THE STREET WHERE I LIVED

Coexistence in camaraderie


As a youngster, I lived in a street called Collector's Bungalow Road in Kovilpatti. There was a government bungalow there, which was occupied by a sub-divisional magistrate, not a Collector. But, somehow, the `Collector' got into the name. Later, it was cut short to `Bungalow Street,' which was more appropriate. Among the bungalows was one belonging to the Zamindar of Kuruvikulam. Gandhiji halted here briefly during one of his whirlwind tours of the country. Later, the Zamindar sold off this bungalow.

What is in a name


The people living on Bungalow Street used their caste names, but they moved with their neighbours without any consciousness of caste or creed. Theetharappa Mudaliar, Arasappa Pillai, Krishna Raja, Nataraja Nadar and Susaiyappa Naidu, who was a Catholic, mingled in social camaraderie all through the year. And the children and grandchildren of these neighbours all played together. We played a lot of native games in addition to hockey and football. The girls played games like `Pandi.' On moonlit nights, we played hide-and-seek, and guessing games after dinner.

On festival days, sweets were distributed to all houses. When `Kaarthigai dheepams' were lit, they were lit in all houses. And When Christmas came, there were paper lanterns hanging in all houses. Those days there were no Xmas lanterns available in the shops, and so had to be made at home. All the young ladies got together to make these lanterns. They never thought about what religion they belonged to.

And when youngsters were recruited for carol rounds, many non-Christian boys also joined in. (Girls never came on carol rounds those days). I was taken along not because I sang well, but because I made a lot of noise, which was necessary to wake up sleeping householders. Crackers were burst by all the boys during Deepavali and Christmas. Sometimes, some families joined together and had moonlight dinners (Nila Choru) on the terrace of one of the houses.

Highbrows and lowbrows


The men of our street, along with some others from neighbouring areas, started a literary association where they gathered in the evenings and discussed literary or philosophical questions. They also played carom, chess or bridge when they wearied of intellectual fare.

One of my aunts who lived in Bangalore had come home for a vacation. She organized a dinner in which she tried to incorporate the sophisticated practices of her high society friends. There were place cards for each diner which had a kind of riddle, which, when solved, would give the identity of the diner, and he had to sit in that place. She looked forward with great anticipation to the way the diners would react.

She was terribly disappointed when the gentlemen of the neighbourhood brushed aside the card routine and plumped themselves wherever they wanted. "Why all this, just serve the food" (Idhellaam edhukku, summa saappaadu podamma). She went off into the next room in a huff, muttering, "Country louts." They were perhaps not too sophisticated but they were wonderfully humane. At times of need they showed great concern, compassion and brotherly love.

Since those days, I have lived in several other streets in so many cities. But Bungalow Street is still on my mind, evoking pleasant memories of an ideal neighbourhood.









J. VASANTHAN



© Copyright 2000 - 2008 The Hindu

PRETTY POLLY

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A bird with a heart









From the time I can remember, there was a parrot in our house, and it was there until I was fifteen years old. My mother had found it in our garden when it was very small and had reared it tenderly, hand feeding it and fussing over it.

It always sat on my mother's shoulder or on the arm of her chair. She taught it to talk, and it picked it up very quickly. She called it Polly, and the parrot learnt to say `Pretty Polly'. It also said `God is Love'. At that time there was a popular song that went `I Love to Whistle'.

My mother taught Polly to whistle the entire tune. When my uncle (mother's brother) went off to college in another town, my mother taught Polly to ask "Where's Bhaskar?" And Polly kept asking that even when Bhaskar was at home on vacations.

Polly's Cage


We bought a very large bird cage from an Englishman who was disposing off his goods prior to leaving India for good. This cage had a rod for the bird to perch on. It also had a swing and two containers, one for food and the other for water. The bottom of the cage was detachable for cleaning. Polly was mostly outside the cage sitting on the arms or the backs of the chairs in the drawing room.

When my mother left for school in the morning (she was a teacher), she put Polly in the cage amidst vociferous protests from the bird. She saw to it that Polly had enough food and water for the rest of the day. Polly sat on the swing for awhile whistling and chattering away, and then started dozing on its perch. When my mother came back in the evening, Polly screeched to be let out. And as soon as it was out, it rushed to my mother, climbed on her shoulder and started cooing and clucking.

Polly's cage was kept in the backyard of our house. And Polly was better than any watchdog. It raised a rumpus every time some vendor came to the back of the house. It flew about in its cage and made high-pitched sounds of alarm. After someone in the house had come to deal with the vendor, Polly would stop screeching and go back to whistling its usual tunes.

Polly's Friends


Sometimes a bunch of wild parrots landed up in the garden at the back of our house. Polly would get highly excited. And my mother sent it to meet the wild birds. Polly flew up to the tree where the wild birds were. And then followed an animated dialogue between them. We could make out that the wild birds were inviting Polly to join them. But Polly invariably declined the invitation and came back to perch on my mother's shoulder. Polly was quite a dancer. If a mirror was put before it, it started making clicking sounds, and moving into a kind of dance. It assumed that the reflection in the mirror was its dancing partner. It stretched its wings and touched the mirror with its beak in a kind of rhythm that was very well maintained.

Polly usually gave me and my friends a wide berth. It didn't trust youngsters since they were prone to teasing it. In fact I did tease it now and then. And Polly never missed a chance of giving me a few sharp nips before flying off to the sanctuary of my mother's shoulders. But if I were punished for some mischief I had done, Polly would loudly oppose the punishment.

Polly quite often sat on the back of a high straight backed chair in the drawing room. It fluffed itself into a ball and made itself inconspicuous. Unsuspecting visitors who sat in this chair were in for a shock. Polly started nibbling on the ear studs of ladies or the ear lobes of men, causing them to leap up in the air yelling. We usually warned visitors about Polly's domain.

My mother unexpectedly died after a very brief illness at the age of thirty six. Polly set up a terrible screeching the whole of that day. But we couldn't attend to it right away. After the funeral we found that Polly had not touched its food. It refused to eat though we tried our best to feed it. It had also become unusually quiet.

A few days later the wild parrots came to the garden and set up a racket. Polly went to meet them. And as usual the wild ones invited it to join them. This time Polly agreed to do so.

That was the last we saw of Polly.


J. VASANTHAN


(e-mail: jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)

© Copyright 2000 - 2008 The Hindu

STRAINS TO RELAX WITH

Musical interlude


Recently I had to undergo eye surgery, and was admitted to a well known eye hospital. The file they prepared for my case must have looked like a danger signal to the doctors. On the cover of the file was a large red rectangle within which in block capitals was the word `DIABETIC'. Another red box below said `CARDIAC PATIENT'. And another beneath that proclaimed me to be `HYPERSENSITIVE'.

My old friend, Prof.V.Srinivasan, who is a consultant in the Instruments Section of the hospital, went about with his usual brisk efficiency fixing up appointments for me with a charming trio of doctors. The vivacious Dr. Usha (Surgeon), the earnest Dr.Bhanusri (Physician) and the jolly Dr.Ravi (Anaesthetist) took me in hand. Dr.Ravi joked and laughed as he knocked me out with a sedative. When I came round, I found that the operation had been successfully completed. The difficult part was yet to come. I was told not to read, write, watch TV or even talk too much. The last item was the most difficult for an old college professor, even a retired one. I felt this was a tough situation. But later I realized this was a good thing too, for I was now forced to turn to my collection of much-neglected audio cassettes. And so started my voyage of musical re-discovery.

Bing Crosby


I began with one of the most melodious songs I have ever heard, Kaatrinile varum Geetham sung by M.S. in `Meera'. It did sound like music wafted on the breeze. Next came Bing Crosby's popular songs of the 40's. His White Christmas was the largest selling single in the history of record sales and a great favourite with the soldiers during World War II. He had a slight growth in his throat that gave a characteristic tremor to his voice, which was very attractive. Crosby sang a song High Society along with Louis Armstrong, (known as Satchmo) who had a raspy voice. Those days when a song by Armstrong was announced in the radio, the announcer used to say "Let us shovel some gravel out of Satchmo's throat". Armstrong was also a great jazz trumpeter. I then listened to Frank Sinatra singing Three Coins in a Fountain, and the saucy renderings of Eartha Kitt. Then came the lively songs of Julie Andrews in `The Sound of Music', and the theme songs from films like `High Noon' and `Dr.Zhivago'.

Beethoven


The next cassette was Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. When I attended a short course in the Film Institute at Pune, the music director Bhaskar Chandavarkar, had played Beethoven's `Fifth' for us and explained how the whole symphony was a clever permutation and combination of just a few notes. This symphony is perhaps the best known piece of Western classical music. It is almost impossible to believe that this musical genius was stone deaf.

I listened with a nostalgic thrill to the song, Moonlight and Roses which I had heard and enjoyed as a little boy. And then there were Mantovani's instrumental numbers. Next came Jim Reeves. His song, I'll Fly Away, is a poignant one since he died in a plane crash a few days after recording it. He was twenty nine years old. I listened to Yanni's instrumental pieces which put one in a buoyant mood. I have a cassette of jazz music which sets one's feet tapping. I like M.K.Thiagaraja Bhagavathar and T.M.Soundararajan. They have a similar timbre. TMS gave effective musical expression to the lyrics of Kannadasan and to the performances of MGR and Sivaji.

Lata


My all-time favourite though is Lata Mangeshkar. I heard her when I was in college, and still continue to be spellbound by her. The song Aayega from `Mahal' is perhaps my favourite song. It is hers too. Her mellifluous voice is matched by the charming way she enunciates the words. For over half a century her voice has been ringing out from every nook and corner of the country, always sweet and always true. Her voice is verily a gift of God. I have started reading now and watching TV. But I have decided to listen to my audio cassettes too. And so the music will go on.


J. VASANTHAN


(The author can be contacted via e-mail: jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)

© Copyright 2000 - 2008 The Hindu

BON VIVANT

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Anthony Michael Xavier Hirudayaraj was a big man in every way




The dictionary defines bon vivant as a person indulging in a sociable and expansive lifestyle. And if one wanted an example for this term, one would have found it in my friend Anthony Michael Xavier Hirudayaraj (or AMX for short).

I first met AMX when we both joined the M.A. English course in the Madras Christian College. I was struck by his awesome appearance. About six feet in height, and an enormous girth, he weighed around three hundred pounds. When he walked on the road, he attracted more glances than the prettiest girl in town.

I had come to study after a four year break. AMX had been a tutor in the Loyola College for a few years and then come to get his MA degree. So we were a little older than some of the students, though there were two ladies older to us. AMX was a resident of Selaiyur Hall, while I was in Bishop Heber Hall. But we were constantly together.

Gourmet Trips


Both of us had season tickets to travel by electric trains from Tambaram to Beach Station, and we made full use of these tickets. One day a week we attended inter-collegiate classes in the Presidency College. And from there we usually took off after classes (sometimes even before) to loaf around.

Sometimes we went to a restaurant . One day AMX ordered for three laddoos. The waiter looked around wondering who the third person was. And AMX said, "The laddoos are for me. This gentleman doesn't eat sweets". After he finished the sweets he ordered two masala dosais which also he devoured. Then he ordered for coffee. "How many cups, Sir?" the waiter asked. AMX put on a show of anger. "How many cups does a man drink? Are you trying to be cheeky?" The waiter paled and retreated in a hurry. AMX chuckled at the plight of the waiter. Such incidents happened quite often.

After we completed our course AMX went back to Loyola as a lecturer, and I joined the staff of the MCC. Later he went to V.O.C. College in Tuticorin, which was his hometown. And then since his wife Isabel was working in Madurai, he shifted to the Madurai Kamaraj University. Meanwhile I had moved to the American College, and so we were able to renew our periodical get-togethers.

As he grew older AMX avoided any kind of exercise. He walked only when absolutely necessary. Mostly he lounged around on a sofa. But he still had a Gargantuan appetite. He also smoked like a chimney. All this got the people around him worried. But he himself was not in the least bothered about his health. He never went for a check-up nor took any medicine. His weight kept increasing, and he looked like a gigantic monolith. We told him that at this rate he might burst one day. Whereupon he chuckled, and his body shook and quivered until we wondered whether the event we had predicted was imminent. Wherever he was there was fun, laughter and camaraderie.

The Great Escape


Though he found it difficult to walk, his body responded to his urging when the occasion demanded it. Once his wife Isabel had been admitted to a hospital for some ailment. AMX went to see her. As usual he had taken an autorickshaw. The driver slid the vehicle as close to the steps as possible so that the big man could just step out onto them. AMX went up in the lift to the second floor and sat chatting with Isabel. The doctors seeing his size suggested that he too should have some tests done. When they started becoming a bit too persuasive AMX jumped up and rushed out, thundering down the stairs two at a time and leaped into the waiting auto. The auto driver, sensing the urgency, took off like a bat out of hell and vanished from the scene.

AMX's two daughters, Malarvizhi and Purnima and two sons Sudhir and Sanjeev did very well in their careers and came up in life. Purnima has a cute little daughter called Snehaa. But AMX was not there to see all this. He passed away after a very brief illness on November 16, 1998 at the age of 64. Just as he had wished, he didn't go to a hospital nor did he suffer long as an invalid.

Death was swift and kind.


J.VASANTHAN


(e-mail: jvasanthan@sancharnet.in)

© Copyright 2000 - 2008 The Hindu