Some episodes

 

Monkey plays guest 

I was doing something in the kitchen and was engrossed in my work. I turned for a second toward the microwave oven, I do not remember why (when you read on you will understand how it might have easily slipped from my mind even if I had indeed a purpose for that), and what do I see there? A monkey, of course, seated comfortably on the platform next to the microwave in the space made for it, as it were, by amma. (She had removed the mixy in order to work on the grinder). The monkey had entered the kitchen unobtrusively through the balcony window kept wide open as an informal invitation to it, shall I say?

I have been dull-witted even in reading the minds of higher mortals like humans (I am confident that the monkey won’t read this and take umbrage at the statement that humans are higher mortals). How was I to divine what went behind the mind of a monkey? For all I knew, it was from Pakistan with hidden weapons of mass destruction. I did not know how to shoo it away. I sort of had learnt the noises to make in respect of crows (coosh), dogs (vettu), etc., but not for a monkey. It is a different issue whether the animals learnt the terms we coined for them. I was all nerves and thought at first of throwing the sugar container, but better sense prevailed even in that emergency that it would only sweeten the kitchen floor. Moreover, it was no match for WMD the monkey perhaps had in its arsenal. It would be more like the soldier in ‘Arms and the Man’ of Shaw, carrying chocolates in his pocket in the place of bullets.

I decided that I should rush out of the room (having worked in a reputed institution for a long time, it has got deeply ingrained in me that fleeing the scene of conflict is the most discreet step to be taken by an astute manager) to look for a stick. My sense was with me and I remembered that patti usually kept some stick with her. My plan worked. I saw an acrylic pipe used as a stick by her. I took hold of it and returned to the scene of action.

My mind was not idle meantime. The discourse of one Sastrigal on Ramayana flashed in my mind. He was narrating how, during one such discourse, a monkey entered and occupied a vantage point. He felt unsettled as also the audience. The monkey sat through quietly for some time and then slunk away without inflicting any harm. The audience came to terms after the menace disappeared to conclude that it was Hanuman who came on the scene. The Sastrigal recited a stanza that says that wherever Ramayana is narrated, Hanuman is present. I did not want to leave anything to chance. Maybe Hanuman was pleased to pay a visit to our house also though Ramayana was not even in my mind at that time. Nevertheless I recited a sloka praising Hanuman in my mind. All this happened in a trice.

When I returned I saw amma slamming the door of the kitchen. She perhaps thought that she was confining the monkey in the kitchen as if she was Mumbai police catching Kasab. I was furious. How could she leave the kitchen at the sole disposal of the monkey? (The thought of Hanuman had flashed out as easily as it came).

We have the philanthropic practice of leaving everything in the kitchen open for flies and mosquitoes, ants and cockroaches. Now one more species has been added in the list of our donees. The monkey would have a field day, I thought in anger. Anger was my surrogate emotion for fear. In physics we have read about the transformation of one form of energy to another, which has made several inventions possible. We can in like manner transform one emotion to another, though the simile falls short of completeness as in my case it resulted in annoyance to amma, not any benefit.

I shook the handle of the kitchen door to open it. You may think uncharitably that my hand was shaking in any case. When I opened, I did not see the monkey where I last saw it. The storeroom was open too and I thought that it must have entered there. (If it were Hanuman, it ought to have gone there in right earnest as it is pooja room as well). I was afraid to enter and find out. What if it pounced on me as I peeped? I made some sort of noise and banged the pipe on the door of the storeroom. Patti had brought another longer and sturdier pipe. I now had two pipes to fight with. In the event, I peeped and surveyed the room well, but the monkey was not there.

Then I went to the balcony. Amma was shouting from behind (to my rattled mind it sounded as gibberish) whether I had removed a half-litre packet of milk. I was disturbed by her voice and told her to keep quiet and not bother about the milk packet when I was fighting a life and death battle with a monkey. Patti butted in and asked whether we had left any milk for the monkey as it was drinking the milk outside. She gave a sagacious advice from her wizened old age that we should keep the doors closed. I told her to keep her advice to herself. It was still to dawn on me that the monkey had left our premises. Amma was still harping on the milk and I told her why she did not put it straight into the fridge. I also ticked her off for watching the TV in neglect of her work and threatened to smash the TV. She started to say something, but I outshouted her and she knew better not to waste her breath. The altercation thus died young.

I realised late that the monkey was playing guest (my coinage, in case you have not already given me the credit for it) and looking for breakfast and did not come for human blood wantonly. However, I do not recommend to anyone to entertain monkeys for breakfast. After all, the recent visitors to Taj and Trident went there not for breakfast, but for human lives! 

Pigeon Visit

A rat, a monkey and now a pigeon..
Amma's camaraderie with species that are less endowed than humans reminds me of Ramana Maharishi, who tended and gave salvation to, birds and animals that lived in the precincts of his ashram.
I was at the crossword and amma looked to be at the crossroads from the despondent shriek that pierced my ears and shook my frail heart, quickening its beats and letting me gasp. I looked up to the dining area where the scene of action lay. I saw the area turned to an aviary with a pigeon at large and amma in some sort of rock-n-roll. As it happens, the genesis of the problem overwhelms the solution thereto. The question cropped up how the pigeon found its way and having seen the balcony door half ajar, the answer was quickly grasped. The next crucial issue was how to make the pigeon retrace its path. First, all entrances except to the balcony were closed to restrict the flying zone of the pigeon. Next, a broomstick was chosen as the weapon to chase it with. It sat apprehensively on the kitchen loft, looking hither and thither finding neither a prey nor a way. We teased it waving the broomstick near it. It flew into the dining area and towards the doorway into the hall en route to balcony. So we thought, but, what was clear to the man of six senses was not clear to the pigeon. It sat on the curtain rod of the bedroom.
I brought the cobweb stick from the master bedroom on amma's prompting. I also brought a bed sheet to hold as screen to prevent the bird getting back to the kitchen area, but the ploy did not work. The bird did find its way back into the dining hall and sat on the fridge. Amma frightened it with her hoos and haws and it escaped back into the kitchen loft. I shouted at her why she needled it from the dining hall side. I gave her lessons, like Krishna to Arjuna in the battlefield, that she should have tried to chase it from the kitchen side. She drove it from the kitchen and this time like Gajendra in trouble of tortoise-grip cried for heavenly help, the pigeon flew into the pooja shelf and rattled a few non-pooja stuff that normally lands on top there instead of into the fridge. We persisted with our tactics that included waving stick or shouts. The pigeon flew low and sat at the threshold of the hall and there was a ray of hope. With some nudging, the bird flew out into the portico, playing no more hide and seek with us. Seeing it perched on the portico parapet, we quickly closed and bolted the door.
Thus ended the visit of the pigeon. It would have branded us as bad hosts, but we are safe since it will not be able to tom-tom it or compare notes. 

Post Office 

What an amusing experience it is to go to the post office! Here is an age-old institution that sticks to its original ways no matter what has happened around. Everything is done manually. The registers look like coming off loose leaf. They are stacked around the staff. The staff have developed a way of recognising them, like a mother cow would identify its calf, though to a dumb one like me they all look alike. What a good exercise for the arms, pulling them and putting them back! What a relief to the eyes which do not have to face electron beams! 

I envy the efficiency and the courtesy of the staff. They are in the seats at the appointed hours and do their work non-stop. What a sea of difference from the banks! 

I went to draw the monthly interest as a ‘messenger’. People ask me what I do in retired life. Why, I act as a messenger for my wife! She was the payee in all the slips that were filled in for drawing the interest and she authorised me as her ‘messenger’ to get the cash. Let no one take the word ‘messenger’ to be slighting. Great souls are called ‘divine messengers’. You may chuckle that I am comparing wife to ‘God’. These are changed times. Previously husbands were to be considered ‘Gods’. I have no way of saying whether it was honoured or not. But, now wives are to be considered ‘God’. At least you have one example that it is taken seriously. 

Even as the person before me was in the midst of transacting his business, the counter staff took my slips, added the amounts mentally and enquired whether I was to get Rs. 6500 (it was Rs. 6470). I nodded and he replied that there might not be enough cash. He suggested that I come the next day or take a chance till 3 PM when he would take the collections at other counters and pay me if possible. I decided to wait. One way of spending retired life and a way to build my patience, though belatedly! 

I stepped out and had to get back as Anbumani’s persona non grata (smokers) were puffing out nicotine that I had no intention of imbibing. To while away the time, I started reciting something. After the queue in front of the counter spirited off, I sat in a chair. The Post Office did its planning meticulously to ward off unwanted occupants in the chairs. The first two chairs, which were a little away from the counter, were kept busy with a lot of files and papers. The one next was so dirty that sitting on it might infect you with any disease. The last chair which was alright by P.O. standards could be occupied only when there was no queue at the counter. 

I suddenly felt an impact on my hand. I turned to see that a gentleman had sat on the adjoining chair flailing his limbs beyond its boundary. I adjusted to cause no inconvenience to the esteemed customer of the P.O. He got up and went away quickly. It was so considerate of him.

As it was close to 3 PM (I was looking at the clock every minute), I was getting anxious. Another customer came with slips like what I was holding. The staff asked him whether he was depositing money or withdrawing. He said that it was withdrawal and that the amount involved was Rs. 2500. The staff told him that there might not be cash enough and pointed out to me and said that I was waiting. The customer was an optimistic soul and requested ‘Nodi’. I got up to make sure that my slips got priority. The staff went to the other counter, brought some cash, augmented it with cash taken out from the handsafe by the postmaster and worked on my slips. Finally, I moved out of the P.O. at 3:30 PM with cash. 

What an achievement and what a noble way to spend retired life!

 

Dinner at Mr. Krishnan’s place

 

Mr. Krishnan called me over for dinner (changed from original invitation for lunch) and sent a car to pick me up. When I reached his lavish bungalow, I realised I was the first one to arrive. He had told me that he had invited Professor N.S.Ramaswamy, that being his birthday. I realised much later that it was got up to honour him on his birthday. He was the second to arrive with his wife. I greeted him saying, ‘I pray to God that you should live the full Hindu span of life’. He said okay. Later guests had brought bouquets. Mr. Ramanathan, retired from Kudremukh, later regretted that he had not brought one. Mr. And Mrs. Koehlo, Mr. C.R.Srinivasan (ex-SAIL) and his son, Mr. and Mrs. Prasanna Chittori (NRI from San Francisco), some neighbours, one sardarji couple made up the invitees. Drinks were served with snacks and I was watching.

I was talking to Mrs. K for a few minutes. She had been to San Francisco three times or so. Their daughter had given birth to a girl. Their son is with Morgan Stanley in NY. He is thirty-one and is shunning marriage ostensibly because there is uncertainty in investment banking jobs. They were in India in December.

Krishnan narrated the rude behaviour of one manager from SBI before the full house assembled. I had no defence. I also mentioned two instances where the executives in the Bank let the Bank down. But, the Bank service is not to be judged by exceptions.

Mr.Ramaswamy did much talking. He was involved in one institute called Institute of Hindu Studies. I took a brochure from him with the commitment to work for it. He claimed that Indian sages had discovered several phenomena attributed to western scientists long back by the process of meditation. 82 such phenomena are listed in the brochure. I wondered whether we had developed science but not technology and also whether we should start from the present level of knowledge or from where the sages have left. He remarked that we need to acknowledge the contribution by India, which is not publicised enough.

I opined that in India we have two issues, one is number and the other culture. R gave a contrarian view regarding population. Suppose our population today is 100 million and not 1000 million, it would have been, say, 20 million in 1800 and the Europeans would have run over India like they have done in other places and we may be living as tribals. The Europeans have colonised Americas, Australia and part of Africa, destroying the aboriginal culture and reducing the natives to second class citizens. If they had stayed put in Europe, their number would have been oppressive.

He said, prompted by a sardarji close at hand, that the Punjabis were the gatekeepers for our culture. We would have lost everything but for their brave resistance. They have seen 69 invasions. No temple of the stature of the South Indian ones could be maintained there because of the invasions.

He acknowledged that unlike the other invaders the British did not destroy our culture. But for the British, we would have become a Muslim nation. He presided over a seminar on conversion. The dalits said that they would convert if a mass conversion could be organised. The Muslims said that it would have been easy if partition had not taken place because the number of Muslims would have been large enough to steamroller conversions. Partition is a blessing in disguise.

He advised that we should have a few aims in life, as many and as diverse as possible and that all our actions (whatever we do) should be focused on those aims. That will give a sense of purpose. He held a three-day workshop on management very long ago and 11 of the participants had become Chairmen. One of them was V.Krishnamurthy. Mr. Koehlo and Mr. Srinivasan worked under V.K. They were full of praise for V.K.

Srinivasan was busy as advisor in steel industry. Steel is doing well and his service is in demand. He had been to Ranchi and felt that Bangalore, with its myriad problems, is a heaven compared to many other places. I said that Bangalore is certainly livable and that is why many of us have settled down here though we are not natives. The movement of Raj Thackeray figured in the talk. People of different ethnicity have contributed to Bombay’s prosperity.

Mr.R. suggested that we should organise party for the birthday or marriage anniversary day of Mr. Krishnan who has been hosting such parties frequently without any motive. The few around agreed readily. It was not clear at the time of parting whether the idea died young or is dormant.

A cake was cut for the health and happiness of Mr. R. before the invitees dispersed. I came away with Mr. Ramanathan who was going to Koramangala. 

Jan 14, 2005

Ms Srivastava. I came to know the name by looking over the tag for the luggage she prepared with surgical precision, yes, she is a general surgeon practising in Lucknow. She showed me her onward flight coupon from Delhi to Lucknow and wondered whether she would miss the connection to Lucknow. I told her that there was plenty of time. Nothing to worry about the delay in the flight timing from Jaipur to Delhi. She gave a strange look and spoke nothing in reply. We discussed later in the lounge after passing through security, the big Haj crowd that invaded the area much to her discomfiture. To kill a non-Muslim is the bounden duty of a devout Muslim, enshrined in their scripture, which straightaway reserves a prized birth in heaven, she said with an indubitable air of finality. She was wondering whether future generations of Hindus would be safe in India. My mind was in half agreement. I thought that there are moderate-looking, but not moderate Muslims. Not quite perhaps, but then we make sweeping general conclusions. The happy part is most of our conclusions are idle and we do not proceed to act on them. Intention may be punishable in religious context, but in ordinary law it would be wrong to prosecute a person on intentions even if expressed.

Jan 14, 2005

Ms Srivastava. I came to know the name by looking over the tag for the luggage she prepared with surgical precision, yes, she is a general surgeon practising in Lucknow. She showed me her onward flight coupon from Delhi to Lucknow and wondered whether she would miss the connection to Lucknow. I told her that there was plenty of time. Nothing to worry about the delay in the flight timing from Jaipur to Delhi. She gave a strange look and spoke nothing in reply. We discussed later in the lounge after passing through security, the big Haj crowd that invaded the area much to her discomfiture. To kill a non-Muslim is the bounden duty of a devout Muslim, enshrined in their scripture, which straightaway reserves a prized birth in heaven, she said with an indubitable air of finality. She was wondering whether future generations of Hindus would be safe in India. My mind was in half agreement. I thought that there are moderate-looking, but not moderate Muslims. Not quite perhaps, but then we make sweeping general conclusions. The happy part is most of our conclusions are idle and we do not proceed to act on them. Intention may be punishable in religious context, but in ordinary law it would be wrong to prosecute a person on intentions even if expressed.