Kapali!

Learning About Trees:

Rajani's Learning Tree school has three spaces - all named after trees: the tall Ashoka, the broad Banyan, and the flowering Gul-Mohar. She now knows the first two well, as we often spot them on our drive to the IIT campus. Here she is, on the left, under the Ashoka tree, just outside Ramesh's department, DoMS.

Below is the majestic Banyan. Its vines drop to the ground, take root, and grow in to broad stems, widening the girth of the tree each year. We see several monkeys on these trees.

















The annual Chariot Festival at the Kapali Temple in Mylapore:

Ramesh's neighborhood, Mylapore, is home to the ancient Kapaleeshwarar Temple, said to have been around since atleast 1250 CE. The lore is that Parvathi, Shiva's wife, in the form of a peacock, worshipped him here. Thus the name Mayila-pore (pronounced mayeela-pour), meaning city of peacocks. Every year, Lord Shiva, here known as Kapali, has a day out on the town, in his 100-foot tall chariot. Hundreds of devotees draw the chariot, and it is altogether a great experience, for the spiritually inclined, the mechanically inclined, and for the fun festival atmosphere. He is preceded by his first son, Ganesha, followed by his wife, in her own separate chariot, who is followed by her other son, Murga. Here are a few pictures from the festival, taken on the morning of Friday, the 27th. We were there between 6:00 a.m. and 8:30 a.m.
On the left, the chariot is ready and waiting for Lord Shiva to arrive. Below: wonderful hand made toys are sold at the festival. I have memories of being bought some neat wooden toys. Today, limited choice among very poorly made toys are the norm.

















Left: a glimpse of the replendent Lord, adorned in garlands inside the chariot, guarded by gana-boodhams or dwara-balas.













Left: while the task of pulling the chariot falls to the devotees, (it is considered a great privilege), the mechanics of turning the chariot as it travers around the temple is the responsibility of these young men with sticks. No motorized or mechanical device is used. It is good old-fashioned laws of physics, wooden wedges, and man (yes, only men) power.






Left: Decorations on the chariot.













A Rare Treat!

On Tuesday, the 27th, Rajani's music teacher, Usha Padmanabhan, (and as of Monday, mine!) performed at the Music Academy Mini Hall, upon having received an endowment award. She sang select Sanskrit krithis composed by Sri Thayagaraja:

After warming up with
Devathi deva sadashiva - Sindhu ramakriya - Adhi, and Janaki ramana - Sudha seemandhini - Adhi,
she took off with Sri Naradha natha in Kaanada - Roopakam.
A very nice Panthuvarali followed with Shambo Mahadeva, with neraval and swarams at Amboruha padhambhuja. A brisk Mamava raghunatha in Jaganmohini followed, as did Bhajare Bhaja Maanasa in ragam Kannada. Another rare krithi (to my ears) was Varashiki vagana vaarija lochana in Supradheepam. A most excellent and expansive Kamboji was the prelude to the Sri Raghu varaaprameya maamava, sung like a swarajithi, with swaras preceeding the anupallavi, and each of the three charanams. She concluded the concert with Thavadha soham in Punnagavarali, and followed it up with a Madhyamavathi mangalam and Srutti slokam. It was altogether a very solid performance for 2 hours and 15 minutes and she had great support in Nellai Balaji on the mridangam.

I also heard Vasundara Rajagopal (Nisha Rajagopal's mother), who also sang pretty well, and tackled Janaranjani for about 30 minutes.

Savitha Narasimhan's was another excellent concert. She is said to be a child prodigy, having identified ragas at age 3 (wouldn't that make Swathi a prodigy too? I remember her calling out "Behag!" at 2 and 1/2 in Sydney!) She learns from RaviKiran and sings sampradhaya music. Her main pieces were Varali and Mohanam (Kapali!).

After years of listening to Sriram Gangadharan on tapes and cds, I finally got to hear him live at Hamsadhwani last Friday. It was a treat indeed! His voice is his strength and it does whatever he wants it to do. But alas, his lack of thronging audience as for Sanjay, is his literal copying of the GNB style, they say, and not developing one of his own. He sang a rare SruthiRanjani, the famous Thamadhamen Swami in, Thodi. He also served up a couple of compositions from his repetoire of Nandhanar Charithram.


Goodbye until the next post, if I have survived the painters who take over the house tomorrow! Posted on April 4th, 2007

Fulbright and More!

Ramesh Lands the Fulbright!

We have received news that Ramesh has been awarded the 2007-08 nine-month Research Scholar Fulbright Award for his proposal on rural telecommunication networking in South India, and its implications for e-governance. Very exciting, indeed! However, we have been reading that the government of India (GOI) has been notoriously slow in approving proposals of research scholars, in particular. Last year's awards were not approved until 9 months later. The GOI is just flexing its bureaucratic muscle as foreign nationals bring their research expertise to India The U.S. State Department has since made much noise, and we hope that this year's awards will be approved with alacrity. Nothing is final until the GOI approval. Ramesh will visit the US in June for about 10 days to attend the Washington, D.C. orientation provided to Fulbright awardees, (Kannan, you may meet him there if you go too), and perhaps visit our friends in CT.


Rajani in School's Annual Play

Wednesday, the 21st of March was a big day for Rajani, and her school of 72 children. Everyone had been working hard these last few weeks to put together a performance of songs, a play (where Rajani was the "sky maiden"), and a dance. Parents were not allowed to take pictures as professional photography was arranged. As soon as I get them, I'll be sure to post a few.

The DVD will make precious material to embarrass many a children on their wedding day! Children as young as 2 and 1/2 were on stage, crying, one picking up her dress and showing off her colorful underwear, another refusing to wear the bottom half of his outfit, and yet another (who was a cloud) refusing to let go of the mike. It was hilarious altogether! Rajani appeared to enjoy dancing to "para bailar la bamba" the most, twisting and shaking her hips, leading with all the moves, a big grin plastered on her face! Not one of the children forgot his or her lines. They all did a great job!

She is making good progress in her classical music lessons with Usha Padmanaban, who happens to be my CT music teacher's very own cousin. I am putting up two recordings, one of her school song and another of a recently mastered classical composition. Check out http://ramyasemail.googlepages.com

News of Akbar

We were encouraged by the vet to give him a summer haircut in March, in preparation for the sweltering heat that is to come in April, May and June. I foolishly dropped him off at the vet's with express instructions to leave his face and tail alone. When I picked him up, 600 Rupees later, he was a more like a plucked chicken or a new born rat, rather than my regal, gentle, handsome boy! His face and tail had indeed been done, while possibly being held down by one boy, while the other whizzed by his eyebrows with a shaver! He has since been so stressed out that he has refused food, lies around curled up on our bedroom carpet (a space he has assiduously avoided since his arrival here!) and has been trembling at the touch of a human hand! Gosh, what they would say, if they could speak!










Nonetheless, as the days get warmer, I am sure he will be grateful not to be wearing his Alaskan coat.

"These are a Few of my Favorite Things.."

With the arrival of the warmer months, a couple my faves begin to make their appearence: "malli poo" (no, not dog do-do - this is Tamil for a divinely fragrant flower, the jasmine), and mangoes.

As I go about my routine some mornings, I feel this is exactly the way I had imagined my life in India would be. And guess what? It is because it is just slightly warmer than is comfortable, and there is the fragrance of jasmines in the air. Something about that fragrance harks back a time that I don't even know exists, but it just does. I don't know if it is the crowded railway stations, the jostling of shopping on Ranganathan Street, the vision of women circumbulating Kapali Temple, or strains of old Tamil songs wafting through the window. I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the evening air, fragrant with jasmines. I can look forward to this for many more months!

My mother-in-law says that one should not buy mangoes till the Tamil New Year Day - April 15th. The mangoes are still green on the trees right now, inviting monkeys and stones from youngsters wandering on the streets. There will be several varieties of mangoes, from the green pickling kind, to about a dozen varieties of sweet fruit. Rajani keeps an eye on the mango tree at her school, collecting grape-sized fallen ones in the hope that they will turn yellow, sweet and juicy!

But what is ready right now, within arm's reach from my southern balcony are the neem flowers. They are frightfully bitter, but filled with all the goodness that the Neem is famous for, (and that pharmaceuticals are so anxious to patent. No, I won't get on that soap box now!) Ramesh would, as a child, lie on the branches of the neem tree in his back yard, snacking on its tender leaves and flowers. We use the flowers in a sweet chutney, a speciality for the new year meal, and dry the flowers and roast them in ghee to add to a wonderful rasam (a brothy soup).

More on the freshness of fruit and veggies in my next post. Appo paakalam! (see you then!)

View from the Driver's Seat

The Nostalgic

It was a hot summer in 1983. My mother sent me to driving school. A couple of years before that, as a high schooler in Dar-es-salaam, under the pretext of washing my father’s car, I had reversed it out of the garage, turned it around and put it back in (scratching it up a little – but we won’t tell my Dad that!)

The driving lessons were a joke really: the instructor had a set of important controls – the brakes and clutch. I realized fairly quickly that I couldn’t drive 50 yards without him by my side, clutching and declutching where needed! The real learning was to happen on my own, on the roads of Chennai, in my father’s Ambassador. I always used to take someone with me – his/her exclusive task was to put out a hand, and signal that I was turning left (we drive on the left of the road, sitting on the right), and to put on the headlights and wipers, for those knobs were practically in front of the passenger!

Cars have come a long way since. They now sport “A/C. No Hand Signal” on the rear bumper (fender), and the all important high-beam control is literally at the driver’s fingertip. Chennai too has come a long way. In the 80s, people still stared at the driver, if she were a woman, and smirked “lady driver!” if a fender-bender occurred!

The Hindustan Motors made Ambassador, affectionately known as the “ambi” was a solid car – a ‘tank’ in today’s Chennai. Indians traveled in large groups, and the ambi was capacious for people and their luggage. It was high, affording good visibility, and comfortable for long-distance travel. Sporting a whopping 1300cc engine, it roared down the marina at 50kmph without a shudder. I was a proud driver of the Ambassador.

When I married Ramesh, I met the Classic, (read vintage), Ambassador. It was a 1953 model, proudly purchased by Ramesh’s grandfather, and perfectly maintained by his father. Ramesh’s parents continue to maintain it to this day. It has no a/c, and gives about 8 kms to a litre of petrol. It typically travels a 5km radius to the nearby bank and post office. When we visit from the US, Ramesh and I drive it around a bit more, putting it through its paces.

The Street Scene

Driving the Ambi is increasingly challenging as more cars flood Chennai roads, and, real estate on the roads and parking spaces disappear! Neighbors ask why we don’t buy our father a zippy Santro (Hyundai’s small car for India). Still others suggest that we keep the Ambi for its vintage value – “they don’t make engines like that anymore!” What was a comfortable car is a dinosaur in today’s roads. It is a feat to pull it out of my parents in law’s shed (garage space) onto the crowded street (what used to be a quiet lane), and face it in the direction you want to go! [With so many cars parked on either side of the road, you are lucky to just get it out and go – let alone in the right direction!] Between the lack of space, and that of the power steering, one has typically broken in to a sweat maneuvering this boat out of the shed. The car has no air-conditioning either [Ramesh may refute that – for the Ambassador has a special triangular window, which, if angled correctly, can direct the wind in to the car, as it tears down C.P. Ramaswamy Iyer Road at 20kmph.] – was Chennai cooler in the 50s?

Ramesh and I drive when we visit Chennai – be it to take his mother to a temple or to make longer road trips. Steadily, over the last 20 years, we have seen the changes on its roads. The days of trying to get a couple of cows, which have literally settled down in the middle of the road, to move are long gone. [My uncle used to call my grandmother’s street “cattle avenue”]. The pedi-cabs have all but disappeared; as have horse drawn cabs. Cycles have also decreased, much to my chagrin. Replacing these are hundreds of thousands of powered two-wheelers – from little “mopeds” and “scooters” to motorbikes of varying engine powers. And there are cars. While once you had a choice between a Fiat and an Ambassador, today’s middle class shop for Maruti Suzuki’s Zen, Alto, the Hyundai’s Santro, Swift, Elantra, and enter the larger (for Indian roads) models, Ford Ikon and Honda City. Then there are the behemoth Tata Sumo and Qualis and the Scorpio (which America is going to import), and the most recent entry - the minivan, Toyota Innova, all vying for driving lanes, parking spaces and turning radii. On the public transport front, you have the infamous Pallavan buses, which tilt at a dangerous angle carrying 3 times the permissible load, my least favorite vehicle the “auto” (a three-wheeler cab), the share-auto (a larger, uglier and more polluting version of the auto), the maxi-cab (a large mini-van), notorious for indiscriminately pulling in and out of traffic to pick up and drop off fares, and now with the IT boom, gigantic private company buses, that ferry workers across the city, dropping them off at various points. Somewhere in this sea of vehicles are people: their pavements (sidewalks) have long been taken over by hawkers, and now there is absolutely no sharing on roads!

Rajani once asked me why there were no highways in India. I asked her to look around while we waited for the signal (traffic light) to turn green. Could she show me one California free way that could boast of at least 12 lanes of vehicles – all in one direction?

The Rules of the Road

Chennai driving is a challenge. (Did I say that already? More than once?) Most NRIs (the non-resident Indian is one who has left India to make a home overseas) give up driving in India, and resort to hiring drivers or using autos during their visits home. I am not sure if it is the proximity of fellow drivers, or the complete unpredictability of what the other driver will do, or the abject disregard for rules that makes one nervous. Many locals too have given up driving, and have hired drivers.

We have always driven in Chennai with a certain righteous attitude: we follow all the rules of the road (look that nit-wit, he doesn’t!), we are courteous (look at that ___ ___, cutting everyone off!), etc. But we are learning. We are learning that Chennaiites have their own set of indigenous rules, rules that conform to no international standards, rules that aren’t learnt just be driving for a couple weeks while visiting. One learns them by keen observation, and by driving in that sea of vehicles, as it deposits you on the other side of the river, and you have no idea how you got there.

1. Interpreting Road Signs:

“Free Left”

We thought: stop, look for a clear, safe opportunity to join the traffic.

Chennai rule: Do not slow down, do not look at the traffic that you are joining. Do not make any eye contact with other drivers. Just enter the stream, and drive on at your own pace.

“Halt and Go”

We thought: come to a complete stop, look left and right, and cross the intersection when safe.

Chennai rule: If you stop, you will be there forever! Just keep driving. The other guy will adjust.

“No Free Left”

We thought: one waited until the traffic signal directed us go.

Chennai rule: pretend to come to a stop, look around, and just turn left.

“No Entry”

We thought: we could not drive in to that road

Chennai rule: Surely you don’t expect me to be driving around all over town to get to the other side of this street, do you?

“No Parking”

We thought: you could not park there

Chennai rule: If you have a driver, you can park anywhere. He will move it as needed.

2. Driving Rules:

“Coming to a stop at a traffic light”

You thought: you stood behind the guy in front of you until you could move on.

Chennai rule: drive past all the fools waiting, get in front of everyone, even if you are blocking on-coming traffic so that you may the first to pull out.

“Turning right in an undivided two-way street”

You thought: you waited in the right most possible space in your side of the lane, when traffic was clear, you turned right.

Chennai rule: you wanted to turn right, right? So, get on the right lane, and turn where you want to! What are you doing on the left lane, nit-wit!

“Turning right when there are several vehicles in front of you”

You thought: you waited behind the guy in front of you, until you came to the intersection, and turned right when it was safe and clear.

Chennai rule: make like you are turning left, get in front of everyone, preferably blocking traffic, encouraging everyone to inch forward, and until the on-coming traffic has no room, and is forced to wait, while your side of the road makes that right turn – in 5 lanes!

“Passing” or “over-taking,” as it is referred to here:

You thought: Look for safe, clear passage, honk once, if needed, and pass on the right, when safe.

Chennai rule: bear down on the horn, flash high-beam non-stop, try the left first, and if the driver doesn’t give you room, try the right, honking and flashing. Be sure to cut him/her off when you do manage to get ahead.

“Turning right on a divided two way street”

You thought: you drove on the left, till a suitable U-turn was available. You made a u-turn and got to where you wanted to go.

Chennai rule: start driving on the right side of the road well before your turning comes up. The on-coming traffic knows full well that you are going to make a right turn soon, and that you can’t be expected to keep driving in the opposite side until a suitable u-turn is presented!

“Driving through an intersection”

You thought: I am on main road. I have the right of way. I am driving on.

Chennai rule: “Right of what?” I got to the intersection first, and I am right!

These are only a few rules we have learnt. We are mere students in this great college of driving knowledge. We’ll share more with you as we grasp these complex and unique driving skills needed to navigate the streets of Chennai.

Caio until the next post!

And the door bell - it keeps on ringing!

Typically, the Chennai household is up early - awakened by the milk delivery boy at 5 a.m. (a co-operative of milk producers put together their yield for the day, mixed in generously with milk powder, my mother will say, and are sold as sachets of milk - about a quart each. They are trucked in to chennai milk centers at the wee hours of the morn, and young boys or grouchy old men do their rounds delivering it to doorsteps). The paper boy may also have been instructed to ring the door bell, while dropping it at the door step (mine has learnt to high fling it to the 2nd floor balcony!). In some households, fresh flowers are delivered both in the morning and evening (that is getting rarer these days), followed by the arrival of the maid. The course of the morning sees the vegetable vendor and the fruit vendor. ( In my mother in law's neighborhood, the latter can be a specialist - only bringing several varieties of bananas. So, if you are looking something else, you might have another ringing your door bell). If you have scheduled your street's ironing chap to stop by every couple of days to pick up your ironing, then you will have a caller just when you are about to step in to the bathroom, and don't forget, he will be back later in the day to return those ironed shirts ... when you may be elbow deep in dough!

And if you were looking to get some peace and quiet during the day, the endless courier delivery boys keep you running to the door several times a day. The greater your investments, the more frequent the ringing. These days companies find it more secure to send dividend checks, annual reports, and the like, via these lads that ride a motorbike all over town, dropping off envelopes and collecting signatures, troubling those afternoon nappers. (Ramesh theorizes that the system has been so designed to promote the the solid Brahmin value that one should sleep little!)

Our day is a little different - we have left express instructions for the milk boy NOT to ring the bell, I buy my flowers, veggies and fruits at the store, and have cleverly given all of you Ramesh's parents' postal address.

This is a newly built apartment. Our neighbor upstairs is still having work done, and the ever revolving security staff (known as "watchmen") are still learning the ropes, I do have a lot of knocks on the door. (Akbar is usually spread out right at the entry way, much to the consternation of most callers, catching the crossing breezes. He has yet to bark at anyone, much to mine!) I thought I might share the happenings of a recent busy morning:

It begins with the arrival of the maid, followed by the ironing lady, who has come to pick up the day's ironing (and will later return to bring in the starched sarees from two days ago), then the neighbors from upstairs pop in to tell me that most of the carpentry is complete in their house, and would I please begin parking my car in the space allotted to me (the carpenters were working in our space for the last month.) I was assured that the space had been properly swept, was invited to review it for stray nails (which I declined and thanked for their diligence). After our goodbyes, the next caller was the building's common area cleaner. Her sister-in-law was just married two days ago. So she was there to give me a traditional offering of betel leaf, turmeric, bananas and coconut. (I accepted it guilitily for I had not attended the wedding, and was not prepared with the expected gift in Rupees!)

I had not quite made it back to the beans that I was cutting on the kitchen counter, when the door bell rings again. It is the ironing lady with the starched sarees from two days ago, along with the watchman, and another chap in tow. The latter had been sent by my parents-in-law to collect the remaining wood, sheets of formica and other miscellaenous things from the carpentry work completed a month ago in our apartment. The watchman is not sure whether these guys are legit. He wants my OK to let them move things. I give him the green signal. They will be back, for when they drop off the wood at Ramesh's parents home, a couple more pieces of furniture will be coming back with them for our use. When could I expect them? I ask. It is hard to say. Traffic could be bad.

I instruct my maid to sweep the parking bay clean after the stuff has been removed. She is back, with the watchman again. He has a worker from the Electricity Board. Apparently, he has been instructed to change the meter. Is he legit? I didn't think so. This is a new apartment, I say. All meters are new. Why should he change out any? There is an old one he says, could he have the keys to the meter room? I let the watchman have the keys, and instruct him to be vigilant. It turns out that the EB guy was in the wrong house, after all. The meter numbers did not match. I am relieved.

The neighbor's carpenter drops by. Could he have the keys to the terrace? He needs to put out some freshly painted doors to dry. I thought you were all done, I say. We are, he says. The painters still have a couple of days of work. I give him the key. I have gotten to know him well over the last month. He frequently wants the keys to the terrace.

However, things begin to smell funny when the sewer guys arrive. They are 4 of them and they open up the manhole inside the apartment building's compound wall. The watchman is at my door in a panic. They claim that a complaint was received about a problem. Could I please go to the balcony and talk to them. I do. This is a new building I say, we have no complaints. One guy waves a paper, it says number 43! I lock the door and go down. The paper looks legit enough. I reiterate that we have no complaints. They have the wrong address. On my way up, I see that the watchman has knocked on the doctor's door on the 1st floor. Clearly the watchman is concerned - the doctor is just the "Treasurer" of our building association. The doctor is sure these guys are just here to "case the joint." They have left now, I assure all of us!

I am in the middle of lunch, having a quiet read of the paper, waiting for the clock to approach 1:40 p.m. when I leave to pick up Rajani at school. The door bell rings again. It is the guys with the furniture. Could I put the dog away? He is in the way, not to mention one of them is really scared of dogs. He has been chased and bitten before. The two occasional chairs are moved in to place. And the two really dusty pieces are left in the balcony for later cleaning. I shoo them out of the house, grab my keys and head out, raising the deep tinted glass, turning on the a/c, and tuning to FM Gold: from 1:15 - 2:00, they play old carnatic recordings of the masters.

I shift in to 1st, and drive towards the school. No more door bells - for the next 30 minutes atleast!