We went to Trichy the next day. My parents came to pick us up at 5.30am at the Trichy Railway station. Anand, you would know this. This place has expanded beyond any reason for logical comprehension. In developments, I noticed that there is a big-ass locomotive parked in front of the railway station now. Otherwise things are the same. Except for the smattering of Aircel and Reliance simcard petty shops here and there amongst the innumerable tea-shops and PCOs (Public Call Offices), everything else is the same. There were houses springing up in areas where there were beautiful little lakes and ponds. Vinayaka Nagar, Chelvi Nagar (100 yards down the road), Ganesh Nagar, Ganapathi Nagar (right next to it), Selva Nagar, Murugan Nagar and so on and so forth. There were 1 or maybe 2 houses in these purported Nagars. A bumpy road off the highway (NH-210, I didn’t know the Pudhukottai-Trichy road was NH-210) led us to Anna Nagar-Police Colony where my parents now live. A word about this “Double Road” we took: A few electricity transmission lines line the road set 100 feet back from the road. The panchayat board has been waiting for clearance from the Electricity board to make the road. EB is worried that a bus would hit the lines and cause a major disruption. A year has passed by, and people make do with a dirt track with stones jutting out at dangerous angles. 20 minutes of trying not to let our head or knees get banged up and we were at our house. Beautiful. My parents had gone overboard in making it look like a farmhouse. Large coconut and teak trees line the property. My mom had brought 40 bags of soil (yes black volcanic soil) from Jabalpur when they moved. Why you ask? Because there was space in the lorry is the answer. This soil has served as the soul of her now burgeoning garden. Dad tells me she works 6-7 hours on it, digging, pruning, watering. His day begins and ends with 2 alphabets: TV. There need be no white noise in this house. If not rinky-dinky songs from movies of yesteryear, its comedy clips with Vadivelu, Goundamani and Vivek in them. All day long.
I have got to say one thing, and Kala is with me on this. Indian ads are just brilliant. Consider this one: An aunty is sitting in her house knitting a sweater. She stops and looks up suddenly. The sound track plays the sound of a mosquito flying somewhere close by. Soon a huge one comes toward her. The aunty stares at it and shakes her head. The mosquito shakes its head and still flies toward her. The aunty stares at it and gives it an ugly look and shakes her head again. This time, the mosquito puts its head down and flies away from her. Then a voice in the background says “Do you have such a power? If not, you need Tortoise Kosuvathi churul”. I have identified some that are as good, if not better. Rajni spoofs abound. There is one on Kitkats chocolates. The scene is set in a western cowboy-style saloon. A tough-looking man enters, sits down at the bar and takes a pack of kit-kats. The voice-over says “How would you like to have your kit-kats? In Hollywood style?” The man (he looks more European mind you) taps one side of the box and a kit-kat comes out and he stylishly places it on one end of his lips like it’s a cigarette…
Then the voice says “Or in Baaliwood style ?” And a man who looks like a fat and funky Rajni crashes through the door, sits down and takes out the KitKat box. He throws one up in the air, and says “Bishoom”. His cowboy hat flies off and his Kitkat bar lands in his mouth. Cracked me up right away.
Amitabh Bacchhan is in ads from AIDS & Polio awareness, to clothing, to Dabur products, to paints to pens. The only thing he is missing in is Viagra.
So, as I was saying, me dad religiously watches TV. Come 10pm, the soaps start. “Ghar Ghar ki Kahani” (Veettukku Veedu Vasappadi to put it in tamil) and “Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu thi” (Enendral Mamiyaarum eppavo Marumagalaga irundhaval dhaan!) are the toppers. Not to mention the tamil ones: Metti Oli, Sangamam, Annamalai the list is endless. The telugu ones are not far behind either: Padma Vyuham is one I remember. The one common factor in all these serials, irrespective of language, is tears. My goodness, the amount of crying the women in these serials do is mind-boggling! And it is not because they have dust in their eyes, mind you. One’s husband is cheating on her, another’s husband who was ill-treating her, suddenly is paralyzed after falling down in the bathroom from an electric shock from the hot-water geyzer, another’s just happy because her daughter is divorced from her abusive husband. The list is endless. Women with a strong character cry along with the ones with weaker characters. Sometimes, the same actresses act in 2 different serials in different characters, and I cannot tell the difference. For one thing, they all look gorgeous, they always dress like they going to weddings, wear exotic pottu’s (I might have mentioned this before. The bindi styles vary anywhere from snakes to rising sun to lotus. I am waiting for the pottu that looks like Anjanjeya carrying the Sanjeevani mountain or Thiruvalluvar) and wear jewellery that looks like it would have cost a bundle to buy. I sometimes cannot tell if one is the mother of the other or sister. The face looks young enough to star opposite Shah Rukh Khan, but there is a white streak of hair from the center of the head to the ear. Its bizarre I tell you. Another common thing in all the sitcoms listed above is the amount of time they have been running. Episodes numbering 500 and 900 are not uncommon! I asked my dad if he remembers all the twists and turns and I got a nod saying no. Yet, they are very popular. One popular hindi serial star stood in a MP election and lost (thank god!). She is now selling cookware on one of the many shopping channels. EVEN THAT PRODUCT IS A HIT!!!
I love the garden. There is shade everywhere. There is an upper portion that gets plenty of light. A word on this upper portion: Newly-built, my parents had worked hard on it, until the day before they left for Madras to meet us. Evidently they thought we needed privacy. We stayed with them in one of the bedrooms downstairs. One day, we thought we should give it a shot just for the heck of it. Come 10pm, Kala and I picked up a pillow and a blanket each and climbed upstairs. The bathroom upstairs is the only one in the house that is western in style. I hate the Indian western style johns. Why the hell do they put it that way if they don’t plan on using paper? I know one thing. Older people, who have rickety knees and have trouble bending, love these lavatories here. Yet, the calisthenics you need to do to get things done makes it rather a bad choice. Anyway, we settled in to go to bed. I was about to switch the lights off, when Kala yelped and said “What is that? Is that a spider?” I looked up at the loft where she was pointing. It was a humongous one all right. The legs were tantalizingly positioned as though it wanted us to know who the boss was. The legs quickly disappeared. We were left with visions from “Arachnophobia” (a bad thriller movie where spiders turn deadly and start killing people). I had convinced her that spiders tend to stay hidden and don’t venture out in the night, and she seemed convinced. All was well and I was going to switch the light off again, and I heard another yelp. I asked “Now what?!” and she was pointing toward a giant cockroach by the bed. She asked “Is that the flying kind?”. I did not know enough to say anything. So I said “Yes. Maybe. Don’t know”. Immediately, she started packing up. “I am NOT sleeping here.” I agreed and we went downstairs. My dad was waiting downstairs and asked me what the problem was. I said “She saw a cockroach and a spider.” Dad started laughing. We all had a good laugh and went to bed, downstairs. We elicited a promise from them that the big wooden boxes and the cardboard boxes upstairs would be thrown away.
One day we went to Thanjavur. I have already written about that trip and the one we made to Srirangam. Thanks Anand for posting that on the KVOFT website. I got 2 calls (1 house call also!) on it already. When I was writing this piece, I remembered a little incident that happened during this trip. My dad has the rich man’s disease, i.e. blood sugar problem. He also forgets things very easily. My childhood memories I tend to recall always contains at least one where we (i.e. me, Bharathi and my mom and sometimes the neighbor’s kids) search for his ID card or his pay slip or his bank checkbook etc. We had lots of fun. This time, he needed his sugar medication, the prescription for which he had misplaced at home. He remembered he needed a refill while we were in Trichy town. I had completely forgotten how easy it is to get any prescription drug in India. Everything is available for sale. Here is how the conversation went between my dad and the pharmacist at the medical shop.
Nanna: Saar! Oru sugar medicine venumei.(I need a sugar medicine)
Pharmacist: Irukkei. Edhu venum ? (Yes we have it. Which one do you need?)
Nanna: Adhaan theriyalai. Peru just slightly dhaan theriyum. (That’s what I don’t remember. I know the name just by the sound of it)
Pharmacist: Sollunga, irukkannu pakkaren (Tell me, I shall see if we stock it)
Nanna: Ebja nnu ninaikkaren (I think its Ebja)
Pharmacist: Ebaja va ?
Nanna: Illa saar “Eb-Ja”.
Pharmacist: Eboja va.
Nanna: Ayyo illa saar. “Eb-Ja”
Pharmacist: Eb-Ja va. Appadi edhuvum illa saar. Andha perla edhavadhu irundha vangaringala ?? (I don’t think we have it sar. But if we have something that sounds like it, would you like to buy it?)
Kala and I were watching too dumbstruck to speak. We are talking about a life-saving medicine here. We persuaded my dad that it is too important a decision to make without knowing the proper name and dosage needed. Ultimately, a day later, we bought the medicine: EBEZA, pronounced as “Eb-E-Za”.
We had gone to Trichy with the express purpose of convincing my dad of quitting his smoking habit. He used to smoke Capstan cigarettes when I was growing up. I don’t think there is a friend of mine who came to our house then who has not been sent on an errand of buying some cigarettes and beedis for him. Anand, Chandramohan, Murali, Sunthar, Satish, Ahuja, the list keeps going on and on. Most of you know Babu, a childhood buddy & family friend of ours who is now going to move to the west coast with a job with Deloitte Consulting. He is the youngest friend of mine. My dad treats him like his second son. This time around, he was also there in Chennai for the function. My dad convinced HIM to go get him some cigarettes. He was nice about it though. Gave him Rs.50 and asked him to buy a pack of Wills filter without telling me, Kala or Bharathi. Babu bought it, and then of course squealed on him. At least he was consistent. So Kala and I descended on him to give up smoking. Kala quoted medical facts: Emphysema, Lung Cancer etc. I took the sentimental angle: Has to see Tanya get married, play grandpa to our kids, what will happen to amma etc. I was biting my tongue about a couple of medical problems associated with smoking that Kala had left out owing to impropriety: Impotence and balding. Figured it might not work this late in life. Don’t know if he is still hanging onto it (the SMOKING i.e.). Time will tell. Sad thing is mom has given up on him too.
Visited Anand and Saru’s parents’ houses. When we went to Saru’s parents’ house, Saru’s father was outside on the swing looking at some papers. I stood at the gate while Kala was hiding behind me. He looked up and was going to ask “Yes, enna venum?” I preempted him and asked him “Yarunnu theriyudha uncle?” I was sure he did not recognize me. I urged him with “Bhaskar uncle!” He said “Oh!! Vappa va va va va… Sowkkiyama? Yaradhu unakku pinnale unnoda missussa ?” I said “Amam uncle, ennoda missuss dhaan. Please meet Chandrakala, my missus”. He ushered us in, and Saru’s mom rushed out of the kitchen. I must have met aunty at least a dozen times now, and she has always been in a rush coming out of whatever she was doing. I felt bad disturbing her. But she is so cute, and immediately started chiding us for not having called ahead etc. We said we were in the neighborhood, which is more an understatement. Saru’s appa and my father are at loggerheads over something neither of us can understand. Neither of our mothers can explain the problem! Neither of the men will talk about it either! It is so bizarre, we have stopped wondering about it. Why wonder when it can be a breeding ground for so many jokes? In this scenario, we settled down for some good coffee and biscuits. In the meantime, Saru’s nephew (Vignesh aka Vicky) and niece (Vaishnavi aka Nila kutty) were pushed into our presence. Vicky in particular was extremely reluctant to talk, until amma told us that he was taking abacus classes. Now Kala had also done something similar when she was his age. So there seemed like a kinship formed instantly between them. She expressed an earnest interest in his work and he responded in the like. It was nice to see. Saru, this kid is going to go places. For some reason, Kala and I both saw a lot of you in him. Believe it or not, he is trying to emulate you. I could see he strives to learn whatever he studies. I think he will go places. Nila kutty is a brat waiting to be discovered. She has naughtiness in her eyes da. She refused to talk until we offered her some chocolates. I think it was because of me, she was reticent. My beard and long hair have thrown most kids into despair, save my niece. I have successfully terrorized 3 kids (all girls too… hmmm) into a shell their parents never knew they had. ”Ada! She is never like this!” is a common rhetoric I got to hear. Same here. But both kids are studying extra hard, that’s for sure.
Next stop: Anand’s parents house. They knew we were coming. Anand, your grandmother told me to tell you (more than 5 times) that she misses you. That old lady knows about everything from Tsunami to 911 to Snowstorms in PA. A very enlightened soul, she seemed to us. It was just like old times da with your parents. Talking about our childhood. As always, they enquired about Kala. Your dad in particular engaged in a long chat with her about her Pharma choices and her line of research. One pharma to another. Your mom showed us around the house, and upstairs. Awesome house da. We were impressed with how much room there was for everything. Your upstairs portion was offered to Kala and I, in case we needed a room to stay. There was a nice zephyr (Sokka!?!) aka mild breeze blowing from the canal close by. We had Poori and Kilangu (Aalu) for dinner at your house. In the meantime, my dad called your house to see if we had reached there safely. We were supposed to call from Saru’s place, but never did. Your dad started joking around and said “No saar. Innum varaliyei!”. I knew my dad would have had a heart attack if your dad had not followed suit with “Ayyo illa saar. Joku dhaan. They are here. Please talk to them” and handed the phone over to me. Your dad has started expressing more levity da. Your mom, as always was smiling and very cordial. Then they took us on a road trip to Ordnance Factory Estate, the place we grew up. A stop at Kendriya Vidyalaya took me back to 1987, the last I remember of the place. Man that place has seen some changes. Infusion of new funds has given it some color. There were nicely maintained gardens and there was space for a lovebird cage even! I was running around like an excited kid, with Anand’s mom and Kala in tow, looking thoroughly amused. Anand’s dad was waiting in the car at the gate. The watchman (Yes, there is one now, Anand!) was amused enough to let me through. All this @ 9pm, mind you!! Having made a mental note of wanting to come back during the daytime, we left to look at some other spots. Our old house where we lived for over 25 years: That gargantuan mango tree still lives and bears fruit. Anand’s place by the hospital: There was more shrubbery alongside the pathway leading up to the gate. We learnt a little tidbit about Anand’s study habits there. There is this little building close to their house called “The Isolation ward” where all the patients with infectious diseases such as measles or Chicken Pox were kept while they recovered. He used to study by there at night. There was also a lone street lamp by the house. If you saw the house, you would mistake it to be in a jungle. There are so many trees and large shrubs everywhere. His dad told me that Anand preferred the outdoors to study under this street lamp when he was young. Then he went to IIT, found computers, eventually came to the US, found more computers and decided the indoors were more preferable. I would say that was the classic case of the formation of a software belly. We next went to the temple which the inmates of the estate (note I said inmates, and not residents) helped build to save cost and to build some points with the lord. The temple, which housed 3-5 gods when I left 6 years ago, now houses almost 16. A god-mall if you will. There are rooms now for visiting musicians, a kitchen, and a few store rooms. What started out as a literal stone cubicle for Lord Vinayaka 25 years ago (which was built overnight I was told: Another story for another day) is now a divine conglomerate. I was impressed. This rapid expansion was described by a man who stood there, who professed he knew my father, and then told me how his father was died when he was out of station. By the time he got wind of the tragedy and came home, everything was over. Why he told Kala and I this story, I am not sure about. Guess he needed a soul to tell it to. We were sad for him. The trip ended there, and we turned back home to Anna Nagar to call it a day. Anand’s parents dropped us off at home, and stopped in for a second to chat with me parents. After they left, my dad expressly asked me how it went at Saru’s parents’ house. Not at Anand’s parents’ house or at the Reddys’ (another friend of ours). I leave out what happened thereafter, because its really not worth writing about.
One day, I helped bring down some coconuts so we could have some nice cold coconut water. It was sweeter than heaven. The meat inside was so soft we could substitute it for butter.
The following weekend, we went to Bangalore for a day. I wrote about that too. More of the Bangalore episode will appear in the 3rd chapter of this journal/blog/whatever. Kala went to Chennai from there, and I came back to Trichy. That same day, Amma fell sick. What started as a viral fever went to chest pains and ultimately got diagnosed as Jaundice (that too after a scare of Hepatitis B!). Everything, except the jaundice (a mild case too!) was misdiagnosed. Hospitals are kind of non-existent where they live. Medical help is usually provided by doctors who work off their evenings from their homes. One day, while I was waiting for amma and nanna to come out of the clinic (a hole in the wall with a dupatta for modesty behind which the doc (a bald sleazy-looking hack) sat behind a godrej desk), it just dawned on me that every single one of his patients (there were 12 overall with my mom included) were over 50, and definitely pushing close to 60. This on a good day, when there was no talk of a flu epidemic or malaria or anything like that. Most of them were just old people with age-related issues. They walked, drove or were driven in for treatment. The doctor charges Rs.20-50 for each visit, not to mention at least Rs.50-100 in medicines which can be bought at the attached pharmacy run by his wife. If the patients were new, there was the usual blood, urine and ECG tests to be performed at a facility located conveniently nearby. I am sure he gets a cut of that action too. This particular doctor has 4 facilities he runs in 4 locations here. 2 hours in the morning, and 2 in the evening, all week. He has the pharmacy-test lab links at each facility. A nice gig they got going here. I remember going to him for a viral fever (it was viral fever then) 12 years ago. He had a similar rinky-dinky facility and no pharmacy or lab that he owned or helped run. He had a head full of hair then. Looks he has found success, and lost some hair in a classic horse-shoe pattern. You know what they say, you win some and you lose some.
I left Trichy with a heavy heart. It is a nice village in the core; a nice village with coconut and banana groves and lush green paddy fields for acres and acres. Only this greenery exists outside, far far outside the city limits. Trichy as a village has ceased to exist. There are flyovers everywhere, landmarks have disappeared. Movie theaters are getting converted to polyclinics and shopping malls. Anand: Gaiety, Maris gone. Trichy is in effect Chennai-II. There is nothing wrong with losing crumbling buildings. However, there is a mad rush for real estate which is becoming all too familiar now. There are flats costing 12-15 lakhs with a river-view (of cauvery, when the govt of Karnataka sees it fit to share some). I was dumbstruck at this. Tatachary gardens are gone. I must sound like a hopeless romantic, or a rather old man. I did come away with a sadness which is also all too familiar. There are two old people in this village that I love, one of whom may or may not have impotence.
NB: We ran across the name “Trichinapoly” as a variant of Tiruchirapalli and Trichy on our first visit to the city/town this time around. While my parents, Kala and I were loitering the streets around the city center (near rockfort), we suddenly noticed this plaque which was dated 1700s announcing the existence of a garden near the fort. v was the example of the damn british insidiousness. The plaque was freshly painted and the garden had fallen into disrepute, typical of the city these days.
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