Sticking With It…

The subject of this post, my walking-stick is an authentic piece of cane, ramrod straight, sturdy but light in weight, with a teak-like finish lasting till-date! A simple specimen with its top somehow bent into curved handle without breaking it, going down to a bare unshod foot. No fancy triple or quadruple toes. Not even a rubber where it meets the road.

This was given to me some 40+ years ago on the day of marriage by my in-laws! Read on to know why.

In a mock ritual in our marriages, the groom in a bout of pre-wedding jitters suddenly decides to run away to distant Kashi for embracing eternal brahmacharya (bachelorhood) and in pursuit of knowledge, leaving everything behind. He packs essentials for the journey including an umbrella for heat and rain, coconut for snacking on the way, some rice, a spare dhoti and, yes, a walking-stick.  Even takes the first few steps of his ‘journey’ in that direction! Actually affording one last opportunity for the erring father to do the right thing by his daughter! But what does the guileless father do? He fouls it up, pleading with and persuading the groom to return by extolling the virtues of grihastha-ashrama (family life), and telling him how his darling daughter would make a perfect soul-mate, plying him with gifts.  

You also ask why the in-laws should procure the walking-stick, etc. for the groom’s sham act of running away from it all. Beats me. My guess: some ‘smart’ groom-side once tricked the poor bride-side into paying for it and ever since, it became a practice!

Moving on,

Everyone knows a walking-stick is essentially a load-sharing device when a man’s upper torso gets more ambitious than his lower. Also as a steadying influence when his head does not know which way is straight up. My reasons too, for using one though vanity keeps me from making it a constant companion.

More like the Swiss-army knife, it comes in handy in ways not all of it envisaged by its original designer – it’s said a tool is as good as the hands holding it:  

Like I use it in my morning walk to pick flowers at heights beyond normal reach.  

Likewise used as an extra-long limb: to fetch a shirt hanging on an overhead clothesline, clearing cobwebs at one swipe, scaring an errant spider back to its wherever…

It dissuades without violence some of those stray dogs coming into their own especially when the streets get lonely. You need to experience it to know how scary it gets.

Lets you test the ground you walk on especially when it’s uneven or in poor light. On the pavements, tiles that have broken loose from their seats are forced to betray themselves in time for a firm foot landing. Of course, much as it might not like to, the stick quite helplessly does not walk in step with you in the extraordinary eventuality of its own foot getting caught between broken tiles or in any other gap holding it fast.

Conversely, there’s one unfortunate occasion when it’s a thoroughly justifiable act of self-preservation to let your mate, loyally sticking with you thus far, go on his way. That’s when you skid on a slippery surface. It’s strongly recommended in the situation to free up your hands to find and hold onto a firm unyielding support, unmindful of the stick.  Of course, successfully executed, you’ll not remain separated for long.

It’s when crossing the roads the stick shows its true mettle, its awesome power no way hinted by its humble form. Like that fellow said ‘Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough….’, give me a stick and I’ll…it instantly freezes or slows down the oncoming traffic on the road like magic (Disclaimer: Does not work on highways or roads where they weave figures of eight or parts of it, or when everyone is fleeing from a disaster site close-by). Doing it right requires you, to tap the stick on the ground visibly and noisily as you walk across. Don’t underestimate the aural stimulation; often sounds work where sights don’t, especially impaired after a heavy enterprise like lunch…

And relatedly – this no RTO warns you of – this stick, not infrequently, also has the potential to take you to the nearest hospital in your area, for no fault of its. When and how? Well, when the oncoming traffic is an auto (three-wheeler). Your helpful move of hurrying up to get to the other side so as not to cause a hold-up could badly misfire. How? It’s plain as the nose on the face to see a safe passage, however desirable, is not a likely outcome – Newton confirms it – when two moving objects, their paths crossing, speed up while running their course, focused on their own goals. Yes, the auto – no AI here – expecting you to continue with your lumbering gait, stick included, computes and sets itself on a route and speed to pass clear ahead of you. And there you are in a hurry to…like it happens with most good intentions.

Cutting to the nub now:

Yesterday, witnessed yet another interesting deployment, by no means unprecedented, prompting this post. I may be excused for repeating this once: ‘…a tool is as good as the hands holding it’. And we Indians do it well!

We were at a municipal hospital near our home to take the first covid shot. The arrangements were very nice. Though long, the queue moved briskly. When we were near the head of the queue a stream of oldies (I’m 72!) landed. There was this guy – could be in late sixties or early seventies, helped by a lady appearing to be his daughter in his slow walk. It needed some effort for him to maneuver with his walking stick. The hospital authorities rightly allowed him to go right in, holding us back. Following him immediately was another old lady with a man and a woman accompanying her. She could barely keep herself awake as she was led by hand into the doctor’s room. And a couple of them more. It was another 20 to 25 minutes before we were let in. As I entered thru the narrow curtained door, I almost crashed into the first guy as he was coming out. He agilely stepped aside avoiding me and then walked out without a stagger or a stumble. Trailing behind him was the daughter trying to catch up with him and thrust the stick back into his hands!

A variation of this theme, though not involving walking-sticks, is played day in and day out at airports disgorging Indian ladies, old and seemingly infirm pushed around in wheel chairs. When in the baggage-claim area, someone makes a genuine mistake of picking up her suitcase from the conveyor-belt, lo behold, witness a miracle – with the alacrity of a long–jumper, she would leap from her chair to claim hers! She is cured!

Well, that’s it for now. Am sure there’s lot of interesting stuff more out there waiting to be uncovered, said…For instance, with an extra leg given to stand on, does it win you arguments in a litigation? No documented cases found yet. Kidding…

End

Bet You Didn’t See It Coming!

If these are unduely misogynic and downright mean at times…well, I didn’t notice it until it was too late. Will make amends soon:-)),

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Source: archonsden

A Treat Unexpected At Swamimalai (K3)

To me the word ‘Resort’ conjures up images of a row of cabins laid out around a pool, some trees and lawns thrown in, some play gear and a sand pit for children, etc. etc.

So when last week we set to Swamimalai near Kumbakonam to attend my niece’s wedding, a two-day event, I was too jaded to have any real expectations as we checked into this resort. In fact it caused me a little concern to learn it is an acclaimed, award winning hotel providing authentic living experience of bygone years – too authentic? As was in those days, did it also include hurrying all the way to nearest ‘nature’ with a bucket of water in hand to attend to its ‘call’, keeping eyes and ears open for curious small animals from the bushes sniffing around?

My concerns were grossly unjust – the accommodation was both comfortable, with all of the ‘atmosphere’ it is credited and a lot more! An experience I would love living through once again!

This was our ‘room’!

Looks exactly like our house in the village did some fifty plus years ago. In fact it’s an old dwelling in the village of Thimmakudy, acquired and renovated, preserving its original aspects as far as possible, thanks to the initiative of a ‘possessed’ individual! The door opens into a fairly large sized room with beds, chairs, tables of the kind one had seen if ever only in ancestral homes, complemented by a noiseless AC, a colour TV, a rotary-dial phone and a geyser in the bathroom.

It’s the same with every structure – residences, pathways, courtyards, halls – in the resort as seen here:

(main reception)

**

As you walk along, every now and then, you’re accosted…..by an icon, often full sized, in metal, terracotta…that you cant get tired of!

(a man of village)

(a woman of village)

(a village god)

(villager with bananas)

(Bhairava, a form of Shiva?)

(Lord Muruga, the presiding deity of Swamimalai, in bronze)

(Soorya, the sun god, in his chariot pulled by seven horses)

**

Walls adorned with large and beautiful pictures and frescoes painted by local talent using natural colors:

(Thiruvikrama, an avatar of Vishnu, his feet on the head of Maha Bali)

(Shiva)

(a marriage scene from Mahabharata?)

**

This is not all. What puts this resort in a class of its own, to follow!

End of Part 1

Wives And GF’s, Just Kidding:-)

***

Vide Elango Velur Thiruturaipoondi Tiruvarur‎ to “சிரிக்க, சிந்திக்க”

The couple returned home late one evening, the husband lugging heavy shopping bags.   

At the gate, the sympathetic wife offered: ‘Give me the key…I’ll open the gate…you shine the light on the lock.’

The husband put the bags down and obliged.

Trying hard as she might, still the lock did not budge.

After a brief struggle the wife budged: ‘You open the gate…I’ll hold the light for you.’

The husband took the key, inserted in the lock and tried.

‘Click’ and the gate opened easily!

 Wife: ‘This is how to hold the light, get it?’

***

Wife taking her driving lessons:

End

Source: bollywoodshaadis.com and Dhrruv Kumar‎Best English Quotes & Sayings

What Are Wives Like…

 

End

A No Story

“

Grandad: 87 years old

Grandma: 82 years old

Grandad – the keeper of the family history

Grandad has a drawer full of albums. His albums contain all of his photos in black and white, since he was a child in 1930, until he became a man, joined to the army then got married. Open the albums, enjoy the smell of old papers, see and read notes inside, you will feel clearly a whole life of a man with beautiful and special memories.

Grandma poetry is a diary into her soul

Grandma poetry is a diary into her soul

Grandma deep in her Inner World

Grandad learns to use the computer and internet by himself in order to keep in touch with his old friends and family members

Grandad knows how to use Facebook, basic Photoshop, Movie Maker

He said “everyone needs to know as much as possible about the technology to improve their mind and keep in touch with others”. He often makes short clips or photos to mail us, family members, as a gift in some occasions or just because sometimes he wanna share his feeling. He also is grandma’s teacher about technology.

Praying for the happiness of the whole family

Beautiful old skin. How many miles have these old feet walked?

Beautiful old skin. How many miles have these old feet walked?

Bún is her favorite food

“Once upon a time… when we were young”

…“

.

Where’s the story, you ask.

You just saw one, beautiful if ever!

Our story?

End

 

 

Source: A fwd from

Deepak Punjabi indigoblue2005@yahoo.com [funonthenet]

What Are Wives Like…

A ‘must’ read before you walk down the isle:

अभी–अभी बीवी के हाथ से घर की मेज पर रखा फूलदान गिर कर टूट गया,
फिर मुझे पता चला कि फूलदान फिछले तीन सालों से मैंने ही गलत जगह पर रखा था।

 

Just now, the flower vase, tipped (inadvertently) by the lady of the house, fell off the table and broke into pieces. That’s when I learnt I was keeping the vase not at its right place for the last three years.

End 

 

 

Source: santabanta.com and image from masterfile.com

 

Marriage – Harder…May Be Better Too

With the fervent hope my spouse doesn’t read this:

End

 

Source: Belinda Luscombe in Time, Sept 25, 17

 

 

Coming Events Cast Their Shadows Long Before…

 

End

 

 

 

Source: www

True Fiction

Part 1

…

‘As they say right, money goes with money,’ I said without a tinge of envy.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I hear Harish’ sambandhi (bride’s father) is a politician here. And you know what that means.’

‘No, No, you don’t know Varadan Sir. He’s not like others. People here like him, respect him…I’ve not yet had the occasion to see him.’

‘Tell me.’

We’re a bunch of class-mates from school, gone different ways later in life. But we do try to meet up on happy occasions such as this wedding of Harish’s son. Coming in a little early at the wedding hall, here I was ‘gupping’ with Raju, a cousin of Harish and a pucca local.

‘It was entirely due to his herculean efforts, the newly laid trunk road segment now passes through our town. Coming from Chennai, it is now Pudur to our Vaeppakkam to Medu and through to Trichy. Why, you must have reached here taking that road. How did you find it?‘

‘Yes, it was very convenient. Saved me a lot of time and bother as I didn’t have to change buses at Pudur and all that. You know what, Raju? I had always thought it was most logical and shortest for the road to go this way to Trichy. I’m glad wisdom finally prevailed. So what is the big deal about Varadan Sir making it happen?’

‘Oh…there was a hare-brained plan almost finalized to run this road some twenty miles to the east punching through Kollanpatti completely bypassing Vaeppakkam again.’

‘So he succeeded in bringing to you more noise, fumes, drunken driving and possibly accidents not to speak of a host of law and order problems?’

‘Consider the enhanced connectivity and convenience brought by buses plying this way. Faster movement of goods, easier access to Trichy. You saw those eateries lining the trunk road and a few lodges…vehicle repair-shops? All generating good number of jobs. You would have also seen a good number of peddlers on foot busy selling flowers, cool-drinks, biscuits and toffees, balloons and toys and what-not at the bus terminus. The road and the private/public vehicles on the road have added a totally new dimension to commerce in this small town. We would have lost out all these had they bypassed us. Whatever you said is a small price to pay.’

‘I was kidding, my friend. I told you I found it very convenient. It is well-established better connectivity means better services and more commerce. But tell me why were they planning to bypass you incurring a lengthy and meaningless detour via Kollanpatti?’

‘You know, initially this was the route the highway guys had planned when the project and funds were sanctioned as part of the state’s initiative to improve connectivity through incremental efforts.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Some crazy guys from here went up to the District HQ at Trichy making a hue and cry about the planned route overrunning their agricultural land argued for shelving it or finding an alternative. The authorities buckled and redrew the lines completely missing Vaeppakkam. When Varadan Sir got wind of it, he took it up with the babu’s. He fought it out for nearly a year to get the original plans restored. And it took another year to construct the road. ’

‘How did he win?’

‘Well, I don’t know how he managed it – he must have compiled a strong case for it.’

Just then quite unexpectedly a voice said: ’I can tell you what happened if you let me…’

Part 2

The voice belonged to a stranger, probably in his mid fifties clad in a spotlessly white dhoti and kurta, seated couple of rows right behind us within earshot. He had the manner of being important belonging to the bride’s or the groom’s party.

‘I don’t mean to butt in. I just happened to hear your talk…you see there’s nothing else to do here with no one around yet. Besides, I happen to know…’

In smaller towns, a chat on a public figure cannot remain private.

Unsolicited, he jumped right in and told us all resistance was finally won over by the simple expediency of quadrupling the compensation payable to the affected land-owners. Even this solution was at Varadan Sir’s suggestion.

My opinion of Varadan Sir, the politician, moved up by a few notches.

Our stranger-friend suddenly lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: ‘Would you know not a blade of grass grew on that land?’

We chorused: ‘So it was a mere drama played out by the land-owners for a higher compensation for their land that didn’t…?

He looked around and hushed us down: ‘There were no land-owners save one collecting the wind-fall compensation. ’

Seeing no light on our face, he continued: ‘You must have gone to see puppet shows? In there do you know why Rama fights the ten-headed Ravana?’

We didn’t see the connection: ‘Why? That’s the way the story goes.’

‘No, it’s only because the puppeteer so pulls the strings and arranges the fight. It is entirely another matter why he does that – yes, because the story goes that way.’

Now it dawned: ‘OMG, you don’t mean the whole thing was stage-managed from the beginning?’

He nodded with a smile seeming to say ‘Dumbos, now you got it.’

Is life like those TV mega serials or the other way around?

Raju was properly hurt at the insinuation: ‘No, my friend. If you’re implying Varadan Sir was behind it, let me tell you all this compensation from the government – must be small change for him. In fact he has enough, I hear, to compensate the government.’

Precisely at that moment the marriage party of the bride entered the hall for the finale.

Some men from the party rushed to the side of our stranger-friend:

‘Sir, we were looking for you all over the place. Something to be done here? Tell us, we’ll take care of it. Today your place is by the side of your daughter, Varadan, Sir.’

Varadan, Sir? Bride’s father? The man we were talking about?

We froze.

Before joining them our stranger-friend turned around and winked at us: ‘Sorry guys, I pulled this on you. You gave me an entry that was too hard to resist. My apologies again. Do stay back for the wedding till the end and bless the couple. Wont’you?’

We nodded weakly, looking redder than a ripe tomato. Luckily I didn’t think I said anything scandalous about him beyond his own account.

He left us standing with ‘And Raju, thanks for standing up for me. I appreciate it.’

I received a ‘I told you so’ look from Raju.

Part 3

I was on my bus ride returning to Chennai, my eyes on the rural landscape rushing past and thoughts swirling in my head. Quite naturally I went back to the chat with Raju and Varadan Sir. A rogue thought entered my mind: If a story is so plausible with no loose ends, might it be the truth? Told perhaps by the man’s vanity? You know vanity sometimes is more potent than any truth serum.

The line of thought did not persist for long, dissolving into the cute distraction the child was in the seat in front.

End

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PS: babu’s = bureaucrats, pucca = completely, purely, gup = talk with no serious purpose, Rama and Ravana are from the epic Ramayana, Dhoti and Kurta = men ‘s wear.
Credits: Images from thealternative.in (international-folk-festival-yakshagana-ancient-art-puppetry-lives), openclipart.com (Highway gsagri04), R. K. Laxman‘s cartoons and the net.