This morning I was driving to work when I noticed a cassette case sitting on the dashboard that had Appa's handwriting on it. I removed the tape of old Hindi songs that was in the player and replaced it with this tape--a live recording of flutist Ramani in concert, most likely somewhere in the US. I rarely listen to Carnatic music when I drive because it doesn't exactly keep me focused on the road. But I decided to let Ramani accompany me to work this time.
It was like having Appa in the car with me. He didn't like sitting in the front passenger seat--when someone else drove, he usually preferred to sit in the back because fastening the seat belt was such a pain! The first song that played was the popular "Varalakshmi Baramma", something I had never really heard played on an instrument. I could see Appa picking up his flute in the morning and playing a little...often he did this to our protests, because the sound was so amateurish, so plaintive, but he usually persisted, because not only did he enjoy the sensation of playing the instrument, but he also enjoyed being playfully irksome.
It was this playful irksomeness that taught me the little Carnatic music I know. He would play the radio loud--and during the music season, this meant he played it loud at 2 a.m.!--and insist on telling us about the melakartas and their derivatives, about the heritage that had come to us from Appaya Dikshitar and others, about what each raga meant. Most of it fell on uninterested ears but over the years it had the effect of cultivating in both my brother and me a deep appreciation for--if not knowledge of--our musical tradition. Appa had his own ways of inculcating this appreciation in us. For instance, when, as a 12 or 13 year old, I asked for permission to go watch a Hindi or Hollywood movie with my school friends, he would ask me to submit the application in writing, and undertake to attend an hour of a classical concert or a discourse on the epics, as 'subsitutive' cultural education! In this way I accumulated several hours worth of cultural education, and learned things I probably never would have, in a way that didn't really seem like "learning"!
Well, by the time I reached work this morning, Ramani had played for me several more tunes, including "Krishna Nee Begane Baro", "Aadu Paambe"--the latter being one of Appa's favourites. And, more importantly, he had allowed me to recapture some of these memories.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Permanent Connections
Ours has been a family that, despite geographic extensions, has kept connections alive. The house in Hyderabad, whether in Begumpet, or St John's Road in Secunderabad, or Tarnaka and now Vikrampuri, has always been an open house, open to people in times of joy and sorrow, sickness and good health. And even in the worst of times there has been a certain peace that has held us all together. For the first forty five years of my father's life, our families--the brothers, their wives and children--lived as a unit. For us children, it was like having two sets of parents and an extra big brother to look after us and go to for anything we needed. My uncle, my father's brother Rangan, has this to say...
My association with Pattabhi spans a period of over seven decades. Scenes of the way we overcame various problems in life flash across my mind intermittently. We could meet the challenges in life mainly because of the togetherness that started in our childhood, which matured as we aged and sustained during entire life.The fact that our wives are cousins helped in the process. The help he rendered when fate took me away from Hyderabad in solving myriad problems connected with Govt Banks, etc will always remain fresh in my mind throughout life. Though I realise that it is almost impossible I will strive my best to fill the void.
Rangan
My association with Pattabhi spans a period of over seven decades. Scenes of the way we overcame various problems in life flash across my mind intermittently. We could meet the challenges in life mainly because of the togetherness that started in our childhood, which matured as we aged and sustained during entire life.The fact that our wives are cousins helped in the process. The help he rendered when fate took me away from Hyderabad in solving myriad problems connected with Govt Banks, etc will always remain fresh in my mind throughout life. Though I realise that it is almost impossible I will strive my best to fill the void.
Rangan
Sunday, May 25, 2008
A Legend Who Lived Amongst Us
I first met Pattabhi Chittappa in June 1959, a few days before his marriage. From then on he has and will continue to remain always a legend in my eyes. His virtues are so numerous, that I can not recall any one in my life that I have looked upon with a greater admiration than Chittappa. I was fortunate to have lived with him for a short time of 18 months in Begampet during my high school days. This is the time where I witnessed a person so good and noble that it was difficult for me to imagine anyone could ever be like that. It was my last home in India and I always think of my days there with fondness during my stay thereafter in Kharagpur and then in USA.
As many of you have written, he was a teacher of all good things not by lecturing about the values but by living it. I have rarely seen him angry except when warranted by some injustice to someone. He and Lakshmi Chitti have always been at the giving end and have always been there helping anyone and everyone. I know this was especially true for my very dear Paddu Chitti who in her last days was as happy as she could be in Vikrampuri with Chittappa and Lakshmi Chitti.
Chittappa lived a very high moral ground that will be difficult for many of us to follow but we can and should do everything to follow in his foot steps. That is the only way we can show our true love and respect for him.
Mohan
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Everlasting Wave
It was a Saturday night, almost a month ago now. We were in Albany, New York, talking to a group of people at a conference. Unbeknownst to me, at the same time, appa was getting reading to leave home for a swim at the Country Club in Begumpet. He was eager to get back to his routine after having been away from his normal routine for two weeks due to the biopsy that he had done on his ankle to figure out what was wrong with it. I don't think anyone including him had the faintest thought that the end was so near. Yet somehow, as things panned out over the next couple of days, he transitioned to the Great Beyond just like he did everything else in life, with a minimum of fuss and with a smile on his face. The pain that he felt in his ankle was real, but not any more real and definitely not greater than the joy he took in filling his day with activities that meant everything to him, not any more real than the disarming smile on his face which seemed to reflect the state of his soul.
I have never known a "younger" old man. He's been that way ever since I could remember and never quite aged as a person. The entity that was my dad, was always greater than the physical person. Maybe that is why, I feel he is still living amongst us. His childlike eagerness to greet each morning with his asanas, the enthusiasm to look forward to the upcoming events and people, his constant interest in knowing more about everything, the concern for his family's well being, the obsessive interest in cricket and chess, the joy of planning a trip for himself and others, the total involvement in his music; they all played a part in keeping him young and forward looking. I think (and know) he believed in living every day, and never wanted the thought of 'The End' to stop him from enjoying his living. Perhaps that is why he was defiant to the very end about giving into the pain he felt in his ankle and knees. He was not going to let even his body dictate the terms of his life. Now looking back, somehow, he has succeeded in living, more than a lot of us who are still 'alive', here and now, thru the apparent end.
I look at the pictures and I sometimes feel the despairing urge to see him in the flesh again, to be next to him, to talk to him, and yet in some strange way, there was a completeness to his life, much like a gentle wave that retracts from the beach having made its long journey across the ocean to the shore, as if its only purpose was to soothe your feet. The wave reached the shore and dissolved back into the ocean, but somehow passed on its essence to you. I suspect that he had much the same effect on people; a quiet and soothing presence. An effect that is felt more only when it is absent.
Talking about my dad is however like saying only half the story. The substance and strength of his convictions came from the immense devotion, love and unconditional support that my mother has always showered on him and also on the rest of the family. His sense of gratitude towards her was equally awesome. I am sure a lot of people have evidenced this phenomenal partnership. For Runa and myself and undoubtedly for a lot of people in our extended family, they have both been a great inspiration and a source of comfort and strength.
If appa's life was his message, then my mom is the very medium that delivered it with high fidelity. Its a message that she will always continue to deliver because it has now become an indistinguishable part of her.
As a son, as their child, what more can I ever ask of my parents than to show me by their own example as to how to live life, and live it so well! I know there are a great many things still to be encountered and experienced in my life, and the comfort of knowning "what would appa do?" only increases my urgency to move headlong into the future.
I have never known a "younger" old man. He's been that way ever since I could remember and never quite aged as a person. The entity that was my dad, was always greater than the physical person. Maybe that is why, I feel he is still living amongst us. His childlike eagerness to greet each morning with his asanas, the enthusiasm to look forward to the upcoming events and people, his constant interest in knowing more about everything, the concern for his family's well being, the obsessive interest in cricket and chess, the joy of planning a trip for himself and others, the total involvement in his music; they all played a part in keeping him young and forward looking. I think (and know) he believed in living every day, and never wanted the thought of 'The End' to stop him from enjoying his living. Perhaps that is why he was defiant to the very end about giving into the pain he felt in his ankle and knees. He was not going to let even his body dictate the terms of his life. Now looking back, somehow, he has succeeded in living, more than a lot of us who are still 'alive', here and now, thru the apparent end.
I look at the pictures and I sometimes feel the despairing urge to see him in the flesh again, to be next to him, to talk to him, and yet in some strange way, there was a completeness to his life, much like a gentle wave that retracts from the beach having made its long journey across the ocean to the shore, as if its only purpose was to soothe your feet. The wave reached the shore and dissolved back into the ocean, but somehow passed on its essence to you. I suspect that he had much the same effect on people; a quiet and soothing presence. An effect that is felt more only when it is absent.
Talking about my dad is however like saying only half the story. The substance and strength of his convictions came from the immense devotion, love and unconditional support that my mother has always showered on him and also on the rest of the family. His sense of gratitude towards her was equally awesome. I am sure a lot of people have evidenced this phenomenal partnership. For Runa and myself and undoubtedly for a lot of people in our extended family, they have both been a great inspiration and a source of comfort and strength.
If appa's life was his message, then my mom is the very medium that delivered it with high fidelity. Its a message that she will always continue to deliver because it has now become an indistinguishable part of her.
As a son, as their child, what more can I ever ask of my parents than to show me by their own example as to how to live life, and live it so well! I know there are a great many things still to be encountered and experienced in my life, and the comfort of knowning "what would appa do?" only increases my urgency to move headlong into the future.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
life's lessons
I need to begin by first saying a big thank you to all those who have posted their memories on this space. I know there are a lot more that are running around the spaces in our heads waiting to be shared. The blog has been an amazing way to replace (only partly though) those late-night chats that families get animatedly involved in, during summer holidays, weddings and other get-togethers, reminiscing, laughing and commenting on each others' lives.
It's been a bittersweet experience to read all the posts, over and over again, and to realise how much appa has meant to so many people. And how much his memory continues to mean. For me, his not being here in a physical sense has in a strange way meant that he is here all the time. When I drive to work and go past the pillar on the border of Parade Ground, I see him sitting there with Malli anna and his "Guruji", Lakshminarayan Mama, engaged in discussion about the meaning of life and living. As I cross the Paradise flyover and catch a glimpse of Secunderabad PG College I can see him as he was in the late sixties, a lecturer in the math department there. At Raniganj and James Street I see him as a young boy, in the 1940s, walking to school along the railway tracks with his friends, having missed the train to Secunderabad from Begumpet. And as my car groans its way over the traffic-jammed overpass at Begumpet Railway Station, I see him as he was the almost-last time I saw him--in the changing room at Country Club, smiling even as he told me, in a voice that refused to admit weakness, "I think it's a heart attack..."
Many of you have talked of his kindness, his selflessness, his constant smile. All that is true. But what I can talk about is what he taught me--not in the lecturing, admonishing sort of way most parents probably teach lessons, but in simply being what he believed in. As Controller of Examinations, as Vice Principal of Science College, as Principal of Nizam College, and just as a person, he refused to budge from belief. He held a few simple truths close to his heart, and he lived by them. To believe that you can make a difference by simply being honest, considerate to those less fortunate. To always understand that people cannot be all bad; that there must be an explanation for their "bad" behaviour--that everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt. To care deeply about the disadvantaged and the dispossessed. Yet, to enjoy the moment, to take extreme pleasure in the simple things of life--the taste of a good mango, the deliciousness of melting butter on toast, the cool smoothness of ice cream, the lilt of raga thodi sung by O S Arun or T V Sankaranarayanan, the swing of a sixer by an ace batsman, the heady rush of a roller coaster ride...
When I was growing up, my father was my champion. He was the one who worried about my getting home late, but when I did come home, it was my mother who scolded and fussed, while he simply smiled and said, "so you're home". When I spent the money my mother had given me for groceries on movie tickets, he was the one I told, and then he in turn convinced her to not ruin the pleasure of a movie with a lecture on responsibility. I learned that lesson because it was not delivered in a lecture. I learned because he, along with amma, never laid expectations on me. They just believed that I would grow up okay, and I guess, that is what happened. Not once while growing up did I ever come up against a wall of refusal. They allowed me to believe that I could do anything I set myself to do, and from that belief I drew a strength--but it took me a while to figure out where that strength came from.
The biggest lesson I learned from him (and I am certain there are many more I will continue to ferret out as I think about how he dealt with situations) is that it's okay to stick up for things you believe in, even if other people call you impractical and idealistic. It's that idealism that kept the smile on his face.
Right to the end.
It's been a bittersweet experience to read all the posts, over and over again, and to realise how much appa has meant to so many people. And how much his memory continues to mean. For me, his not being here in a physical sense has in a strange way meant that he is here all the time. When I drive to work and go past the pillar on the border of Parade Ground, I see him sitting there with Malli anna and his "Guruji", Lakshminarayan Mama, engaged in discussion about the meaning of life and living. As I cross the Paradise flyover and catch a glimpse of Secunderabad PG College I can see him as he was in the late sixties, a lecturer in the math department there. At Raniganj and James Street I see him as a young boy, in the 1940s, walking to school along the railway tracks with his friends, having missed the train to Secunderabad from Begumpet. And as my car groans its way over the traffic-jammed overpass at Begumpet Railway Station, I see him as he was the almost-last time I saw him--in the changing room at Country Club, smiling even as he told me, in a voice that refused to admit weakness, "I think it's a heart attack..."
Many of you have talked of his kindness, his selflessness, his constant smile. All that is true. But what I can talk about is what he taught me--not in the lecturing, admonishing sort of way most parents probably teach lessons, but in simply being what he believed in. As Controller of Examinations, as Vice Principal of Science College, as Principal of Nizam College, and just as a person, he refused to budge from belief. He held a few simple truths close to his heart, and he lived by them. To believe that you can make a difference by simply being honest, considerate to those less fortunate. To always understand that people cannot be all bad; that there must be an explanation for their "bad" behaviour--that everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt. To care deeply about the disadvantaged and the dispossessed. Yet, to enjoy the moment, to take extreme pleasure in the simple things of life--the taste of a good mango, the deliciousness of melting butter on toast, the cool smoothness of ice cream, the lilt of raga thodi sung by O S Arun or T V Sankaranarayanan, the swing of a sixer by an ace batsman, the heady rush of a roller coaster ride...
When I was growing up, my father was my champion. He was the one who worried about my getting home late, but when I did come home, it was my mother who scolded and fussed, while he simply smiled and said, "so you're home". When I spent the money my mother had given me for groceries on movie tickets, he was the one I told, and then he in turn convinced her to not ruin the pleasure of a movie with a lecture on responsibility. I learned that lesson because it was not delivered in a lecture. I learned because he, along with amma, never laid expectations on me. They just believed that I would grow up okay, and I guess, that is what happened. Not once while growing up did I ever come up against a wall of refusal. They allowed me to believe that I could do anything I set myself to do, and from that belief I drew a strength--but it took me a while to figure out where that strength came from.
The biggest lesson I learned from him (and I am certain there are many more I will continue to ferret out as I think about how he dealt with situations) is that it's okay to stick up for things you believe in, even if other people call you impractical and idealistic. It's that idealism that kept the smile on his face.
Right to the end.
Friday, May 16, 2008
MVP before Marriage - Home videos
Check out these home videos of appa taken mostly by Guruppa, this has some unbelievable footage of appa and many others of the Mangalam clan.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
And more Memories
I never realized that peripa's initials were 'MVP' until I read some of the blogs. He has has a great influence in my life and has given appa, amma and me a lot of help ever since my childhood. Whenever I would have my summer holidays I would always look forward to come to hyderabad to meet peripa, perima and the others. I used to be very happy to see his face at Begampeth station when we would arrive. He would greet us with that familiar 'smile' of his.
I will never forget the time I spent with Him in London. He came there to visit for about 10 days and we would go round the city travelling. I would insist that we use the trains as they were faster and also because I knew the train routes really well. But he wanted to travel by bus. Until then I was not very fond of travelling by bus. But then peripa weaved his magic wand upon me and I actually enjoyed travelling by bus. He opened a new world for me. And I started to know my way round the city with the bus.
This friday I went to singing class. My teacher was teaching me a telugu song and the words were very funny. I felt like laughing out loud. And at that moment I remembered peripa. When he last came over to visit we were talking about a song. He was explaining it to me and told me that "you might feel like laughing at the words of some songs because you don't know their meaning. But once you understand the meaning you will surely appreciate the song."
He also helped me a lot with my Maths. Every now and then I would call him up and ask my doubts. Most of the times he would ask me to scan the problems and send it to him by mail as it was very difficult to translate mathematical symbols correctly over the phone. And the next day when I would check my mail I would get a mail from him with the solutions to my problems. I would then call him up and say 'Thanks.'
He has shown a lot of love and affection to every member of our family and has had a huge influence on our lives. Undoubtedly he is the 'MVP' of our family.
Ajay Kumar
Mumbai
--------------
I consider myself blessed to be married to his youngest brother (son-that is how both anna and manni look upon Krishna) thereby being associated with this very great person.We all know that he was always smiling. Not just smiling but a smile that was so true from his heart. We could feel the warmth and concern he had for all of us.
I would like to narrate an incident which may not appear very interesting but has a lot of value. It was in the year 1982 .We use to live in Tarnaka university quarters then. He use to have his meals and leave for college. On that day I had made the KOOTU and had forgotten to put salt in it. As usual I served him the chappatis and the Kootu. He ate it as if it was very tasty. Not only that ,he took his usual 3 servings and never said a word. After sometime Shekhar came from school and I served him food. The first thing he did was to remark " Hey Kasturi, there is no salt in the Kootu. I picked up an argument with him and said that it was impossible as appa had taken the Kootu 3 times. At this Shekhar told me to taste it and it was only then I realised that Shekhar was right. When anna returned I asked him why did he not tell me that there was no salt in the Kootu.To this anna gave me an explanation which has gone deep into my heart . He said that the lady of the house takes a lot of pain to do her work and so we should not say anything to her. it may hurt her feelings.Such was his concern for the ladies in the house.
Anna was very fond of Jilebis. He use to buy them once in a way and ofcourse we all enjoyed it. But what he enjoyed more was to sneak an extra jalebi or two when manni was not watching him . Not that manni would object , but she took a lot of care about his health as he was diabetic.To me he was not just my brother in law but it was always the joy of being associated with this great person. He is a person who I always admired and respected,he will always remain with us . Our scriptures say that it is only the body that vanishes , but the soul stays forever. So true is this in anna's case , as we all feel he is still with each one of us, ever smiling which I am sure you will all agree.
HE IS INDEED AN EPITOME OF SMILE.
KASTURI
Mumbai
--------
I will never forget the time I spent with Him in London. He came there to visit for about 10 days and we would go round the city travelling. I would insist that we use the trains as they were faster and also because I knew the train routes really well. But he wanted to travel by bus. Until then I was not very fond of travelling by bus. But then peripa weaved his magic wand upon me and I actually enjoyed travelling by bus. He opened a new world for me. And I started to know my way round the city with the bus.
This friday I went to singing class. My teacher was teaching me a telugu song and the words were very funny. I felt like laughing out loud. And at that moment I remembered peripa. When he last came over to visit we were talking about a song. He was explaining it to me and told me that "you might feel like laughing at the words of some songs because you don't know their meaning. But once you understand the meaning you will surely appreciate the song."
He also helped me a lot with my Maths. Every now and then I would call him up and ask my doubts. Most of the times he would ask me to scan the problems and send it to him by mail as it was very difficult to translate mathematical symbols correctly over the phone. And the next day when I would check my mail I would get a mail from him with the solutions to my problems. I would then call him up and say 'Thanks.'
He has shown a lot of love and affection to every member of our family and has had a huge influence on our lives. Undoubtedly he is the 'MVP' of our family.
Ajay Kumar
Mumbai
--------------
I consider myself blessed to be married to his youngest brother (son-that is how both anna and manni look upon Krishna) thereby being associated with this very great person.We all know that he was always smiling. Not just smiling but a smile that was so true from his heart. We could feel the warmth and concern he had for all of us.
I would like to narrate an incident which may not appear very interesting but has a lot of value. It was in the year 1982 .We use to live in Tarnaka university quarters then. He use to have his meals and leave for college. On that day I had made the KOOTU and had forgotten to put salt in it. As usual I served him the chappatis and the Kootu. He ate it as if it was very tasty. Not only that ,he took his usual 3 servings and never said a word. After sometime Shekhar came from school and I served him food. The first thing he did was to remark " Hey Kasturi, there is no salt in the Kootu. I picked up an argument with him and said that it was impossible as appa had taken the Kootu 3 times. At this Shekhar told me to taste it and it was only then I realised that Shekhar was right. When anna returned I asked him why did he not tell me that there was no salt in the Kootu.To this anna gave me an explanation which has gone deep into my heart . He said that the lady of the house takes a lot of pain to do her work and so we should not say anything to her. it may hurt her feelings.Such was his concern for the ladies in the house.
Anna was very fond of Jilebis. He use to buy them once in a way and ofcourse we all enjoyed it. But what he enjoyed more was to sneak an extra jalebi or two when manni was not watching him . Not that manni would object , but she took a lot of care about his health as he was diabetic.To me he was not just my brother in law but it was always the joy of being associated with this great person. He is a person who I always admired and respected,he will always remain with us . Our scriptures say that it is only the body that vanishes , but the soul stays forever. So true is this in anna's case , as we all feel he is still with each one of us, ever smiling which I am sure you will all agree.
HE IS INDEED AN EPITOME OF SMILE.
KASTURI
Mumbai
--------
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Memories from Roy Choudury
Appa had a way with people and he never allowed traditional relations or cultural differences be a barrier to developing great relationships, in fact he enjoyed being the contrarian in these respects. It was very evident in his relationship with his 'Bengali' sambandhi's. Here is what Ranjit Roy Choudhury has to say about MVP.
"Memories keep the one you loved close to you in spirit and thought and always in your heart. I am sure everyone who knew Dr. Raman including Monju and me will find comfort in remembering each moment spent in his company.
He was a man with vast knowledge and varied interests, yet his quest for knowledge never seemed to end. Even at his age, it was remarkable to see him making a serious effort to learn Bengali and succeeding to some extent. He asked me for a Bengali magazine and to my great surprise within a few days he read out a few lines to me from it. What a remarkable man!
We share our thoughts on various subjects, from cricket to carnatic and hindustani music, comparing the various ragas. He was like my elder brother whom I could ask for any kind of help or advise whenever I needed it most. As long as he was there, we felt so secure.
It is so hard to reconcile to the fact that we will no longer see his ever smiling face. We know that grief and tragedy are only for a time; but his goodness and unconditional love which he showered on us will forever remain in our hearts. We will always be thankful both to him and Lakshmi for making us feel so much a part of their family. "
Ranjit (Roy Choudhury)
"Memories keep the one you loved close to you in spirit and thought and always in your heart. I am sure everyone who knew Dr. Raman including Monju and me will find comfort in remembering each moment spent in his company.
He was a man with vast knowledge and varied interests, yet his quest for knowledge never seemed to end. Even at his age, it was remarkable to see him making a serious effort to learn Bengali and succeeding to some extent. He asked me for a Bengali magazine and to my great surprise within a few days he read out a few lines to me from it. What a remarkable man!
We share our thoughts on various subjects, from cricket to carnatic and hindustani music, comparing the various ragas. He was like my elder brother whom I could ask for any kind of help or advise whenever I needed it most. As long as he was there, we felt so secure.
It is so hard to reconcile to the fact that we will no longer see his ever smiling face. We know that grief and tragedy are only for a time; but his goodness and unconditional love which he showered on us will forever remain in our hearts. We will always be thankful both to him and Lakshmi for making us feel so much a part of their family. "
Ranjit (Roy Choudhury)
(sambandhi)
More Memories...
It's not often that inlaws have more than a "politely cordial" relationship. Subhashini Subrahmanian has this to say about her "sambandhi"--
I don't know how to write about him. There were so many good qualities about him to write. The name of the house, "Ayodhya" is perfect for the house. His name Raman also suits not only the person, but symbolises all the qualities which Lord Rama had, which he too had. Soft spoken, always smiling, ready to help anyone--known or unknown. On festival days or any special days the sweets and vada which we prepare in the house, he insisted, should be given first to the watchman and the servants, and unless this was given he would not eat.
He loved music, cricket and playing chess on the computer. I would go along with him and Lakshmi to all the music concerts. If we had any doubt about identifying the raga, he used to tell us immediately. He had a music diary in which he wrote down the name of the song and the ragam. Sometimes I used to feel tired to go to a concert and he used to say, "Come for as long as you can sit and listen to the music. When you are tired we can come back." After returning if I said "Thank you", he would say, with a big smile, "Thanks for the company!" He wanted others to enjoy everything he did.
Whenever he came upstairs (we live in one house, on two floors) to eat with us, after the meal he used to say "Thank you" which I refused to accept. Immediately he changed this to "No thank you", said with a smile.
When I travelled to Chennai by train, which was quite often, he wrote down the time table for me from Secunderabad to Chennai and the return journey, by both the Chennai Express and Charminar Express--I still keep that sheet of paper with me in my travel handbag, encased in clear plastic, to check the progress of the train and the stations on the way!
He used to ask the children--his granddaughters Achala and Ananya--to translate English words to Tamil and the other way round, and this was often quite comical (elimichcham pazham became rat remainder fruit!) and made them laugh.
I can go on writing--these are just a few of those memories. We will all miss him.
I don't know how to write about him. There were so many good qualities about him to write. The name of the house, "Ayodhya" is perfect for the house. His name Raman also suits not only the person, but symbolises all the qualities which Lord Rama had, which he too had. Soft spoken, always smiling, ready to help anyone--known or unknown. On festival days or any special days the sweets and vada which we prepare in the house, he insisted, should be given first to the watchman and the servants, and unless this was given he would not eat.
He loved music, cricket and playing chess on the computer. I would go along with him and Lakshmi to all the music concerts. If we had any doubt about identifying the raga, he used to tell us immediately. He had a music diary in which he wrote down the name of the song and the ragam. Sometimes I used to feel tired to go to a concert and he used to say, "Come for as long as you can sit and listen to the music. When you are tired we can come back." After returning if I said "Thank you", he would say, with a big smile, "Thanks for the company!" He wanted others to enjoy everything he did.
Whenever he came upstairs (we live in one house, on two floors) to eat with us, after the meal he used to say "Thank you" which I refused to accept. Immediately he changed this to "No thank you", said with a smile.
When I travelled to Chennai by train, which was quite often, he wrote down the time table for me from Secunderabad to Chennai and the return journey, by both the Chennai Express and Charminar Express--I still keep that sheet of paper with me in my travel handbag, encased in clear plastic, to check the progress of the train and the stations on the way!
He used to ask the children--his granddaughters Achala and Ananya--to translate English words to Tamil and the other way round, and this was often quite comical (elimichcham pazham became rat remainder fruit!) and made them laugh.
I can go on writing--these are just a few of those memories. We will all miss him.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Two weeks later
Two weeks have passed
and I wonder...
how long will it be before the rocking chair by the window is un-shadowed by the outline
of his white dhoti and kurta,
a newspaper in his hands, while other pages lie
scattered on the floor, within easy reach?
how long before the uneven flagstones in the portico
stop echoing the equally uneven step
of his refused-to-be-stopped arthritic feet
that accompanied the watering pipe
in the garden?
how long before the telephone and doorbell
stop being answered by the memory of a welcoming 'coming'
no matter who stands there?
Like Carroll's Cat
the smile hangs over the house
partnering the twinkle in the eye
on the slightly-tilted head
as if to say
I'm here, I'm here.
Feelings never go anywhere
Nor do memories.
As long as they live
so do people.
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