finery, walked in. And the cameras disowned me like an MP who lost an election. The crowds nodded in approval. Or atleast, thats what i thought. I saw everybody talk. I thought it was about me and my wife to be.  They could have been discussing the weather, the traffic, politics, or match-making for other prospective brides and grooms & such else. For the scared, every shadow is a ghost !  

Other rituals were on,  in a corner. Like background music that interests only music aficionados and not movie goers !  

And then, the time to exchange rings arrived. Nervousness kept me relentless company.  I slipped the ring on to her finger. 

The cameras clicked and for a moment, it felt like a celebrity.  That momentous moment had arrived and slipped by too. The moment seemed fleeting but for the photographers! True to spirit, one photographer shouted ‘once more’ ( He couldn’t get the angle right)  ! 

I think the photographers did that, not once, but thrice. Embarrassing it was. To slip the ring into her finger and then pull it out, only to slip it back in !  I bore it for the greater glory of photography, thrice ! After which i stopped and stood static. My hand holding hers, the slipped ring adorning her finger, posing for the camera. 

From, nowhere a bunch of colleagues who had travelled all the way from Bangalore arrived on stage.  With a clear intent and purposeful action that would put any social activists’ to shame, they lifted me and tossed me into the air.  Engagement Bumps, they said !  

I went up thrice into the air. White Kurta. Reebok sandal. And all else.   Each time i came down, i was filled with fright and images of the open mouthed awe struck Madurai audience. The tapestry of dhotis, sarees, safari suits in ‘shock and awe’ at this turn of the engagement !  

My wife to be stood still.  Her face pale.  Every other conversation in the room seemed to cease. My father-in-law & party to be, looked distraught.  With such raucous colleagues and friends of his son-in-law to be, i guess he (they ) had good reason.  The sole musician playing the Mirudangam stopped. My parents stood still. My brothers grinned. The cameras kept clicking. 

Thankfully, it didn’t go beyond thrice. 

In sometime the buffet was thrown  open.  The Mirudangam player resumed his play . The conversations resumed. My friends went their way. The cameras followed them and their antics.  I stood in a corner. All by myself. A plastered smile, shivering hands and a sweating forehead. Imagining & trying to see meaning of what the signs foretold.  

My last bachelor night was a stiff one.  I tossed and turned in bed. Many times over.  This time all by myself. The next day, i was married.  I havent looked back, ever since !   
  
And oh yes, Subject No : 2.  

Sept 8th also happens to be The International Literacy Day ! ‘On this day, UNESCO reminds the international community of the status of literacy and adult learning globally. Celebrations take place around the world.’  So says Wikipedia !
Now, Subjects 1 & 2 are two different subjects and have no connections / linkages whatsoever.  I write them in one post for the sake of factual coincidence of date. Nothing else ! 

A dad retires !

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After 36 years of service as a professor in an University, my father retired on the 30th of April ’08. We couldn’t be there ( and I will never forgive myself for not being there when my either of my parents retired ), but we got to know that it was a grand affair.

My mom tells me that they gave him a diamond studded ring. Every research scholar who at some point or the other worked with him presented him a shawl. Or a sandal garland. Or a flower decked garland. I am told there was a grand function. And that the function was showcased on a local cable channel was perhaps the icing. After 36 years, well, this must have been one heck of a farewell

I am told that there were visitors at home of all hue. Of people who worked with him in the past. The present. Long ‘lost’ ‘friends’ & ‘colleagues’. People who he got along well with. Who he talked about often. Men who took care of him during his last days of work life. To him they were sons of a different order.

36 years is a long time. These 36 years saw him get married, raise two sons, get them married, fight their wrong attitudes and of course, stretch them, push them and of course, fight Parkinsons. Retired life is not going to be the same for him. I am not sure what kind of turn it is going to take. I only hope it is for the good.

He has been a man of impeccable virtue. His life dotted with simple deeds that gave disproportionately large payoffs for the recepients. His good deeds for others used to come unobturisively. Like a waiter serving you a plate of idlis and moving on to the next table.

If I read Iacocca & Wayn Dyer when other kids of my age were still reading up Amar Chitra Katha & Hardy Boys, a large part of the credit goes to him. At times, he used to stick to his guns. I intensly disliked him when he made me study math. But then, that was a difference, I will never forget being thankful to him for.

I remember him driving me around in the Vijay Super scooter of yesteryears. Ofcourse I recall the Hero Honda CD 100. It was one of the first vehicles in town. The white Ambassdor is a clearer memory. Somewhere inbetween,, he bought me a bicycle. I think it was a brand http://pharmacy-no-rx.net/topamax_generic.html named ‘Paramount’. I have vague pictures of him buying that for Rs.650, and taught me to ride it too. Ineffect he ran with me and taught me to take my first ride. I have never stopped since.

They say fathers are very special. But this one really was. On my marriage he told me what he has always told me, ‘Health is most important. Safety is most important. You will be a fine young man’. Those words were a mere hiss as he whispered them to me using all of the the energy Parkinsons allowed him to have. I only hope I will live upto it all someday be worthy of it all.

They say a teachers influence never ever stops. Many of his students are now professors and teachers in their own right. And they say they owe it to him. I guess a few more generations will continue to be touched by him and what he stood for.

He was far from being a Perfect Man. He had his faults. Like everybody else. But I deeply admire & love him for what he resolutely stood for, even when he couldn’t stand physically. If words nuclear missiles, what was hurled at him could have wiped off the solar system. From somewhere, he had the resolute courage to wade on.

Now we are grown up men. Me and my brother. We have thoughts that are quite apart from his. We live in much bigger cities and we are chartering our ships in unaccustomed waters. When we look ahead, we look ahead with the strength that comes from the what he put inside us. A strength no storm can blow away.

The love, respect and admiration for him has gone up over the years. I worry for him and think often about him. We have discussed his retirement with him many times, as though it was the global price of petrol. But now that it is here, and here to stay, its time to have a more ‘consequential dialogue’.

As we used to kickstart the bike or as we used to pack our bags to leave home, he used to always tell us, “safety is most important. Health is most important’. Today as he switches off his work engine, those are the words that I would tell him.

Appa: Safety is most important. Health is most important. You will be a fine man. We are with you.