The world's greatest festival!

It is polling day.

An enormous crowd greets you at the polling station. You thought you could beat everyone by reaching early. Others have thought likewise. There are multiple lines, multiple rooms, and the invariable confusion. Self-styled leaders step up to take the initiative and keep the flock together. “Everyone! This is the line to room number 4! I repeat, to room number 4 only!”

“Oh! I thought this is the line to room number 2!” someone suddenly wakes up. “Room number 2? You can walk in!” Call it Murphy’s law, the room you have been assigned to, has the longest line. You wonder, how long it is going to take. One hour, two hours maybe?  Some give up too soon, “I think I will come back at noon! I am certain there will be no crowd at that time!” You have half a mind to inject- “Saar! If you go home now, you will never come back!”

“I do not have this paper-receipt, with the room number earmarked. But I have the e-receipt on my cellphone. Is that enough?” someone asks. “They are not allowing cellphones. You need the paper. You can get it outside, at the counter,” is the rebuttal. “They are surely allowing cellphones!  The only problem is, you cannot switch it on!” comes a third opinion, adding no clarity to the situation. “Better to get the paper receipt also!” is the conclusion.

Waiting is not easy. Though the morning is young, the sun is harsh. The line barely moves- as though, you are waiting on a treadmill. A motley crowd mills all around- the young, the old and the overly old. Some are bent with age and can barely walk. They are escorted by their caregivers to the polling room directly. Friends, acquaintances, workplace colleagues- you get a chance to meet everyone. Meeting once is 5 years, isn’t too bad after all.

“This is like Tirupati. At least, at Tirupati, we would have earned some punya for all this waiting!” a stray conversation bit reaches your ear. There is a fitting response too, “This is greater punya, I would say! Yathaa raajaa…tathaa prajaa! You need this punya…so that you can float for another 5 years!”

The serpentine queue moves slowly but surely. Observing people, their body-language, their conversation…keeps you busy. You are now at the threshold of the room.

The din and clatter of the world is left behind the moment you step in. There is a hush...like the silence in an examination hall. Even the sound of the ceiling-fan is magnified several times over. There is one “presiding officer” and a few “poll officers” seated behind tables. Your identity is carefully matched. In a sheaf of papers, he quickly spots your picture, taken 20 years ago, and ticks it off. Another officer waits with the “indelible ink” swab. One part of the mind wants to ask him seriously, “Sir! Is the ink in-edible or indelible? Can I go home and eat breakfast?” Thankfully, you shake off these frivolities. You lay down your entire palm face down, as though, he is about to apply nail-polish to each of your fingers! "Can I choose crimson color...instead of this blue?" you are itching to ask.

All it takes him is one quick swish of the swab. You now wait for your turn...to step into the EVM counter.

Standing in front of the EVM, the focus must be total. The options are many. In a momentary lapse of concentration, your finger may stray, and you may inadvertently press the wrong button. That’s what happened to Kumbhakarna. After enormous tapas, Lord Brahma appeared before Kumbhakarna. A moment of indiscretion cost Kumbhakarna dearly. He wanted to ask “nir-devatvam” as a boon- “may no deva have lordship over me!” At the opportune moment, his tongue slurred, the visarga got transferred to another syllable in the word, and he blurted out “nidraavatvam”- “may I enjoy sleep!” Of course, Brahma gave him no second chance. He readily agreed- tathaastu, “so be it!”, and vanished! All this runs through your mind.

Kumbhakarna’s story is so powerful that you sleep off…right in front of the EVM. “Hello! Hello saar! What are you doing ? Press the button!” an impatient polling officer wakes you up- "Uttishthata! Jaagrata!" You shake off Kumbhakarna’s story. You make the selection decisively.  The EVM beeps, your candidate’s visual appears in the tiny screen and finally, you are done!

Once out of the polling booth, you cannot contain your smile. It is time for a round of selfies with the indelible ink on the finger prominently displayed!

An enormous sense of pride and achievement runs through your being.  It is a feeling of being “part of the process”, a feeling that you are an “active contributor” to the world’s largest democracy!

Laughter and its variants!

They say – laughter is the best medicine. Medicine is mostly bitter, but thankfully laughter comes in different flavors. At one end of the spectrum, are those that laugh as though they are consuming medicine. It is a carefully, calibrated laughter- it flows in a trickle, in ounces and teaspoons, just this much...and no more!

I watch comic films wearing such a laughter hat. “Didn’t you understand the joke?” my wife typically asks, scrutinizing my grave expression. “I did understand the joke. That's exactly why I cannot laugh!” Stand-up comedians should be thankful that I am not in the audience. By now, they would have lost all self-confidence, and banged their head on a concrete wall, watching every joke fall flat, with not a ripple registered on my placid face!

At the opposite end of the spectrum are the popular comedy shows on TV. The anchor normally employs a laughing sidekick to liven up the show. The sidekick has just one job- to laugh at the drop of a hat. For every innocuous comment from the anchor, the sidekick claps his hands and laughs uproariously. “I went to the market and bought potatoes!” the anchor comments. The sidekick repeats the sentence- “I went to the market” and breaks into a bout of convulsive laughter to the extent he can’t complete the sentence!

Watching him, we get irritated, “This is too much! They must have fed him "bhaang" or Laughing Gas! No wonder, he laughs for the silliest reason!”

Rakshasas and asuras are known for their special laughter, called “atta-haasa”. They must have a great sense of humor. The moment they make an appearance, on TV or in dramas, they break into an evil laugh, for no palpable reason. Asuras are trained to laugh in a low baritone, in the “mandara sthaayi”. Atta-haasa of this kind typically starts with the syllable “eee”.  Soon, the “eee” breaks into a gurgle, and swells into a sumptuous round of “ha-ha-ha”, so much so, the entire place reverberates with their booming laughter!

Today’s generation replies on social media with the ubiquitous “LOL” and “ROFL”. I have always been tickled by ROFL- “Rolling On the Floor Laughing”. Someone replies with ROFL sitting in a train. Think about it- one moment, they are sitting on the side-berth, all normal. They read your whatsapp message, and the next moment, they go rolling down the train’s aisle! How do the co-passengers react to this spectacle? And imagine multiple people on the train, all replying with ROFL. Soon, the train will resemble a "mini-Tirupati", with dozens of folks, rolling over each other, doing a veritable “anga-pradakshina”, down the train’s aisle!

We had a teacher in school, who often said, “Don’t loaf! If you loaf so much, you will cry later!” We took the sentence at face value, with a practical message- “Don’t loaf around and waste your time. Later, you will regret it and cry!” Only towards the end of the year, we deciphered her peculiar pronunciation. She actually meant, “Don’t laugh! If you laugh so much, you will cry later!” It took us an entire year to understand her hidden message. Laughter is a double-edged sword. Laugh too much, and it will come back to bite you later!

Laughter comes in several styles. In one, the person is laughing, but not one sound emerges. Only the eyes crease into a straight line, the face turns red, and the shoulder rocks. He is like a volcano, the lava is smoldering, but it is all bottled within.  After several minutes elapse, suddenly, out of the blue, the volcano explodes, into a round of resounding laughter. There are others who laugh with their mouth closed- so much so, each laughter bout is a snort, much like a bull, snorting through its nostrils. In some cases, the laughter is high-pitched, “peals of laughter” as they say, like the laughter of hyenas. It can be scary, especially at night. And still others laugh so much, that they hold their sides and plead with tears in their eyes, “Don’t make me laugh more! Please!” In such extreme cases, the laughter ends in a hiccup. With each hiccup, they laugh still more, leading to more hiccups. It is a vicious cycle that knows no end. No wonder, my teacher instructed, “Don’t loaf!”

We are told laughter is a 100% human response. Animals can express all emotion- they can show affection, they can cry (we are told), but they cannot laugh. And who has come to this conclusion? Humans have decided for animals that animals cannot laugh! Think about the irony. Who knows? Animals may be intently watching humans make a fool of themselves.

One fine day, when humans finally succeed in their self-destructive ways, much like the mythological character "Bhasmaasura", all the monkeys and elephants and hyenas will assemble in the open, and break into a collective laugh. 

After all, he who laughs best, laughs last! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fort at Gingee

A few months ago, we did a 10-day trip around Karnataka. As we drove long distances each day, I had a specific job at hand- to sit beside the driver, Mr Murti, and engage him in conversation. That way, we were sure, he was alert and attentive at the wheel. The following is an account of one such conversation piece, reproduced verbatim.

“Murti saar, in all these 25 years of driving, have you had any paranormal experience?” I suddenly asked, to break the lull in the conversation. “What do you mean by paranormal experience?” Mr Murti asked, all puzzled. I spelt it out, “Something unusual…something inexplicable- involving spirits and ghosts, the kind we see in the recent Kannada film ‘Kantara’!”

Mr Murti thought for a moment, “Yes, I had one such experience. We were driving close to the Gingee Fort.” “You mean Gingee, that place in Tamil Nadu?” I asked. “Yes, the same Gingee!” Mr Murti clarified.

I knew Gingee (pronounced “jinji”). I had passed by the place many years ago. From Chennai, as you drive towards Tiruvannamalai, you take a turn to the right, just after Tindivanam. Gingee is on that road.

The word “Gingee” has an esoteric ring to it! Just intone the word “Gingee” repeatedly- it has an unmissable oddity, both in its wording and sound! In Tamil, it is called “Senji”, but trust the British, to come up with a twisted, Anglicized version of the name called “Gingee”!

The fort at Gingee arrests your attention.  You cannot drive past it nonchalantly. A gasp of “wow” escapes your mouth, and your eyes turn wide with wonder. The landscape reveals a gentle roll of the hills. Seated on top of a rocky hill, not too far from the road, is the Gingee Fort. Ramparts of the fort are still intact and well preserved. There’s the king’s fort on one side, the queen’s quarters on the other, and the road slices right through the middle of the ruins.

It was this Gingee Fort that Mr Murti was referring to. Murti saar continued, “It was dead at night. The driver-side window was open. While driving past the fort, I felt as though someone slapped me on my cheek from the window!” Mr Murti’s face turned pale. “Slapped you on the cheek? It must have surely been the ghost of a primary schoolteacher!” I joked. Mr Murti did not respond. He was caught up in his recollection. “I felt some enormous force was pushing the car from the opposite direction. I tried to accelerate. I couldn’t. Some power was decelerating the car, so much so, it was slowing by the second and coming to a halt. I was mortally scared. But I had some presence of mind. Immediately, I closed all the windows, pressed the accelerator at full throttle and hurtled past the place. Soon, things became totally normal!”

Mr Murti’s narration made my hair stand on end. “What was that?” I asked. Mr Murti explained that his experience was later corroborated by others. It was apparently common knowledge among drivers- either you totally avoided Gingee Fort after sunset, or if you had to drive at night, you ensured that the windows were shut-tight, and you never slowed the car.

“You do not have to believe me!” Mr Murti added, “Just search for Gingee-Fort and ‘mysterious incidents’ on the internet!" "Several drivers were not as lucky!” Mr Murti trailed off.

The topic was too spooky. I shifted the conversation immediately to Cricket and other irrelevant things in life. In a week’s time, the trip was over, and we were back home.

Once home, I had to read about Gingee. Somehow, in school, it had never figured in our history textbook. The fort has stood for over 800 years, (renovated multiple times), from 1190 AD onwards! Its occupants were many, in a reign of successive kings. Shivaji, in his time, called it “the most impregnable fort”. Over the centuries, the Marathas held the fort, followed by the Mughals.  It was captured later by the French and finally by the British! The “Battle of Gingee” and the “Great Carnatic wars”-all that action happened right here.

The fort at Gingee…like a silent sentinel, it must have witnessed such tumultuous twists and turns in its long and checkered history. What voices…what stories…from a dim and distant past…lay captive within…echoing through those stony embankments and rocky hillsides?

Any takers…for a leisurely stroll around Gingee, late at night? Who knows, you may catch the tinkling of anklets and the jingling of bangles. And perhaps, spot a lady draped in flowing white, rocking on a swing, and the yesteryear song in the air- "Ayega…ayega…ayega…aanewala…ayega...” Who knows?

Any takers?

Money is more important than education!

When we were in 7th standard and had just entered the echelons of the “Secondary block (7-10 grades)” in school, we were exposed to a “debate” for the first time. The topic was “Money is more important than education”. Green House spoke “for the motion” and Red House against it.

We sat in the audience, palms cupped to the cheek, eyes fixed on the 10^th standard gladiators, as they battled it out. It was indeed a clash of the titans! As a Green House student, it was amply clear- on which side of the topic, I stood.

Debating involved a peculiar style. You started your speech with a flowery address, “Respected chairperson (and made eye contact with the principal), members of the jury (and looked at the judges), my “worthy” opponents (and glared at the other House) and my dear friends (and smiled)!” The Green House speaker felt there was no debate at all. It was an “open-and-shut case”. The topic was a “statement of fact”- yes, money is more important than education. What is there to say? You need money to get education. And through education, you eventually want to make money. When both the path and the goal was “money”, what was the debate about?

The argument was clinching- as though the debate was over before the first ball was bowled. Further, he taunted the Red House speakers, “My worthy opponents, did you join this school for free, by any chance? Ask your father! Ask your mother! How much of “hard earned money” was spent on your education! And still…you dare say, money is less important?”

It was now Red House’s turn. Defending education was an impossible task. Red House folks spoke in a pompous monotone, “My dear friends, may I ask…may I ask a basic question? What is education?  Education comes from the Latin word “educare”- to nourish.” All this was too cerebral for us and was met with a round of yawns. The speech sounded like a sermon from a pulpit, as though great-great-grandfather was preaching, wearing a Dadabhai Naoroji cap and stroking his white, flowing beard.

The crux of the Red House argument was this- Education was the “summum bonum” of life. (By the way, what does summum bonum mean?) We are humans because of education. Remove that, and we will all be animals! (This sentence was met with a round of catcalls, but that’s a different matter!) Also, education need not be considered as “pursuit of knowledge” alone. Learning any basic skill is education. And only through that skill, you can make money.

The next Green House speaker tore into Red House’s argument- dismissing it summarily as “baseless and puerile”.  (By the way, what does “puerile” mean?) “Gentlemen! he is twisting the word “education”! By giving it a different spin, he is not sticking to the framework of the debate. The topic is about “formal education” and its importance with respect to money. He concluded with a phrase that has stayed with me to this day- “Red House’s argument has no footing whatsoever- it is like a post-dated cheque on a crashing bank!”

The speech was met with a thunderous applause from Green House. Shouts of “Bravo! Bravo!” rent the air. No one knew what a “post-dated cheque” meant. It didn’t matter. That one phrase was enough- like a sledgehammer, it struck Red House right on the head. Serves them right!

As the debate proceeded, it was unclear what was going on. Education depended on money and money depended on education. It was a chicken and egg problem of mutual dependence, with no clear-cut exit strategy. The speakers were confusing themselves and the audience with them. “Yaar, he is scoring a self-goal yaar, by praising money, when he is supposed to praise education!” the audience giggled and discussed among themselves.

The results were about to be announced. We waited with bated breath and prayed fervently, “Dear God! Please God! This one-time God, let Green House win!”

Red House won!  We were shocked, "How did Red House win? They were blabbering and bleating “meh-meh-meh” like goats! How could they win? As usual, Red House cheated and won!" Red House folks erupted- jeering and thumbing their nose at us, rubbing salt into a festering wound! Teachers had a tough time, restraining boys from opposing camps who caught each other’s collar and came close to fisticuffs! Tension and emotion ran sky high.

Let’s face it- the judgement was partisan and unfair. After all, the judges were teachers who “colluded" with Red House. As educationists, how could they allow money to win over education? We smarted under that loss.  Like Javed Miandad’s last ball six nailed India, Green House snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. We couldn’t look at Red House folks in the eye for a whole year.

The next year, all the houses were shuffled. Some of us, Green House students, now turned Red. And once you got a coat of Red, the worldview changed. Obviously, education was more important than money! What was the debate about?

Where are the keys?

Over 15 years ago, we had just moved into the new flat. On one of the first days, we found ourselves locked out! “I thought you had the keys!” my wife said. “I thought you had the keys!” I retorted. Many a happy family has thus been marooned, the culprit being the main door fitted with an automatic lock.

You have exactly 2 choices- break down the main door, or have someone get into the home, in stealth mode, through the window. We think our homes are safe, secure, and out of bounds from nefarious elements. All it took the security person, was one leap from the neighbor’s flat to our restroom window. That done, he entered our flat and let us in! So much for our “notional” sense of security.

We immediately made friends with our neighbors. We gave them a set of keys for safekeeping. But what if the neighbors are on a holiday and we get locked out? We gave another set of keys to the housemaid. What if the housemaid is also away on that fateful day? We needed still more “redundancy”. Now, everyone on the planet has our housekey. Yes, this way, we will never get locked out again!

Housekeys are slippery fellows. You stuff it in your pant pocket on your way to the office. In the evening, just as you are about to enter your flat, you feel your pocket, and he’s gone! Where did he go? Where did he go? You dig your fingers deeper into your pocket- the front pockets, the back pockets, just about everywhere! He has slipped away. You cannot describe that feeling- the panic, the helplessness, the futility of it all. The brain is totally foggy- from where will you start your search?

Some stories have an unusual ending like the twist in an art film. Your wife lets you in- and you mumble, “I don’t know where I lost the housekey!” She replies, “You never took it to the office in the first place! It is still by the washbasin!” Sometimes, after coming home, yes, after coming home, you cannot find the key. This takes the cake- you used the key to get in. And now, the key is gone! The ridiculousness of it all taunts you. A room-to-room search is conducted, combing every nook and corner, shelf and drawer. The key is nowhere. The entire home is upside down- if ever there was a key, it is now likely buried deeper in this debris.

And guess where you found the key eventually? No! Not in the restroom or inside the refrigerator! It was still inserted on the main door lock! I doubt whether this is oversight- I sincerely believe keys have a life of their own, and a morbid sense of mischief too. They tip-toe out of the house just to send you on a wild goose chase!

One thing about keys- they are faithful to the core. Only the houseowner knows how to operate them. A thief has no hope in hell of entering the house, even if he has the key. Every key has its special character, a quirky behavior, known only to the master. In some cases, the key must be inserted the other way, with the teeth facing up. In other cases, you need to insert the key midway, give it a little jerk, till you hear a click. Thereafter, you can open the door. Miss that vital point, and you will be twirling the key endlessly.

A single key, without a keychain, is like a bachelor. He’s too wild, and given his wayward ways, you are sure to lose him very soon. Sometimes, he tunnels his way down your pant pocket. You come home, and find a tiny hole in the pant pocket, and sure enough, he’s gone! “Why would you carry a single key, without a keychain? That’s surely asking for trouble!” you are asked repeatedly.

Keys with keychains have other issues. You develop some bad habits along the way. You get into a habit of twirling the keychain, as though you are wielding Lord Vishnu’s discus. It looks stylish all right, but at the most opportune moment, just when you are leaning over the embankment, with a raging ocean below- you twirl the keychain, and this one time, out goes the keychain along with your key…into the swirling water! Your eyes bulge, your mouth is ajar, and you let out a strangulated yelp, but there is little more you can do! At least with a single key, this accident wouldn’t happen!

Way back in college, I once got locked out of the hostel room. I forgot to carry the key, and my roommate had locked the room and gone off. He returned much later in the evening. He said, “You know what? I never carry the key with me! I leave it every single day under the locked door!” In his excitement to demonstrate his innovative solution, instead of pushing the key towards himself, from underneath the doorsill, he ended up flicking it the opposite way. The key now lay several feet inside the locked room! Now, there were 2 fellows locked out, and 2 sets of keys…both inside the room!

Ahi Mahi Ravana and deep fake news!

As a child, if there was one story I loved to hear, it was the one centered on “Ahi Mahi Ravana”. I pestered my uncle repeatedly to narrate the story. The plot was filled with intrigue and suspense. Each time I heard my uncle, it was with the same wide-eyed wonder. “And then, what happened uncle? And then?”

An adaptation from Krttivaasa’s Ramayana, the story went as follows. Ravana had lost almost everyone in the battle against Rama. Ravana’s brother Kumbhakarna was no more. His mighty son Indrajit was felled by Lakshmana. Ravana was distraught. How can he combat Rama? He suddenly remembered Ahi-Mahi Ravana. (In some versions, there is only Mahi-Ravana, but uncle’s version had 2 separate characters Ahi and Mahi Ravana, based on a Tamil film in uncle’s time).

Ahi and Mahi were Ravana’s sons. They ruled the nether world, paataala loka. The moment Ravana thought of them, Ahi and Mahi immediately materialized. Hearing Ravana’s predicament, they calmed him down. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We can easily take care of Rama and Lakshmana!”

Meanwhile, in Rama’s camp, spies informed Vibhishana that Ahi and Mahi had been summoned by Ravana. Vibhishana was terribly worried. He cautioned Hanuman, “Ahi and Mahi Ravana are “mayavis”, master magicians. We must be extra careful! Do not allow anyone close to Rama and Lakshmana. Remember, Ahi-Mahi Ravana can take any form, at will. The security must be top-notch!” Hanuman was confident, “Vibhishana, don’t worry! Not even a fly can touch Rama and Lakshmana!”

Hanuman beefed up the security. With his tail, he created a huge conical fortress. The entire vanara army sat inside the fortress, all around the circumference. Rama and Lakshmana were placed at the center. Vibhishana himself manned the fortress on the outside, doing the rounds. Each time Vibhishana passed Hanuman, he warned him, “Be careful Hanuman! You never know what Ahi-Mahi Ravana are up to!” During one of the rounds, Vibhishana wanted to re-assess the security inside the fortress. “Hanuman, let me in. I want to double-check that all is fine!” Hanuman let Vibhishana inside.

Vibhishana was suddenly back doing the rounds. Hanuman caught Vibhishana by the scruff of his neck, “I know you are Mahi Ravana! You think you can fool me by taking this fake Vibhishana form? The real Vibhishana just went inside!” Vibhishana struggled to speak, his voice choked by Hanuman’s vice-like grip, “Hanuman! I do not know what you are talking! I…I…I am the real Vibhishana. I do not know whom you let inside. That was not me! He was fake!”

It was a Trojan Attack- you couldn’t differentiate between the real and the fake! Hanuman was caught napping. He rushed inside the fortress. The entire vanara army lay unconscious. Rama and Lakshmana were gone- whisked away to the nether world by Ahi and Mahi Ravana!

Today’s world is exactly like the world spun by Ahi-Mahi Ravana. If you read a piece of news, you later learn, it was fake news. Videos are faked, even the voice is faked. Recently, a song was released in the voice of musicians, who no longer exist. It’s like Maareecha faking Rama’s voice, so much so, even Seeta was tricked. Generative AI is already here. It has taken over- creating a virtual world, blurring the boundary between the real and the unreal.

How will it change the world? Earlier, the “chashmadeed gawaah”, the “eyewitness” played a pivotal role in cracking many a riveting crime case. Will his account be tenable anymore? “Yes, you were an eyewitness, but what your eye witnessed was not real. It was just a hologram, a fake reality!”

What is real? What is unreal? Those searching questions are suddenly our questions- questions that only a philosopher grappled with. Till now, the rule was simple- you “see” an object, and hence the object is “real”. We are set to revise this rule- “You see an object, and hence, that object is unreal!”

“And then uncle? And then? What happened to Ahi-Mahi Ravana?” Uncle continued, “Well, Hanuman had to go to paataala world. Rama and Lakshmana were held captive. It was not easy to kill Ahi-Mahi Ravana. Their “life” was carefully protected- across the seven seas, in a secluded place. Hanuman had to blow out 7 flames, all at the same time, to take the life out of Ahi-Mahi Ravana. Rama and Lakshmana were eventually freed. Hanuman once again came to their rescue!”

“And then uncle? And then? What happened after that uncle?”

The elephant at Kumbheshvara temple

 

Elephants are some of the most lovable creatures. Recently, I had the opportunity to visit Kumbhakonam. The elephant at Kumbheshvara temple stole my heart! Unlike other temple elephants, this one was completely unchained. Imagine- an unchained, untethered elephant, standing on its own, in total freedom!

Elephants are like magnets. They arrest your attention, so much so, you can scarcely take your eyes away. This elephant stood on the pathway leading to the main shrine, on a little perch filled with fine sand. What was distinctive about this elephant was the brown hair on its head! A few long, auburn strands of hair hung from the sides of the head elegantly. In its youth, it must have had a full crop of auburn hair, the kind we find in the Jungle-Book cartoon character! Scanty, brown hair stuck out from the top of the head, like tiny bristles! The face was pocked with pink freckles, that gave the face a stately and mature disposition.

The visage, between the eyes, was painted with a white design. It was not overly large to disfigure the elephant’s face, but just enough to make it look totally adorable! Elephants’ eyes are tiny- but they are expressive. As it greeted each visitor, you could see the mouth crease into a gentle smile with a peculiar glint in the eyes! The ears flapped, the tail waved, and the trunk was ever animated!

Just beside the elephant, a mega dance program was in progress. Rows upon rows of chairs were filled with people. At the far end, was a stage, and troupes of classical dancers regaled the audience. Silhouette of the gopuram, lit with a row of lights was pasted against the night sky.  Music blared from the speakers- now playing “Bho shambho” and now playing Lalgudi Jayaraman’s musical composition. The elephant seemed to enjoy the music and was an equal participant in the dance. It crossed one front foot over the other, in a steady rhythm, doing its little jig, even as the program continued!

I picked my chair carefully, and sat as close to the elephant as possible, just behind its tail! A thought did cross my mind- what if the elephant turned around and made a sudden charge? That sea of humanity, yours truly included, and the dancers dressed in all their finery, will soon be running helter-skelter!

But I nipped such imaginative thoughts in the bud. After all, it was the perfect vantage point to observe the dance, the elephant and the steady trickle of visitors who were irresistibly drawn to it. The elephant followed the drill to the letter. It picked the rupee note from the visitor’s hand, deftly handed it over to the mahout who sat beside and placed the trunk on the visitor’s head in a mark of both affection and benediction.

If it was mother-child duo, it was extra careful and placed its trunk ever so gently on the child’s head.  There were bold children and there were children who panicked and froze, refusing to go any further. The elephant waited patiently, till the child lost all fright and gained an element of composure. All along, its movements were fluid and languid, as it visibly enjoyed the entire setting!

When it was dinner time, the mahout stepped away to bring sheafs of green grass from the other side. The elephant waited- with no chain, no mahout, and no restraint whatsoever.

It was 9 pm. The temple was to close for the night. The mahout made a little gesture. On its own, the elephant got down from the sand perch and walked towards the shrine. It swayed from side to side, its majestic gait, a sight for sore eyes! The elephant’s gigantic frame was now noticeable, as it passed the temple’s doorway, and towered over everything in its wake!

Once home, I learnt that the elephant’s name was “Mangalam”.  Apparently, Mangalam was the recipient of “The best-behaved elephant” award!  

What a bundle of joy!

Temple tour- Tirunallaar

Tirunallaar is in Puducherry, as opposed to the other nava-graha shrines, that are in Tamil Nadu. It is the sthala where Saturn, Shani bhagavan is propitiated. As we know, Tiru is an honorific, "nal" refers to King Nala and "aar" is the one who gave comfort (to King Nala). Thus, Tirunallaar refers to the place where King Nala got the solution to tide over his difficulties.

Nala's story is well known. Nala and Damayanti predate the incidents in the Mahabharata. Shaneeshvara, the Lord of Saturn torments Nala, so much so, Nala who was a king, loses everything including his wife Damayanti. When the Pandavas were in the forest, Yudhishthira questions why he is going through so much suffering in life. At that point, Yudhishthira hears the story of Nala chakravarti. Yudhishthira understands that his trouble is nothing compared to what Nala faced! Such was Nala's life.

Nala roams all over for comfort and finally reaches Tirunallaar, the site where Shaneeshvara has a special place. Unlike other places where Shani Bhagavan faces West, in this temple, he faces East. Propitiating Shani Bhagavan at this place, Nala's life takes a turn for the better.

As per the priest at the temple (with whom we had a lengthy conversation), all the other grahas are referred to, by their names alone- as "chandra", "angaraka" etc. Only when it comes to Shani, eeshvara (the Lord) is added to his name (especially at Tirunallaar), so that he becomes "shaneeshvara".

Like other navagraha kshetras (apart from Suryanaar), this is essentially a temple for Lord Shiva. Shiva is known here as "Darbhaaranyeshvara" (darbha-aaranya-eeshvara), the Lord of the forest filled with "darbha" grass. As per the priest, this is a swayambhu linga (not man-made/sculpted linga, but as appearing in nature). Tirunallaar was a forest filled with darbha, and hence this special name for Lord Shiva. The sthala vrksha in this temple is "darbha". As one goes around the praakaara, darbha is seen growing like wild grass, extending over 10 feet in height.

A special facet about Tirunallaar is that it is part of the "sapta vitanka sthalas" of Lord Shiva. At Tirunallaar, Shiva as "Tyagaraja" is present in the heart of Lord Vishnu. In keeping with this point, just before we enter the main temple complex, at the top of the entrance, is a sculpture of Lord Vishnu. He is reclining on Adi Shesha and from his heart, arises Shiva as "Tyagaraja". This point was specially narrated to us as we waited just outside the main temple complex.

Devi is known here as "Praaneshvari" (as pointed out by the priest at the temple). She is Praaneshvari because she is the life-breath, praana in every living being. He mentioned that the names of Devi in the Lalita Sahasranama "praaneshvari....praanadaatri....panchaashat-peetha-rupini" corresponds to Devi as present at Tirunallaar.

The shrine of Shaneeshvara also faces East (just like Shiva in the main sanctum). As in other Shiva temples, Devi's shrine is to our right (as we face Shiva), at right-angles to the main sanctum.

Just outside the main sanctum is Shaneeshvara's shrine- the idol is decked with kireetam and kavacha. Not much of a crowd since it is a Sunday morning.

Before entering the temple, it is customary to follow a particular regimen- you take a dip, or at least do a "prokshana-snaanam" at "Nala teertham". This pond is not co-located with the main temple area. It is across the road. After the dip, you proceed to the Ganesha shrine (to one corner of the pond). You light up a camphor placed atop a coconut, and after swivelling the coconut around yourself, you break the coconut at the Ganesha shrine. That done, you proceed to the main temple.

As per the priest, there are 2 sthalas where you need that "special calling" to visit- one is Tirupati and the other is Tirunallaar.

One last point about the pronunciation, though a very minor point. It is "TirunaLLaar", the L sound produced by striking the tongue against the roof of the mouth. That is, it is a "muurdhanyaa" letter. It is not the L sound produced by striking the tongue against the front teeth, i.e. it is not a "dantyaa" (light L) letter.

Nala Teertham

Entry to the temple-the gopuram is partially visible in this picture

 

Temple tour- Suryanaar, Kanjanur, Tiruvidaimarudur, Oppliappan

 Suryanaar temple:

We started at 6:15 am from Kumbhakonam. By 7 am, we were at the Suryanaar temple. It is one of the nava-graha kshetras. These days, this nava-graha kshetra tour has become so popular, every hotel room carries a map of this temple-circuit. 

Essentially, all these temples are Shiva temples, with Shiva as the main deity. The "graha" deity is also a prominent deity in each temple. However, the Suryanaar temple is different. Here, Suryanaar is the main deity- there is no shiva-linga in the sanctum as in other nava-graha temples.

Apparently, apart from Konark, this is unique- to have a temple dedicated to Lord Surya alone.

In the sanctum, Lord Surya is flanked by Usha-devi on one side and Chhaaya devi on the other. The graha "guru" faces the sanctum (as Nandi would in a Shiva temple).

In this temple, there are also separate sanctums for each graha- chandra, angaraka, budha,  shukra, shani, rahu and ketu. This is unlike the usual navagraha arrangement we find in Shiva temples. 

Archana was quickly done in each shrine- since these are clustered, few feet away from each other, the entire process takes little time.

Since last night was maha shivaratri, the priest expressed his displeasure that they have lit oil-lamps all over the place, so much so, he cannot even enter the shrine this morning!

Muthuswamy has composed a kriti in praise of Lord Surya at this temple in the raga Saurashtram.

https://guru-guha.blogspot.com/2008/10/dikshitar-kriti-soorya-moorte-raga.html

 

Suryanaar temple vimaanam: Lord Surya flanked by Usha and Chhaayaa devi

Kanjanur:

Suryanaar temple to Kanjanur is a very short distance. The temple is ancient- just the look and feel of the structure tells us.

Here, Lord Shiva is called "agneeshvara". As we face the shiva sanctum, to our left is the sanctum for "shukra" (labeled as "Lord Venus" atop the shrine itself!)

Devi's shrine has a special feature- we see Ganesha and Kartikeya just outside Devi's sanctum (not in separate shrines, but as though they are dwaarapaalakas), waiting on either side, for Mother to step out!

Archana for Shukra deity is quick. From the stotra namavali recited by the priest, it is clear that most names are Shiva's- as though Shiva is worshipped as Lord Shukra (along with his consort) in this shrine. 

 Tiruvidaimarudur:

Also known as "Madhyaarjunam", Tiruvidaimaurudur is an ancient and important Shiva temple. We passed by this temple, on the way to Oppiliappan temple and took a spot decision to visit the temple. 

We passed by the massive Nandi, similar to the Nandi at Brhadeeshwara temple. Nandi faces the main sanctum, flanked by pillars all the way.

The main deity is "maha linga swamy".  On the way to the main deity, we pass by "Chola brahmahatti" to the left. This creature is crouched to the top left (as we walk towards the main shrine). As per legend, he is waiting for the Chola king to gobble him up, the moment the king comes back from the sanctum. But the king exits from the side gate. Since then, this creature is waiting (for a 1000 years!)- for anyone who retraces his path from the sanctum! Thus, in this temple, thou shalt not exit by retracing your path from the main shrine. You have to turn off mid-way, else, "chola brahmahatti will catch you!"

As you go around the main shrine, among other attractions, is Ravana carrying Kailasa, with Shiva and Parvati on the mountain-top. You can see Ravana with 9 heads- the 10th as a veena-head and with 19 arms- the 20th arm forms the body of the veena.

As you circumabulate the prakaara, just behind the Ravana-Kailasa shrine, is a little aperture. You hold your ear, and you can hear sama-gana as played by Ravana to appease Lord Shiva!

The goddess at this temple is "brhat-sundara-kuchaambika". Outside the main temple premises is a painting with "madhyaarjunam temple" at the centre and all other temples in the neighborhood as "satellite temples" for this main temple!

Madhyaarjunam (Tiruvidaimarudur) temple

Muthuswamy Dikshitar has composed a krti in praise of the lord at this temple.

https://guru-guha.blogspot.com/2007/11/dikshitar-kriti-chinthayae-mahaalinga.html

Oppiliappan temple:

We ended the morning with a visit to the Oppliapppan temple. Here, Lord Vishnu is "op-illaadha-appan", "the one without a comparison". As Ajuna tells Krishna, "na tvat samah asti" (when there is no one equal to you), how can there be someone greater than you? "abhyadhikah kutah anyah?"

Oppliappan is such- the unparalleled one, the one without a comparison.

The deity is very impressive-in standing posture. As we face the deity, to our left, is bhumi-devi sitting on the ground, to our right is Markandeya rishi, also seated on the ground. 

Unlike other temples, there is no separate shrine for the goddess, since she is present in the main sanctum itself.

The prasada in the temple is unique- there is no salt in the preparation. We ate vadai-prasadam in the temple premises- it tasted just fine, even without salt. In some homes, if the dish lacks salt, it is customary to ask in Tamil, "In your home, it is Uppliappan, is it?" 

There are stories for this type of prasada- that "oppliappan" got corrupted to "upliappan" and "uppu" being "salt", it is as though, he is the lord who partakes no salt!

We are fine either way- "Oppliappan" or "Uppilippan".

Oppliappan temple gopuram

With this, we were done with the temples in the morning. It was 11 am by the time we returned to Kumbakonam. 

Late breakfast at Mangalambika hotel beside Kumbheshwara swamy temple at Kumbhakonam!

Location of  nava-graha and other temples

Temple tour- Srirangam

 - Naamakkal to Srirangam takes just over an hour.

 - The road goes alongside the Kaveri. But sadly, there is no water. 

 - When there was once flowing water, it would have been really scenic.

 - Still, the vegetation is lush green.

 - As you approach Srirangam- you can spot the top of the temple gopuram and Trichy Rock-fort.

 - You cross the bridge over the river, to enter Srirangam.

 - It is an island. If you cross one more river-bridge, you will be in Trichy.

-  Srirangam has 2 main temples:

-  "Ranganatha swamy" (Vishnu) and "Tiruvaanaikaaval" (Jambukeshwara) (Shiva).

- Srirangam Temple was not crowded.

- It was a Friday, it was maha-shivaratri, and the time was just over 3 pm.

- The temple is open between 3 pm and 5 pm timeslot also.

- The temple is built in 7 layers of corridors.

- The most recently built gopuram is the biggest and the outermost gopuram.

- Other gopurams are smaller.

- All gopurams are colored, except one.

- One gopuram is intentionally left white, in memory of "Vellaayi".

- She jumped to her death from this gopuram.

- When the temple was invaded from the North (12th century?)-

   she managed to outwit and distract the invader.

- The main idols were carried to safety due to her. 

- In the process, she threw off the invader from the gopuram top.

- She also jumped down from the gopuram. 

- In her memory, that gopuram is colored white.

- This story was narrated by the guide at the temple.

- The temple is a maze, with several sannidhis and pillared structures.

- It's as if, you need Google maps inside the temple, to find your way.

- Just before you enter the main sanctum of Lord Ranganatha is "gayatri mandapam".

- Lord Ranganatha is majestic and beautiful.

- You do not have too much time to register all the details.

- At the back is Adi-Shesha: You can catch the gold on his heads. 

- The deity's eyes are prominent as he reclines and faces south.

- The features have a rugged grandeur.

- The utsava murti and its prabhaavali are prominent.

- In a matter of a few seconds you are out.

- As you move out, you can see the feet (symbolically embossed on the sanctum wall)

-  The golden vimaana with Krishna is not to be missed.

-  We visit Goddess Ranganaayaki next. The mandapam is called "navaratri mandapam"

-  There are several other shrines inside the spawling temple:

    (a) Rama with Seeta to his right (Kalyaana Raama). To Rama's left is Lakshmana.

     Beside Lakshmana is "baby Hanuman"- He has no tail (the priest says)!

    (b) Shrine with the "parivaara at Vaikuntha":

         - Lord Vishnu with Sri Devi, Bhu Devi and Neela Devi.

         - "Aandaal" with mirrors all around her.

   (c) Shrine for Saint Ramanuja:

         - The priest says, he is still seated as seen here. Hence, no abhishekam is done.

- On the way out, the guide points to a pillar. It shows Vibheeshana.

- Vibheeshana tries to carry the idol of Ranganatha back to Lanka.

-  We know the story. Ganesha thwarts him.

- Thus, Ranganatha stayed here, but kept his gaze at Lanka, by facing Southwards.

- We are also reminded of Saint Tyagaraja inside the temple.

- It was here, he sang the krti "O Rangashaayee" in Kambhoji raga.

- How often have we heard this song with "neraval" done at "Bhu loka Vaikuntham".....

- Truly Srirangam is "bhu loka vaikuntham"!

Outermost gopuram as seen from inside the temple permises.

 

 

Temple tour- Naamakkal

 Naamakkal

- It is on the road to Trichy from Bangalore,

- The route is: Bangalore-Salem-Naamakkal-(turn left here) to Trichy.

- Massive monolith rock at Naamakkal- the kind seen at rock-fort Trichy, but smaller.

- Atop the hill-top sits a fort.

- At the base are 2 temples:

  (1) Hanuman:

        - The idol in stone, is open to the skies.

        - Black granite monolith rock-cut Aanjaneya .

        - This is the famous "Naamakkal aanjaneya".

        - No crown for Hanuman.

        - The hair is rolled up in a bun at the top, the kind worn by Shiva.

        - Large, prominent eyes.

        - Hands in anjali mudra-Between the pressed palms, is a japa-mala.

        - The stance is majestic.

        - The weight is more on one foot than the other, so that one knee is slightly relaxed.

        - Two small canine teeth- "damshtra"- protrude, one on either side of the mouth.

        - Abhishekam was in progress as we entered. 

        - The priest climbs atop an elevated ridge to get to the top of the idol.

         - Exceptional naadaswaram artiste was playing within the temple premises:

                - first "kaliyuga varadan" in Brindavana Saranga.

                - Next- "vishveshwara! chal-man-tum-kaashi" in Sindhu Bhairavi.

                - We are reminded of the nadaswaram maestro "naamagiripettai Krishnan".

                - He hailed from this part of the country.

       - This Hanuman faces the hillock with the fort mentioned above.

    (2) At the base of the hillock, bang opposite Hanuman, is the "Yoga Narasimha" temple.

         -  This temple is not to be missed!

         - The sanctum has Lord Narasimha as a "bas relief work" on the hillock.

         - The main sanctum has all the features mentioned below: 

            (a) Yoga narasimha is at the centre, Shiva on one side and Brahma on the other.

            (b) Around Narasimha, are rock-cut sculptures- the kind seen at Badami.

            (c) There is Trivikrama to the right (as we face Lord Narasimha).

            (d) Ugra-narasimha tearing apart Hiranyakashipu to the back-left.

            (e) An unusual posture of Lord Vishnu to the left.

                - Sitting on Adishesha (he is not lying down).

            (f) Lord Narasimha's face is covered with a silver mukham.

                - The eyes look real- there is a glint in the eyes!  

From the look of the temple, its pillars and structures, it is evident that the temple is ancient.

The hillock is creased with stain of ribbon-like water-streams that trickle down the hill-sides.

Grandfather in Las Vegas!

Summer-vacation afternoons, during primary-school years, were spent playing a “car board-game”. My paternal grandfather and I called the game “six-one”.  Each time the dice fell with a “six” on one die and a “one” on the other, you pocketed a “car”.

Grandpa had mastered the art of rolling the dice. The dice danced to his tunes. All he did…was give the dice a good shake with the magic chant- “vei-raja-vei”! That’s it! If he ordered “six-one”, he got six-one. Fords, Jaguars, Volkswagens- grandpa amassed cars by the dozen. And when it was my turn, the dice was a different animal altogether. Leave alone six-one, the dice appeared to have no sides apart from the numbers one and two!

For a child, repeated losing can dent his ego and render him a total spoilsport. What’s the point in playing if you cannot win even once? Grandpa tried his best, “You are not giving the dice a good shake! And where is “vei-raja-vei”? That’s how you will get a six-one!”

“Vei-raja-vei” irritated me. What does it even mean? It is just some silly mumbo-jumbo. The more I cursed “vei-raja-vei”, the farther I got from winning. Grandpa tried to comfort me, “Let’s play one more game! This time you will surely win!” The next game was worse. No cars came my way, while grandpa had stolen all the cars. He wore a broad smile, while I whined even more, threw the dice away in disgust and swore never to play “six-one” again!

Though we believe the behavior of the dice is based on simple probability, my childhood experience confirms otherwise. It is loaded in favor of certain people. They have a particular disposition, some unbridled enthusiasm, that spills over to the dice and makes the dice behave as though putty in their hands!

I am certain Yudhishthira was a sober, serious, poker-faced and a terribly straight-forward gentleman. There was no hope in hell…he will ever win a game of dice or even “six-one” for that matter. You needed someone whose infectious character can influence the dance of the dice.

A few years ago, before the pandemic, as part of a work assignment, I had the opportunity to visit Las Vegas in the US.  India has “punya-sthalas” and “moksha-puris” everywhere. “You can get moksha….by seeing Chidambaram, by dying in Kashi or by merely “thinking” of Tiruvannamalai!” We have grown up on such shlokas.

Las Vegas is diametrically opposite, both geographically and in its claim to fame. It is touted as the “Sin City of the world”- famous for its casinos with those expansive gambling dens. All that fills the Indian pious mind with “religious-fear”, so much so, you would cross your cheek with your palm murmuring “shiva-shiva”, Las Vegas stands for all that and more!

Grandma would say, “When Kali-yuga was about to begin, “Kali” deity had no place to stay- it was so pristine everywhere. Kali pleaded for a location and the first spot he got was a gambling den!”  

Las Vegas showcases Kali-yuga in its true colors. Both sides of the road are lined with an endless row of casinos. Each casino is a palace- crafted ornately and spread over multiple floors. Within each palace, it is a dazzle- anywhere you look, it glitters and sparkles- the gold on the walls, the gems on the pillars and the crystal on the chandeliers. Each floor is littered with all sorts of gambling possibilities- from the “slot machine” to “blackjack” and what not!

The push from within was immense. The mind pleaded with you- “Why not try a 10-dollar bill? Just a 10-dollar bill! Who knows? You may walk away with a million dollars! A million dollars!” I resisted stoutly, given my “six-one” track-record.

But I thought of grandpa. I should have brought him here, dressed in his characteristic white half-sleeve shirt and his spotless, white veshti. “Thatha! This is Las Vegas. This is a casino. You got it? You can select any game you want to play. You can say your “vei-raja-vei” or “bye-raja-bye” or any other mumbo-jumbo. Ok? End of the day, we must win a million dollars! You got it Thatha?”

I am sure grandpa would have won. I am sure he would have made ample moolah on that day- enough to fill an entire ship. I am sure I will still be counting the dollar in sackfuls, with several more sacks yet to be explored.

Alas…my trip to Vegas was a little too late. It was a few years after grandpa had passed beyond the pale of human existence. If only…if only…I had paid more attention to grandpa…if only I had mastered his “vei-raja-vei”!

If only…

Popcorn!

For children, cinema halls are more about popcorn than about the movie! You cannot skip the ritual. You get the popcorn before the movie or make a dash for it during the intermission. Today’s multiplexes are well stocked. There’s regular popcorn, popcorn laced with butter and for the ones with a sweet-tooth, popcorn garnished with caramel! The vendor scoops fresh popcorn from the glass-bin and hands over an enormous carton heaped to the brim with popcorn.

Popcorn is truly weightless. You would expect a carton of this size to carry enormous weight and require all your strength.  The anti-climax catches you by total surprise! You feel as though you are the giant Kumbhakarna. You can carry an entire mountain of popcorn and even blow the entire edifice away through a few forceful breaths from your nostrils! Many a hapless child has clutched the carton with hard hands, only to find the popcorn pop up…and out! It is simply too light to handle!

When your 6-year-old daughter volunteers to handle the popcorn, you allow her to carry and walk beside. Off and on, you pick up popcorn bits from the heaped top and munch. Your 6-year-old is worried, “Appa! Don’t eat all the popcorn! What will we eat then?” Popcorn makes you philosophical and you cannot resist some tidbits of wisdom, “You know, this whole world is a giant popcorn! It looks huge and frightening, but like popcorn, it has no weight, no substantiality. It cannot touch You, the real You! Remember this always!” Your 6-year-old looks at you, all confused, blinks a few times, but keeps walking!

Movie halls are dimly lit. The terrain is anything but flat- you must navigate through shallow steps, petite seats, and cramped aisles. The combination is deadly, especially when you carry popcorn that extends over the eye-level. As they say, there is many a slip between the cup and the lip. Several popcorn cartons never make it beyond the Everest basecamp. One tiny stumble is enough.  By the time you pick yourself up, popcorn has toppled and scattered, like tiny, white blossoms, all over the basecamp turf!

The rest of the movie-gang is ravenously hungry- waiting for the popcorn in their seats. Elbows and hands, palms and fingers- all dig into it with gusto. “Slow! Slow! There is enough for everyone!” you try reasoning.

There is something irresistible about popcorn. You keep munching and asking for more. The craving is insatiable, like fire fed with ghee. May be, it is the aroma, may be the crunchy texture or perhaps the heady mix of salt-and-pepper. At times, the hunger makes you terribly impatient. You are sitting in a corner, towards the end of the row, languishing at Ganga-Sagar. The popcorn carton is now at the other end, at Gangotri. How many hands must it pass through and how much content will survive by the time the river reaches you?  It bugs you. “Next time, I am going to buy a full popcorn, all for myself!” you take a firm resolve!

Cliffhanger movie plots with sudden shocks are a total no-no! All it takes is one startled jerk of the hand- the popcorn goes for a toss! Serious movies and popcorn don’t go together too. If you are seated beside a group of popcorn gluttons, all you hear is the incessant crunching and munching. The more you focus on the movie dialogues, the more popcorn you hear. You clench your teeth in anger, but the popcorn chomping isn’t going to stop anytime soon!

A watershed moment in my High School life revolved around popcorn. The teacher was absent for the day. In the newfound freedom, boys went on a rampage- toppling chairs, climbing over desks, and ransacking the entire classroom. Boys will after all…be boys! One of the students had a bright idea. With the ceiling fan running at full blast- he flung a packet of popcorn at the fan. The ceiling fan sliced through the packet and soon, it was raining popcorn! Students ran helter-skelter, their mouths held up, in a bid to catch the popcorn raindrops. The commotion was total.

The principal rushed from his office. His expression said it all. His lower jaw dropped as he surveyed the aftermath- a riot-hit classroom littered with popcorn shrapnel!

What followed next, is left to the reader’s imagination! Yes, there was punishment, there was “imposition”, there was lot more.

From then on, popcorn was banned in school.

Handling the pressure of a pressure-cooker!

Some of us approach a pressure cooker as one would, a dynamite that is about to go off. That’s how forbidding its appearance is. You see the cooker smoldering. It is working up to a crescendo by the second. The apparatus wobbles, the excess steam escapes through the sides and the “weight” on the cooker-top quivers. Any moment, like a steam engine that has sounded the horn, it is on the verge of blasting away…out of the station, firing on all cylinders!

“Be sure to switch it off after 6 whistles!” wife instructs and shuts the study-room to teach a virtual class. You hear the first whistle loud and clear. You go off and sit with your laptop. Amnesia sets in. You lose the plot entirely. Suddenly, you hear a voice from the other room, “How many whistles has it been?”

Whistles? You said whistles? You cannot recall a thing. There is sudden panic. In these situations, I have found “Four whistles!” is a safe answer for the viva-voce question. It is neither too less nor too more. Wife has a different count. “I heard 8 whistles already!” You have half a mind to argue, “If you are anyway counting, why don’t you switch it off on your own?” It’s like a Mathematics teacher who forces a mental-sum drill on the students, just to keep them on tenterhooks and busy, with absolutely no bigger purpose.

Sometimes, long-distance help is needed, when the spouse is away, and you are handling the cooker for the first time. You suddenly find there are many pressure-cookers at home. Did they somehow multiply on their own? There is a pressure-pan, a mini-pressure cooker, an old mid-sized pressure cooker and a new larger one. Which one do you use?

A pressure-pan looks ideal. But once you stack a vessel of rice and another container of “dal”, try as you might, you cannot fit the cap over the turban. You move to the mid-sized pressure cooker.  The lid is too loose. “Try a different lid. One of them will fit right”, says the long-distance voice. It’s like having a dozen keys in hand, to open one lock. The trial-and-error method is hard work, bordering on futility. “None of them work!” you respond, all frustrated. “Did you fit the gasket?”, comes the voice from the other end.

Gasket? Gasket! How did you forget that rubber “hula-hoops ring” that goes into the insides of the lid! Finally, everything is prim and proper- the cooker base contains half-inch of water, the vessels are stacked, and the lid is closed snug. The stove is lit. You wait- 5 minutes…10 minutes and more. The theory is- steam will gush out from the cooker-top- that’s when you must fit the “weight” to the snout. It never gets to that point. It’s like a firecracker that shows signs of promise, it flickers from time to time to announce it is still alive but refuses to progress to the fission-point.

The long-distance advice is vague and inconclusive. “Stretch the gasket a few times. If that does not help, strike the sides of the lid with the tongs. It will keep the steam from escaping.” By now, patience has run out. Can we have a simpler gadget please? “I think I will have bread-jam for dinner and finish off!”- you announce, turn off the stove and abandon the cooker.

A pressure cooker has several touch-points, touchy points! Fitting the “weight” to the cooker-top is not elementary. You worry whether the steam will singe your hand. Your feet refuse to go any closer than a safe, 4 feet, pandemic distance. If the water is too less, it can burn the content and the cooker. If the water is too much, it rushes into the rice vessel and now, the rice emerges with a head-bath, all wet and soggy. It is tight-rope walking all the way.

In particular, the pressure cooker is like your 2-year-old that reserves its tantrums for the most trying time. You have just switched off the cooker. Time is at a premium. You want to quickly open the cooker, gobble up the rice and head out. You try to remove the “weight” from the cooker-top. It is moody- it fumes, spews steam and more venom, and tells you to back off. A minute later, you try again. You get the same response. This is too much. In a rage, you use brute force and yank the “weight” off.

Punishment for the wrong action is swift and severe. The cooker turns into an angry volcano that has been stoked. “Dal” from the vessel spews out like lava. It is ejected from the cooker-top with such ferocity, that the kitchen ceiling is now coated with a fine “Warli-Art” design!

As for the cooker content- the rice still feels like hard grain and the dal is just as crispy. What do you do now?

Bread-Jam…bread-jam…is your all-weather…true, faithful friend in this whole, wide world.

 

Train to Bangalore

Today, the Vande Bharat and Shatabdhi occupy the pride of place, when it comes to trains from Chennai to Bengaluru. Turn the clock back by 4 decades. The train that enjoyed such celebrity status was "The Brindavan Express". Brindavan Express lived up to its name. Like foliage lit in the midday sun, the Brindavan Express shone- colored in contrasting shades of bright yellow and green. It started at around 7 in the morning from erstwhile Madras and reached Bangalore by 1 pm.

Memorizing the names of the stations from Madras to Bangalore was easy. Unlike other routes, the prominent stations have stayed the same. The list was short-  Basin-bridge, Arakkonam, Katpadi, Jolarpet, Bangarpet, Bangalore Cantt and finally Bangalore City.

Just after Arakkonam, a childhood fantasy took over- you had to look out of the window for "the fork". One track went straight to Mumbai, while the other swerved to the left to reach Bangalore. It reminded you of Robert Frost's poem- "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel on both!" When on the Dadar Express to Mumbai, just like the poet, you wondered, what if you were on "The Brindavan" and took the left fork? What exotic towns you would pass by, and what awaited you at the destination?

Katpadi Junction, with its township of Vellore, had a different look and feel. A roll of hills greeted you- hills that were mostly bare and pocked with grotestque boulders. You were reminded of the "Train song"- written by Harindranath Chattopadhyay and popularized in a Hindi film by Ashok Kumar- "Rail gaadi chhuk-chhuk-chhuk-chhuk". One of the lines in the song went as follows- "Vaaniyambaadi-Katpadi....Katpadi-Vaaniyambaadi". The names of the stations, in alliterative arrangement, gave the song, a feel of a train on the move- a train that rumbled over vales and hills. It was this Katpadi Junction that supplied text to this epochal song!

Jolarpet- you liked the ring of the station's name. You couldn't be morose and say "Jolarpet". Jolarpet had such a jolly and peppy feel to it- like a horse on a gallop! By the time you reached Bangarpet, you had crossed the border. The script on the station signboards changed from Tamil to Kannada. To some of us, both scripts looked equally foreign, except for a minor detail- if the letters were more curvy, it had to be Kannada, else, it was hopefully Tamil.

The stretch between Jolarpet and Bangarpet had a family centric detail. My maternal grandma had her chain snatched in this sector, during a night-train journey from Chennai to Bangalore. "Why did you sleep with your head by the window, grandma? Did you see the thief's face? Did he look like a villain in the movie, with a moustache and an evil grin?" we pestered grandma. From then on, any train journey, meant following this cardinal rule- "Thou shalt not sleep with your head by the window!" Incidently, grandma managed to get her chain back after weeks of absolute suspense, when she was on tenterhooks! 

Jolarpet to Bangarpet was scenic. It was free from habitation for most parts, the terrain was undulating and dotted with hills, all rock and stone. During the rainy season, you wondered, what if a slippery rock came tumbling down from the hill-top? I asked my sister if such possibilities existed. Her reply was brutally honest, "Yes, we will all become chutney!" 

To someone in Chennai, going to Bangalore was like a trip to Iceland. You prepared for it elaborately. When you got down at Bangalore City, you were more than fully dressed- long sleeves shirt, trousers, a thick sweater, and a monkey-cap. Thankfully, the gloves were finally abandoned- you could always stuff your palms in the pocket, if it got too cold.

Finally, here you were, in the Garden City! The city lived up to its name. A canopy of trees arched over the roads. In summer, the Gulmohar was in bloom and for a tourist, Cubbon Park and Lalbagh couldn't be missed. And yes, it was biting cold- at least, by Mumbai or Chennai standards. 

Some of your favorite Cricketing heroes hailed from Bangalore. There was the master artiste, the wristy GR Vishwanath (GRV) and the wily bowler, BS Chandrashekar. Apparently, Chandra was so mysterious, he himself had no clue, which way the ball would turn! The batsman, of course, had no chance, bamboozled by Chandra's googlies and top-spinners.

GRV was a class-act. He was a thorough gentleman- a veritable Yudhishthira in the big, bad world of Cricket. He recalled an opposing batsman to bat again, after he was declared "out", because Vishwanath was sure, the umpire's decision was incorrect! Bangalore did that to you- a city with a salubrious weather, that ensured that its citizens stayed equally cool, gentle, and amiable. 

Much water has flowed under the bridge- Bangalore can scarcely be recognized now.  

Bangalore of yore stood out as one of the prettiest pictures in your childhood photo-album. As you peruse the album, your fingers rest and caress the picture- it is indeed a throwback...to an earlier, angelic age!

Cockroach yuddham...cockroach yuddham iva!

They say- “rama-ravana-yor-yuddham…rama-ravana-yor-yuddham…iva”. The battle between Rama and Ravana was one of a kind. It was so engrossing, matched in both skill and valor, that a comparison was impossible. If it had to be compared with something, poets say, it must be with itself as the yardstick!

The battle with a cockroach falls in the same category. For every head of Ravana’s that Rama felled, another reappeared. A cockroach is much the same- you can never get him. Even if you do, in his place, a dozen reappear, till you totally give up. Cockroaches are tenacious fighters.

The cockroach and the Vaanara Vali have one point in common. The moment an opponent appeared before Vali, he had a special boon to drain half the opponent’s strength and transfuse that strength to himself. That made him doubly powerful. The cockroach has a similar power. The moment you see him, a wave of disgust runs through your being. While you wring your face in revulsion, your reflexes get slower, and you operate in slow-motion. By then, our friend has beaten you fair and square, and escaped to safer shores, never to come back for the day!

Sometimes, the ammunition at hand, is suspect. You grip the broom aloft like Bheema holding his mace, itching for a fight. You hold the pose, all alert, standing with your feet apart. You egg the cockroach to come out of his hiding, “Hey cockroach! If you are a man, a real man, come out! Come out…and fight!” You slap your thighs, pump your chest, flex your biceps, twirl your moustache, knot your dhoti, and swing the broom in the air. You let out a war-cry, “Dei...dei..cockroach! Vaadaa! Come out!” The cockroach makes no move. He watches you intently with his beady eyes.

It is a game of attrition. Who will blink first? The cockroach has all the time in the world. He will stay behind that dosa-pan, till the cows come home. You give up. Gingerly, you disturb the dosa-pan. He runs like Usain Bolt. Bheema has too many things to do. His mace is upturned, like a batsman with a high back-lift. He must get the broomstick down, all the way from the shoulder and strike the target. He does…with all his might.

In the process, the mace shreds to smithereens. Such is Bheema’s…Vrkodara’s ferocity. The tape from the broomstick handle snaps, the broom falls apart,  the individual twigs scatter and the kitchen is littered with a fine broom-dust.  It is a total mess. You stand weaponless and helpless with the broom-tape in hand. And what about the cockroach? He makes a quick escape, and taunts you, borrowing words from Kamba Ramayana, “Indru poi naaLai vaa!” (“Go home today, rest and come back tomorrow, with a fresh weapon, for a fresh fight!”)

Over the years, the cockroach has upgraded his skills. He is adept in the art of urban warfare. The kitchen shelf is his favorite den. The shelf is packed with spoons, plates, cups, a coconut-grater, a pressure-cooker and all kinds of “kandaa-mundaan” (meaning absolutely useless tinsel).  Once our friend disappears into this maze, how are you going to find him?

You take out one item at a time, emptying the entire shelf cautiously. He may strike at any moment. The kitchen floor is littered with all the debris. The cockroach is nowhere. Where did he go? Where did he go? You stick your head in, and peer into the shelf- there is no trace. He has simply vanished into thin air, leaving you high and dry!

The other possibility is worse. He launches a surprise attack. By now, the kitchen floor is a minefield. While you stumble and hit your toe against the dosa-pan and howl in pain, the obstruction works in his favor. He successfully darts across the room, twiddling his thumb at you!

Drone attacks are not new. Cockroaches have used them from time immemorial. Just when you are about to pin him to the floor, he takes the aerial route, and flies straight at your face! What will you do? What can you do? You run for cover, with the broom between your legs!

In the rarest of rare cases, you manage to strike and strike hard. He lies still. You pump your fist with- “Yes! Yes!” “Veera raaja veera…shoora dheera shoora…” plays in the background. You announce to the entire home that you finally got him. You come back to inspect the aftermath. The floor is squeaking clean. Our friend is nowhere. He pretended…he pretended…he was down and out. When you went the other way to exult, he made a quick getaway!

You clever chap! Cockroach ji…tussi great ho…cockroach sir ji!

 

The Trial-room

At the mall, you cannot pick up a new shirt or pant and head home, based on just the color and the size-number. Different brands have a different fitting. It is important to try out the clothes.

Trial-rooms in malls are busy places. About 4-5 trial-rooms are stacked in a row. However, contenders for these rooms are many. Time is at a premium- you must be sensitive and eject quickly, when it is your turn.

Trial-room usage follows a particular drill. You ask your wife and children to wait just outside the trial-room area. That way, you can get an unbiased opinion when you step out in your new dress.

Once inside the trial room, and you’ve worn the new shirt and pant, you suddenly lose the plot. The reflection in the mirror is totally unflattering. You try everything- pose with your hands in the pockets; or leave the shirt out to look cool and casual; or tuck the shirt in…to look formal and business-like, nothing appears right at all. You pose sideways, looking at the mirror through the corner of your eyes, or face the mirror with your back to it, and glance back “Exorcist style”; whatever you do, you still look like a clown. May be, it is the fitting- the trousers are too baggy. Other unrelated thoughts hold you hostage- when did the forehead grow to such huge proportions? You tousle the hair a bit, to conceal the forehead. And yes, you need a second opinion on these trousers for sure.

Wearing the new trousers, you tiptoe out of the trial-room. Wife is nowhere, kids are nowhere. Where did they go? They were supposed to wait here, wait just here! You feel exactly like Vali did. He asked Sugreeva to wait outside the cave. When Vali emerged from the cave, Sugreeva was nowhere, he had vanished into thin air. No wonder, Vali flew into such a rage. It was a breach of trust. Like Vali, you look this way and that, drifting well away from the orbit of the trial-room. There is irritation, there is anger, there is confusion- where did they all go?

Suddenly, you find the salesman tugging at your new trousers from the back, trying to yank it off. “This is too much! You think I am running away with these new trousers? I am looking for my wife and children! Do you get it? Do you get it?”  you snap back. While he tries to calm you down, you are now in a different mood altogether, “I don’t want any of these clothes at all!” and head back to the trial-room in a huff.

To your horror, you cannot recall which trial-room you used. They all look the same. Was it the first trial-room, or perhaps the one in the middle? What is worse, now all the trial-rooms are locked and busy. In the interim period, when you loitered around, someone appears to have encroached and taken over the same trial-room.

Anger gets converted into a panic attack. Where is your pant that you left behind in the trial-room? What if someone walked away with your pant or the wallet? Your entire life hinges on that wallet- your debit cards, your credit cards, your driver’s license, your PAN card, just about everything. Lose your wallet and life will be completely derailed for months on end.

The mind is in a tizzy. Common-sense goes for a toss. You want your pant back. That’s all that matters. The search requires unconventional methods. You lie down on the floor, peering through the gap under the trial-room door. This trial-room does not have your pant. What about the next one? You crawl, on all fours, to the next trial-room, with your head lateral to the floor. At that opportune moment, a lady walks out from the trial-room. The last thing she expects is a Peeping Tom on the floor. “What are you doing?” she stutters, totally shocked. You are equally alarmed and blabber incoherently, “My pant! My pant! I am looking for my pant! Not the one I am wearing- the one I left in the trial-room!”

Luckily, you spot your pant. “My pant!”- you exclaim and rush in. You are about to slam the trial-room door shut, when the lady stops you, holding the door, in a quick countermove, “You cannot use! My clothes are inside!”

It’s as if the confusion will never end. By now, the security man has reached the trial-room and douses the fire before it snowballs out of control. Absent-mindedly, you had strolled into the womens' trial room, a blunder in the first place!

Trial-rooms surely have a lot of room…to turn into a veritable “trial by fire”! Phew!

PS: Not that this incident happened, but when you let your imagination loose, these are possibilities nonetheless, and we have come dangerously close to some of them! 

Styles of footpath walkers!

When you think of a walker, you imagine Dilip Kumar- strolling past woods and glades singing- “suhaanaa safar aur ye mausam haseen!” The “dreamer” is a footpath walker exactly like him- happiness is writ large on the face. He is a rare species alright, but you cannot miss him. There is a song on his lips and a spring in his steps. Clearly, he is in his own dream world- a free spirit, sauntering down the footpath for no apparent rhyme or reason!

The “thinker” follows a different walking style. He clasps his hands at the back. The gait is measured, the eyebrows are knitted, and the head is held at an upward tilt. He is pondering over something overly serious- maybe the density at the center of a blackhole. Our footpaths are notorious minefields- strewn with obstacles that defy enumeration- from cow-dung to open trenches. Thinking about a blackhole, our friend may soon find himself in one, if he is not alert.

This is the age of multitasking. The “multi-tasker” does a lot simultaneously, as though he is an “ashtaavadhaani” of sorts.  As he walks on the footpath, he carries on a conversation on the mobile and watches memes, all at the same time. With his head lowered and glued to the mobile, he is oblivious to his surroundings. The onus is entirely on you to get out of harm’s way. And if you have two such absent-minded “multi-taskers” walking in opposite directions, well, it is perfect recipe for imminent disaster!

The speed of the walk must be carefully calibrated on the footpath. You are walking at a certain pace, singing “suhaanaa safar”, only to find the song and step abruptly come to a halt. In front, is a person walking at a snail’s pace. Our footpaths are mostly single-lane paths- not wide enough for you to overtake and move on. You are stuck to the same track, with little choice but to follow.

If the person is from the opposite gender, the mind goes into a tailspin. Is it ok to follow? Are you following too close? Is she going to turn back and slap you? The last thing you want- is to be pulled up by the moral police for stalking. However, it is not easy to slow down your pace, especially if you have a long foot span.  In slowing down, you must walk with your knees bent, much like a burglar on the prowl. That would bring the police behind you even faster!

Faced with this crisis, you look for an exit strategy. Once the traffic by the side of the road eases, like a tearaway train at a crossing, you take matters into your own hands (rather to your own feet). You get onto the road, double up your speed, pass the snail, and get back onto the footpath. That done, you heave a sigh of relief and break into “suhaanaa safar” once more!

Sometimes, you are on a sticky wicket. You are walking on the footpath. So is the person from the opposite side. You swerve to the left. He follows you. You swerve to the right. He follows you. It’s as if his limbs are tied to yours by an unseen umbilical cord, and try as you might, you cannot avoid him. Both feel equally sheepish, helplessly trying to dodge past the other. You screech to a halt, inches away from a full, frontal collision!

Couples, after their first year of marriage, cannot walk together on the same footpath. Invariably, the man walks miles ahead of the lady. After he has reached the next set of traffic lights, he looks back, spots the wife trailing, and mumbles in irritation. That done, he waits not, but continues to surge ahead, towards the next set of traffic lights.

Some walkers cover the entire width of the footpath, as though the footpath is their grandfather’s property.  You can’t blame this walker; he is built that way. Years of pumping iron at the gymnasium, has given him a chiseled body. Frequent gym-exercisers have an anatomical problem- their arms don’t hang down like the rest of us. They are stretched out, as though they are stricken with a boil under their armpits. Our friend walks with a swagger, with his arms spread out, like Ghatotkacha doing the rounds. In the process, he covers the entire breadth of the footpath. How are you going to pass him? The only solution is to shrink into a foetus posture, squeeze yourself between his arm and body, and bolt ahead.

Once past him, the relief is immense, and you can continue with your favorite song- “suhaanaa safar aur ye mausam haseen!”