What next??

Same time last year.  I made a list of things I wanted to do in 2011 – of tasks I wanted to complete, dreams I wanted to realise and wishes I wanted to fulfil. Here they are:

• Become a writer – start a blog and pen down my thoughts. Maybe see my name in print in a leading publication?
• Travel – explore new places
• Complete Masters in Psychology
• Start an Epilepsy Support Group
• Paint our house
• Make money!!!
• Be a good President of my Rotary Club
• Join a good gym and work-out regularly
• Practise  yoga every morning

When I looked at this impossible list this morning, all I could do was smile.

Ok, the first one on the wish list was partially realised. I did start my blog Kanavu and began writing – rather, took tentative baby steps. And got enough encouragement to keep it going from indulgent well- wishers and friends cheer-leading me along the way! Much to my delight, got an article published last week in none other than ‘The Hindu’!!! I was euphoric for a couple of days....as if a new talent hitherto undiscovered was suddenly revealed for all to see! And the feedback I received was overwhelming....of course, some friends thought I could not have written it...maybe my husband ghost wrote it for me? I don’t look like the serious, intellectual type who can sit calmly and write?? Anyway, glad to know that I am not predictable...that could be boring!

As for travel, I hardly did any – apart from going to Coimbatore, Bombay and Bangalore for weddings – certainly not the kind of travel I envisaged!

The psychology course? I enrolled for M.Sc. Psychology in the Madras University distance education last year along with my closest friend. We planned to study together and write exams together. She studied and wrote. I always had other more pressings things to do when exams were scheduled! But paid exam fees thrice, that too along with late fee fines, that too after being reminded and pulled up by my dear friend!

The Epilepsy Support group has not happened either. Although it has been top on my wish list for a while....and I have been an active member of the Indian Epilepsy Association helping people with epilepsy to cope with the condition.

The house finally got painted.....after a gruelling 3 months of moving furniture,  clearing clutter, enduring 3 painters at all times of the day in every part of the house and  sneezing to the nasty smell of paint and thinner. Why is painting a house that has people living in it so complicated? Especially houses like ours that have stuff accumulated over decades in the hope that they will be used someday....I also wanted kolam on our walls and got that done by an impoverished artist who has since found more work, thanks to me.

Make money?? Joke!!

As for my tenure as President of  Rotary club, well, it has been great going so far. We did a number of meaningful projects – a health camp in a village that benefitted 200 people, a leadership seminar in a Govt girls school that inspired many young students and construction of a new building in another neglected primary school. But have another 6 months to go....and hope to keep up the tempo and enthusiasm.

Joined ‘Score’ – a high end gym in Alwarpet after much thought....but enjoying my work-outs immensely. And yoga? Not as regular as I would have liked it to be.  

So, should I say managed 30 % of what I had planned to do this year? 
But one major event in 2011 changed my life rather unexpectedly...and wiped out 6 months in planning, preparation, shopping, inviting...My daughter Tara got engaged in January and married in June- bestowing me with the status of mother-in-law!!  But I enjoy that as well......especially when people tell me  'You are a mother- in-law???!!! You have a daughter old enough to be married??!!’ What can I say...small pleasures of life!!

Now on the threshold of 2012, what should be my resolutions?? Any ideas?

Growing up in Chennai!!!!

A lot of my friends who read my blog on growing up in Salem were wondering how I ‘grew up’ in Chennai and if I managed to accomplish the growing up part at all!

 And I find myself ruminating on the predicament of young girls taking that leap of faith, moving into their husband’s home after marriage.   When the marriage is arranged by the parents and not by choice, there are surprises galore! For one, the husband is almost a stranger, which makes it interesting in a way as both parties grope their way around trying to make sense of each other. Uprooted rather abruptly from her parental home, the new bride faces the additional challenge of having to adapt to a new home, new set of people - their idiosyncrasies, eccentricities and all.

I have heard stories from both my grandmothers of their child marriages....they were married even before they attained puberty to young men in their teens.

  Look at the typical ceremonies and rituals in a Brahmin wedding - the ‘Mappillai Azhaippu’ – when the bride-groom  parades in a decorated open top car, thrilled children keeping him company, while men and women walk alongside in a procession with a band playing old film songs; the ‘Oonjal’ – when the bride and groom sit in a decorated swing while women sing thematic songs, give the couple paalum/ pazham ( pieces of banana in sugary milk), decorate their feet and throw coloured rice balls all over the place making a mess of it; to the actual wedding when the bride sits on her father’s lap and is ‘given away’ to the groom; the ‘Nalangu’ – when the bride and groom sit opposite each other, rolling a coconut, anointing sandal and kungumam on one another, sing songs, tease, play games and blush when the elders have a blast pulling their legs amidst laughter and cheer.

None of the ceremonies look like they were designed for mature adults in their right minds! Decades ago, since children entered wed-lock, ceremonies were fun filled and light-hearted although the rituals by themselves were poignant and loaded with profound significance.  It was not uncommon to find the bride and groom playing in the pandal erected for the wedding from where they were unwillingly dragged to become man and wife! That said, even in today’s day and age when the bride and groom have truly come of age, these ceremonies are followed with aplomb in many families.

Brahmin weddings are a riot!! The couple and their parents have to negotiate the unreasonable demands of priests apart from repeating chants after them, holding various stuff in their hands, keeping an eye on the ‘seer varisai’ and silver ware, all the time watching over guests attending the wedding and ensuring everyone eats before leaving, not to mention grabbing the gifts and cash to be safely handed over to a disciplined mama delegated for the task! And all this amidst the deafening noise of the nadaswaram and tavil playing furiously in the background, drowning the cacophony of a few hundred people greeting each other and catching up in the wedding. And by the end of it all, the couple look like they have just survived a tornado!

 Why don’t we have the simple malayalee wink- and - you- miss - it – type of weddings??  Or the Punjabi weddings which seem all fun, frolic, dancing and cocktails? But I confess to feeling lost in a church wedding I attended in Cochin a few years ago – the priest kept talking about sins and pardoning to a solemn crowd that stood in utter silence and reverence with only the choir providing some much needed relief,  breaking out into a song every now and then.

Anyway, going back to days of yore, the bride lived in her parents’ home till she attained puberty. And when the much awaited event happened, the husband’s family was informed and an auspicious day fixed for sending her to the husband’s home. And then, without much ado, consummation of this child marriage took place, I guess. Our ancestors sure knew what the reproductive system is all about! To hell with love, compatibility, chemistry, wave-length, attraction and the like! But those marriages lasted forever....and the couple grew up together and grew old together.

I was myself a wide-eyed 18 year old when I stepped into my husband’s home in Mylapore 28 years ago. My mother-in-law made sure I completed my BA English Literature from Queen Mary’s college which is her alma mater. I took a bus (27D) for the first time on my own, back and forth from college. Initially I felt like a kid lost in a trade fair. 


This home was in stark contrast to my parental home in Salem with just 3 members- my husband and his parents. At times, the silence was deafening!


It was far from conservative and the least orthodox. My husband was disappointed that I was (and continue to be) a strict vegetarian. In Salem, even eggs were looked upon with disgust and my father used a separate stove and vessels to make the occasional omelettes for my brothers.

And my father- in-law despised noise of any kind ( except music of course!) So, he would ring the bell to call people in the house. One ring for Amma, two for my husband, three for the maid and four for me! We all listened keenly for the bell to ring and rushed to his beckoning immediately. When Appa was around, we spoke in hushed tones and went about our jobs in stoic silence. He was a stickler for discipline and time – one could set the clock to his routine.

I longed for the crowd, chaos and noise of my Salem home. I never realised that I would ever miss my grandmother, leave alone my parents, aunt, brothers and extended family! When we visited Salem, my husband was confounded by all the chatter that ensued from various directions...each trying to draw the other’s attention at the same time, suddenly breaking into peals of laughter and jumping topics with gay abandon!

It was as much a challenge for me to contend with my new found status as the daughter-in-law of a renowned celebrity as it was to have three children in 7 years. But I pretty much ‘grew up’ here – studying, learning to cook, drive, cross the road, travel alone and come into my own! 
And embraced this family as mine....

Growing up in Salem.....

It seems a distant memory. When someone asks me which is my hometown, I almost say Chennai. Not surprising, considering that I've lived 28 years in Chennai and 18 years in Salem. Born in Salem - a rather small town that has steadfastly remained small except for the few multiplexes that have sprung up incongruously here and there and a couple of ghastly 'shopping complexes' that are all the rage among youngsters.

  

But it is still a charming town that refuses to grow into a city, where the farthest place can be reached in 15 minutes, where everyone knows everyone else living there, where going to the cinema on Sundays is still a ritual followed by many families, where textiles and money lending are thriving businesses and every affluent family owns a Bungalow in Yercaud - considered the most exotic week-end get-away!

My grand-father was an entrepreneur who started a hotel in Salem- 'Vilwadhri Bhavan' – known for its excellent filter coffee, sadha dosa and vegetarian meals. We are all even now known as ‘Vilwadhri children’ long after the hotel was wound up and razed down giving way to a hideous building now housing a huge textile showroom.

 We lived in an old house as one large unwieldy family...... my grand-parents, parents with all five of us children, an aunt who remained a spinster and therefore stayed  with us and my grand-mother’s step-mother.  As if this was not enough, my mother’s parents and her brother’s family also lived close by and dropped in at all times. My aunt from Coimbatore would land up with her children ( 4 of them!) every week-end. Another aunt who lived in Calcutta  boarded the Howrah express the day her kids started their summer vacation and came to Chennai from where a car  picked them up and brought them to Salem.  And she would leave children in tow just in time for them to get back to school after 2 months. So our entire summer break was spent with all our cousins all the time.  And there were random visitors and guests who dropped in at all times of the day and felt at home in our house.

And did we have our own rooms? Unheard of! It was a typical old-fashioned house with many small rooms that hardly served any purpose. There was one ‘dressing room’ that had 4 Godrej cupboards and a dressing table with a mirror over which all of us fought for space. The women kept their clothes here. The men had rooms upstairs which was almost entirely their domain. But there were no attached toilets. We had 2 toilets in the backyard – both Indian style with absolutely no trace of comfort, leave alone luxury! Come to think of it, none of us could stay there a minute more than was absolutely essential!

  The backyard was open to sky and was where all the cleaning, washing, bathing ( in one small space with a rickety old door and a boiler for hot water that was heated with cow dung and fire-wood) took place. The backyard was also my grandmother and her step mother’s favourite spot as they sat leisurely on the floor and cut vegetables, cleaned rice/ grains, churned butter milk and kept a watchful eye over all the activities of the house.

It was an orthodox, conservative home steeped in tradition, rituals and every conceivable inconvenience.  Nevertheless, it was a happy home. I am not sure what my mother went through caring for such a large tribe, but for us children, there was never a dull moment!

My Grandmother was undoubtedly the Matriarch – she ran the house, controlled everything and everyone with her booming voice that could be heard in every corner of the house including the terrace. She would ostensibly pray all morning- with her book of Sanskrit scriptures and a japa mala in her right hand with its beads rolling to keep count of whatever she was chanting.  But she was watching over all of us all the time – giving instructions to the servants, chiding us for taking too long in front of the mirror ( 2 minutes was considered too long!), ensuring that all of us left home in time for school and the cooking, cleaning and washing went on without a hitch!

My father had his own set of prayers in the puja room with my mother fussing over his needs. None of us could touch  grandmother or mother in the mornings as they wore clothes that were washed and dried separately to ensure their ‘purity’ and if that terrible accident (of touching) happened, they would rush to have another bath before they proceeded with their chores!

 And God forbid when I got my periods...I was banished from the house, had to eat in the backyard or upstairs, wash my clothes myself and generally be a spectacle for all visitors who knew my ‘cycle’ better than I did! And much against my grandmother’s wishes, I went to a convent run by a Christian missionary wearing a uniform of blue skirt and white shirt with a blue tie, white socks and shoes. She hated our uniform as much as she hated the nuns who ran the school. Simply because there were no holidays for all Brahmin festivals and we girls were taken to church for Mass and funerals of old nuns and were even punished for talking in Tamil! And she hated the fact that all my friends were either  Sindhis, Punjabis or Marwadis......not a single Tam Brahm girl from a good family!

By the way, I was protected, molly-coddled and chaperoned all the time. Our driver who was more an odd jobs man and a personal secretary to my Grandmother would cause me immense embarrassment by accompanying me to the bus stop at our street corner from where 4 girls from our neighbourhood boarded our school bus. He hung around while we waited for the bus to arrive and left only after I got in and settled down in my seat! Same story in the evening when I alighted.....he would wait to hover behind me as I walked the great distance along with my friends that took exactly 3 minutes! After much tantrum throwing and quarrelling, ably supported by my Dad, I was granted a cycle that I could ride to Paattu class in the next street. But no, I could not ride my cycle alone....too risky....so our good old driver would ride his cycle behind mine and ensure that none of the road -side Romeos got any fresh ideas!  For safety reasons, the Dance teacher came home almost everyday and stayed way too long and a Veena teacher was hired to come home thrice a week.

With so many inhabitants, the house was certainly noisy at any given point with  half a dozen people chattering, cackling or arguing over family matters and gossip. So when we had to study, we would be packed off to the terrace. There we paced up and down books in hand with a rare sense of purpose, waving to neighbours in the adjoining terraces, looking down at the street and listening to film songs being played in the distant background.

 My father was clueless about which class we went to or how we fared in school. The report card was signed with a flourish, without wasting time scrutinising our marks or the class teacher’s remarks! I don’t remember coming back from school without having a few visitors in the drawing room sitting with my father sipping our famous coffee of which there was an unending supply all through the day. Worse, one of the old uncles would always exclaim ‘is this Dharma kutty?? How you have grown!! Do you remember me??’ and in a hurry to go in I would mumble ‘ yes’....but the uncle persisted ‘ so, tell me....who am I’.....tricky!!!  Jobless uncles!!

But those were simple days...with no TV to distract us, no video games to claim our attention and certainly no computer or internet to hook us on! We were one big gang of friends living in the same street and looked forward to playing every evening for a couple of hours until it got dark. Then we were summoned into our respective homes to study, eat and sleep. Despite all the chaos that went around us, we were disciplined without being pampered or spoilt. We got new clothes twice a year and ate out rarely. Going to a movie was a special treat. But we were happy and never complained of boredom.

I wonder if our children today can ever imagine a life without their own rooms, where they lock themselves up for hours with their laptops, i pods and i pads, their cell phones always buzzing with calls and messages, their face book accounts agog with happenings.... yet they seem far from happy! 

A Stitch in Time

Ever wondered what a group of women talk about when thrown together in a party?

Well, apart from husband bashing, comparing notes on maids, travails of bringing up kids, putting up with teenage tantrums and discussing their careers, there is a topic of universal appeal that seldom fails to evoke interest among the fairer sex. 

Wear a smartly tailored outfit to any gathering where there are a bunch of women -  the reactions are varied - some secretly admire your dress but are too vain to pay you a compliment; a minority are indifferent to what others are attired in and choose to ignore their sartorial preferences; there are the simple, candid souls who gush with praise and curiosity…‘I like your blouse / churidar / embroidery.. where did you get that made?’ ‘Thanks, I have a tailor who makes all my clothes’.  No sooner does a woman utter these words than the name of the tailor, his shop, contact numbers are all exchanged in record time! ‘You could refer my name’ - the supposedly well dressed one will even offer condescendingly.

Some women would rather not reveal the source, for them, tailors are a zealously guarded secret. ’Oh… this is a gift from a cousin.. don’t know where she had it made’ is a safe answer.

I confess to having this sentiment that once I recommend a tailor to friends with the noble intention of helping him expand his trade, I would invariably fall out with him and what is worse, the very friends I introduced would latch on to him for the rest of their lives!

My neighborhood tailor who was struggling to make ends meet in a match-box of a shop until a couple of years ago, has now, thanks to me, expanded big-time with an impressive list of clients and guess what - he refuses to oblige me! When we run into each other on the street we behave like perfect strangers!

Just as clothes come in different shapes, sizes and fits, so do tailors come in different moods, moulds and styles of functioning. Some are happy with using a sample (by the way - there is no perfect sample - there are always minor alterations suggested - an inch higher on the sleeve, half an inch lower at the back etc), some insist taking measurements hands on, some so professional that they call you for a trial before actual delivery.

And we women don't mind at all being 'measured' by a male tailor...so long as the end product is satisfactory. 

Holding on to a tailor is not easy. Talk to a tailor and he will tell you that if you ever want to incur a woman’s wrath, it is by ruining her clothes! You can of course get them altered but it will never be the same. I can think of a dozen tailors I have tried and abandoned for  some reason or the other... has an attitude, too haughty, spoilt my silk blouses even after taking detailed measurements, changed a pattern so painstakingly explained, used a colour scheme in the embroidery I disliked, and of course, failed to deliver on time.

Ah…. Delivery! Tailors give you an Expected Date of Delivery (EDD). Land up at the tailor on EDD - it is most likely that your bundle of fabric will lie untouched by scissors, needle or thread in its pristine, virgin  form! Reasons given unapologetically are – workmen absent, power-failure, wedding-season, festival-time and the most annoying of them all – bulk-orders from NRIs.

There are tailors specializing in blouses, tailors expert in embroidery, tailors making only salwars, tailors who charge exorbitantly and tailors who are ridiculously cheap - but remember there is simply no tailor who delivers on time!! If you have one could you please give me his contact number?

        

Whats in a name?

'Can I talk to Mr.Dharmaraman?' This is an oft heard opening sentence I hear when I answer my mobile phone. First of all, the caller is perplexed to have a female voice answer the call. And the next thing, he assumes it is the secretary/wife/sister of Mr.D answering on 'his' behalf! I usually react with abnormal calm and composure that comes with years of experience....from being called 'Sharma', 'Kurma', Darma, etc in school, when I always wondered why I had such a vague name...why not the simpler Shanthi, Jayanthy, Radha, Kamala, Lakshmi....never mind if they had to be distinguished by their initials as there were some 3 Shanthis and 4 Lakshmis in a class of 40 girls. For a few years I ardently wished to change my name to 'Pushpa'!!!

And how did I get this rather rare name? Simple...my paternal grand-mother was Dharmambal and it was the custom in our family to name children after their grandparents. So my eldest brother was Ramachandran - paternal grandfather, second brother is Ramaswamy - maternal grandfather, third brother is Shankara Narayanan- Dad's paternal grandfather and fourth one is Srinivasan- Dad's maternal grandfather...phew!!! My parents mercifully called it quits after I, the fifth child and only daughter was born. But for some reason, I was given the more complicated-mouthful-name of Dharmasamvardhini. If our Mother Superior in the St.Joseph's convent that I went to had received an application from a kid by this name, I am certain she would have rejected it outright for sounding obsolete and unfathomable! So Dharma it was at school. And since it was an all girls school, there was no confusion regarding my gender! Thank God for small mercies!

At the time of my marriage is when I realised my name was not just rare but also unique and poetic. My father-in-law who loathed to amputate names and call people by ridiculous pet names quite unconnected with the original (Lachu, Kappu, Komu with our North Indian counterparts- Pinky, Chunky, Bunty, Bakki, etc), was ecstatic hearing my name and insisted that it be printed as such in its full form on the invitation! Which in turn created a lot of interest among relatives and the elitist Madras crowd. I was complimented for my beautiful name....some said it is the name of the deity in Thiruvaiyaru and translates as 'Aram valartha naayaki'.  Now that was special! And I started taking pride in my name.  To digress a bit, my last brother has been called 'Juni' for the longest time and my niece who has the lovely name of Prithi is only known as 'Moni'.  

Just when I smugly settled down to adoring my name and the way it sounds as I ceremoniously flaunted it to everyone introduced to me in my new home, disaster struck! A tamil movie with the title 'Dharma' starring the action hero Vijaykanth was released...and of course Vijaykanth was Dharma! I was appalled to see posters screaming 'Puratchi kalaignar Vijaykanth in and as 'Dharma' in every wall of Chennai's hoarding crazy streets! Not flattering at all! Now, should I change from Dharma Raman to Dharmasamvardhini Raman or R.Dharmasamvardhini? Too complicated....better left alone for people to figure out that I was not named after an action hero who was never on my parents' mind when they named me!

And from then on, everytime I was introduced as Dharma, I was given a quizzical look as if to say ' but, isn't that supposed to be a man's name?' and as if reading their mind, I would hasten to add the Dharmasamvardhini/ Thiruvaiyaru Ambal/ Aram valartha nayaaki bit and they would be all awe struck! And let out exclamations of 'Wow! what a lovely name!'.....no pain, no gain, isn't it? That was with a small circle of friends and family, some of whom till today insist on calling me by my full name and love the way it sounds. You can imagine my delight when in the USA my name seemed the easiest and coolest of Indian names, thanks to the popular soap 'Dharma and Greg'!! 'So easy'....., the Americans would exclaim!

Later, after the dust settled on the weirdness of my name, its noble meaning and divine connotations, I joined Rotary. And the routine of explaining my name began once again..... a routine I have mastered to perfection and know what to say when, in order to elicit the desired response.  Convincing 40 Rotarians was never a challenge. Until I became the President Elect last year and the President of my club this year. Everyday the last 2 years I have been receiving calls from various people from the Rotary district wanting to talk to Mr.Dharmaraman .....that's how they pronounce it, without a pause, and from where the hell they get the Mr. prefix is still a mystery waiting to be unravelled!. And I have had to always say, 'Yes, this is Dharma' in the most dignified tone that I can muster. After a pregnant pause from the other side, the caller would gather himself from the gender shock and proceed with the conversation. Worse, girls making annoying sales calls offering personal loans are always flummoxed when they hear a woman named Dharmaraman. And I, like the majority of us, never have the patience to deal with them sparing myself the bother of explaining that I am a woman with a first name and a second name that seem to have seamlessly blended into one vague transgender name! 

Shashi Tharoor in his brilliant book 'The Great Indian Novel'- a modern day interpretation of the Mahabharatha, after listing the definition of all Sanskrit words and terminologies used in its Glossary, has an entire page devoted to 'A Note on Dharma'. He concedes that 'Dharma is perhaps unique in being an untranslatable Sanskrit term' as the English language has no equivalent for Dharma broadly defined as'code of conduct, pattern of noble living, religious rules and observance'.  He suggests that Dharma is most simply defined as 'that by which we live'- but 'that' embraces a great deal - moral law, universal order, righteousness, spiritual harmony, ethical code, cosmic responsibility, social justice - wider and profounder than any western word such as 'duty'! In an almost exasperated tone, Mr.Tharoor finally invites his readers upon each encounter of the word Dharma in his book 'to assume the term to mean any, or all of the above'.  

If that is not poignant, what is? So, as you can see, my name has evoked myriad emotions within me...and can I blame others for reacting the way they do?

Golu in Salem...

'Oru Paattu paadein', my grandmother would implore with a tone of authority that was hard for any visitor to our house golu to decline.

 In our home in Salem where I grew up, Golu was a much awaited festival, less to do with religious fervour or devotion to the significance it held in the Hindu pantheon but because it had the fascinating custom of displaying dolls in nine steps that occupied most of our drawing room once a year.

 I wonder if any other culture has anything similar as I find explaining the concept to a foreigner quite daunting. I mean, display dolls and invite women and children over to your home to admire them, sing on request and leave with a return gift of goodies along with vethalai paakku/ manjal/kungumam? Sounds childish if not a total waste of time! As children, we would count days to go before 'Navarathri' began and rejoice in the exercise of setting up the nine steps done by a couple of men trusted over years to get them right. Then came the dolls. In all sizes, shapes, colours....figures of Gods, Goddesses, lesser known deities, pairs of an 'English Lady and Gentleman', gypsy and her partner, tribal folks, a marriage scene complete with the procession - men carrying lights and women trays of sweets and flowers, scenes from the Ramayana and some miscalleneous dolls collected randomly over the years to fill the gaps. And then there was the 'park' that we children got all hyper about......a small space below the mammoth nine steps was designated for a park meant to kindle our creativity. We would erect a small sand mound with a temple on top and put grains and legumes to sprout on it and watch with glee as greenery seemed to appear magically like  "Jack and the Beanstalk'! Then there were unconnected small animals, figurines, toy cars and various stuff that would be displaced from the 'show-case' from our drawing room and kept in the park. Never mind if the dog was bigger than a man on the street or wild animals juxtaposed with kids in a garden! Thematic Golu was unheard of!
 I was asked to go to every house in our street to personally invite the women to 'come to our house for golu and take  vethalai/paakku'. After-school hours were mostly spent in these personal invitations extended to many more houses in town a week preceding Golu. Once Golu starts, the fun unfolds. My mother and grand mother prayed and chanted all morning and made the most delicious prasadams for the Neivedhyam. The evening began with the smell of sundal wafting through the house as we geared to receive visitors who dropped in at all times draped in their silks and adorned in jewellery.  I think the men too enjoyed a respite from their spouses too busy in their golu routine with the additional bonus of ogling at the bedecked women who came calling!
 Being the only girl child among 4 older brothers, I was pampered and reprimanded in equal measure - it was a privilege that sat heavily on my shoulders, what with my Grandmother often reminding me of how I was born after much prayer and penance by her and how a Thulasi plant sprouted on its own when my mother was carrying the divine me! So much for female infanticide that Salem, my home-town became notorious for!! And so I was always uncomfortably and awkwardly decked up.....in pattu paavadai, gold and stone necklaces, jimmikki, bangles, with my long hair braided in different pinnals adorned with too many flowers. But for some reason everyone found me 'cute' and asked me to sing, play the veena or 'show a few steps' from my Bharatanatyam that I was more famous for! Of course, the very act of giving sandhanam/ kungumam to the women upon arrival and vethalai/paakku, sundal on departure was done by me.....hard work for a child, come to think of it!
My last brother and I would play Golu games- total brain-teasers that called for out-of-the-box thinking!!! - like spotting the doll, changing a doll's place and getting the other person to find out, counting dolls in a step and so on. When our respective friends dropped in, we loved to show off our golu, pointing to the new dolls of the season and our 'park' that was a labour of love in hushed tones, while an enthusiastic maami would be singing out of tune in the background! The last day of Golu when the dolls are made to 'sleep' before they are again carefully wrapped in newspaper and stacked away in the loft for another year is always a bit sad.....steps are dismantled and with it goes another festival filled with merriment and childish joy.  Even today, my brother and I talk of how we miss our Salem Golu that seemed to have vanished over time, the number of steps slowly dwindling from nine to almost nil, the dolls broken and the surviving ones distributed to the daughters-in-law to keep in their golu. 
In Chennai, Golu has taken on a whole new dimension . Invitations are sent out by sms with specific dates and timings. We usually adhere to them, seldom taking the liberty of dropping in on any day of Navarathri. And if you choose to, you would be better off calling and ensuring the host is at home. Most homes serve high tea complete with bhel puri and dahi paapdi chaat, one of my friends served cocktails and lured the men to accompany their wives and another friend got an art director to do up her golu, had a dress code of pink silk and press photographers flashed their cameras on the celebrity guests...sure enough their pictures adorned a popular newspaper the next morning! We get some return gifts too - trays, plastic bowls, blouse pieces- most of which are passed on to others by way of rotation!
I miss our simple Salem Golu that had none of the fancy trappings of today, yet gave us immeasurable joy year after year.....

Committed member!!

Following what seemed to me to be a hectic whirlwind campaign, my husband Raman was elected to the Committee of the Madras Gymkhana Club three years ago. The importance of being part of the MGC Committee did not dawn on me until after the election was over and the results announced. Congratulatory messages kept pouring in, as did pleasant acknowledgements from well-wishers who felt Raman was a value addition to the Committee and bound to make a difference to the club. The staff right from the Reception desk to stewards, bearers and Trainers in the Gymnasium smiled at me and sheepishly declared that they knew all along that ‘Ayya’ would win!

My husband is a Freemason. The word may be misleading to the uninformed but let me explain… ‘freemasons frequently attend lodge meetings that scrupulously leave out the wife leaving very little free time that may be spent with the family’ (the definition is entirely mine). As a newly-wed, naïve teenager, I believed every word my husband told me of his role as a Freemason. ‘Very simple, I will be away on the evening of the 4^th Saturday of every month for a lodge meeting… the rest of the evenings are ours.’ He did make it clear though, that Freemasonry was a strictly male bastion and women could never be part of their closely guarded secrets. I realized very soon that it was not as simple as it sounds and lodge meetings were certainly not spaced out as infrequently as once a month! And when you are a member of more than one lodge,  the Treasurer of the main lodge and the Editor of a couple of newsletters, get invited to numerous installations and God knows what by fellow Brethren, there aren’t many evenings left to be ‘ours’. Lodge ‘regular’ meetings, Committee meetings (as in Lodge Committee meetings), meetings to felicitate old-timers who had put in 25 years or more (in the Lodge of course!), rehearsals for competitions (again Lodge, please...) usually happened 4 times a week and invariably coincided with family weddings, functions, visits, get-togethers, parties.

When my husband decided to contest the MGC election, I was therefore not exactly thrilled. I made no attempt to conceal my disapproval, even secretly wished he would lose (!) and confess to mentally reproving members who had goaded him to go for it!!  But life is all about acceptance, is it not? Even as he was basking in the glory of his success, I gingerly asked him what it meant to be a Committee member of MGC? ‘Very simple… meetings on two Monday evenings of every month… you are welcome to join me at the Club later for dinner’. How wonderful! I felt a tad guilty for not extending my whole hearted support to the man who wished to share his evenings in the club with me!

Sometimes we (I mean I) never learn lessons that life hands out to us (I mean Me). These days, if I want to see my husband it sure is very simple. I just hop into the car and head straight to Madras Gymkhana Club. I am warmly greeted by the friendly Receptionists at the desk who seem to know my husband’s whereabouts more than I can ever hope to know! ‘Sir is in the Billiards room… Island Lounge… Mixed bar….’

‘Oh…thank you very much’. And I join my husband for dinner.

Thou Blessed Dream
===================

If things go ill or well —
If joy rebounding spreads the face,
Or sea of sorrow swells —
A play — we each have part,
Each one to weep or laugh as may;
Each one his dress to don —
Its scenes, alternative shine and rain.

Thou dream, O blessed dream!
Spread far and near thy veil of haze,
Tone down the lines so sharp,
Make smooth what roughness seems.

No magic but in thee!
Thy touch make desert bloom to life.
Harsh thunder, sweetest song,
Fell death, the sweet release.

- Swami Vivekananda

Thursday Nights

What is it about Thursday nights?? This year my birthday fell on a thursday and I found my husband asking me how I wanted to spend the special day... (Wish he would do it more often..... SIGH!!)  And I said - no feasting in a 5 star hotel, no hanging out in the club, no 'surprise parties' ( which are never a surprise....usually the person simply plays along, knowing fully well that something of the nature is being orchestrated by family....last year my husband made an effort along with a friend to organise one...booked the hall, ordered the menu and drew up a guest list..then lost patience and asked me to take over!!!!) I wanted to head to the Black and White bar in Residency Hotel where singer Sriram croons popular tamil movie hits- the unbeatable Ilayaraja/ SPB melodies that dominated the 80s and 90s. For some reason, we had never been there but heard from quite a few friends that it is fun.

 I whipped up a crowd- my friends from Sweden and US joined us excitedly, all of us dressed for the evening and leisurely walked upto the first floor where the bar was located. The moment the security guy looking beefy and stern saw this motley crowd of people, he accosted us with 'Booking Irukkaa?' Definitely not....no one even thought of it! And he almost blocked the entrance unmindful of my entreaties that it was my birthday and I soo wished to listen to Sriram ( I mean aren't you supposed to have wishes fulfilled on your birthday atleast?).....none of this worked on our Mr.Stern/Beefy who did not budge....we tried desperately dropping names, and big names at that....like we were related to the Chairman /MD/CEO..whoever....but NO, he wasn't exactly carried away....the look of nonchalance on his face as if to say  'How many people I come across like this everyday??' almost annoyed me!  He stood steadfast in his refusal to let us in and was impatient to have us out of the way! Cursing myself for relying on family to ensure a booking, bemoaning my predicament of letting my friends down, lamenting my ill luck on this 'special day' and of course- furious with my husband for his callousness, I decided to settle for dinner at the restaurant downstairs. To make matters worse, I heard later from quite a few friends - 'You should have asked me....I know the Manager there....would have done the booking for you'...and so forth. And then I swore that I will return...to the same bar....next thursday...with a booking...husband or no husband...friends or no friends...and rejoice with the crowd that seemed too privileged for my comfort!

Next thursday, I called the hotel, asked to be connected to Black and White and made a booking for 8 people at 7.30pm....and got all excited! I sent out messages to my brother, cousin and nephew to join us...and they all had to assemble by 7pm, latest!! I don't remember when was the last time I had stressed so much about punctuality, driving time and the need to arrive for an event on the dot! We left home at 6.45 and found ourselves in the hotel in 10 minutes. The bar was empty...this time, I pompously declared to Mr.Stern/Beefy that we had a booking for 7.30 and he seemed surprised that we had arrived half an hour early!

The bar itself is rather small with unimpressive, haphazard seating arrangements....certainly not designed to host a music show of this kind. The crowd starts trickling in from 7.30 and the place gets magically full  in the next half an hour as people jostle for space and huddle in bunches blocking the already narrow space between seats, tapping their feet and clapping to beat.  Hassled waiters scurry around taking orders for drinks, snacks and refills, juggling huge trays with cocktails, while  music resonates in the packed hall. It is as much a challenge to draw their attention to take an order as it is for them to deliver, I guess. 

And oh the music!!!!! As Sriram belts out popular numbers, the crowd goes into raptures. With a voice that has an uncanny resemblance to the legendary SPB,  Sriram sings effortlessly, devoid of facial contortions or mannerisms, the lyrics flowing as if he had penned them,  hands sometimes playing an imaginary key-board. And the besotted audience ??  Some sing along, some sway in a trance and some seem mesmerised. As the evening progresses and the crowd is  sufficiently ‘spirited’, familiar songs draw loud approbation and lusty cheers! Ably supported by the Karoake system and a female singer, Sriram takes requests scribbled on paper napkins, nods to most and declines some. Most of the songs are repeated week after week....we almost know what comes next....when the music  starts,  we recognise the song before the first word is sung and rejoice as if a complex puzzle has just been solved!! Invariably 'Kamban Yaemaandhaan' and 'Vannam konda Vennilavey' send the crowd in a tizzy!

 I have been there many Thursdays since then and find familiar faces invariably sitting in the same place....and we look out for them, hold each others’ seats and at times graciously offer a seat to regulars standing without one. The show wraps up before 11 pm but not before a couple of light-footed men dance to ‘Engeyum Eppodhum’ from ‘Ninaithaley Inikkum’ as the rest of us clap and cheer as if there is no tomorrow!  When the last number is announced and begun quickly, some always make it a point to protest, begging Sriram for one more number! At which point, the Manager makes his presence felt, Sriram raises folded hands pleading to let him go and everyone lets out a collective sigh! Sanity returns to Black and White. ....until next Thursday night!

Hurray!!.....I just created my Blog!!! To a technologically challenged person as me, this is a remarkable achievement! I was tempted to call out for help in the process, I must confess...but here I am, joining millions of people across the globe pouring their thoughts, articulating their feelings, giving shape to their ideas in the world wide web.....that invisible net that seems to have engulfed a generation waiting to be connected and  heard across continents.
I have not decided what to write....honestly, I don't have a clue about blogging at this point. I have never followed anyone's blog as yet...so if this is ignorance, so be it!
Every stage in my life has been rather uninitiated.....I have never 'prepared' as it were for anything.....not even the toughest of exams.....have never planned my life....have taken events in my stride.....and this blog too will take its own course....