Gingelly oil- Short story

“After getting down at Anandapur railway station, Gopalaswamy Street is at a distance of Rs.25 by an auto rickshaw”, Mr. Mohan was talking to someone through phone even without basic consideration how could rupees be unit of distance. The aspect ratio of Gopalaswamy Street is around unity. Yes, the width of the street is too much that we will have a lavish foot path even if eight trucks are parked parallel. On a lighter side, Mr. Mohan some times comments “once, there lived a king whose son was interested in cricket. King didn’t want to send his son to ground for practicing cricket and hence made a big street equivalent to cricket ground” and laughs loudly showing his yellow teeth to the listeners thinking that he had uttered a great joke. The listeners didn’t mind laughing for such poor joke because Mohan is the wealthiest person of the street and he is also the trustee of the Shiva temple. The street is predominantly called “Brahmin’s street” as thirty eight out of forty houses are occupied by Brahmins (considered to be upper caste in India). Out of the other two, one is occupied by an ex-service man and the other man is a textile shop owner. These two are almost made aloof by rest of the people except during the collection of funds for temple’s annual ceremony. The street had houses on both of its sides facing north and south. Towards the east end is the big Shiva temple. Until Mr.Padmanabhan, senior archaeologist of the district told that the temple is five centuries old, no one neither knew nor tried to know about that. The east side temple door faces a small river thereby making the ambience poetically beautiful. The beauty is somewhat spoiled by the railway track built a decade back. The perennial condition of the river is ensured by the gutter joining the river within hundred metres southward which is the final destiny of town’s drainage. The difference between the area of the street and the area occupied by the temple is approximately equal to the area of the shade given by a neem tree and banyan tree in the centre of the street. The houses of the street are also old and have faced very little modification in the past years. Such a set up may seem to be an anachronism, but it is. The only reason for not allowing the concrete civilization to dominate the Gopalswamy Street is the financial condition of the people and nothing more. The ex-service man, when built the first concrete terrace in the street, remaining thirty nine houses wanted to follow the same until they heard the budget. Even five years since then, no change had crept into the houses of the street.

More than fifty percent of the houses had retired people. The number of old aged people, though were sufficient to form an association, nothing so far have been formed. The Shiva temple is the office of this informal association of retired people. After the evening coffee the retired people association will be eagerly waiting for Mr.Ganesan, the priest of the Shiva temple to pass the street. They will soon gather in the temple and discuss various issues centering the lives of their neighbours. The thesaurus meaning of their talk is gossip. Mostly the topic circles the activities of the priest, Ganesan and his stealing the gingelly oil of the temple. There is a big copper vessel in front of the sanctum and the devotees pour their gingelly oil contribution in that vessel. Mr.Vasudevan started, “I’m sure Ganesan has taken oil yesterday. When I passed his house, I could sense the frying of some pudding”. Mr.Swaminathan continued, “Yes, when he left yesterday, I saw that his bag was big. It looked as if a two litre bottle was inside”. “Ganesan usually buys his provision from the “M.K. stores” in the next street. He have never bought even a milli litre of gingelly oil”, added Mr.Krishnamoorthy. Ganesan really has a habit of taking gingelly oil from temple.

Six foot tall, fair skinned with bent back and big black spectacles, anyone can recognize Ganesan. Some of the houses adjust their time-piece to 5:30 when they see Ganesan passing the temple. He is instructed to perform abhishekam every evening also. Lazy Ganesan just removes the old flowers and decorates the idol of god with fresh flowers. No body questions him. In fact everyone is tired of questioning him in the past years. For granted, everyone knows Ganesan’s answer, “Did anyone see that I didn’t perform abhishekam? Who is the priest here? And who are you to question my work? Have I ever asked you what are you doing in you office?”

One day Vijaya mami sent one basket of fruits (which uncle got as a gift for his first load trip in his new Ashok Leyland truck) to temple and asked Ganesan to distribute the same. He saw the fruits and demanded Rs.10 for the rituals to be performed before distributing the fruits. Vijaya aunty was little upset and demanded the fruits back. Alas! Only half basket of fruits was there. Remaining were then inside sanctum and that night in Ganesan’s house. Ganesan is paid extra for maintaining temple utensils and the beautiful historical stone carvings in the temple. Every month, account shows purchase of extra tamarind and gingelly oil for the above purpose. Unfortunately all these temple resources piled up in Ganesan’s store room and hence the temple utensils remained dirty and dark for a long time and the stone carvings lost their shining with no periodic oil massage. He also collected extra money from devotees giving infinite reasons and explanations. Soon, a golden chain embraced his neck. Complaints about Ganesan cannot be briefed. It can run for more volumes than the latest encyclopaedia on General Knowledge. Irritated Kumar uncle complained about Ganesan to the temple authorities. They came for a sudden visit and then recommended a punishment transfer to Ganesan. There were three members in the committee. Ganesan, later met each of them individually, wept and won the sympathy of one person, bribed the other two and solved the issue amicably. It was an embarrassment for Kumar mama and no one later tried to complain about Ganesan officially. Everyone got adjusted with the known devil. However, Ganesan’s taking the gingelly oil home has always been the topic of any crowd of Gopalaswamy Street any time.

One fine morning, a big tempo full of house hold articles was parked in front of Ambhujam mami’s house. Sita mami, Kamalam mami, Venkatesan mama and many others were silent spectators witnessing the show. Only after an hour or so, Lakshmi mami came to know from Ambhujam mami that new occupants are coming for rent in Ambhujam mami’s first floor of the house. That evening an old Ambassador taxi painted black and yellow with its punctured meter and non punctured tyres came slowly and halted in front of Ambhujam mami’s house. It was late evening and hence no one could identify the bulk of smoke vomited by the taxi in the dark. However, the unburnt carbon particles spread to Gurumoorthy mama’s and other neighbours houses and brought them out. Opening the rear door, stepped down an elderly figure, could easily be more than 65 years followed by an equally old person of opposite gender. Ambhujam mami was smiling wide showing her full set of yellowed teeth as if she was posing for a tooth paste advertisement. The elderly couple wished Ambhjam mami and entered their house. Yes, as everyone else in the crowd inferred, they were the new occupants. Some of the people started commenting about them that the faces were very familiar. However, the informal association postponed the topic about the new entrants for their next evening’s meeting at shiva temple.

All the retired persons tried their best to collect maximum information about the new occupants to dominate the next evening’s meeting. Subramoniam mama started, “Hey, the new comer’s name is Mr.Venkatachalam, retired General Manager from IOCL (Indian Oil Corporation Limited). The very word, ‘General Manager’ opened the mouths of the fellow members. Upto everyone’s knowledge, the maximum hierarchy anyone have achieved even at the time of retirement is an U.D (upper division) clerk. For that matter, even Mr.Mohan, the temple trustee is an U.D. clerk in the district treasury office. That doesn’t mean that Brahmins of the town do not hold higher posts, but they considered staying in such closely arranged houses of Goplaswamy Street as a prestige issue and hence stay in M.V.S. colony, few kilometres away from the town. Hence everyone started wondering whether Mr.Venkatachalam have come to the wrong place. Even Gurumoorthy mama commented “Don’t worry; he will soon shift to M.V.S. colony. Such posh people cannot stay here”. Venkatesan mama continued, “Yes, yes, my wife noticed that Mrs.Venkachalam wore half a dozen of bangles and three chains which put together a minimum of thirty sovereigns. I didn’t give so much even for my daughter’s marriage. And they have three married daughters and are in U.S.A now”. Subramoniam mama exclaimed, “Is it !!!!! are they in U.S? I have a long wish of owning an imported transistor radio. I want to hear G.N.B katcheri in an imported transistor radio before my death. I shall be in touch with Mr.Venkatachalam”. Soon, there were lot of predictions about Mr.Venkatachalam’s salary, his possible bank balance, his life time achievements in the company etc. The topic dragged most of the evening time till the evening deeparadhana in the temple, an unframed rule to end the evening discussion. Only Shastri mama realized later that they didn’t discuss about Ganesan’s gingelly oil that evening. Following that evening discussion, there were lot of discussion about the new comer of Goplaswamy street.

Whatever they discussed is true. Mr.Venkatachalam is a retired General Manager from IOCL (Indian Oil Corporation Ltd) whose three daughters are settled in U.S.A. They wanted to have a peaceful retired life and hence came here where Mr.Venkatachalam’s forefathers once lived. However, there’s a little contradiction in Mrs.Venkatesan’s judgement of Mrs.Venkatachalam’s gold sovereigns. Other than the five sovereign thick old fashioned gold chains, remaining necklaces were gold covering only. Mr.Venkatachalam adhered to strict routine. His morning walk at 5:00 a.m to reduce the load on his little leftover insulin followed by south Indian classic filter coffee with Hindu paper in his light cloth lined easy chair is strictly adhered in his daily schedule. Light Carnatic music spreads the air from the imported tape-recorder. Mrs.Shanta Venkatachalam will be busy in her routine kitchen work and ready with breakfast which coincides with Mr.Venkatachalam’s arrival at the dining table after his daily pooja at home. The couple talked less, but mingled freely with everyone. Mr.Venkatachalam liked children very much and soon became the favourite of the kids with his interesting stories. More than the stories what attracted the kids were the dried grapes he offered at the end of his story-telling session. Besides, Mr.Venkatachalam’s knowledge in the official procedures and other general things made him an unpaid consultant of everyone there for government procedures, better savings options etc. His regular reading of ‘The Hindu’ paper also made him as an information tower for anyone who is willing to talk about current affairs, politics etc. Of course, Mr.Venkatachalam is also happy and takes little pride to have such listeners. He also wanted to talk about business, macro economy, sensex rate, stock market behaviour etc. Unfortunately he had no audience for such high end topics. The discussion about economy by his audience centred on the interest rate of recurring deposit in post-office or at a maximum went upto fixed deposit in State bank of India. Mr.Venkatachalam soon became the wisest person in Gopalaswamy Street. In the annual general body meeting, the trustees were embarrassed by Mr.Venkatachalam’s questions in the accounts. Mr.Venkatachalam pointed out the account mismanagement and demanded explanation. No one till now dared to question Mr.Mohan, the trustee of Gopalaswamy Street. In fact, some of the senior persons were till then thinking that AGM (annual general body meeting) is a kind of get-together where hot ‘vadai’ and ‘jalebis’ are served. Mr.Venkatachalam soon replaced Mr.Mohan and became the new trustee.

Soon Mr.Venakatachalam came to know about Ganesan’s gingelly oil issue. One day, as usual everyday rituals were going on when Mr.Venkatachalam suddenly asked Ganesan to bring back the gingelly oil which he took previous day. Ganesan was startled for a moment, but immediately replied “no, I didn’t take any oil from temple”. Mr.Venkatachalam looked at Ganesan sharply and said, “If you are not going to bring back, I may have to go to your house and fetch the oil can”. Ganesan was shocked and wondered how Mr.Venkatachalam knew this. Ganesan went home and brought back one litre bottle full of gingelly oil. The whole Gopalaswamy street couldn’t hide their anxiety how Mr.Venatachalam caught Ganesan red-handed. Mr.Venkatachalam was the topic of several evening meetings of the retired people. The only conclusion the people could come up is “Since Mr.Venkatachalam is retired from IOCL, he knows oil better and he may have some secret device to detect oil which he perhaps might have used in his office”. Of course, though most of them agreed, some of them felt that this conclusion about Mr.Venkatachalam is stupid. But, soon there were a series of incidents of Mr.Venkatachalam catching Ganesan red-handed and the non-believers quit their original idea.

In the mean while, in Ganesan’s house, Ganesan was saying to his wife, “I really don’t understand how this old man is able to spot me accurately. Today is the seventh consecutive time he is catching me. Whenever I bring oil, next day morning Mr.Venkatachalam’s first words are ‘Bring back the oil’. It’s really embarrassing to get caught often. So, we better shall buy from M.K.Stores. I shall not bring oil for some time”.

The effect was quite visible. After a very long time the sculpture of Shiva temple got prepared for an oil bath. That evening Mr.Subramoniam commented, “I never knew that our Shiva temple’s statues are so beautiful. Besides, nowadays, evening lamps are regularly lit in temple and Ganesan’s provision bill has gingelly oil also. Thanks to Mr.Venkatachalam and his secret oil detecting device.” The whole crowd was in agreement to Mr.Subramoniam’s statement. Some weeks later the retired people were talking to Mr.Venkatachalam and they asked about his secret oil device. Disappointing them, Mr.Venkatachalam laughed continuously for five minutes and followed, “Hey, I don’t have any such secret device. I get hold of Ganesan by mere observation. The first day I took over as trustee, I was overseeing the temple activities and that day I was present till the temple closure. That day I found that Ganesan has poor vision and hence he takes some time to lock the main door. During this time, he keeps his bag near the door. I think because of his vision problem, he can’t transfer the stolen gingelly oil properly into the bottle he has. This oil oozing out of the bottle spreads in the floor as Ganesan locks the main door. So every day morning I check the floor near the door. If there is fresh oil from previous night, I assume that Ganesan have taken it. That’s all”. Though the retired people were upset at this simple solution they were delighted that Mr.Venkatesan applied his mind to tackle this problem easily.

One week later, Ganesan’s wife, Sita was making fresh dosas and Ganesan was munching those delicious dosas. Sita asked, “So how did you fool Mr.Venkatachalam. For the past one week he didn’t find you at all”. Ganesan looked at Sita and signed her to shut up and continued, “I was really worried how the old man traced me and in fact was little bit frightened too. But, last week when I was in the temple’s gopuram to light a lamp, I overheard the conversation of those old men. I have taken necessary care. Not only Venkatachalam, even his father can’t find me stealing gingelly oil. Don’t worry”, Mr.Ganesan grinned munching the remaining dosas.

A letter- Short story

Dhanasekar entered his cubicle sharply at 9:00 a.m. He usually takes five minutes to settle down and allow his sweat to evaporate and contribute his part for the increase in atmospheric humidity which is already high. It is not so sure whether hot sun is merciless in Chennai alone. Even in morning, sun bakes humans like anything. But, even if sun is merciful and cool in the morning, Dhanasekar any way would have sweat the same. Driving his Yamaha from mambalam to ambattur is indeed long for a forty years old young man. Dhanasekar washed his face and dirtied the tidy white towel in the hanger. He saw his face in the mirror and smiled himself. It seems as if Dhanasekar is quite relaxed and happy that day. Yes, even chandrasekar, his colleague asked, “What dhana seems quite happy today. Have you won any bulk orders for our company”? Dhanasekar smiled for the question and followed, “no, chandru, today I feel relaxed, and now onwards, I will be quite relaxed always. I have admitted my old mother in ‘mathura old age home’. I find it very difficult to manage her as my wife sheela too is employed. My children couldn’t cope with their granny. Sheela also feel very uncomfortable. Mother is very good, but she couldn’t adjust with the current society. She creates lot of problem everyday in apartments, neighbours and with all of us. I don’t want to develop hatred further. I think she will be happy there. To my surprise, my mother looked happy to go there. I believe it is be the best option.”

If someone says, dhanasekar and sheela are made for each other; I will be the first person to second that. It is real wonder whether they have any telepathy communication; yes! Sheela also shares same conversation with her friend in A.G.’s office, Nungampakkam. Sheela was telling, “Oh! God, my husband at least now has acted intelligently which is an aberration from his awkwardness. My mother in law spoils all my children’s mind. And at last, we found the solution for her.”

The personality who dominates the discussion in two offices simultaneously was relaxing in hall no. 102 which is allotted to her in “mathura old age home”. A service lady came to her with a register, “who is newly joined Paarvathi amma?” The old lady, arranging her clothes in the shelf, trying to accommodate herself to the new place, turned back and replied, “ya here”. The service lady collected the details of Paarvathi amma like her food, health records, dress, interests, and requirements. The service lady was with a blue saree and white blouse which is supposed to be the uniform of the old age home. Paarvathi amma replied very politely to the lady and then enquired about the service lady’s family and other details. When Mary, the service lady told that her son is in fifth standard, Paarvathi amma exclaimed and expressed her joy like a kid saying that her grandson is also in fifth standard. Both of them started their conversation which went on till lunch. By the time, Paarvathi amma gathered enough information about Mary that no one will wonder if Paarvathi amma writes Mary’s biography. Paarvathi amma is actually aged, but her activities and enthusiasm makes others feel that it is actually a youth soul in an old body. Whatever others say or feel, Paarvathi amma is the same throughout.

Paarvathi amma’s absence gave a great ambience in door no. 5 of ‘sankara apartments’, mambalam. Everyone can understand that it can be nothing other than Dhanasekar’s address. Dhanasekar, sheela and their children, ramya and Ramu went to dine outside. They entered home at 8:00 p.m and Dhanasekar entered the study room to check mail in his laptop. Beneath his laptop was an envelope whose ends are dirty and is improperly pasted. He took the envelope. Whoever has pasted it, had applied glue in excess. The envelope stuck to the cardboard box and required little pull of Dhanasekar to make it available in his hand. Puzzled Dhanasekar opened and found a letter inside it. The letter was written in an unbleached paper which he had bought for rough work. The stinking blue ink and the poor handwriting which hosted all possible vibrations in its trajectory revealed Dhanasekar that it is Paarvathi amma’s letter. Little amused as well as irritated, Dhanasekar took it. The letter follows.

“

My dear Dhannu,

It’s long since I have talked to you. You have become so busy that you rarely get time. I understand your responsibility and am little bit proud of it thinking that my dhannu have become a great man.

When you read this, I may be comfortably placed and enjoying my new home, “mathura old age home”, as you had wished. I’m sure that you wanted me to be very comfortable and hence have decided like this. I appreciate your love for me dear dhannu, but in this occasion I wish to tell you that nothing can be so soothing for me than seeing your face daily. I’m not bored for the past forty years in seeing you and will never be bored ever.

I love you so much dear son, and at any point of time my little heart cannot accept your defeat. My dream always is “one day dhannu will become a great man and half of the world will be his fans.”

I don’t know whether it is true, but sheela told me that you are very unhappy with me and you want to get rid of me. Oh dhannu, I can spare anything for you; but dear, I never can and want to see you upset. I want you to smile always. You look smarter when you smile.

Do you remember dhannu, when you were eight years old; next street geetha came with her son to complain that you have hit him. I saw you. Your eyes were watery and lips thick. Your rosy cheeks turned red; I understood the incident and didn’t want to upset you. I asked sorry to geetha and settled down the issue. Then I took you to park and made you clear that I’m always there to love you. Later I made you join basketball coaching in the nearby club to avoid your playing in the streets. I never wanted my dhannu to feel bad and I also wanted no one to talk bad about you. Dhannu, you are so special to me.

Dhannu, you did a lot of mistakes in the school. You stole one geometry box in sixth standard; you copied in your seventh standard; you were playing basket ball wonderfully, but after many games, you spent your energy in bullying the opponent team mates rather than playing. You stole dad’s money for your daily expenses and when you were caught, you had whippings from bamboo. And every time, I was behind you to ask apology to the affected end. People may think what a bad mom was I for not admonishing and beating you. But, Dhannu, I don’t believe in beating children (even with ramya and Ramu I follow and want you to follow the same). I thought that my apologizing in front of others for you might prick your values which I believe I have inculcated and hence you would renounce your bad qualities towards better reformation. But to be frank with you, I’m still waiting for your reformation. Do you know why I don’t mind in waiting for your change? Because, dhannu! You are my special son.

Dhannu, when you entered college, you loved a pretty girl. You knew that we didn’t like. But, tell me dhannu, did either me or dad have ever been acrimonious towards you. We stepped further. We arranged for your marriage after your settling in the job. I don’t expect any thanks from you. I don’t want you people to make me important. But, do you think its bad in my part to expect some love or closeness from my grandchildren. Why you never allow them to talk with me. You may perhaps think that I don’t know to bring up children. When I brought you up, everyone around me told me the same. I didn’t believe then. And even now, if you say so, I won’t acquiesce that. Because, I strongly believe that I have brought one of the gems my dear.

When your father was hospitalized, it was difficult for me to manage alone. I thought sheela would be there to take care of the house at least. She dexterously took a transfer. And I then had to take care of you too. Till now, I have never told you about this. I told myself that it may be unfair to force such duties to a newly married lady. But, dhannu, had I been in the same situation, my taught ethics wouldn’t have allowed me to do so.

When your father expired, I wanted his room in the upstairs to be preserved. You know, what all dreams he had in building this house. Every night he thought about the house. He even admired the foundation of the house. Till now, I don’t know what was there to appreciate. He wanted the arch in his hall. He wanted an angular entrance; he had specific specifications even for the slab position. After building the house, he worked 100% of his aesthetic senses for the construction of his single room in the first floor. When I enter the room I still feel his air. His easy chair was the only comfort for me after his death. I felt as if I lie in his lap. His library, spectacles, cot, night lamp, cloth hanger; I wanted everything in the same position just to remember the beautiful moments he had left behind. You know, your dad is one of the finest personalities in the world. His gentleness and decency can never be compared to anyone in the world. I’m proud to say that I’m his wife. You too should be proud to be his son. I learnt a lot from him without he teaching me, but just by his association. Both of us are blessed to have him. Aren’t such a great person’s memories important? I wanted that sweet memories. But despite my request, the room was cleaned and given for rent to some office. You know that I didn’t like that. But you could not have understood my burning feelings. It was acrid, abysmal. And even then, I didn’t complain. My saying so might have tempted either you or sheela to talk bad about your father. Nothing in the world can be worse than that. For god’s sake, I beg you dhannu, never ever think anything bad about your father, because I don’t want you to commit the greatest sin in the world.

I wanted to talk, laugh and enjoy ramya’s and ramu’s company. I believe, it is a very normal expectation of any grandmother. It was a hard blow in my four chambered weak heart when sheela said that I should not talk to them. After all, I just taught Ramayana, Mahabharata and arithmetic. Sheela says that I’m spoiling their time of piano classes and school’s homework. Dhannu, a research by “G.V. trust”, a social body, says with evidence that children’s intelligence and analytical skills emanates mainly from such stories and arithmetic of grand parents. I’m not claiming that I was doing a great job. I just wish to say you that I don’t spoil them. And, I don’t complain you dhannu. You know a lot more than me. You will always think your children’s betterment. But, when you and sheela told me that I should not disturb your family and you have plans to send me to “mathura old age home”, dhannu I virtually cried. Don’t think of my emotions dhannu, I’m just an old cot amidst the polished furniture here. I look odd at any respect. I had to apply little common sense to understand that what you did is not a great mistake. Dhannu dear, I promise, there won’t be any disturbance from me. You all will come in my dreams always and that will never be a disturbance for me, but elixir in my memories.

One important thing dhannu, though our society is running fast with its heels aiming western culture, it is not that easy for all to accept the justification of sending parents to old age home. So, when you talk to your friends, please say that I have gone for a pilgrimage tour and want to spend some days with some of my relatives. Don’t tell that you have sent me to old age home. They may think ill of you.

Dhannu! My dear, one day you will become a great man and half of the world will be your fans. And hence I don’t want even one person to think that you are bad.

Before ending this letter, I wanted to ask for apology for wasting your time to read this letter. But even before that I wanted to tell you one thing son. Dhannu I love you dear, I love you always till I live.”

Any normal person with human senses cannot control his feelings after reading this letter. And what about Dhanasekar, after reading this, he cannot avoid his eyes vomiting tears; he cannot avoid crying in front of his father’s portrait. He cannot stop from hurrying to ‘mathura old age home’.

But, as soon as Dhanasekar opened the letter, he had a call from his boss and he just left the letter in the dustbin beneath which decorated the corporation waste collecting Ashok Leyland trucks next morning. Alas ! Poor paarvathi amma’s feelings went unnoticed again.

Kamatchi paati- A Short story

“God has created some people with some purpose and message. If you happen to meet any, please try to read the message god has sent”.

I’m coming to my town around ten years after my higher secondary education. Returning to the places where you have spent your youth days is always splendid. The same old streets, same old ‘Krishnan stores’ where amma usually buy her provisions, the same ration shop with long queue for kerosene (most part of which is sold black), the same wine shop where next house suresh uncle goes secretly fearing ambika aunty, the old tea stall whose origin is actually a traffic signal post where we had our first puff secretly, the same cycle shop where we hire cycles and wander for hours together even without considering hot sun, the same CEO office ground where we play cricket in weekends, the same fancy stores which once was a greatest place in the world where we get sports stickers, the same ‘surya hospital’ which supplies same tablets for constipation as well as diarrhoea or any other medical diseases, the same computer centre whose ‘windows 3.1 version’ attracted us and made us once boast that we too have learnt ‘computer’, the same photo studio which hardly produced good photos at first shot, making us to visit it many times for a passport size photograph ultimately delaying our process of getting bus concession due to delayed submission of forms, the same ‘state bank of india’ where my father was and still is working (the only difference is he is promoted twice since then), the same ‘S.K.S. talkies’ which releases all “rajini kanth” films first and therefore our favourite theatre, the same church which is the only place where I have seen my science teacher Mr.Ebenezar without a cane, and hell a lot of same things………. It seemed as if except me, there is almost no change anywhere.

Looking out through the window while waiting for breakfast, I happened to see that very old yellow painted small house. That is actually the house of old lady called “kamatchi” whom we usually call as “kamatchi paati”. Kamatchi paati since my childhood memory is an old lady with bent back, long face, dark wrinkled skin, big eyes covered by even bigger spectacles, a yellow rope to ensure that spectacles doesn’t fall even when she bents, grey short hair, khaki cloth bag in hand and old torn "lunars" slippers, embracing her feet. She can be seen in green and yellow sarees on alternate days for I believe she has only two sarees to select or wear.

Kamatchi paati led her simple life by cooking for some bachelors. The customers of kamaatchi paati were very loyal to her. The secret of customer’s loyalty can be traced from the incomparable taste of hot idlis which owes a special profile of kaamatchi paati’s idli making plates (those plates possess a complex shape due to aging and infinite handling occurrences)

Kaamatchi paati had always made me and everyone nearby to think about hard work. I have hardly found her taking rest. She did everything, however difficult may be, with love and enthusiasm. She used to call me as “laddu” as I was too fat then (even now). Her affectionate calling me as “laddu” helped her to harvest some little favours from me like going to shop for her, fetching water for her etc.

She has one son and two daughters. I have never seen anyone though I have heard that they are all nearby. She sometimes can be seen very depressed. That day she might have met her grand children and her daughter in law must not have allowed them to mingle with her. During such times my mother had been her only source to outpour her sorrows.

I think I had been thinking about kamaatchi paati for a long time; my little rippling thoughts were constrained by amma’s calling me for breakfast. She had made dosas and sambar for me. I don’t know whether it is because of her excellent preparation, I like it very much; whatever may be the reason, uncaringly I started my breakfast. Amma is special for her sambar. It is famous among our relatives too. The excellent aroma emanating from the cooked mixture of vegetables with dhal and sambar powder, a collaboration of various ingredients in definite ratio can’t be compared with anything. I think with sambar, I never wish to break my breakfast. By then, with the breakfast, my thought about kammatchi paati had almost vapourized and gone. At that time, our neighbour, sheela aunty knocked the door asking my mom whether she can spare a L.P.G cylinder for her. Sheela aunty is working in A.G.’s office and her tension in getting late was explicit in her face despite her trial in hiding it under her pretty smile. Sheela aunty’s asking for gas cylinder brought me back the memories about kamaatchi paati. Kamaatchi paati had a wonderful network of people around her with whom she exchanges gas cylinders regularly. She had enough orders and she is the most inefficient lady in using L.P.G. So her cylinders empty very quickly and she was forced to depend on others. And she faced troubles even there. One of her links in the network once cheated her by exchanging a duplicate gas cylinder. She had to pay the fine for which she had to work two more hours for one week thereby making her that week’s total working hours as one hundred and nineteen.

I had always wondered about kamaatchi paati. She hardly has something to eat everyday; yet her kindness and care is incredible. She never can see anyone starving. I have many times witnessed her giving her food to beggars and later suffer due to acidity. She got a marriage order once for sweets. When she came to know that the bride’s family is too poor to conduct the marriage, she did the order without any making charges for her..

Such incredible instances have occurred to me lot many times. I, unable to avoid my curiosity once asked her neighbour how and why she is so magnanimous. I didn’t expect that my question will give me a great flashback about kamaatchi paati. I never could otherwise have known that kammatchi paati actually was a rich lady who can’t see anyone suffering and donates whatever is available. It is god’s nature to place a good amidst bad, said my intuition. Otherwise, though Mr.kammatchi paati is as nice as her, how could her son and brothers be so rude? How could they leave her alone with no physical or financial support after her becoming a widow? But difficulties she encountered made her even kind and she helped others as far as she could. That may be the reason why raju, auto driver in our street never accepts money from her whenever she goes to market.

By this time I had finished my breakfast some how. Amma went to take a pain balm, for her hands must have started aching then due to my non-stop eating. I couldn’t avoid asking amma then about kamaatchi paati. Amma, after a brief pause told without enthusiasm and with a little grief that kamaatchi paati had been asked to vacate the little house by her owner. She is too weak by now and even her business is now weak like her. She had to shift to a much more uncomfortable little house in much more remote area to make her ends meet.

I felt sorry for her because that was the only possible thing for me to do then. I later went to meet my friends. The cheer in meeting them is always wonderful. We had elaborate chat. I ate with them and amma didn’t forget to admonish me for my lousy behaviour. My short holidays were faster than any time and I was leaving for bus-station after checking my packing under my dad’s supervision. I walked through the third cross street and entered the lane which leads to main road.

Suddenly I heard an old, much familiar voice. “laddu, can you please fetch me some water”. Yes, it is kammatchi paati’s voice only and I turned back swiftly. One small boy, busy in riding his bicycle told paati, “ what paati? You always make me fetch water.” I was intelligent enough to understand that this young gentle man is the new owner of paatis “laddu” name. An elderly person scolded the boy. That must be his father. The elderly man seeing me staring them smiled and told me “this old lady is one of the greatest human in the world. She saw an orphan and has adopted the child inspite of her difficult living. I respect her more than anyone in the world”. Kammatchi paati is still busy and working for her and for many others. I wonder how it is possible for anyone to be so ideal throughout. I won’t be surprised if someone say that she is one of the so called “messiah” or messenger of god to teach the world how to live even if you are subjected to infinite tests.

She is still the same though her laddus change often. I went wordless with tears trying to explore my shaved cheeks.

“God has created some people with some purpose and message. If you happen to meet any, please try to read the message god has sent”.

A short story

Till my joining the company, everyday was new, interesting and different for me. From the day of joining, the further days are repetition of the first day like an infinite loop of ‘C’ program. Starting the day with kissing my five year old daughter, ‘roopa’, adjusting my nameplate in my cabin reading “Rahul.N, production manager”, hearing the previous shift’s problem, meeting with GM to talk sophisticated terms and targets which will never be transformed or translated to the lower levels, everything were the same everyday. I’m even used to the everyday admonishing of my wife, ‘sheela’ for coming late. In fact she is used to it.

My life has become more oriented to factory atmosphere. One day when roopa sat on my lap, resting her small cute head on my hairy chest, I told her,” your intellect must be as sharp like carbide coated inserts; character must be as good as the finish of fine boring; while in a company you should be flexible with others like a CNC machine and at any cost in character, you should be brittle like cast iron”. That was indeed too much for a five year old female, who then stood up and went to sheela. Holding the end of sheela’s green sari, roopa saw me with confusion. I felt sorry for troubling roopa. Many such incidents hinder me everyday. I just went into my room and shouted “let me go and relax”. I, not only shouted, but did too.

I took my bike to M.G Park on that Sunday evening. That is a peaceful park with no great attractive features except broken bench, swing stand without swing and a very old building called ‘library’ amidst trees and grasses. The park is as old as those trees. The plants around the library are maintained improperly and a gentleman called gardener is paid for that. Due to these features, it is almost empty. Thinking ‘park’ as a preserver of nature, passersby answer nature’s call also there. In a solitary mood like mine, that is a wonderful place and I found a place under a neem tree. Smooth breeze embraced me and I slept with the available comfort. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up, I heard a grunt old voice talking behind the tree to someone.

I realized that the conversation had begun sometime back. The owner of the voice continued,” our troop was marching towards the enemy camp. It was winter and the land was marshy. We had to walk through a forest. The forest was dense with lot of danger. We still walked. I was leading the team. We had to pass through a small rope bridge built by someone sometime ago. When the bridge was full, it couldn’t bear the weight and it broke. We fell down into a marshy land. We, with greater difficulty got out of the land and were proceeding. In that dark night, we heard a helicopter approaching with a flashlight. I ordered to lie down. The light caught my last man and dropped a bomb. We lost around five men in it. We shot the helicopter down. We marched further. We walked continuously for a day. My men were tired. We saw a pond, camped there that night unaware that the enemy camp fetches water from the same pond. When our enemies came there that night, they started firing at us. We were startled initially by the assault. Our commandos were precautious and made tents hiding under bushes. Sentry posts were spotted and fired. The sentry jawans became alert and alarmed others. Within jiffies, everyone was ready with weapons at their points. We placed ourselves in such a way that we are away from the tents thereby the enemies will be firing in and around the tents only. We fired them back. After few moments, we took over the situation with three non-serious casualties. We took rest for few hours and proceeded.

The journey continued next day too. I got message to conquer a particular enemy post by that night. We reached two miles before the point. We were able to see the camp. As it was four or five hours after dusk, the enemies couldn’t see us easily. There were lots of people with them then. I sent five persons and asked them to fire continuously from one direction. Leading the front, I took the others through the other direction. We reached the camp slowly. The enemies were alert and were concentrating much on the five men only. In the mean time, we surrounded them from the back. We started firing. They were confused; but were strong. They had three times men than ours. But, my men were brave. One jawan’s bullets were over. He used his bullet less rifle and just a dagger to defend and defeat the enemy side. The heroes of our side took them aback and smashed their confidence and motivation levels. We were defeating them. But, suddenly one bomb exploded and killed most of my men. Remaining men fought for a long time. At the end of the three hours battle, I and five more men alone were there and we took control. We took the enemy point and sent a wireless message to the headquarters about the victory”.

Hearing this, my patriotic emotions went high and I arose to see the hero. I looked towards the direction of the voice. Under the magnificent banyan tree, over the grass bed, amidst ants and running squirrels there sat two old men. Everyone around were busy at their work not listening to the old brave marvel. I wonder why these people don’t care the importance of him. I think, I too must be one among them had I not come over there to take rest.

The old man was in an old but neat coat. The dark, wrinkle skinned, tall gentleman with grey tint in his moustache was talking to his friend. With an old pipe, he was still talking, ”the next stage of the war was more interesting…………..”. I went and stood before him. I told, “I was hearing your brave story. How brave and intelligent you are. I’m happy that I have met a warrior in my life. I’m really happy to hear from you. I wish to hear more of your war deeds in war.”

The old man looked at me and smiled, “I’m pleased by your patriotism. And unfortunately, I’m a retied teacher. What I was talking is about a computer game my grandson brought home yesterday”.

Birthday- Short story

My birthday

That was December 2^nd. Even Sun was lazy to get up on that winter morning. My getting out of the cozy, soft bed was witnessed by amma (my great mother) with a cadbury’s chocolate in her hand. It is only once in a year I get a chance to chew that wonderful chocolate with my unbrushed teeth coated with nocturnal saliva. Perhaps, my mom’s confidence in my toothpaste and my regular brushing before bed would have given her enough courage to feed me so. After all, it is once in a year and that too on my birthday. Years down, the same day, I entered the world screaming which was heard by few medical professionals and my tired mom within a closed clean room.

While chewing my chocolate, amma kissed me wishing me a happy birthday. Uncared of the kiss I was concentrating on my chocolate with the fear of probable share to my sister. God bless her, she was there right in front of me wishing me again, followed by my dad. That was a nice morning. After coffee, amma came with mixture of certain powders in two three jars and asked me to take bath with those. It is supposed to have some medicinal values and when applied during an oil bath, it gives a smooth finish to my spring like hair. I went with my dad to temple; the customary ritual we follow religiously.

When I came from temple, amma had already taken bath and was preparing my favourite gulab jamuns. Wav, those small spheres were wonderfully taking bath in sunflower oil. It is fun to watch those white balls turning golden colour when entering the pan with oil. Amma held my right hand with her left when I attempted to pick one from the heap she had made. She admonished me to wait till jaggery process those edible jamuns into appreciable sweets. It is pain to sit infront of sweets without eating them. It is not an uncommon scene in our house. Whenever amma make sweets, she will prevent us the first piece by saying that it should be offered to god first. Childish queries of how god will eat those were gone by now. Gone are the days when elders can threaten me superstitiously about my becoming blind if I eat before those are served to god. Being a student in class sixth, I was matured enough and cannot be fooled so easily. It took twenty seven seconds from then to eat the first gulab jamun. Amma was fast; really I was amazed to see the tiffin readily served in dining table. How she managed to take bath, make coffee, prepare tiffin, pack lunch for all of us, get medicines for granny, prepare special sweet-free pudding for grandpa, clean utensils and make gulab jamuns all simultaneously? She also had to find dad’s missing file, answer our maid for her unnecessary questions. Oops! I was able to manage just a coffee and bath. Amma’s activeness makes me think more. I was lazy to think further and hence proceeded to dining table forgetting everything at the sight of gulabjamun.

Amma takes arithmetic tuitions at home, mostly for higher secondary classes and also for some C.A students. That was a Friday and higher secondary second year class was scheduled on that day. Amma declared a leave for her class. I saw Ranju, Kavitha, Preethi, Keshav, Vijay, Shahul and Rajesh leaving our home with a subtle joy of cancelled tuition class. When they saw me, they smiled at me. Perhaps to thank me for my birthday which won them a stress free morning. But, to be frank, amma’s class never ever have been stressful. It is always cheerful with jokes and fun and some maths in between. All of them loved amma and amma loves everyone in the world except my class teacher as she treats my soft palm very badly with a bamboo cane, a property of sixth standard class of S.M.A. higher secondary school.

Even that day’s school hours were great. Yes!! our class teacher was absent and the period was converted to P.E.T. (Physical education and training), the one period for which we long for Wednesdays and occurs only 50 minutes in a week. Getting a P.E.T on that Friday was a real surprise. In fact, I took it as a birthday gift from god. P.E.T periods are always fun. One group of guys will play football with a tennis ball, hurting each other toes. Another group will sit and chat under the age-old banyan tree. There will still be one group who got to library in P.E.T periods, who were called as elite group by a bunch of teachers who really didn’t know that they were sick stupid who don’t know what to do in P.E.T periods. I was in the football team; not because I’m a Ronaldino but because of my mass grown by mom’s food, I can get enough uncontrollable momentum and foul opponent team. The diameter of my tummy was big enough to stop at least two strikers of opponent team. Still, I was a true sportsman. Please don’t ask, “Who said so?” To be frank, except me, no one. To make others at home say so, I had a witness. Yes, my spotlessly clean white shirt was then red with mud. Before reaching home for the second course of remaining gulab jamuns, I had to sit through two more periods in that cage like classroom. Ramu told that one day he will become the headmaster of this school and will announce complete second half of Friday as P.E.T periods. That statement was worth only a giggle and we were very much used to it. Such type of statements was quite common among us. One-day Vijay told that he would become education minister and abolish exams; one day Siva told that he would become prime minister and would at least remove “thirukkural” (famous set of ancient two line poems compulsory in any curriculum which involves Tamil as a language).

Completely exhausted, I returned from school where amma was waiting eagerly in front of my home for second half of birthday celebrations. Amma must be little sad with the colour of the shirt. She didn’t express, but I was smart enough to understand it in that weary look. She was already upset by my previous day’s dirty shirt. She took extra care to wash and iron it for my birthday and that too is gone now. Common, nothing was possible for previous day’s shirt. Even after washing with the best washing machine of the world, the maximum possible tidiness was the one that was achieved. Hey, now I know everyone would be eager to know about that world’s best washing machine. Its nothing but, me. Ha, ha! I know that it is a bad joke and only Sandip will laugh for it as he is also famous for such bad jokes, which are usually poorer than the one stated above. Ah! Nice to mention about Sandip here. Sandip wanted to give me a treat for my birthday. He took me secretly when everyone at home was sunk in the serial at 8:30 p.m. The monochrome ‘Weston’ TV was centre of attraction for lot of people in our neighbours list and literally there would be struggle for the back row. Many a times, our family members wont get a seat in the hall for that particular serial.

Well, about Sandip’s treat; we walked to the corner M.K. stores at the end of street, which was as bright as a 100 watts Philips bulb. The “M.K.stores “ board was enough illuminated by the streetlight. Entering M.K. stores, Sandip proudly took out an one rupee coin out of his khakhi trousers. He bought a packet of groundnut for 50 paise and the rest of the money was completely spent for two candys (each worth 25 p). Sandip was proud when he offered his treat. Finishing the great treat from my friend, I returned home for dinner. Routine followed then. Dinner, Panchatantra stories from granny, multiplication tables from grandpa and a cup of milk from amma… Followed by our brushing with pepsodent and then to bed to welcome the new day.

Suddenly I was startled. Yes, my cell phone was ringing. After snoozing the alarm, which rang at 7:30 a.m, the past one-hour was spent in the sweet memories of my sixth standard birthday. The cell phone displayed “P.L calling”. I picked up the phone with haste. “ Hey Hari, Selvam here”, grinned that cacophonous voice on the other end. Yes, Selvam is my project leader. His dark gigantic figure came in front of me even in those sleepy eyes. Selvam told that we have a meeting with an important client and he asked me to come to his home so that both of us can go together. I said ‘OK’ before which the phone was already cut. I got up and refreshed myself. Entering my bulk body into a set of formals and partly hanging myself with a ‘Zodiac’ tie, I started. Casually, I tore of the daily calendar to see December 02.

Afterall, It is my birthday.

Gayatri- short story

That was a rainy Thursday night. The whole S.K.S apartments including watchman at officer’s colony, Annanagar was sleeping. Any normal person would do the same at 1:00 A.M. And Gayatri was still awake with wide-opened eyes and heart full of joy. The joy over flew through her mouth as a gentle smile. Her parents were sleeping then leaving Gayatri alone to enjoy. With the assistance of light-splitting night lamp, she was smiling at Rahul’s photograph. Rahul is of course smart enough to be enjoyed. The red colored T-shirt he wore went wonderfully with his fair skin. The T-shirt and why, even the hairstyle of Rahul is Gayathri’s selection. Gayathri miss Rahul too much; obviously he too. There was no one to ask her the reason for sudden joy at Thursday night. Had there been any, Gayathri would have easily told that she is going to meet Rahul the next evening. Unlike every day’s prayer “Let sun come late”, she looked at east for the dawn to come soon. She even hated why ‘second’ is so slow or why 60 minutes an hour, why not 30 or 20 minutes. She somehow with great difficulty passed the night.
Friday morning Gayathri was on wheels. She was smiling and hence her brushing was easier. She was dancing while bathing. She was smiling and doing funny things. Her mother asked, “hey gayu, what happened to you?”. Gayathri, “I’m very happy today mom”. “You have gone crazy”, replied mother.
She rushed to office in her new ‘scooty pep’. Gayathri is working in a software company in tidal park. Today traffic didn’t irritate her; hot sun didn’t trouble her. Gayathri was entirely in a different world. She can think only about Rahul and nothing else. She parked her vehicle and entered her office.
She was quick at work. Every ten minutes, her seeing the time went automatically. Her colleagues asked, “what happened to you gayathri?”. You haven’t taken lunch and you are thinking something else and laughing.” The reply for that also is a smile.
Gayathri is a programmer in the software company and she has joined the company only few months back. Professionally, she may be a software programmer, but most of the people she has met had thought her as a model. Five feet seven inches tall, fair skinned, beautiful gayathri is not just a female of 65 kgs. She is known for her intellect. She is solely responsible for the success of company’s latest project.
There sits gayathri in her cabin in front of a clock. As soon as it struck five, she got up. With fast steps of frequency higher than the normal, she reached her scooty in no time.
She missed her evening tea and just drove to Besant nagar beach. She had asked Rahul to come there only. Gayathri is first to reach the place. With lots of expectation hidden in her small eyes, Gayathri was tensed in waiting for Rahul. After ten minutes, a white colour “Indica” car passed near Gayathri and Rahul got down from the rear. Gayathri didn’t even notice who drove the vehicle, but was just looking at Rahul. He was wearing a dark blue T-shirt and khakis. That was Gayathri’s selection for his previous birthday.
In that evening, with that dress, Rahul looked even smarter. His smile never leaves him till he lives. He rushed towards Gayathri, embraced her and kissed her. Gayathri left no place in Rahul’s face for kissing. Suddenly, Rahul asked Gayathri, “ Why don’t we live together like before”. Gayathri’s smile became volatile. Tears gushed through her narrow eyes. With tears on her cheeks, Gayathri replied “dear son, after my divorce with your dad, court allows me to meet you only on Friday evening. What shall I do my love?”.

New Friends at IIT hostel

We always crib about their michievious invasion at our rooms. Now its time to exclaim at their mutual love. (Shot by one of my hostel friends in IIT madras)