The mantra to cheat death..

When I was a small boy, I used to be terrified of death..

I used to pester my dad, about whether everyone in this world would die some time.. And to me in those days, the world meant by parents and grand parents and my toys, which included one wooden bus, one plastic auto rickshaw and a car, which when wound up , would go round and round with blinking lights.. Those were the good old days before  the GATT and the multinationals came. And they were the best toys any boy from a small middle class family could really  wish for...

Of course my brother was not born then, and it was just me.. And I was too young to learn about the wider, machiavellian world..

My father tried to explain me about why people die.. Why they grow old, just like plants and animals and why they should cease to exist.. At first he tried to explain me about heaven and earth and the magnificent paradise we would go to once we die.. I was not convinced.
To my little mind , paradise was here., with my parents, and grand parents, the wooden bus, auto rickshaw and the car.. So I did not want to go to another place after death, when paradise was just here, all around me..

And then he tried to explain population explosion.. He asked me what it would be like if my great grandpa, their parents and grand parents and their parents and grand parents were alive ( Kunchan Nambiar, Kaalan illaatha kaalam)., and I felt so happy.. The macro economic theories of how you would feed all these people or the break down of basic amenities and agricultural systems in such a society would not find entry in to the mind of a six year old.. To me that would have meant so many people to play with..  My father used to be always busy with his long trips and to my mother , the kitchen was all her life. In such times, the thought of having grand parents and great grandparents and great great and so forth to play with, bought immense joy to any kid..

He then told me one day... " I will tell you one mantra, to stay alive for ever..."

And I wanted to learn that..

He told me to come near and whispered in my ears.. " Om Namo Narayanaya ".,

I was very happy.. Finally I had an answer.. My wishes were granted without needing to summon any of the greatest Gods..

He also told me.. " The mantra itself would not have any effect, unless you use it with at most devotion.. And most of all.. You should be a good boy... Only then it would be useful.."

I think I obeyed him very closely for the next many years, till the reality of life and death and the holy spirit dawned upon me... Until I realized that life is more complicated than worrying about death...

But even then,  I did not stop chanting the mantra every day, so many times... " Om Namo Narayanaya".. And the goodness of his words, remained, with me..

It was not because I believed it would protect me from the inevitable. It was more of a belief, a strong faith in some one or something , that we could hold on to , when nothing else worked.. It was just like the strong feeling , that my dad would catch me if I jump, lest I fall.. Not that the God Almighty came around every time when you chanted.. But that belief strengthens our mind, so much,  that it helps us succeed, come what may..

When nothing else works, faith does...!

Years later Sid told me one day.. "Will every one die sometime.. ?"

I said "Yes, they do.."

" I don't want to die, and I don't want you to.."

Then I told him, "I'll tell you one mantra , to stay alive forever.."

The Children

It was the news in the second page of The Hindu that attracted him.

" Two little children meet death under the wheels of a truck on the highway. They had gone to pluck mangoes in the nearby mangrove and had taken a lift on a bike while returning. The speeding truck had hit the bike from behind, instantly killing the children. The biker had escaped with minor injuries. "

It had all the aspects for a story... Reality, life, tragedy and horror.. All ingredients for the next column..

He imagined the punch line..

"If you see two kids asking for a lift after midnight on the highway, stop at your own risk.. They are waiting for you, around the corner , to join them, in death.."

The clock chimed 11 times, and after an unsure pause , once more.. Looking out of the window, the roads were empty.. The highway lay like a large black serpent bathed in halogen lamps.. Time had flown so fast like a vulture carrying away it's prey.. It was time to call it a day and go home and relax with a scotch on the rocks.. And may be Maya is home today.. He felt a strange sense of excitement.. Time to go..

The security had gone to sleep. He eased the car on to the sleeping serpent and vroomed away towards Adayar..

It was a bit of surprise the the car coughed to a stop after a few miles.. It was a new Honda and as Hondas go, they are mostly defect free...  He got out, cursing.. Maya would have gone to sleep now, and then, so would the scotch..

Then the board on the side of the road caught his eye.. It read "Semmenchery" ..

Wasn't that the same name he had read in the Hindu ?

Then he notices two little forms on the side of the road.. And to confirm his fears, he notices one of them is clutching few mangoes in one hand..

Panting and sweating, he gets in to the car.. Surprisingly , it starts without a problem.. As he accelerates off, he looks at the rear view mirror for a second..

The two little forms are in the back seat.. Eyes red and one of them has trickle of blood oozing down his forehead..

"Adi Pettirichu.." said a little voice...

And then everything went black..

The Hindu read the next day..

" Fatal accident near Semmenchery. A speeding Honda City lost control and veered off the road , and over turned. The driver, a senior reporter , was instantly killed. No one else was injured. Police has filed a case of accidental death. It seemed that the victim was not under the influence of alcohol. Investigation is on . The victim was driving his new car which he brought after his bike was involved in an accident few weeks back.. "

..............................................................................

I complete the blog and close my iPad.. Eyes are becoming heavy and sleep is round the corner.. The clock chimes 11 times, and after an uncertain pause,once more..

My door bell rings..

I look through the peep hole.. In the darkness outside, do I see the outline of two little forms..?

And one of them.. Is he clutching a handful of mangoes.. ?

...................................................................................

Holy Cow...

Today, while driving back home on an emergency, saw an astonishing sight on the road. Couldn't stop writing about the same..

In front of Sholinganallur Infosys office normally there are a lot of cows (No pun intended :) ). Today, as it was just 0645 pm, there was only one.. And this one was waiting to cross the road..

The cars and buses and trucks whizzing past( as I had written sometime in the past, no one has courtesy, even for cows), the poor creature could not do much but wait on the side..

But when the signal turned red and we were waiting for the cross traffic, to my surprise, and to many others probably, the holy animal came forward to the zebra line. It stood for a minute , looked towards right, and then looked towards left and slowly ambled across. Reaching the median, it again stood , looked left, and then right, crossed the road and was gone.. !!

Blistering Barnacles.. Or Holy Cow.. !!!

Pappu alias Pappu

I think I've told this to few people.. Anyways it does not harm another time.. To my dear friends from Telengana and Rayalaseema and Hyderabad, it's just a real story, nothing intentional..

The first time I was at an Andhra mess, I had carefully searched for a table and sat down.. Then came the supplier who placed a large plate in front of me and poured a mountain of rice, with just enough space to see my friend across the table..

And then came this one guy in shorts and tee, running around and calling "Pappu, Pappu".. Then couple of people at the next table also started calling "Pappu".. And that made the first guy very furious who began shouting looking at the kitchen and couple other folks.. "PAPPU,PAPPU"..

Well, looked like this guy Pappu was missing.. And looked like he was some important guy too,  as people sitting on the tables were also looking for him... I looked at my friend, Raghuram Pappu across the table.. Is it you who they are looking for..? 

And then a grand old man in an old faded dress emerged from the dark smoky kitchen, holding two steel buckets full of dal curry.. And the guy in shorts and tee made a victorious war cry.. "Pappu!!!"... 

And all the guys at the tables chorused .. "Pappuuuuu"..

And my friend raised his voice and said "Pappu"..

At that, the wise old guy placed one of the buckets at our table, and said "Pappu"..

And then realization dawned.. And everything was alright ..

PS: Pappu is the term for Dal Curry in Telugu, which is one of the most important part of luncheon meals..

Grandpa's cup.. And a cricket story...

The English had brought cricket to India around the year 1782 and records suggest that the Calcutta  Cricket club existed as early as 1792. Possibly it has been one of the oldest games in India after the Kabaddi. In those days the white gentlemen from the far west played cricket in dusty open grounds, donned in pure white (safed) tees and trousers, to get the enviable tan , while the madaams (extra 'a' intentional) watched from covered stands sipping tea and biting on arrow root biscuits. The normal "kaala" public who were no supposed to be around, watched from behind bushes and trees to get an idea of the game and tried to create their own version with twigs and waste wood. (Anyone who has watched 'Lagaan' would get the context). The modern day Dhonis and Rainas and Kohlis evolved from those Neanderthal villagers..

To get over with all the intros.. I had also done something which was in theory, similar to the achievement of the English men. It was not so much in scale, but considering the landscape of a laid back village during mid eighties in rural Kerala where I grew up, and the simple mind set of the villagers, and keeping in mind the enthusiasm of a fourth grader, this was surely a comparable one in achievement.

I had brought the game of cricket to the village of Nattassery.....

In the year of 1985, when he returned from town on a rainy day in May, my Grandpa came back home in an auto rickshaw instead of his Hercules bicycle.  He had brought home a new item. It was a small 14 inch black and white Dyanora TV. At 0900 clock on Sunday mornings, it would show the Mickey Mouse show. Two years later, it would show Ramayana at the same time and another four years later, Mahabharata. But what fascinated me was not any of that.. It was something special, a drama enacted by 11 icons, that kept people at the edge of their seats..

In the afternoon, around 0200PM , it would show cricket highlights. Gavaskar , Kapil Dev and Mohinder setting the blades of grass in the stadium on fire.. Binny and Madan Lal physically ravaging the batsmen... It was a treat to watch....

Life had changed from then on... I used to sit awake in the nights and watch cricket matches played abroad.

It was then that the passion of actually playing the game became uncontrollable.. There were two main issues. One was the playing gear..  That was solved by Kuttappan Nair, who helped fashion a bat from the branches of a coconut tree and grandma who gave me two rupees to buy a rubber ball. The second was a team.. Though initially I tried to teach the game to my four year old brother, it did not work out.. He was just not strong enough to hold a bat..

"C'mon.." I used to think.. "You are a four year old bugger who cannot even lift a cricket bat.. What are you going to achieve in life, man..."  Anyhow, he used to run after his toy car, in the relief that practice session is over, sometimes even crying for my ball..

This would not work out... And so there was to be a solution soon.. It came in the form of the boy who used to bring milk at home... Appu, his name was, and was almost my age; may be a bit more.. But he used to be very busy.. He had to take his goats out to feed and then had to look after the cows at home.. Not sure if he attended school.. But then, determined was I, and managed to pull him out for some time every day to play cricket..

It was soon that we formed a team.. Though not 11, we had 8-9 boys of similar age and different heights and weights.. We used to play in the fields in the open sun.. It was autumn and the paddy fields lay bare after Kanni Koythu ( first harvest season in Kerala).. It was the perfect ground.... Lots of grass, enough to complete with the Lords.. The pitch was perfect for spin, spotted with small mounds of mud..

We were the first cricket team in Nattassery ..

And then, like any other great discoverers, I wanted to make it big.. That was when the thought of organizing a tournament set in... The acceptance was unanimous.. We were the only team in the whole village and were sure to win.. The thought of impending glory was too much to resist..

Organizing a tourney had its own up hill tasks.. We had to print notices.. Certificates needed to be printed for the winning team members.. But most of all, a trophy was required.. For one fourth standard kid along with his four year old sibling and few shepherds and few village kids, this was an uphill task... But when you face challenges is when innovation beams upon you..

Grandma used to say that Grandpa had participated in the famous Meenachil boat race in his younger days and won the first place.. He actually had won a trophy and the old , dusty brass artefact lay in one of the boxes in his small cupboard... I had heard that he used to treasure it a lot, as a reminder of his young and actives days.. But for me, that was the solution to the most difficult part of the puzzle..

It was not difficult for me to pick the trophy up from its resting place and clean and shine it as much as possible.. It still had not regained its original sheen, but certainly looked like the apt ever rolling trophy for the Nattassery World Cricket Tournament.

What remained were the certificates, which finally got printed in Nambiar uncle's electronic type writer in Mumbai,  which my father sent me by post.. To think, how much encouraging that was to a seven year old; may be that was the best I had...

The tourney was on a wet Saturday in November.. The challenging team was a gang of warlords from across the river..  As usual the match was postponed by an hour due to incessant rain.. Those were the days before the Duckworth Louis methods.. So both teams had to play the full 10 overs for a decision..

I, the self proclaimed captain of the host team won the toss and decided to field... No.. Don't think that I had anticipated the benefit of swing or capitalizing on the wet outfield. It was just the logic of the fourth grader..

The war lords came to bat.. The opener was a hefty, dark fellow in whose hands the simple bat looked very small..

Then came the rain..

The swing and wet outfields certainly did not help.. It was not raining ... It was raining runs.. None of the balls touched the ground.. Every one of them flew outside the paddy field, across the boundary.. The umpire did not have time to rest his hands..

Then came the opportunity.... The ball had flown high and was around 10 meters from me.. The seven year old ran... And jumped... His chest took a hit.. When he stood up , there were drops of blood on his elbows.. But, in his palm, safely held, was the rubber ball..

"Out!!!!!!" Proclaimed the umpire !!!! His finger had risen..

The match continued and at the end of 10 overs, the warlords had made 120 at the cost of 5 wickets.. Now was our turn..

We did our best.. Wickets fell.. But the kids persisted.. And then came the final over.. It was 12 runs,  3 balls and it was the seven year old facing a gangster..

I couldn't touch the first ball.. The second one came short pitched and rose to my chest.. The kid heaved, the bat connected, and the rubber ball flew off..

There was a cry in the gallery.. I couldn't open my eyes.. The cry had muffled.. It was time to see the result.. The kid opened his eyes..

The ball was safely in the hands of a gangster.. Caught just on the boundary.. The umpire had risen his finger, proclaiming the bitter truth..

Mine was the last wicket to fall.. The warlords had won by 12 runs..

And then, I cried...

The tears came, not because we had lost.. But thinking what would I tell my Grandpa.. The gangsters had taken the trophy, threw away the certificates and were doing the victory run...

Grandpa never found out.. Or he did not ask me... I had thought my kid brother would do me in.. But he did not..

Years later, when Grandpa was bedridden with intestinal cancer, one day, I told him..

" Pa.. I lost your trophy.." He did not say anything.. But smiled, even in the bitter pain..

Did he know.. I never found out...

I have never played cricket since my fourth grade... I did watch a lot of matches..  Slowly the interest wore off as work and life became complex.. Only the love for the game persisted..

I don't have my statue erected in Nattassery.. Nor do the people remember me as the father of cricket.. But, when I see kids playing cricket in paddy fields when I visit my native, the tingling feeling sets in..

And I see the seven year old amongst them, smiling and crying..  And an image of Grandpa's trophy in a haze...  May be, he is trying to get it back, after all these years..

Pongal Musings

The one aspect that myself and my co city dwellers have lost in the past few years is the basic instinct of courteousness.....

I remember Madras or Namma Chennai, in the earlier part of this century.. At a time when IT highways and McDonalds and Subways did not exist, pizza was a delicacy , and the largest Mall in Chennai was the Spencer's....when we were able to walk on the roads without getting lost in the heavy rush of automobiles, when the best vegetarian hotel in the whole of Adayar and further south , was the Vasantha Vihar , and when a filter coffee had the warmth of love than fire, and more than anything, when people used to smile at each other.. 

It was not so long ago, may be a decade and a bit more..I remember waking to MSS and Suprabhaatham, the walks we used to take on the roads of Adayar, the weekly visits to the Padmanabhaswamy and Kapaleeshwar temples and the countless sambar idlies dripping with ghee that we used to eat at Rs.10 each.. When we used to stand in queues patiently without pushing each other or trying to get ahead, and tried to give way to those who had emergencies (except when in Tatkal queues..:) ).. Those days we had enough space for others..

Those were the days when life was simple....

I have seen that Madrasees or Chennaites, including me for that matter , have forgotten to smile these days and lost that extra space , or rather grew selfish and took that for themselves... 

I am on the road, the traffic is heavy... And then that indica squeezes in, scraping mine on the side.. I honk and look at him and he shows me one of those nasty fingers.. He doesn't smile, but does he have a cheeky grin ? 

The toll plaza is a bottle neck and the hundreds of vehicles with different types and counts of  wheels honk and push to get past.. And then that poor guy who got stuck as one of the lanes close.. He tries to request for some space to get through the next one.. Nobody gives way.. I think for a minute, does the same and push through.. Can still remember the look on the hapless guy's face..

Patiently waiting for my turn in the long line at the coffee shop.. Couple of smartly dressed dudes and a dudette comes through and directly goes to the counter... " Master.. Naalu tea, moontru coffee.. Randu tea chakkara jaasthi.. Oru Coffee koncham strongaa.. Innoru coffee koncham lightaa..." Apparently he found one of his friends standing in front.. My blood boils while one of them looks at the other fools standing on the long serpentine line , and smiles..

The kids' school sends me a New Year message at midnight on the 31st..

"Wish you a Happy New Year 2014. Please do not forget that the last day to pay the fees for the third term is 10-Jan. Late comers attract a fine and the kids may not be allowed to sit in the class. "

Could have avoided the second part.. My New Year has gone sour at the thought of raising 40k by the next week...