Christmas at Mahim Church

In the days I lived and worked in Mumbai, I would pass the St Michael's Church (Mahim Church) at the end of the Mahim causeway everyday.  On Wednesdays, I would be particularly irked about the church because the thousands of devotees who came there would snarl up the traffic. 

St. Michael's Church, Mahim.  The church was built first time around in the 1530s.  The present building was constructed in 1973.

A few years ago, in her constant but somewhat unsuccessful attempts to introduce some best practices in the house, bharya priyaa, aka wife, decided that every Wednesday we (all four family members, self, children and herself who came under suzerainity) would all do the Novena prayers offered at the Mahim church.  We, as a family, have been doing this, and, have done the Novena at unlikely locations like Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's.  When we get together as a family and visit a church, we say the Novena.  I suspect we would do so if we were all to visit the Guruvayoor temple together.  I guess Sri Krishna would be OK with that for didn't he say somewhere that whatever was offered in prayer was acceptable, a leaf, water or good intentions.

For some time now I have been including friends and relatives of ours who have serious illnesses in the prayer. I am not looking for a result.  Have just been thinking of them as we do the Novena on Wednesdays. 

I have been wanting to visit the Mahim church for several years now.  However, on previous visits to Bombay in the last few years, something or the other has come up.  This time I realised I was going to be in Bombay on a Wednesday, the day on which devotees throng the church, and, I was a bit hesitant about making it through those crowds.  Add to it the fact that today is Christmas.

I checked the website (thank God for the internet) and found that the first service is at 6.00am...now, I get up with the milk train and 6am is well into mid day for me.  Add to it that many of the  faith would have been celebrating the new King's arrival well into the night yesterday, and, may not be in a condition to drag themselves to the Church at 6am, however much their mothers may want them to do so.  So, I got into a taxi at 5am and headed off to the Mahim church.  There are new roads around Mahim creek that are somewhat scary at that time of the day, and, I did say an additional prayer to Our Lady as my taxi took me that way.

 

Entrance to Mahim Church at 5.15 am on Christmas Day

I was not wrong.  The entrance was wide open, no queue and I just walked in.  Took my time visiting the altar, put some money in the offerings box and sat down.  The service was not to start till 6am and I start meditating, Vipassana style...

St Michael's Church, Mahim, is an interesting church.  Built in about 1530, the Church came into prominence in the 1950s.  From then on, it has served as a sort of Tirupati (if I can be permitted the comparison) where you ask for what you are looking for, and, if you are sincere in your prayers, you get it.  There are stories about miracles...you can read them on the internet. You will see devotess crawling on their knees from the entrance to the altar, a distance of about five hundred feet with floral garlands in their hands.  Interestingly, floral garlands are offered by devotees, a la Hindu temples.  Also, there is an interesting practice of offering wax images of what you desire. (In Tirupati some devotees offer silver figurines...if you have a problem with your foot, you offer a silver figurine of a foot)

 Wax images for being offered at the Mahim Church. 

 

As I took a picture of the stall where wax images were being offered I saw several images of little children.  Presumably they were offered by couples praying for children ... needless to add there were more male baby figurines than female ones, in keeping with local culture.  And interestingly, there was a small wax figurine of a building marked Office...my curiosity was piqued and I asked the stall keeper what that was for...'somebody looking for job, sir...' he replied.  If you look closely at the picture above you will see the Office figurine at left hand top,

 

The service started on the dot at 6am...very un Indian, must be some leftover colonial influence.  From the moment the choir started singing Joy to the World, it was a spiritual treat.  The priest (I suspect his name was Father Simon) was middle aged and led the Mass with tremendous dignity.  Every hymn chosen was exquisitely rendered and the service ended with '...a babe is born in Bethlehem..'  As I came out, tears were streaming down my eyes at the intensity of the experience. 

You cannot order these experiences, they just come to you...

 



 

Early morning service at Mahim Church, Christmas Day 2013

 

As I hailed a taxi to go home the priest's very brief homily kept ringing in my ears, '...the birthday of Christ is a day, the birth of Christ is what happens in your heart...'




Kultur Day in Chennai

Today was what I call Kultur Day…listened to some fabulous presentations about the history and theory of art.

Started off with a great breakfast at the TAG centre … good food is essential to proper enjoyment of kultur … hence the canteens in all Sabhas.  It was great to be standing in the same line for breakfast as the likes of Sanjay Subramanyam.  Introduced myself to him, took a picture and told him that he has a huge fan following, both in my family and Canada, in general. Unfortunately the pic I took with him has not come out OK.

Breakfast was followed by a choir of students from a Mylapore Corporation School singing a couple of songs, including two composed by Subramania Bharati. 

 

Then a fantastic talk by Sriram Venkatakrishnan on Gopalakrishna Bharati, to a standing room only audience.  Sriram’s research is painstaking and he brings tremendous social consciousness to his presentations, which is what I love about him.  Plus the touch of humour that he brings make the experience really enjoyable.

The story begins with Gopalakrishna Bharati starting off his music education with Hindustani music, not Carnatic music, as we would commonly suppose.  And then, as we all know, his most well known piece was Nandanar Charitram. 

Gopalakrishna Bharati had an impish sense of humour and when his sponsor suggested that he write on some mystic, Gopalakrishna Bharati, suggested that he write about one of the Alwars, knowing fully well that his sponsor was a Shiva bhakta.  Once he had got over the joke, Gopalakrishna Bharati decided to write about Nandan, a Nayanmar, about whom a brief mention had been made in the Periyapuranam.

 

Sriram talking about Gopalakrishna Bharati. On the screen is a picture of the site where the house he (Gopalakrishna Bharati) lived in Anandatandavapuram near Mayiladuthurai, stood.

Gopalakrishna Bharati took a few poetic liberties with the story of Nandan (Sriram made the point that Nandan became Nandanar only after Nandanar Charitram had become famous.  Till then, Nandanar was plain and simple Nandan).  The most important liberty was the creation of the Brahmin landlord who prevented Nandanar from going to the temple before all the crop had been planted and harvested. 

In a frank appraisal of the story, Sriram referred to the common view of Dalit groups that the story of Nandanar attaining the so called 'oneness with God' state after the 'agni pariksha' was perhaps more gruesome than mystic. 

Sriram ended his presentation with clips from the controversial Kindanar Charitram, performed by NS Krishnan.  It was a parody of Nandanar Charitram. (If I am not wrong, the sequence appeared in Nallathambi, which I think was the first film scripted by CN Annadurai...I could be wrong). One must admire Sriram’s willingness to talk about issues that are not normally raised in elitist audiences. He ended by saying that Nandanar was a story about human struggle against oppression, and, even if the details of the struggle change, it will remain an inspiration as long as there is cause for such struggle.  Sriram, you rock !!!

From Sriram’s scintillating talk, I moved to Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan where Anita Ratnam was staging Purush, an exploration of the male dancer’s identity.  A brilliant panel discussion by four celebrity male dancers including Canada’s own Hari Krishnan.



Dr Rustom Bharucha, drama and culture critic summed up the discussions and made one telling point which remained with me. 

Yes, there are issues of gender and sexuality that male dancers deal with which cannot be wished away.  Nevertheless, when Kelu-Babu (Kelucharan Mohapatra, the Odissi Guru) played Radha, one never saw anything other than a female Radha who was in love with Krishna.  See this clip of Guru Kelucharan performing

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCMJnsFPaQI

 

 Tonight they are honouring Birju Maharaj, another versatile dancer who dance goes beyond gender.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnJLBs7Zo7c



The Madras season is acquiring a new hue other than just kutcheris… Perhaps this banner for Rasi silks captures it in a way nothing else does

 



 

Sahib,Sindh,Sultan and the city of boiled beans

Growing up in the Madras of the 60s where Prohibition was fairly strictly enforced, Bangalore and Pondicherry were the nearby wet havens.  Though I never got to drink alcohol till I was eighteen or so, Bangalore held out the fantasy of licentiousness that was fascinating to the teenager.  We would hear stories of grown ups doing weekend trips to Bangalore and indulging in things supposedly wicked.  In those days it was a wannabe city.

I first got to visit Bangalore in 1962, chaperoned by my sister-in-law.  That first visit was fairly non consequential.  Bangalore did strike me a somewhat sleepy city, where even the milkman came around 10am. 

My first ‘real visit’ to the city of boiled beans (an apocryphal, though popular, anecdote recounts that the 12th century Hoysala king Veera Ballala II, while on a hunting expedition, lost his way in the forest. Tired and hungry, he came across a poor old woman who served him boiled beans. The grateful king named the place "benda-kaal-uru" ,literally, "town of boiled beans", which eventually evolved into "Bengalūru")  was in 1971 after I started working.  I was deputed on an assignment for two weeks and spent every evening in one of three bars, Napolis, Three Aces and another one whose name I forget.  I watched Gwendolina dance the dance of the seven veils seven out of the fifteen nights and on the other nights some similar acitivity.  That visit enabled me to experience the fantasy I had been brought up with as a school boy…

Subsequent to that visit I have visited Bengaluru many times.  At one stage I even planned to live in that city if I were to return to India, and, bought an apartment.  So, when friends who now live there invited me to come over, I jumped at the opportunity and booked my tickets on the Shatabdi express which does the journey from Chennai in five hours.  I am told that given the traffic, the distance from the new airport, and check in times, the air journey of roughly 300 kilometres from Chennai to Bengaluru takes, in all, the same time, at several multiples of the train fare.

I was quite excited taking the Shatabdi (‘Shatabdi’ means centenary) super fast express train.  These trains, running relatively short distances between Indian cities, were started in 1988 to commemorate the birth centenary of India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru.  Given the challenges running of a railway network in a country like India, I would not compare them to other super fast trains, like, for example, French TGV.  The Shatabdi is comfortable and clean by standards of a railway system that struggles with waste disposal.  They serve tasty food, which, I guess sits more comfortable in the low immunity gastric systems of those who have lived outside of India for many years. 

 

India’s railway stations are historical monuments in their own right.  Chennai Central which was built in 1873 hasn’t changed much since I last travelled from there, some thirty years ago. 

It has become much, much more crowded.  The other thing that struck me was the relatively less number of porters in their hall mark red livery.  And one look around, I realized why.  Most travelers these days bring roll on luggage…they do not need someone to carry it in to the train and off the train. 

In days gone by, porters also performed another important role…finding you a seat if you had made your travel plans very close to the date of departure and could not get a reserved seat or berth.  You would come a little early to the station, find a porter who would then jump into the rake as it rolled into the platform and put a towel on an unoccupied seat as a mark of its being taken.  The increase in the number of trains and the fantastically efficient on line booking site of the Indian Railways has obviated this need.  So, to cut a long story short, very few porters at the railway station.

The other thing that struck me as I went into Chennai station was the comfort with which Hindi is spoken in the city. In the '60s you could start a riot speaking the language. Today I find auto rickshaw drivers comfortably bargaining in Hindi...a tribute to the changing composition of the city's workforce.

Pulling into Bangalore city station around 11am in the morning, I got the distinct feeling that the milkman still comes around 10am.  There is a laid back nature to the city that belies its role as the Silicon Valley of India’s IT industry.
The two days that I spent in Bangalore were fantastic … meeting with friends and relatives who showered me with their love and affection. 

I got to experience the famous traffic snarls that Bangalore is now famous for, and one incident stands out in my mind.  Driving in the ten lanes of traffic on a road built for three lanes, the car I was travelling in was brushed by a car trying to overtake it from the wrong side.  The traffic cop standing close by, did not want to hold up the traffic and just waved our driver to move on.  However, the woman who was driving the other car which had tried to overtake us on the wrong side and had also got damaged brushing our car, was not going to give up.  For the next twenty minutes I watched her follow our car, constantly honking her horn and showering the vilest abuse on our driver, who maintained his calm, just politely pointing out that she was the party at fault.  At one stage she hollered that she was a lawyer and knew exactly who was at fault…followed by choice abuse describing various aspects of male and female genitalia.  Accustomed as I am, over the last thirty years to such disputes being settled more politely by exchange of insurance information, it took me some getting used to.  More importantly, it convinced me that if proof were ever needed, that this was the message not to take to the wheel myself, in India. 

The other experience that stands out in my mind, for totally different reasons, was lunch at Sahib, Sindh, Sultan, one of Bangalore trendy restaurants at the new Forum Mall in Koramangala.  The name takes its inspiration from the names of the steam engines that pulled the rake of the first train that ran from Bombay to Thane in 1853.  The restaurant is stylishly furnished on the lines of a railway carriage and the food is excellent and interestingly named.  Thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

 

I had a little time to spare when I landed up for my lunch appointment and did a bit of mall crawling.  Very much like a North American mall.  However, there is a wider choice of food varieties.  In addition to North American staples like Subway you also have Indian food choices which makes it more interesting...

And here is the Golden Arches menu

 

 

Driving around in Bangalore, I saw this advertisement on the back of an autorickshaw

 

 

Looks like Canada is still a popular destination for immigration, notwithstanding the best efforts of successive Canadian governments.

 

Getting an autorickshaw to take you home after a train journey has been a problem ever since I first started travelling, more than forty years ago.  The pre paid auto rickshaw stand at Central station has made that much easier and now one gets a pre determined fare

 

 

And when I got off the auto, I gave the auto rickshaw driver the specified fare with an added tip.  He refused to take the money from my hands.  I thought he was telling me that the tip wasn't enough.  After a few seconds, he touched my left hand in which I was holding the money and said, 'Give with right hand, not left...'  (the left hand is used only for 'dirty' things and it is considered inauspicious to do anything with your left hand, particularly money matters) If I gave the impression earlier that things have changed, let me say, some things never change.



 

 

Musical Mylapore...day one in Singara Chennai

Talking to my wife and son, soon after landing in Chennai yesterday, I realised that I had missed what looks like the first major snowstorm of this winter, for the Toronto area...not that I am complaining about having missed it...just that the first big snowstorm in Toronto, is like Bombay's first big monsoon downpour that happens every year in the first week of July...the city stops for a moment, heaves a collective shrug of the shoulder and moves on for the rest of the winter/monsoon.

While I am all praise for German efficiency, I must say that the in-flight entertainment for coach class in Lufthansa sucks big time.  The only movie of some standard I could watch was Despicable Me (2) and I must thank my niece Vasanthi for having recently introduced me to the Minions through her FB posts.  Vasanthi, sorry to say that Subraminion, who is your current profile pic, did not appear in the movie.


Anyway, the upside to the sub standard in-flight system was that I ended up meditating for about twelve of the sixteen hours on board, and, feeling as fresh as a daisy (or whatever one feels fresh as in Chennai) when I stepped off the plane in Chennai.

Taking off from Toronto Pearson and flying east, an hour or so after take off the in flight map starts showing up cities in Europe and as you continue travelling the names London, Berlin, Paris and so on start appearing on the map and in a somewhat panoramic way the history of these places flashes past the mind.  And then, on the Frankfurt-Chennai sector, Turkmenistan, Azarbaijan, recent additions to our family network with Sid's wife tracing her roots to those parts; then, mighty Persia; followed by the gateway to Asia, Afghanistan and then what was till 1947, a part of British India, Pakistan.  Such history...and as I saw the name Kandahar come up on the map, I remembered Tagore's Qabuliwallah and the dream that was Afghanistan in the days I was growing up...Here is a particularly wistful clip from that movie...ai mere pyare watan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAdeqOrfzPA

Coming in to land in Chennai or Mumbai I always crane my neck to catch the lights of the city.  Generally the plane takes a short turn around the Bay of Bengal and then comes in to land from the east.  Growing up in the Theosophical Society, when Air India introduced its first flights to Australia, we would often stand in our courtyard and see the underbelly of the aircraft as it came in to land late night.  We could often make out the markings as we watched. 

Yesterday the plane came in to land from the Pallavaram (land) side and I couldn't see much except that progressively the city lights are growing in number and density.  I couldn't get a glimpse of St Thomas Mount (which does not, of course, come in the flight path if the aircraft comes in from the Pallavaram side). St Thomas Mount is my signal, when coming in by air, that we are in Singara Chennai.  The towers of Basin Bridge perform that role when I come in by train.

Customs and Immigration these days are not the unending wait that they were when I first started travelling overseas.  I remember Lakshmi and the children once waiting about four hours for me to clear customs, and, that too green channel, sometime in the 80s.  These days it is a breeze and within twenty minutes of landing I was out, getting into my niece's car, heading to Besant Nagar.

December is a pleasent month to land in Chennai and the weather is a pleasent nineteen Celsius with a calm sea breeze...so, you will realize why I am not upset at having missed the first snowstorm of the
season in Toronto.

The highlight of the first day was the Musical Mylapore walking tour conducted by Sriram Venkatakrishnan, the young (relative to moi) and well known history chronicler of Madras aka Chennai.  The tour started at 6am outside Saravana Bhavan, and, waiting for the tour to start I was watching women cleaning the entrance to their houses and hand stencilling the decorative kolam motif  with rice flour that adorns the entrance to the house...here is a simple but elegant motif

If I were to describe Sriram's Musical Mylapore walk in one word ... fabulous, and, since one word does not do justice, I shall add fantastic.

Sriram packs into the two hours of the walk knowledge of history and society along with a great sense of humour.  During the two hours that he took us around the the four temple streets of the Mylapore Kapali temple he told of us the intricate relationship that existed between the legal luminaries who lived in the area and their sponsoring of music.  There were also very interesting flashes of the society of those days ... the nagaswarm players had to stand outside the hall, bare chested and play the instrument ... their being bare chested was reflective of their relatively lower caste status in those days ... till the great Rajaratnam Pillai came along said the equivalent of 'screw you' and once even wore a three piece suit when he played the instrument

Sriram also gave some very interesting anecdotes of the personal lives of several musicians.  One very famous musician of those days was well known for not paying his rent. Another would receive payment for his concerts in two envelopes, one of which went to his wife and the other to his mistress.  No names mentioned ...  The same celebrity would always insist that his concert be preceded by a short piece that the audience would have to endure, sung by his mistress ...  That might give a hint as to who that celebrity was.

So many rich and colourful stories that helped us construct a beautiful tapestry of the four temple streets that were Mylapore in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Papanasam Sivan was one of the best known names of his days. In 1921 or so he started the margazhi bhajans when he and his troupe would go around the temple streets singing (bhajans) hymns.  The picture below shows Sriram standing at the place where the bhajan singing would start and telling us the story of Papanasam Sivan

And the bhajans would always end with the troupe facing the Kapali temple,

and singing Gopalakrishna Bharati's kaana vendamo ... here is the version of that song sung by Dandapani Desikar in Nandanaar

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GXOf_8oWnE

The walking tour ends with a hearty breakfast at Saravana Bhavan,  Jet lag was beginning to catch up and more than that the words of my Weightwatchers 'teacher', '...don't come back with pounds that you will have to work off...' made me say 'No' to the invitation for breakfast.  Thanked Sriram for the fascinating start to the holiday and headed home to catch up on some long overdue sleep.


 

Ready to roll

So last night I packed my bags for the upcoming trip.  And while I was at it, I also packed the dear wife's bags too.  She leaves a few days after me to spend girl time with the daughter before I join them for New Year...

Chatting with a few friends at a holiday season party last weekend, the wife and I mentioned that we were on separate holidays for the next few weeks.  The lady we were chatting with looked at her partner and said, 'They are on separate holidays...maybe we should try that...'  Which then brought to my mind the concept of Optimum Spousal Exposure (OPS), an algorithm developed by a smart MBA friend of mine, a product of the Leading Institute of Management in Western India.  Several factors go into constructing this algorithm, one of the most important being the number of years a couple have been together.   The longer the couple have been together, OPS will be lower.  Exceptions may exist to this algorithm, however, extensive research has shown that proper application of the OPS factor has resulted in longer marriages.

So, in a few hours time I shall be taking off for Frankfurt.  Having been employed by German firms for a combined period exceeding fifteen years now,   Frankfurt has been my transit destination of choice, and, Lufthansa has the status of a national airline.  Flughafen Frankfurt is one of those perfectly functional places, the classic Teutonic no nonsense efficiency coming through every pore...  Once I did land up there on a day when there was a strike on.  Even the strike was conducted with remarkable efficiency.  Picket lines marching with clockwork precision and no unnecessary emotion and shouting as we would see in other parts of the world.

From Frankfurt another nine hours to Singara Chennai...

First order of business after joining the Musical Mylapore walk on Sunday morning is to have a haircut with a good scalp massage thrown in.  The scalp massage that comes gratis as part of a haircut in India.

Chennai is in the middle of the annual music season and I saw two days ago that it was Subramania Bharati's 131st birth anniversary.  Here is one of Bharatiyar's best love poems sung by the great GNB

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQKbjRwF8jM

Got to finish a few things at work, then strap on the electronic leash before heading out.  Sometimes wonder whether it is a leash or a security blanket.  Many moons ago, before electronic leashes came into existence, a boss of ours told us in grand style before heading out for a holiday, '...I will be on the beach for the next week...take your own decisions...don't phone...'  Well, we just did that.  When he came back he said, '...Why did nobody call to update me on what was happening ?'  Well. we just did what he asked us to do ... which is why I wonder whether the Blackberry (or the Android which is gaining in popularity in corporate circles) is a leash or a security blanket.

 

Madras, a summer of '62

When I moved to Madras, the fourteen storied LIC building on Mount Road was still the tallestbuilding in town. That sort of sets the pre-historic date of my entry into Madras.

Coming to Madras from Bombay was actually a bit of ‘comedown’. Friends and relatives had warned me that Madras was ‘an overgrown village’ and that everyone went to bed by 8pm.

On the last stretch of the train ride from Bombay, that is the stretch from Arkonam, my mother pointed out to me houses that looked like the one we were to stay in. Till then we had always stayed in a flat (or apartment in North American language) and I did not quite know how it would be to stay all by ourselves in a single house without a neighbor in the landing opposite. Seemed to be such a lonely way of living.

Looking back fifty years in time I am happy that my introduction to Madras was with life in the Theosophical Society (aka TS), in the house next to the Bhojanashala, and, that I went to school at the Besant Theosophical High School when it was at Damodar Gardens. That is with the benefit of fifty years of life behind me … In 1962, I mentally revolted against the idea of wearing a pyjama-kurta to school (felt that I was going there in my sleep clothes) and attending music class sounded so ‘wuss’.  .

 

The headquarters building of the Theosophical Society, Adyar, Madras (Chennai)

 

Anyway, overnight, one day in April 1962, we were transported from the hustle and bustle of a main road in Sion, Bombay where you slept through the night with the noise of the bus starting and stopping at the bus stop in front of your building; to the esoteric calm of the Theosophical Society where your neighbor would leave a gentle note the next morning if you were up late at night (by TS standards) listening to Binaca Geet Mala and the noise had disturbed his or her meditative peace.

Once I had got over the shock of going to school in my ‘sleep clothes’, Besant School started to sink in to me. In Bombay, I had studied under martinet missionaries who pushed for performance. At Besant School, we had classes (not using the word ‘studied’ intentionally) under the trees, and, once I got used to the surroundings, I started noticing the girls who were in my class. I was just beginning to take notice of girls at that age, and, even fifty years later, and, having travelled all around the world, and, having done some advanced studies on the matter, I can vouch that Madras girls are the best.

Teaching at Besant School in those days was something very different from the schools I had attended earlier. We had teachers around in those days who had trained under Maria Montessori and the whole philosophy of nurturing the child was predominant. Our Headmaster, Krishnaratnam, was super, and, I still remember the gentle and graceful way he would deal with ‘boy-girl’ issues in a co-ed school where teenage hormones were just beginning to assert themselves, in a day and age which was still conservative.

Growing up in the Theosophical Society of those days meant that we were also isolated somewhat from the water shortages, evidence of which we would see when we went to visit cousins who got up at 3am to fill water. The annual Theosophical Convention was the grand finale to the year. Besant School students ran the cafeteria, and, Headmaster Krishnaratnam would be there along with the teachers to ensure that visitors from all parts of the world got the superior customer service that MacDonalds could learn from. ‘Smiles are free’ was the customer service statement even before MacDonalds thought of it.

The Convention would end with the New Year’s bonfire on the beach conducted by the Youth Lodge, and, we would all come home at 2am, much to chagrin of our elders who thought that anyone up at 2am had to be up to something immoral.

Soon after I landed in Madras, my elder brother introduced me to riding a bicycle. After a few scrapes and bandages, I mastered the balance and the bicycle remained my main mode of transport till I left Madras in 1969.

On a recent visit to Madras I was driving on Besant Avenue at 8pm, in fairly heavy traffic. In the ‘60s, Besant Avenue would go under cover of darkness once the sun set, except for the occasional couple riding a motor bike or scooter to a lover’s tryst on Elliot’s Beach. Looking at the memorial on Elliots Beach two weeks ago, I remember my first look at that memorial in 1963 or so. There was just a single lane dirt road running from Besant Avenue, past where Rajaji Bhavan stands today, with casuarina groves on either side. There were a few shacks on the beach where ‘foreigners’ would come on weekends to enjoy the beach … other than that, nothing, zippo, nothing … and look at it today … I remember standing, in 1963, where Besant Avenue ends and feeling somewhat scared to cycle the lonely stretch to the memorial …

Passing out (graduating, in North American language) of Besant School and entering Vivekananda College in Mylapore opened up a new world. Driving on the new (VK Bridge) crossing the Adyar river I always wonder when the old bridge will be finally taken down. When it does, a part of me will fade away … I have crossed that old bridge on my bike, a million times, going to college, meeting friends and just generally growing up. I remember the day in 1964 when a cyclone hit and parts of the pedestrian bridge at the mouth of the Adyar estuary got washed away.

 

The broken bridge at the estuary of the Adyar river

 

Vivekananda College opened many doors, and, by the way, I also got a degree at the end of four years. By the time I finished I had full knowledge of the different Student Special routes and which beauty queen got on at which stop and where she got off. I also had a good circle of friends who would ensure that they responded ‘Yes, sir’ when my roll number (1119) was called for attendance. With prior arrangement, you could enjoy watching Cho’s ‘Then Nilavu’ at Kamadhenu while being at the same time marked present for a class on Indian Economic Problems (IEP), which, in any case, have still not been resolved.  So, there is no feeling of guilt at not attending the class.

As a member of Viveka’s quiz and debating societies there was the added advantage of being able to officially being marked present as one debated such ponderous topics as ‘Is God Dead?’ at IIT’s Mardi Gras festival (never knew what Mardi Gras was in those days). Remember the opening statement of one of the debaters at the said debate, “The question of God being dead does not arise as God was never alive…” Much applause from the Stella girls sitting in the front, but, no prize as the judges did not like that irreverent remark. That sort of summed up Madras’ attitude to life …

The best quiz programmes in those days were on All India Radio. Several IAS officers, would conduct these quiz programmes, and, the names Diraviyam and K.V. Ramanathan come to mind. Recently I saw that a niece of mine won several thousand rupees at some quiz programme with a paid trip to Delhi for the finals. In those, if we produced the bus tickets we got reimbursed the fare. Since I biked to the AIR studios even that was not available to me. The prize was a handshake and perhaps a book of Swami Vivekananda’s speeches. Nonetheless, the quiz programmes were fun, and, some of us friends from those days still remember the effort that quiz masters would put in to preparing the questions in those pre-internet days.

The air conditioned theatres had just started opening on Mount Road, and, I think Shanti was the first one. I took a nostalgic taxi drive, recently, down Mount Road with my wife and daughter and showed my daughter, Buharis where I had proposed to my wife. When my daughter asked me why did you bring her to this dodgy place I shared with her the strategy. Since I would need time to sell myself to my wife, then girl friend, I wanted a place where I would not be disturbed by some uncle or aunt landing up. That excluded Shanti Vihar, Woodlands Drive in and other such places. Buharis, with its predominant non vegetarian fare, would not attract aunts and uncles. So, Buharis was where I proposed to my wife amidst chicken biryani and mutton cutlets being served. For the record, she accepted.

Talking of Woodlands Drive In, that is the one institution I still miss. Every morning you would see hordes of Sales Representatives descend on the Drive In, on their mobikes to have their coffee and tiffin, compare notes on the medical fraternity of Madras and then set off on their rounds. And in the evenings, the girls from Stella would come … and the dudes who would circle them with their motor bike mufflers off … what a racket they created …

I could go on about this city, which for me was a sort of extended ‘Summer of ‘42’ … Coming in from plush and well maintained airports like Changi three weeks ago, I stopped for a minute in my tracks at the lack of maintenance at the Chennai airport … The ancient Ambassador that drove me from the airport home must have been put together around the time I was in college, in the ‘60s … But, when the taxi driver asked me, perhaps to test my knowledge of the city, whether he should turn at Aavin circle to go to Besant Nagar, I said ‘yes’ and in that moment I realized that though I live in Toronto, Canada, Madras is still home ….  (I wrote this in 2012...there is a new airport now, I understand)

 

Aavin circle, these days

 

The excitement continues

We are now up to daily telephone calls to India.  Yesterday a group of classmates from ye olde Leading Institute of Management in Western India connected and I have a side trip arranged to Bengaluru.  Since the domestic air fares seem so frightfully expensive (the automatic dollar converter keeps clicking away in my mind) I shall be travelling by train from Chennai to Bengaluru and back after many, many moons.  Reading all these stories of vermin and insects on the trains (other than of the human kind), I gingerly asked my friend, 'How clean are the trains ?'  He replied back, equally gingerly, 'Very clean', and, then hastily added, '...by Indian standards.'  What these standards are I will figure out soon.

My train to Bengaluru leaves at 6.00am...I remember a time in the 60s when going to Madras Central was quite an expedition.  Anyway, I am hoping that loving niece will drop me off.  Actually, I am quite looking forward to going into Madras Central, which I have not been inside, for nearly thirty years now.  I remember the romantic 'date' I had with bharya priyaa at the 'Non Vegetarian Refreshment Room' in Madras Central, when she was travelling once from Tirunelveli to Bombay, circa 1970.  We used to frequent these non-vegetarian eateries to avoid family members who might see us if we went to a vegetarian eatery.  Being both vegetarians, all we could have was a cup of tea.  Needless to add, at that stage in our romance, the food did not matter. 

And all those visits to receive and see off uncles, aunts, cousins et al...If anyone was coming by the Howrah Mail which came at 4.45am, we would ask them to wait at the station till we reached, because there was no way on earth we could make the trip from Adyar to be there before the train arrived. 

And the sheer joy of listening to a good Dravidian railway announcer settling scores of years of injustice wreaked by the Aryan hordes by massacring the Hindi pronounciation and grammar as he/she proclaimed the arrival of the Grand Trunk express from Dilli.  Mercifully, the anti Hindi agitation of 1965, put a brief stop to these acts of linguistic terror.  Nowadays, I think there are sufficient number of North Indian announcers who can speak and pronouce Hindi the way it is supposed.

Here is a YouTube link of a recent flash mob at Chennai Central...things have changed in thirty years...love that music...not exactly the genre of music one would hear at the Music Academy during the season...nevertheless fun alright

Facebooking around yesterday I saw this 'walk' advertised for December 15, of Musical Mylapore.  These walks have been started, a la London, of historical places in the city.  The Madras music season will be on and a walk of Musical Mylapore fits in ideally.  After booking myself on that walk, I realized that I would be landing in Chennai only a few hours earlier.  So, if you see a jet lagged moi crawling around North Mada and South Mada Street at 6am that Sunday, you know my commitment to music...

So, it all goes on...the gifts have been bought...the passport and OCI card checked...and this weekend the suitcases will be brought down and packed. 

Oh, I understand beti priya will also be in the motherland at that time.  However, we shall not be meeting up.  I threatened to land up at the wedding she is attending and she hasn't given me the address, yet.



 

dhano dhanya pushpe bora

This morning when I got into my car to drive to work, I saw that a bottle of water that I had left overnight in the car had frozen to ice.  Make no mistake, I love Canada, and, live here by choice…however, I was all the same happy that in exactly two weeks’ time the only place I will be able to find ice is in the kitchen, in the refrigerator…

I shall be in Singara Chennai or what I still prefer to call Madras, Nalla Madras … and then, amchi Mumbai before starting the New Year in London (which thanks, to Geetu is becoming an annual family tradition)

The once a year trip to India (and London) falls somewhere in between an annual pilgrimage and a lovers’ tryst…

From the time I can remember, which goes back in this case, to age seven, a trip to India was always something that caused tremendous excitement.  The mind would start churning up images galore, of friends and food and fun.  There was this fantasy that life would suddenly become less objective driven.  Even if by force of habit I still got up at 4am, I could go for a walk on Elliots’ Beach, instead of drive to work. 

(At the same time, I must give thanks that I have a job to drive to…even if it is in the snow)

In the days Ramesh Balsekar was alive, my day while in Mumbai, would start with idlis and chutney at Ram Nayak’s in Kings Circle and the satsang at Ramesh’s house.  And as I travelled back home after the satsang, a stop at the Motilal Banarasidas bookstore near Mahalakshmi, browsing through Sanskrit and old Hindi texts…and all the while, the closing bhajan of the satsang,

 saguna mhanu, ke  nirguna re

Tu ahe govindu re …

Does it matter that some think you are with form and some think that you have no form ? For me, you are just Govindu (God)…

By chance I just checked YouTube and find that there is actually a clip of this song being sung...thanks to Balsekar I realise that my finding the song when I am writing this is no coincidence...there are no miracles, no coincidences...things happen, there is no doer...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WcTk8T8wI4

And, Ramesh Balsekar’s last admonition to me, ‘…if you already have the answers why do you ask me the question ? … come back when you don’t have answers and we can talk …’

And, friends…people I knew as a teenager, all now grown to Golden Age status.  It is wonderful to see how the absence of years bring you to understand people who you had problems with.  I recall the days I worked in Mumbai, when there was a government ruling against having HR positions filled by ‘non locals.’  Not being born of Marathi speaking parents, that  ruling applied to me.  There was a particular Union leader who used to be difficult with me just for this reason.  On a visit two years ago, I saw him at the Dadar-Pune taxi stand.  We recognized each other, and, after half a second of hesitancy, rushed to talk to another.  We ended up having a masala chai at a nearby chai stall.  It was great to get his perspective on how life at my old workplace has changed.

Everytime I see a face that looks familiar, I walk up and ask ‘Are you so and so ?”  Eight times out of ten I am correct, and, the next few minutes are a rush of feeling and catching up.

As I sit enjoying the rush of feeling, with tears pouring down my cheeks,  the song that comes to my mind is one composed by Dwijendralal Roy … dhano dhanya pushpe bora…the best rendering is by Hemanta Mukhopadhyaya, who, for a few weeks,was my Bengali teacher ,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDiXDHGvGHM