Rail trail

A quick trip to the railway station is perhaps the most comforting feeling right after the loss of my beloved thaatha. 

You expect some people to just exist no matter what, as though they’re immortal and invincible. 

One such soul is thaatha, who has thrived through the years, who’s always been around: every family event, every visit to my maternal grandparents’ home.

Just yesterday, Amma was humming an old song featuring Sheela. The song happened to be part of a random YouTube playlist. She shared an interesting trivia about herself… she said : Hey you know what, I’ve sung this on stage during my railway colony days, and won a prize! You know what the prize was? I was curious to know what the prize was of course! I won 100 gms of coffee powder! Wow… quite a prized possession back then for sure!  Coffee in any amount for that matter, is priceless after all! But what sparked further curiosity wasn’t so much about the prize or the winning… it’s about how Amma managed to practise singing the song itself - what was her source of learning the lyrics and the tune - the tune perhaps was through radio, but the lyrics? The answer to this question of mine was heart-rending - she said “Thaatha used to get me books from a stall in the railway station - those books had the lyrics of popular film songs… even recently, I met the guy at this stall and shared trivia about Thaatha, they still remember him!” Amidst all their impoverished life at the railway colony,  happiness thrived, no matter what, they seemed to be enjoying the moment, without a doubt.

It is no wonder that thaatha is a movie buff, who was seen to be on a movie-watching marathon even as recently as last week! I now know the backstory! 

As much as he was a movie buff, he was a great connoisseur of Kathakali. Watching Kathakali with thaatha throughout the night and returning in the wee hours of the morning is vivid in my memory. His Kathakali viewing spans across almost 5 decades; so much so that the artistes pay respects to him before they begin putting on their “Vesham.” Kathakali has a particular employment of ragas from the Carnatic league, they stand out from the rest and come with a lot of depth - the different nuances render a lot of character to the story. Ragas like Mukhari, Kamboji, Sree, Bhairavi, are all ragas that I picked up from thaatha, learning how to identify them. 

When sitting with his stainless steel “murukaan petti,” he suddenly breaks into a raga alapana, and asks me to guess the raga… I better get it right, lest I’d see his mocking smile, with his lips tinted a reddish orange owing to the chewing of beetel leaf, laced with “chunnambu,” on the spine of the beetel leaf. 

The murukaan petti had a heady smell to it, that of rolled tobacco leaves : dark brown in color, and some light brown : “seeval,” (wafer-thin arecanuts) and finely chopped “adakka” (arecanut). The murkaan petti almost always bore his chunnambu-laden finger prints. 

There was something fascinating about this stainless steel murukaan petti, that I’d particularly eye on laying my hands on it each time thaatha is looking away! Eventually, I began daring to ask Thaatha for a murukaan, and he’d happily make one for me… at a time when kids weren’t even supposed to know what such things meant !! That’s the privilege I had with Thaatha, his close associate : each time I’d visit from Chennai during my school holidays. 

Although there were other grand children in the household, they were either too small or too far away to spend time at my maternal grandparents’ place, leaving me with a monopoly at the time! 

I had uninterrupted time with Thaatha, and paati, right from the start of their day: in the dawn… when Thaatha tuned into the radio and starts sweeping the house. Paati duly hands over a tall tumbler of kattan Kaapi (black coffee), and boy: isn’t that how my permanent affair with coffee began!!

The Southern Railway route though, leaves an indelible memory with Thaatha though: this is where I learnt the names of stations by heart, better than what any geography text book could teach! Kottayam to Trivandrum, and backward… Thaatha used to randomly quiz me on the names of stations as they approach… that I’d recite them like a piece of poetry! Thaatha being an ex-employee of the Indian Railways, meant countless trips with him in the train: just Thaatha and me, during my summer vacation! He’d carefully point through the window grill and show me the movement of the fish plates in the railway tracks; explaining how it is controlled by staff at the control room. As a child, I used to watch the fish plates make the x symbol, with rapt attention… when they form into a perfect x, the train comes to a halt, reaching a certain station. 

Perhaps the tracks of time decided to make a perfect x, ordering a halt, bidding adieu to this tall man in my life, my eternal, maternal Thaatha. May you rest in peace, dear Thaatha. 

Through the Sounds

 The teacher at the phonetics class back in my college, used to break words into syllables and sounds. Every word that had already been residing in the brain, for years, gets a new outlook, thus - for this is how we learn to pronounce right. For example, the word freight is pronounced phonetically like this: “fra” followed by the number eight … so it would be : 

“fra-eight.” When you pronounce freight as “fright,” the meaning alters into “fear,” perhaps literally! That was a glimpse of my days of graduation in the field of Communicative English.

So these sounds find their way into the eardrums and the brain makes references with them to form meaning and sense. We register a lot in our heads, through sounds - even without the visual, we are able to second guess what’s coming. When the music turns melancholic in an audio piece, we can tell that it was perhaps a sad scene in the movie, with the sad tone being employed to depict melancholy. 

Millennia before, Sanathana Dharma, had already derived the logic of speech and language - it’s madhyama, vaikhari roopa - meaning, the sound of the syllable before it’s uttered, followed by the uttered audible word in itself! 

This logic of language and its very basis of understanding applies to a toddler too - they’ve been listening to the sounds of the mother, perhaps in an amplified effect, while staying afloat in the amniotic waters.

It’s been exactly a year since I got inked the first time, with the line from Lalitha Sahasranamam, bearing my little one’s name. A cousin told me, “when Niraamaya grows up someday, she’ll begin to identify her name through the tattoo on your hand, Usha.”

I smiled and thought perhaps that day is a bit far-fetched. However, just as I’d read books and newspapers to her, I’d also read all my tattoos to her. When the line bearing her name from Lalitha Sahasranamam is about to play, I consciously go to her and say - hey next you’ll hear your name…! I kept repeating this exercise unknowingly and unconsciously!

Coincidentally, one day she just pointed to the tattoo on my elbow, and looked at the TV screen when the line bearing her name came along! I was stumped, choked for a bit with tears of joy, not once did I realize that in exactly one year of me getting inked, the little one would get used to the written word and its sound so quickly! It’s truly Madhyama Vaikhari Roopa that’s doing the works. Now, it’s a regular for her to point to my tattoos and make me read them as though it were a book. It’s my quote-board after all. 

After all, sound is the first association, vocabulary is built on this basis. I am deeply thankful for the Phonetics and the  Sahasranamam, both playing foundation for my ability to train and communicate.

Shri Maathre Namaha.❤️

The line from Lalitha Sahasranamam is:

Niraamaya Niralamba Swathmarama Shruthihi!

East or West...!

The Sunday Express editorial described Panchabhuta Lingas this time - obviously, one of them was Akasha Linga - denoting space - Chidambaram Natarajar - who anyway has been my fantasy over the last couple years - there are several instances - life instances - when I needed affirmation from Natarajar, and I would see Him manifest through situations timed just perfectly right - after all - like our dear Nandhanar sang, Yen Appan Allava, Yen Thaayum Allava.

Anyways, through some home rearrangement and general decluttering efforts, our Natarajar at home, found His way on my work desk. Appa had kept Him safe in the pooja room, in the right direction.

Unlike Appa, I have zero sense of cardinal directions - except East and West, thanks to the Sun. I can only give directions with either left or right, and nothing beyond that. Appa's aptitude in topography was brilliant and beyond a point, perhaps annoying - because it wouldn't make any sense to a person who just knows left and right. He would speak geographical terms like second nature and utter words like furlong, when all I know is a few steps!

And so today, when waking up, I saw a golden paint in the sky and determined quickly that it was the East, that's a nobrainer. Well although it's a nobrainer, the mistake is, to not stop by, and take note of a simple sunrise through your own home's window. You don't really have to go to a fancy beach for getting clicks of the sunrise, making up for a social media feed. This is why we're not able to tell which is the East in your own house, because we just don't notice. 

Why was I looking for the East anyway - I wanted to my Natarajar, east-facing. Last night, I used the Compass app in my phone while placing the Natrajar, and it told me He was already east-facing. Today, the golden paint on the sky gave me a confirmation at 6.30am. Except Appa isn't physically around to appreciate my common sense - He's there with me as my moral compass, from all directions possible.

A lucky barter!

Chetta, how much for the paavaka, payar and mango — altogether 100/- rupees, said a street vegetable hawker, who puts up his stall twice a week. Only after I hung the bag of vegetables in my scooter did I realize that I only could pay through UPI, and that I hadn't brought my purse which had some liquid cash. I scanned his makeshift shop for a tiny box that would announce payments received, but none that I could scan for a payment! 

When asked how I'd pay him — without batting an eyelid, he coolly handed over 20/- rupees to me in turn, and pointed me to a lottery vending shop situated right opposite his makeshift shop; giving me a clear instruction — "hand over the 20/- rupees as liquid cash, and Gpay 100/- to the lottery vendor, and get me a lottery, I'll get it with blessings from your hands today!" I followed the instruction to the T and got back with my new purchase to hand over to the vegetable hawker. A fellow woman who had visited the shop, oblivious about the previous dealing between the vegetable hawker and me, was sharp with her comment — oh, so we can now barter with lottery tickets to buy veggies! Wow!

The lottery continues to be a harbinger of good fortune, while UPI payments happily coexist even in a so-called local village in Bharath!

Real is Rare

Amidst the buzz of quick commerce delivery apps that deliver bang on time, in no time, here's a refreshing tale of a humble courier...although courier is still widely used, it seems to have taken the role of a postal delivery. Receiving a speedpost makes it even more retro and would perhaps warrant a social media post!

Nevertheless... here's the courier tale. Not so popular for her skills and talent, almost always an unsung heroine, my cousin who lives in Bangalore, mindfully called me to collect my home address, not a whatsapp call or message, a regular phone call, asking for the address. Every detail like this needs to be called out because, real is rare these days. And so, I gave her my address. In less than 3 days, she called me back saying "hey, I've sent a courier to you, the parcel contains the paruppu podi that I made for you and your Amma, ask Amma not to take the trouble of making the podi, I've made it for you!" To top it further, this is stemming from feedback about her culinary skills when Amma and I were in Chennai at my aunt's place, where my cousin had already given a bottle of the paruppu podi when my aunt had visited Bangalore. So this paruppu podi is already doing the rounds amidst our family members and it is but natural for us to be appreciative of the person behind its making - my cousin: who is completely unassuming and naive. In fact, I had been meaning to call her and talk to her about the glory of her paruppu podi creation; that I got the chance to taste in Chennai (brought from Bangalore :)), but I forgot to call, amidst all the whatsapp and other inundation of work. My cousin though, thoughtfully sent me a message saying - "hey I heard you liked my paruppu podi..." and then the next thing we see in a few days is, my cousin visiting our home in Palakkad, as a surprise trip! She almost got ready to prepare the podi during her stay here, but couldn't get started with it. However, upon her return to Bangalore, she decided to prepare it there and send out a courier to us in Palakkad! This may sound very lay and common, but truly, real is rare, I repeat. 

My cousin's courier packaging skills tells us a story, needless to talk about her culinary skills, which have never seen the light of social media or even a whatsapp status for that matter; at an age when even our morning coffee is decorated with great ado and posted in social media as though all others weren't paying too much attention to their morning beverage. 

Unpacking the podi was seamless - because the packaging was simply simple and brilliant! Any fool can complicate things, but to understand and do it simply, takes tons of patience, perseverance, consideration and love for the other. With almost print-like handwriting in a lovely majenta colored sketchpen writing, the contact and delivery info was neatly written. A different color was used for the From address, different from choosing a different font color in Word, you actually pick a different colored pen here in this activity!! 

2 layers of thick lamination paper that is used to cover notebooks made for the outer cover, with the right amount of cellotape, and careful non-use of stapler pins! For the inside was protected with a layer of ziplock cover that was actually zip-locked correctly without airblock, and was further cellotaped with small bits, for additional protection. I didn't have to spend time on releasing my fingers off of cellotape bits!

If someone can spend so much time just on the packaging, the courier delivery is needless to be talked about - she goes a step above, and asks me if I needed a pic of the AWB, so I could track! As predicted rightly by her, the courier arrived within the expected ETA and she even made it a point to check with me if we'd be home to receive it! Hats off to the attention to detail - all the way from collecting feedback about the podi up until delivering it to us! 

She deserves an appreciation post I thought, amidst all the standard templated hearts, gifs and stories, this podi tale, that was made very personal, didn't fail to leaving a lasting impact, unlike the shortlived virtual memories - for this one is real, and real is rare! This is simply pure love! Lots of love to you!

Thank you, dear Push (her short name :))!

Leaving you with a glimpse of her handwriting!