Man, what a trip!! Kala and I are 3/4th into our yearly pilgrimage we have come to enjoy the most. I liken the feeling to that of head-shaving. For the fortunate few who have accomplished it, they’d have come to understand what I mean when I write this. You don’t really look forward to it in the beginning. You make up your mind, promise the gods that you would (or just decide for the heck of it or be dared into it), make the arrangements for the shearing. The day comes closer, you start thinking what it would mean to you if the hair does not grow back. What if my head has the odd-looking bump on the top that would only stand out to passers-by? They’d probably yell out “Hey Jabba the Hut!” or “Elephant man is alive!” or just wonder out aloud “Is that a Unicorn I see? ”. If you are single, you’d probably wonder if this was the end of your lineage as you know it. In other words, you start second-guessing yourself. But the decision is made, the money and the emotional roller-coaster is all set to roll. There is no turning back. Then you do the deed and fly. After that, you see the light. It is nice. You wonder why you worried in the first place. Granted the hair front has receded to make you look like Chanakya. But on the upside, you won’t sweat anymore. Enjoy the wind better. In other words, it is fun. Now where do I start? There was the 1st week we spent here in Madras, running around like headless chickens. (You know for most people that would be just another saying: Running around like chickens with their heads cut off. But I have been unfortunate enough to see one. Even Anand, who was with me at that time, will not remember this. 1988, while waiting for a bus to take us home from Loganathan saar’s house where we were taking Biology tuitions (!!), we were standing next to a chicken shop where I chanced upon a chicken being prepped. Anand was looking out for the bus. It is exactly what the term supposes to describe. The chicken does run around pretty aimlessly.). Bharathi and I had organized a 60th birthday/ wedding function for our parents. There were people coming from out of town. They needed to be picked up, pooja stuff to be bought, peoples nerves allayed and at the same time have fun. Save a few stray incidents, we managed to do all that with aplomb; thanks mostly to the woman with a thousand hands and a voice that can subdue a 150lb Boxer dog enough to weakly resemble a real ugly young one of a cow: My sister Bharathi. Almost 3 months pregnant, and yet she worked tirelessly cooking, cleaning, yelling, answering phone calls while being helped along by mere mortals like my aunts and me. We somehow got things done. She and I got a few minutes during the function, to stand back and watch my parents get married again. No matter how sentimental I could get now, it was a nice sight to behold. Surrounded by people who cared about them, my parents were reliving their vows (To have and to hold, in sickness and in death. And to make sure the other is miserable when you are too). The day went good, and best of all, Kala and I got through our jet-lag by the time the function got over, and did not even make an effort at it. But of course, I slept for a good 12 hours the next day to get back on IST, ready to start off our vacation.
A word on the dogs in Bharathi and Chandramohan’s house. There are 3 now. There is the poodle aka Pom “Mani”, there is the boxer “Veera”, and there is the mutt “Chitti”. They behave so much like humans. One gets jealous when the other gets attention. Inactivity (and probably depression) has caused them to grow despondent and fat. “Veera” in particular is morbidly obese. One might find it difficult to comprehend, but this obese and evidently intelligent canine KNOWS it has a weight issue. He was slim and fit and happy running around the old house they were in. It had a huge yard, and big gate. So he had to jump up to get a good view of the postman, the grocery delivery boy and any passers-by. That kept him active. This new house they are in, while it has immense living space for the humans, has limited space for the pets. Half the time the dogs are on the lookout for someone to walk them. Imagine this: Anytime a new guest (that would be me or me parents or Kala) comes to the house, these poor creatures are deliriously happy because there is the potential of them being walked. Walking is not very much, as the formal standards of walking go. Their street has 6 houses on each side. Beyond that, all the houses have dogs. So our expert instructions, if we were roped in by the dogs to walk them (that happens often too!), is to not go beyond the 6 houses in any direction. If we left the Lakshman-rekha of the 6 houses, the dogs in these houses would call them for a fight. I did it once, and I tell you now, keeping a raging boxer calm is not easy. I was being pulled around like a rag doll. Kala was in splits seeing me fight Veera.
After the function, all of us retired to recoup our strengths. Kala started our vacation by showing me around Chennai. We went to her Alma Mater, P.S. Senior secondary school. She was squealing with delight while she showed where she parked her bicycle, where her friends romanced, and where they held school meetings… Then we undertook the famed path of Kala’s from home to school. It was a nice experience. She said “Oh this is where Sujaatha and I used to park for ice-cream.”, “This is where boys used to yell “Indhamma Pedal la kathu illai” and so on. We then went to her dance teacher’s house (Kalaimamani Dr. Saraswathi Sundaresan, director of Balamuralikrishna Trust)
I wrote the last part for effect. As all of you know, I have not an inkling of an idea what performance arts are. The most experience I have had with this aspect of life is watching Ramanathan and his cohorts prepare for culturals when in college. Ramanathan would say “Saranathanula odhaikkudhu da!” I would think “Saranam? Where is that in the human body?” Going to this lady’s house was like setting foot into a museum of felicitations for her. There were plaques from different chief ministers of TamilNadu, cups, trophies, Thanjavur plates hanging of the living room, kitchen, pooja room, dining room walls. There were portraits of gods, there were photos of her, her daughters, her students in the fantastic dance regalia all decked up like goddesses. After we were ushered in, I was waiting for her while Kala was talking to her and her family members (all of whom seemed very fond of Kala) in a “waiting room” of sorts where a man was wolfing down poha upma, oblivious to my presence. He was smaller than I am, wearing the vibuthi like he wanted to ward off evil, and in starched white cotton shirt and a cotton veshti. I was a little petrified of disturbing him. So I spent an extra few minutes observing the room. As you may have surmised, there were more portraits and trophies. This woman in her long career seems to have accomplished everything there was and then some. Clearly she had run out of space in this fine big house for felicitations, as was evident from more of the same stuff stacked up in the loft above in GUNNY BAGS!! Then Kala came and got me. The man was still oblivious to my departure. I later learnt that he was a member in the traveling dance entourage that Saraswati madam had. He was the violinist. Then I met Kala’s dance teacher. I had met her 2 years ago during the wedding. She had just recovered after a near-death brush with tuberculosis of the spinal cord. She had made a speedy recovery in 6 months to walk to the wedding. Now at 60+ she was at full gale, entertaining people from out of town and country, and still training and traveling with her students. There was another couple there from Singapore, and now residing in Toronto, who were also visiting her before flying back. The wife had learnt the violin in Chennai and had known her a few years ago. The husband was an acupuncturist. In a brief span of 1 hour, I must have seen at least 10-15 people go in and out of the house. The house was a living breathing entity with people who worked for her coming in for counsel, be invited in for lunch and then leave politely declining. She was as jovial as always, Kala claimed. She treated Kala more like one of her daughters than as an old student of hers. The room we had our food in was where the dance tutoring took place. Just like in Sagara Sangamam (Salangai Oli, pasangala), there was a large Nataraja statue, large windows, and no other furniture. I could almost see Kamalahaasan dance to “Bala Kanakkamala Chela Paripala…” with Manju Bhargavi. Good it was. We took our leave soon thereafter. Maybe I should add that there was a girl from Salem who stayed with her, while learning for her MA in Dance!! Overall, I came away thinking this was one good start for me to learn something about me wife’s gurukulam.
Jan 1st, we learnt K.J.Yesudoss was singing at Mylapore Music Academy. A few words on the music season here. Growing up in Ordnance Factory Trichy (OFT) had its advantages. Not knowing there was a 4th kacheri season in a year with 3 seasons (Hot as hell, windy as hell, and rainy season were the 3) was not one of them. This city is like a city of possessed this time of the year. Mamis in silk sarees, powdered faces, wearing large diamond nose-studs and ear-rings and sporting bindis (pottu) as large as my thumb make a beeline for these music halls where the state’s big and small names in music perform. I got introduced to this facet of Chennai last year, when we went to a dance drama from Kala’s dance teacher. This time, we went to the carnatic music recital from Yesudoss. I knew my parents love him, so they also came, enroute to the railway station for their trip back to Trichy. Man what a performance! As I said before, I wouldn’t know anything except a few choice lines from Tyagaraja keerthanas, thanks to Ramanathan and Gowri. This was quite a revealing experience. I learnt I really don’t know anything. My mom knows music and she loved it. My dad was delirious for the exact same reason I was: CULTURE, finally!! I realized one thing. In this marriage of ours, its give and take as in all other collaborations in life. Kala’s family gives us a beautiful outlet for culture: Dance, music, drama, religion. My side gives her side the one ingredient one needs for a good wholesome life: Levity, comedy. This takes us to the next phase of our trip, Tiruchirapalli.
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