Of Grand-fathers....

Today happens to be the Maha Aalaya Amavasya, of the Mahalaya Paksham fortnight. A fortnight of activities in thought and action, towards and in honor, respect, love of our fore-fathers. Amavasya, or the new-moon day, which occurs every month, is also set aside for the same purpose. It is therefore apt and appropriate to write about two of my earliest heroes, my two grand-fathers, Thatha(father's father) and Aja(mother's father) on this special day. Both of them taught me certain important lessons, during my childhood and youth, and some of my thought processes were, are and would be heavily influenced by them. This post is rightly dedicated to them, and to all the grand-fathers and the grand-mothers of the world. I am sure that the bonding a grand-parent shares with its grand-child is something really special, no matter where. What makes it special, is the fact that the grand-child becomes an important part of the grand-parent's life, post retirement, and it is the time to revisit or experience certain experiences, that one would have denied oneself in the past, with one's own children.

Needless to mention, there could be wheels within wheels in such relationships, like any other, due to the relationships of the parents with the two sets of grand-parents. When one realizes that no one is perfect, this, at least makes it possible for the grand-child to accept the idiosyncracies of the person, made more so difficult due to their iconic status during one's childhood; and respect and love them for what they were/ are. Further, most elders are neglected, when they go past their primes, and become a liability in terms of time, health, money and getting about their daily activities. Ironically, during these times of neglect are when they need our love the most; and not when, everything is rosy, prim and proper. To make matters worse, there could be the eye on the inheritances, if it be so applicable. This is something that the author has seen happen, in India, the US, and heard so from a Taiwanese friend. I am sure that the fact of the elders becoming a non-issue with time, would be an issue in most parts of the world, since time immemorial.

Moreover, every rose has its thorn, and it is up to us, and us alone, to think of the rose or the thorn or both. And every behavior, be it warranted or un-warranted, polite or impolite, nice or rude, is more so because of a reason. Two hands are needed to get the sound of a clap. It is pointless to point fingers at one side, without truly knowing what is it that makes one behave the way one behaves. What complicates matters, is that, all of these incomprehensible behaviors are the off-shoots of love. Love can be as destructive as constructive, if not more, when it comes to human relationships. Most of the wrongs in the world, are again, off-shoots of love, love and love alone. (As a brutal example, love for one's vision/ country/ religion is what makes a person a terrorist, who goes about killing the harmless victims, without an iota of guilt). With that as a long aside, the author would want to paint the portrait of the two gentlemen, thatha and aja, out here; for an essay on the human relationships between the aged, mid-aged, youth and the children, is not the real purpose of this post.

Thatha

My earliest hero, for all that I can remember. Pampered me beyond any doubt and I was evidently his favorite grand-child. Memories of my earliest childhood revolve around thatha, chocolates, playing all kinds of games at all odd-times, walking with him to the Srirangam temple market with a fancy little red shoe that would squeak in a playful way to my delight as I walked, pens, pencils, colors, street cricket, dresses, Raghavendra Swami Mutt, encounters with the temple elephants, brown covers on note-books and books before the start of a new academic year, etc. He was extremely religious and used to perform sandhya vandanam and pranayama, twice every day. He possessed an assorted variety of sanskrit sloka books, ranging from the Bhagavad Gita to Vadiraja's treatises. And, no matter what, he used to write the entry for the day in his diary, in his beautiful handwriting. The surest way to win his heart would have been to present a beautiful diary during New Year's eve. His writings were simple and effective, sans flowery elements; and he was fluent in Marathi, Kannada, and Tamil, as well.

From what the author remembers, the author was scolded once by thatha, much to his shock and astonishment. As someone very particular about coffee, and, sadly, tobacco; he used to have raw green chilli's too, with curd rice, to the author's bewilderment. A very simple man, the father of three children, the youngest being my father, had retired as a Commercial Railway Inspector, from the Southern Railways, Tiruchi. His work was known to have taken him here and there, to the remote parts of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Tamil Nadu, all by trains, much to the amusement of his grand-child, and very much to the dismay of his family. Unfortunately, thatha had lost his mother at a very tender age, and his father had re-married again. Being the eldest, he was responsible for all of his siblings and step-siblings too..... Thatha passed away at the age of 78, after a brief illness, when the author was 12. Hence, most memories are from childhood.

Aja

One of my earliest heroes, I grew to respect aja, a real lot, with space and time. An extremely simple person, with a penchant for writing. His lambastes of many a politician tinged with satire would often make a conversation amusing. Like thatha, aja had lost his mother at a very very tender age. His father followed soon, and exact information on his siblings is not very clearly known. After his marriage, I believe, he had no living relative from his side. He fathered nine children, the sixth being my mother; and he saw to it, that everyone was educated well, in the domains of both academics and music. A man with a vision, he believed music would be the panacea for all problems in one's life. He being the sole bread-winner of the family, did struggle to get his children the education that he envisioned; and, marrying off his five daughters, indeed, proved to be a greater struggle (especially during those times). He retired as the Post Master General, Hyderabad.

My earliest memories of him, would be his trips to the market and the delicious Banganampalli mangoes and his harangue of the shop-keepers who he believed where out there to loot the common man. Not to forget the time when he had come over to Madras for 15 days when the author was in Class III. That, and, banana chips (used to get them everyday, for me), cold drinks, colors, pens, pencils, TT racquets, etc. His English was impeccable; and he was fluent in Marathi, Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, and Hindi as well. He had correctly spelt out "mountaineering" for me, when I had made a mistake in a home work. Further, the author vividly remembers an incident where both of us were lost from the family crowd during a trip, and as to how cool he really was. The author believes he was fortunate to have been involved in several intimate conversations with aja, post his undergraduate education and before his graduate study phase...... Aja passed away at the age of 86, after being in coma for 3-4 months, when the author was 23.

*****

Both thatha and aja, had the same name. Seshagiri Rao. The author would consider them to have been successful men, who made the best of what life could offer to them, and who provided the best that they could offer to their families. May their souls be at peace.

PS: Of course, both these men, did make a few mistakes in life. That, is not the purpose of this post, and, who doesn't make mistakes in life?

The Pilani Express...

This post is a tribute to the harmless ones killed and injured in the Delhi blasts. Further, dedicated to my companions during the various train journeys on the Pilani Express.

The author was reminded of his Pilani days and the umpteen train journeys from New Delhi to Chennai Central and vice-versa, courtesy, the Pilani Express, which used to be otherwise known as the Tamil Nadu Express (we never really cared about the Grand Trunk Express); when he first got to know of the highly deplorable and unfortunate Delhi blasts. With a government that is pretty soft on terrorism, and, a coalition that follows the deplorable vote-bank politics, just like everyone else; it is beginning to seem like, nothing much can be done about the blasts. Going after the terrorists, should be done more so, because, what they are doing, is evoking terror in the minds of the people, by the means of cowardice. Moreover, the bomb doesn't really care for the religion of the people it endangers; and for reasons of political gains and victory of their point of view, harming the harmless is downright detestable, deplorable and unpardonable. The government and the political leaders, should rise above from politics and mere soft talk; for it is high time for action. On that poignant note, the author would like to delve more onto the topic of the post.

New Delhi is a beautiful city, pretty well-planned, and rich in terms of history and heritage. Connaught Place is a great place to hang out; and everything about New Delhi has a distinct charm for the author, maybe more so, because it was the author's first experience, on his own, up north, after living a majority of his life till then as a madrasi. Moreover, the author and his group of friends, were, exposed to New Delhi, at a time, when their hormonal reality levels were pretty high or beginning to kick in. Girls in tight, thigh-caressing and low-rise jeans; and equally tight body-hugging tops, were a heady whiff of change, from the "usual". It made so much more of a difference for the students who were from Chennai and the other parts of Tamil Nadu. (Indeed, Bengaluru and Mumbai would give a healthy competition to New Delhi.) And, no matter what, be it their attitude, or their ways of life, the girls were indeed highly impressionable. And, the New Delhi guys, who were termed TDCs, were never really in the picture, for us guys. With quickly overflowing counters, courtesy, the abundant amounts of ocular strain, New Delhi was an important part of the author's life, in terms, of his growing up.

Who can forget those umpteen train journeys? Sarai Rohilla station of Old Delhi, the New Delhi railway station, journeys to Kalka, Loharu, Allahabad, etc. The open dis-respect for the concept of reserved compartments. Sumo's and filmi episodes with drunken and rash drivers. The bus rides in winter, with most people smoking beedi's in that suffocative environment. The visit of the hijras on the train near New Delhi. The visits to Connaught Place, Palika Bazaar, Karol Bagh. The often repeated feeling of "being cheated" at the markets of Palika Bazaar. The sly glances at media material containing pornography, be they compact discs, or the famous magazines for men, or the extremely rustic stories in Hindi printed on the lowest quality paper. The roadside dhabas, serving amazingly unhygienic, yet, extremely delicious alu gobhi, shahi paneer, tandoori roti, and matka lassi. The Madras Cafe. MacDonalds, Burgers, Fries, Pizza's, Nirula's, Wimpy's, etc. The strains of all possible, filthy and extremely commonly used swear-words, that would ideally shake one's balance. The cosmopolitan mix of Punjabi's, Madrasi's, Bengali's, Sardarji's, immigrants from the villages around Delhi, the rich and the poor. The smoke, fog, chillness, cold, of the winters. The sand storms of the summers.

Now, it does merit to write about the train journeys too. With a group of 6-8 friends, travel over those 2500 odd kilometers, was great fun. Sharing stories, food, munchies, ideas, opinions, etc. were indeed, unforgettable experiences. The Pilani Express used to mostly run for BITSians alone during those special days. And, oh, boy!, we were notorious for sleeping late at night, and waking up equally late in the morning, to the dismay of the normal co-passengers, wherever they were. Talking of nights, the birthday parties on train and the "bumps" sessions, where all were invited. Word-games, Card-games, DumbC's, gossip about the happenings on campus and off-campus, the high-profile and low-profile "psenti" couples, discussion on "babes" and their hotness quotients, crushes, the actresses, fights over Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dikshit, movies, Metallica, Nirvana, G&R, Pink Floyd, Sting, Savage Garden, MLTR, Boyzone, and others, the comprehensive examinations, the instructors, the grades, GPAs, jobs, and what next; well, pretty much anything and everything. Not to forget the mention of the extreme dependence on the Railways food, during breakfast, lunch and dinner while returning from New Delhi; and the equally sheer boycott on the way back from Chennai.

Well, even the visits to the pantry car, on the train, were great fun. It gave umpteen opportunities for both boys and girls, to check out each other. Not to forget the inevitable going through of the reservation list pasted at the entrance of the coaches, so as to have an idea about the co-passengers. Then, there was the more fruitful, catching up with friends, about the New Delhi based incidents. Moreover, incidents of ragging of the first yearites by the psenti-semites was great fun for all, with most inhibitions gone for the juniors. The gorgeous journey on the ghat section from Itarsi to Nagpur and the beautiful sceneries. The customary halts at Nagpur, and the purchase of Dinshaw's ice-creams, be it Winter/Summer, Haldiram's soan papdi and the santara's. After a good two nights, the Pilani Express, would ultimately, arrive at Chennai Central. The dirtiest portions of Chennai would seem like heaven along with the lush green fields, the hoardings in Tamil, and the PTC or the MTC buses. And, the final homecoming. The platform would be filled with the family members, who would have come to welcome their wards.

Well, it is indeed strange and pretty natural, as to how a lot of things change for the better, as we grow up. Some of the things we did were down right stupid and silly. For one, girls are not sex objects. (The reader is recommended to read the author's post on what beauty is). Some of the things we did were more on the lines of being naughty and playful. And, nothing that we did was wrong. We were obviously within our limits, in terms of everything that we did. Overall, those umpteen train journeys and the associated happenings, were an important part of our growing up, then and now. Many things, indeed, cannot be taught. One has to experience them, the way it is meant to be, so as to get the most out of them. All said and done, these experiences evoke sheer memories of memorable nostalgia.

PS: The reader is strongly recommended to read this post, from a BITSian girl's point of view, which the author happened to come across by chance, later on, after writing the post.