Grandmother of the village

I was born and brought up in a big city and after my graduation I got into a college as a Tutor in English. I was always busy with students composition notebooks correction work and occasionally I was teaching poetry. After my work I used to go for a game of tennis in the evenings. I used to discuss with my father the current affairs that we read in the newspaper. One day I received an invitation from my friend who had gone after college studies to his native village to look after the farm he had inherited. He had asked me to go over to the village during winter vacation to spend sometime with him.

I went to his farm, which was in a remote corner of an isolated village. I was happy to be there with the natural surroundings and far away from the madding crowd. I could breathe fresh air and there was no pollution of any kind, which I always experienced in the city. Living in the second floor of an apartment we always faced acute problem of scarcity of water. In his farm house water was plenty and I enjoyed taking bath in the pond. My only regret was that I did not see any daffodils, which William Wordsworth described so beautifully in his poem.

One fine morning I was sitting on a coir cot under the huge mango tree bearing flowers that was sprinkling honey all over the place. A few yards away from it was a big Jackfruit tree and it was a sight to see the fruits hanging right from the bottom trunk of the tree till the top 'The coconut trees were up to the sky and swaying beautifully. At a distance stood the country apple tree full of thorn and it was holding the weaverbirds' nests. It was a thrilling experience for me to be in the farm.

Meanwhile, a villager came in search of my friend and he told him that the grandmother of the village was dead. My friend told me to go with him to the house of the grandmother of the village. When I interrupted he told me that he would tell me everything in detail later on.

We parked our bike on the mud road and walked on the footpath that was in the middle of the green fields dotted by small and big mango and jackfruit trees. I saw a huge crowd of villagers in front of a small thatched roof house. Everyone recognized my friend. He introduced me to Rev Father Erhard from Evangelic Church. Secondly Mani Iyer, the temple priest and Mullah, the Mosque in-charge. The village headman came to talk to my friend and I introduced myself to him. The small fire kept in front of the thatched roof house to show that a death has taken place was letting out more of smoke than flame. The village drummers standing near by the fire beat rhythmically and very softly. There were oil lamps and candles kept by the side of the dead body, which was placed on plantain leaves. Someone in the crowd was paying rich tributes to the departed soul. I could see all religious heads of the village present. They were discussing about the funeral. They decided to cremate the body once her relatives from the nearby village arrived. I took a break and went to the mud road where we had parked our bike. I met an old woman in a hurry to go to the grandmother's house. I stopped her and told her that it would take at least two more hours before they took the body for cremation. After asking my whereabouts she was ready to tell me the story of the grandmother of the village." You know", she started in her own way of narration.
"Muthamma came to this village after marrying a farm worker of this place. But unfortunately she became a widow. She went back wearing the white sari. According to their customs wearing a white sari is a must and she will be looked down upon as a bad omen. After a year she came back and started living in her husband's hut. She was working in a farm as daily wageworker and stayed away from all the functions of the village since she was a widow and was forbidden by villagers to take part in any auspicious functions arranged in their house.

The village people only knew her merit when she attended a co-worker's delivery. She acted as a midwife. She also advised the lady and gave her some instructions to follow. People started to go and take her for delivery cases. She did it without any charge. People were so happy and as a token of gratitude gave her white saris and food materials for her service. Almost everyone born in this village for the last forty years was born under her supervision. The grateful village called her the Grandma of the village. She was only a farm worker but she used to help the village in many ways. Whenever a newborn child fell sick, she was there to help by giving medicines prepared with medicinal plants. The government staff planted trees on the roadside and went away. It was Muthamma who nourished the trees you are seeing on the main road. Now no one can fill her place". The old lady went away.

I started thinking about the great soul. She was not a politician; she was not a woman of letters, not a Government employee; not a rich lady but the entire village was there to do her last rites because she lived a purposeful life helping others at all times. The same people once reused her entry to their home functions now accepted her as their Grandmother. I realized how true it is the saying that it does not matter how long you live but how well you live helping others that matters in the end.



(K JAMBULINGAM)

BANGALORE ,THE CITY I LOVE TO LIVE

I am writing about the city I live in, Bangalore is one of the most beautiful cities of the world. Here you come across people of different religion and languages. They all live in harmony.Even the vegetable seller speaks English. The climate is always cool like the inhabitants of the city.It is known as the garden city of India. The Cubbon park and the Lal Bagh are the plces most frequently visited by the tourists. The magnifiicent buildings of British days even to-day add beauty to the city. Even though some of theses buildings have been brought down to raise apartments.If you go up to picture the school or church you can see only green patches. In no other city the tourist feel at home with the natives. Everyone speaks more than two languages.People the Kannadicas are very friendly and peace loving. The food is very delicious.You don't have to argue with the auto rickshaw drivers, because every auto is fixed with meter and you need not pay more than the reading. This is not found in any other city in India.Thanks to the colonial rule the city has many hospitals established by them. In the colony where I live, you can see people from all over India and they speak different languages and they belong to different religions.An outsider will not feel that he is in a different country because people are so helpful and friendly.There are plenty of ammusing parks and National parks. For the wild life enthusiasts plenty in store.You drive twenty Kilometers and you are in forest area.I love my city.

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A Family of Dog Lovers

A FAMILY OF DOG LOVERS
. During my childhood we were living in a remote corner of an isolated village and the only companions to play with children were two dogs. The dogs guarded the sheep from the wolves that made frequent visits to our farms from the hillock that separated us from the main village whose inhabitants were a few hundred in number and most of them weavers. The dogs followed us during our hunt for birds in the woods and swam with us in the near by stream which was fed mainly by rainwater and most of the time it was dry and remained our play field. We used to play there with our dogs named Caesar and Tiger.
When I grew up, to keep my childhood memories green, I bought a dog and named him Caesar. He became friendly with everyone at home and my children played with him as we did during our childhood. The only difference was that we were in a village but my children were brought up in a military campus in Bangalore city.
When we went to our native village during my annual leave, we took Caesar with us. He adjusted to the new surroundings and played with the sheep. At that time we were invited for a wedding in 0oty. We took Caesar along with us in car. We planned to leave him in the farm of our family friend and wanted to take him home on our return journey. The wedding was over. I t was midnight when we reached my friend’s farm. We did not want to disturb my friend so we returned home. I was planning to go and bring Caesar the next evening. But Caesar made his appearance at our farm around noon. We were surprised and we phoned my friend and enquired. He told us that he was howling the whole night and in the early morning he jumped out of the fence and ran away. When we told that Caesar had already reached our farm, my friend did not believe us. Who would believe that he had covered a distance of seventeen kilometers? He had the amazing power of smell. My children used to make him smell the handkerchief and they would hide it in their secret place. But Caesar never failed to find the handkerchief. We returned to Bangalore with Caesar and our children.
Hearing about the home coming episode of Caesar, my friend wanted to exchange his German shepherd for Caesar, knowing fully well that Caesar was an ordinary breed. We did not agree to send Caesar anywhere.
It was summer and the number of stray dogs on the campus increased. They bit two of the inmates. We summoned the corporation authorities. They failed to trap them. Therefore the commandant summoned gunners from the grenadiers. Two gunmen came and shot a number of stray dogs. The howling of the dying dogs made Caesar to jump out of the five feet high compound wall of my house. Unknowingly he was also shot dead. That is how I lost a pet dog named Caesar. The irony of the situation was that I had to invite the gunners for lunch, as I was the Mess Commander
My daughter in USA has kept our family tradition alive as she has a Saint Bernard as her pet. After all we are dog-loving people!

BEGGARS IN TRAIN

Beggars in Trains


I entered the S 9 compartment of the Super fast Intercity Express bound for
Coimbatore.The train was jam-packed with holiday crowds. My co passengers were college students .They were on study tour to 0oty. Every one of them had cell phone and the earphones were either plugged into their cell phones or I Pods.

0n several occasions while traveling by train I had come across different types of beggars. They are different from those at cross road signal and temple entrances. I have seen many women with infants in their arms begging at the cross road signals. When you travel in air-conditioned vehicles, they tap the door and when you open the window, you see these women. You tend to close the window by operating the automatic switch. When the glass pane goes up you hear the last words of abuse for not giving alms.

The train compartment beggars are different altogether. I am not exaggerating. Once I saw a young man was cleaning the rubbish thrown all over the floor by the passengers who threw all the wrappers of chockletes and left over foodstuff in plastic cover under their seats. When the cleaning was done to the entire satisfaction of the passengers, he asked for money. Every one contributed.

As usual a one eyed beggar made his appearance. He started singing. The college students first made fun of him and after a while they asked him to sing songs of their choice. 0f course they paid him money good enough for his meals. The beggar made his exit hurriedly after seeing the security guards. The special security guards were posted in every train for the safety of the passengers. Two of them stayed in the compartment. There were more of them in the other compartments.

One of the students went to charge her cell phone at the electric plug points provided in each compartments. She came back and told me that a bag was lying near the door . She confirmed that she was able to hear tick-tick sound from the bag.

I became alert remembering Rajadhani Express blast I had seen on TV a few days ago. I knew about the King Circle Station story from BBC.

The guards were alerted. They pulled the chain and stopped the train. The passengers were asked to get out of the train with their luggage. The entire area was filled with tension and unknown fear. Passengers took shelter under a huge tree far away from the train. The bag that contained the suspected time bomb was in the same place unattended.

The Railway Protection Force came with the bomb removal squad. They were working out a plan to deal with the situation

Meanwhile a beggar got in to the compartment and went away with the bag, which created such a commotion. Eagle eyed policemen caught him by his collars. They opened the bag. There were two empty coco cola bottles and an alarm timepiece.

People heaved a sigh of relief and I confirm that the train beggars are not terrorists. We have to rehabilitate/educate them some day.

ATTITUDE

I reported for duty in the new unit. I was accommodated in the Unit Guest House temporarily. The guest house was built in the year 1900. The double roofed building had magnificent glass windows and wooden floorings. I found an old bath tub made in England, in the bathroom. The ventilators were fifteen feet above the windows. The circular shaped ventilator at the centre of the hall was more than twenty feet high. It could be opened and closed with the help of a cotton rope that was tied to it. The Guest House was used by the British officers as their club in those days. Even after the British officers left, the guest house was kept in apple pie order to accommodate inspecting officers and VIPs visiting the unit.

The outgoing officer handed over the mess and explained the duties that would be performed by me. I invited my predecessor for dinner at the guest house. After a couple of drinks he briefed me of the civilian employees of the mess. He mentioned a table waiter. He described him as a pain in the neck. He advised me to deal with him carefully. It was late in the night and we bid each other goodnight.
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The next day, I went to the mess office. I sent for the waiter. He entered my office with a tea tray. The milk, sugar and tea decoction kept separately. The way he served tea was impressive. I asked him about his roots casually. He told me that he hailed from Madras and his family stayed with his aged parents. I asked him whether he would like to ask for a transfer to one of the units in Madras, so that he could stay with his family. He did not answer my question.

He made a remark about the milk when mixed it into the cup. He told me that the milk had been burnt due to over boiling and that that was not the first time the cook was careless. 0nce before he was marked absent for duty and his pay was deducted from his salary. I did not take notice of his remark.

All the same, I asked the cook whether everything was ok. He told me that the milk was slightly over boiled and he added some cardamom to the tea and then mixed batham powder and served. I asked the cadets whether the breakfast was alright. They were happy to get batham milk.

The readers may wonder how a table waiter could have an upper hand. Since he was one of the senior most waiters, he was detailed to serve tea to the visiting dignitaries at the commandant's office. He came in contact with the commandant more often than I. The commandant used to call him by his name. He could tell tales about the mess to him.

Monthly inspection of the unit doctor had passed without remarks. Even the medical officer advised me to be careful with the waiter. He had told him that the surroundings were always dirty and we had cleaned it for his inspection. I remembered my predecessor's remark that he was a pain in the neck.

After a few days the messenger brought a slip from the commandant. He had asked me to see him in his office when I was free. I was sure of facing the guns. I went in immediately .Before entering his office; I looked at the large mirror kept on the verandah to make sure my uniform was in order. On the mirror it was written, “Am I looking smart”. He switched on the red-light above the entrance door to indicate that no one should enter the room He offered me a seat. Usually he wouldn’t offer a seat unless he had something important to discuss.
He asked me whether I had enough ladles in the kitchen. I did not answer. He told me that what he meant was whether I had enough spoons with long handles. He told me that he had come to know from reliable sources that the cooks used the same ladle to stir the vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes. I tried to answer. He raised his voice and told me that he was going to deal with iron hand if that was proved. I thought that I was caught on wrong foot. I felt an earth quake under my chair.
He called the adjutant over the intercom. He came in. The commandant asked him to carry out the inspection of the mess and report to him whether there were enough ladles and why the same ladle was used to stir the vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes. I was asked to wait in the visitors’ room till he came back.

Sitting in the visitors’ room I started imagining so many things. I was sure that higher caste cadets who were vegetarians would take it as an insult if they had known what had happened in the kitchen. The Commandant himself a vegetarian would not tolerate either. I thought of the Sepoy mutiny that resulted due to the Introduction of Enfield Rifles whose cartridges were greased with cow and pork fat. Vegetarian soldiers refused to handle the weapon. It caused a lot of problems for the British Indian Army.

The adjutant came back after half an hour.

I was called in but I was not given a seat. The adjutant and I were standing in front of the commandant. The adjutant reported that there were enough ladles in the kitchen and he could not confirm whether the same ladle was used to stir vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes. The report was the saving grace. I heaved a sigh of relief. The commandant asked me to be more vigilant. I left his office more confused.

I called the head cook and told him what had happened in the office of the commandant. He said,” Sir, this is the handiwork of the waiter. You must take some action against him”.

I knew that I could not take any action since he was close to the commandant. I was waiting for the right opportunity.

The Annual Inspection of the unit was carried out. The inspecting officer from Head quarters asked me to meet him in the guest house. I met him. He was highly appreciative of the mess working. He asked whether anything I wanted him to do for the mess. I mustered enough courage and told him about the problematic waiter and requested him for his transfer.

He stood up and starred at me. He said,” What type of officer are you? You want to pass on the problem to some one else. My dear young man, you have a long way to go. You must learn to help your subordinates and not to paint an ugly picture of them. I have never written an adverse report to my under officers. I never hesitated to recommend them for accecelarated promotion when they really deserved. Remember “What you sow, that you reap”. You must know that no one is perfect in the world. Do you catch my point?”

After his sermon, I felt that no one would help me to get out of my crisis.

Another year passed with many complaints fabricated against my mess staff and me. That year’s Annual Inspection was over. The inspecting officer asked me to meet him in the guest house. I met him. I sought his permission to talk about one of my employees. He nodded his head in approval.
I said,” Sir, one of the waiters has a problem. His family is staying with his aged parents. He has grown up daughters to be married. If you could transfer him to any one of the units in Madras”. I stopped to study his reaction.
He told me that no problem was new to him. He said that he was very happy to see that I had changed my attitude towards my subordinates. He asked me to forward the waiter’s dossier.

The waiter was transferred. The mess staff and I had good night sleep till another waiter sprang up in that place.

In the service it was all common. I had learnt to grin and bear it.

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