A strange thing to remember on Father's Day 2019

This Father's day, I have been thinking of my father, Anna. Not that I haven't been thinking of him and my mother on and off. I have and I do. 

There are literally thousands of things that remind me of my parents, who are both dead and gone. Sometimes its a smell, or a color, or a person, or a sound, or a date. Today, it's just the fact that it is Father's Day and I am seeing photos of fathers plastered all over Facebook.

Today, what I remember about my father is that he taught me what a tuning fork was by the time I was 7 years old. 

Photo Courtesy: Crystal Tones

For those of you who do not know what a tuning fork is, it is a two-pronged fork made of elastic metal. When stuck against a surface it vibrates and makes a high pitched sound that moves onto becoming a smooth musical tone.

So why would a father teach his children about a tool used to check hearing loss or tune musical instruments? It wasn't the use of the tool but what the tool did, how it moved, that he told us about. To much giggles and rolling of eyes.

Whenever we pushed him to do something or took advantage of his fun-loving nature, Anna would tell us, in a mock severe voice, "You are taking undue advantage of your father!". 

He would then pause, and go on to say,"We could never take advantage of our father like this. When ever we were summoned to stand in front of him, we shivered like tuning forks!" Their bones and insides trembling & shivering at a high frequency, while they looked calm on the outside. 

We heard this so many times that the term "shivering like a tuning fork" meant the same as "shaking in your boots". Of the two, "shivering like a tuning fork" is the phrase I like. 

It's personal. It's real. It's a part of my childhood. A part of me.

So it shouldn't seem strange that on this Father's Day, when I remember my father, I remember one of the many strange things he taught me. And "shivering like a tuning fork" is one of the strangest. 

Here's to all the strange, fun loving father's out there.

Have a great father's day!

Sibling Fights

Anil's kids play at Anna's house
while their mother sweeps and swabs the floors

One morning, Anil, our major domo, regaled us with stories of how his kids are constantly fighting. He was looking at Sanjiv to give him some advice. Advice on how to prevent kids from fighting. From an only child??!! Nah! That was not going to be any good, so I shoo-ed Sanjiv away and told Anil, "Brothers and sisters will fight all their lives. There is no solution."

I further told him that siblings will fight well into adulthood. Actually, they never end. Some turn violent (ref our Mughal kings), some result in siblings not talking for years (like Anna and Padukaka), some are yelling matches, some involve a truckload of backbiting.

Being philosophical, I tell him that sibling fights happen in all households. All households have stories of legendary fights. Here is the most famous one from Anna's childhood. Anna was not personally involved in this one, but it is so ingrained in my brain with his childhood, that I simply have to tell it. One that we still mention and laugh about at large family gatherings.

Photo Courtesy: Nordic Store Iceland

When Anna's brothers (Padukaka and Krishnakaka) were quite young, perhaps in their early teens, a relative gifted the boys a muffler (woolen scarf). One may naturally ask, "Why would someone gift a solitary muffler to two boys?", and "Why would someone gift a muffler to children who stay in a town where the temperature ranges from ~24°C to ~38°C?" No one really knows the answer to these questions other than that some well meaning adult gave a woolen muffler as a gift, with love and affection.

That love and affection was not felt by the brothers. The issue that rose between the 2 brothers was not when would they wear the muffler, but who had ownership of the muffler. They fought over it for days. Each one claiming right based on any reason that they thought was a strong reason. Padukaka thought he should get it because he was older. Krishnakaka thought he should get it because he was younger. All types of criteria were used - height, weight, how well they did in school tests, who could eat more of what, or climb higher, or swim faster, or hold their breath longer. 

My grandmother, Ajji, tried all she could to get them to share it, dividing days between them. Then weeks. Then she tried dividing it between them based on the hours in a day. Then tried weather conditions. But they would not listen. Each of the brothers' wanted absolute ownership and rights. This bitter and often loud fight ended when Ajji, got so frustrated that she cut the muffler in half and gave each boy a piece. Both got absolute ownership and rights over half a muffler.

When we fought as kids, we were warned to resolve the fight, else we would be left with nothing of use, like half a muffler. 

Making Snake Gourd Vegetable (Padvalkai Palya), Anna Ishtyle

Goddess Lakshmi
Photo Courtesy: Goddessgift.net

My father and his two brothers were 3 male offspring of 10* born to my grandparents.  Ajji and Tatha, as they were called, celebrated each daughter's birth as the gracing of their homes by Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth, Fortune & Prosperity. That meant a lot, given that they were poor. Tatha was a village schoolteacher who owned some land, but that didn't go very far to feed the 12 mouths in his home. 

Anna told us that in his childhood he often had to wrap a wet towel around his stomach, to dull hunger pains, before sleeping at night.

I believe that this was the reason why Anna could not stand it if one of us said that we were hungry. Anna would ensure that we immediately got something to eat - a banana, a biscuit, some peanuts. Anything really. Just to stop us feeling the hunger pains that he remembered from his childhood.

Padvalkai Palya. 
Photo courtesy: Raks Kitchen

Even tho' there wasn't too much food, Anna and his brothers, learned to cook in their childhood. As was the tradition in south Indian Brahman families, women were not allowed into the kitchen to cook (among other things) when they were menstruating. Also, as the cycles of women in one household often synced, there were days when Tatha had to cook. Simple, two dish meals, made of whatever could be afforded, at that time. As the boys grew older, they were pressed into service, to clean, cut, and cook meals for the family.

One of the dishes Tatha would cook at these times was padvalkai palya (snake gourd sabzi / vegetable).

Watch snake gourd being made village style

Tatha would sit on the kitchen floor, with the boys around him, pealed snake gourd at his feet. He would use a vegetable cutter and coconut scrapper (a curved knife with a circular scraper head at the top, mounted on a leg of wood) to cut the gourd. Tatha would cut the snake gourd horizontally, into circles, and give it to the boys. Anna and his brothers would then meticulously poke out the seeds from each piece with their little fingers! Each circle would be examined by Tatha (his eyes becoming magnifying glasses) to see that there were no stray seeds left. The boys felt like they were waiting for school exam results! Once he was satisfied, Tatha would cut the de-seeded circles into small pieces and then cook the palya / subzi.

Cleaning, de-seeding, and cutting snake gourd
Photo Courtesy: Kurinnji Kanthambam

Anna thought that poking seeds out of snake gourd was the only way to de-seed a gourd for many, many years. After all, his school-teacher father had taught him so! It was only when one day he saw, Amma, my mother, slice a snake gourd vertically in the middle, and take out the seeds in one single swoop, that he realized that he had not been taught the most efficient way!

He has told us this story time and again. Laughing at the time and effort it took him and his brothers to poke out seeds with their little fingers, waiting with bated breath for Tatha to examine each circular slice!

Even now when I recount this story to Anna, he smiles. It seems that his Parkinson's and Dementia fogged brain recognizes and appreciates old stories!

*There were 11 offspring, one died in childbirth.

The Little Boy

Anna fast asleep in front of the TV

Anna is slowing down. He is sleeping more and walking less. Most days when I go to his apartment in the morning (before work) and in the evening (after work), I am never sure if he is going to be awake or asleep. A couple of weeks ago, I reached his apartment at 7am after my morning walk. My signature double-tap doorbell ring normally announces to Anna that I have arrived, so I am not surprised to see his eyes are open when I lean over his bed.

Me: Anna? Are you awake?

Anna (looking at me, but not really looking at me): mumble...gurgle....mumble

Me: Good morning!

Anna (still just looking straight at me without seeing me): mumble...mumble....mumble

Me: Anna, I can't understand you. Wait a minute. Let's get you up so that you can drink some hot water.

We lift Anna so that he is sitting up in bed and he drinks a full glass of hot water.

Me: Anna, did you sleep well?

Anna says something to me in Tamil. I don't understand.

Me: Anna, I can't understand Tamil. Say it in Kannada.

Anna continues to talk in Tamil. I understand only a few words. Something about boys and playing and football and thirst.

Me: Anna, what happened? Tell me in English.

Anna (in a complaining whiny voice): He hit me!

I am instantly worried.  It is almost a physical reaction. I have always feared that I would be unable to prevent Anna from getting hurt or worse still not even know about it, as I am not physically present in his flat all the time.

Me (concerned): Who hit you, Anna?

Anna (still looking at me, straight through me): He did.

Me (thinking it is best to wake him up with coffee to get a more cogent response): Anna, do you want to get up and have coffee and tell me about it?

Anna (in a voice that should be accompanied with a pout): I don't want coffee. I want milk.

Whoa! My father does not want coffee? Now that's a first! I am really surprised.

Tairas (his housekeeper) gets him a warm glass of milk with Ensure. I hold the glass to his lips for him to drink and he gulps it down thirstily.

Me (after he finishes): Anna, you sure liked the milk. You were telling me about getting hit. What happened?

Anna (singing): Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!

Me: (laughing): Whose birthday is it Anna?

Anna: mumble....mumble. His eyes start to close.

I tuck Anna back into bed and wait till he closes his eyes. I finish the chores in the house and walk home letting the morning's events run thru my mind.

Half way home I realize that I don't hear Anna's voice. I hear a little boy's voice. Maybe the little boy he was. 

Firecrackers in Anna's Childhood

Since early October, I have been telling Anna that Deepawali is around the corner. He has no recollection of last year's Deepawali.  He was unwell enough to be in hospital, on a nebuliser for 5 hours. So this year, he has asked me when Deepawali is, twice a day, for the entire month!!

Like most South Indians, we celebrated Deepawali for Anna on 29th. Normally the puja, crackers, and Deepawali feast is all finished in the morning. As Anna is sleeping most of the morning, I decide to do all this in the evening. He is tired and disoriented, and he can not even strike a match to light a deepa for puja. He gives gifts to all his staff (including their children).

We then light a few sparklers, vishnu chakras (Anna's favorite) and flower pots. I know we want to reduce the amount of pollution shrouding the city, but, Anna has a few pleasures in life and 6 sparklers, 4 charkras and flower pots adds only a soupçon of pollution.

He can't sleep on 29th night as the fire crackers keep him awake. So on 30th (Deepawali day in North India), he sleeps most of the day and is groggy, disoriented, and slurring with a low response rate to even direct question. 

Photo: www.indiatimes.com

As expected the firecrackers are even worse on 30th night. It starts with my father's neighbor solicitously inquiring if I have given Anna a sedative so that he can sleep while they burst crackers, right outside his bedroom window, for a few hours! Seriously!?! I know it is going to be terrible when I see Mr. Neighbor take crackers out from the overflowing boot of a Maruti Esteem. 

I am dumbstruck. At a complete loss to understand what this neighbor is thinking.

Anna sleeps all morning again.

On 31st evening Anna is quite a chatty-cathy with me. He tells me about the Deepawali fire crackers of his childhood.

Nov 2015: Anna in front of the
sparkler exhibit at Saket Select Citywalk

First there were the hand-made wire sparklers. It seems that they would buy thick wire and cover it with a paste of sulfur, aluminium powder and local glue. This sparkler did not need a high temperature to burn (just ~400^◦C vs the minimum of 1000^◦C). It was a cheap solution as there was never really any money to spare to burn in their family.

Then there was the atom bomb! It was a large iron rod with a hollow bolt at one end. This bolt was filled with a mixture of sulfur and potassium permanganate, packed down and tied with string and cloth. Then they would run around the village hitting it against walls (including temple walls) to create a huge bang! The iron & hollow bolt contraption was safely hidden after Deepawali to be taken out for the next Deepawali, as the village blacksmith made the contraption for a couple of annas. 

Photo: wackystuff on flickr.com

There were also match box burners. It seems that they spent all year (from one Deepawali to the next), collecting matchboxes. They then built a matchbox snake. A matchbox was inserted about 1/3rd the way into another matchbox to create a snake-chain. If they wanted to have a bigger fire, pieces of wood were inserted into the matchbox snake. Then this was lit at one end and watched as it burnt, flames suddenly jumping when they hit the dry tinder in the snake-chain.

He says the most fun he had was with box trains. It seems that he and his brothers would save every box they could lay their hands on. Then tie them with string to create as long a train as they could. These were just boxes tied with string that they dragged around the house making steam-train noises. Then at the end of the day, all these trains went into a big bonfire.

It takes a lot of patient questioning to get the details from him. I am fascinated as we chat for nearly 2 hours of simple pleasures at a simpler time.

I leave him exhausted and asleep on the sofa.

The Whining Fans at Lawley Hall

Sanjiv tries to get the fan's 
blades to move with a bolster

Earlier this week, while working at home on a project with my friend Rosita, the ceiling fan started to make squeaking noises. Noises that sounded as if a distressed mouse was trapped in the well of the fan. After being disturbed by it for many minutes, the fan decided to bow to the power of our irritated looks and just stop.

Most of my life, I have been known to be a trouble-shooter and my troubleshooting skills came to fore that afternoon. I got up and went to the drawing room and called Sanjiv, my husband, to come fix the fan! His first question should give you an idea of his confidence in my common sense and problem solving skills - "Are you sure you switched on the fan?"

Once he saw for himself that the fan's blades were not rotating tho' the fan's switch was on, he did what any good electrician will do - lifted the bolster to push the fan's blades to restart the fan. And it did! In the same squeaking fashion. Finally, he had to get some machine oil to fix the thing.

The squeaking fan reminded me of  Anna's tale of the whining fans of Lawley Hall.

Lawley Hall as it looks today. Anna says it looked
"somewhat different" in his time.
Photo: St. Joseph's College, Trichy

Anna did his BSc Chemistry at St. Joseph's College, Tiruchirappalli, Tamil Nadu. Lawley Hall was their mess hall. When I showed Anna the picture of Lawley Hall on the right, he said that it was "somewhat different" in his time.  The high ceilings anchored fans at regular intervals.  There was more space between the warm-wooden tables and benches. There were fewer photographs hanging below the high windows.

The boys of St. Joseph's College flocked to Lawley Hall for their meals, where the sound of their chatting was completely out-of-tune with the whining of the ceiling fans! For some reason the fans at Lawley Hall whined all the time.  And even though St. Joseph's was famous for it's science degree programs, there seemed to be no one (not one student or teacher or priest) who could quieten the whining fans.

A young working boy.
Source unknown.

Even funnier was how the fans were actually made to work.

30  mins before any meal, all the tables and benches were moved to hug the walls of the hall. Then a young boy (8-12 years old) dressed in a white "divided" dhoti would walk into the hall with a 30-foot bamboo pole and lay it down in the  middle of the hall.

This boy would then go around the hall and switch in all the fans. Low hums would fill the empty hall, but the fans wouldn't move a millimetre. Then the young, bare-chested, "divided" dhoti clad boy would pick up the pole, lock one end on a fan blade and run in circles under the fan, pushing the blades. The faster he ran the faster the blades rotated! And when he felt the blades move on their own, he would quickly pull back the pole and walk to the next fan and repeat the lock-pole-on-blade-and-run-around-in circles routine! By the time he got all the fans running (and whining) the boy would be drenched in sweat!

This happened every day for every meal at Lawley Hall.

It's odd how seemingly mundane happenings can trigger a memory of a story heard years ago.

And it still brings a smile to my face.

The Scorpion in the Tamarind Jar

Photo from https://en.wikipedia.org

One of the most dangerous species of scorpions known to man is Hottentotta Tamulus.  Apparently its name is derived from the name of the Tamil people as it is found in abundance in Tamilnadu.  Its venom contains a very potent neuro-toxin known to cause fatalities in humans if not treated quickly. In the old days, it was quite common for people to die of a scorpion bite.

This is the story of Ananthalakshmi and the scorpion.

Ananthalakshmi was born into a middle class educated family at the beginning of the 20th century.  She was married to KP Venkatarao (KPV) when she was 6 years old and had her first child at 14. By the age of 22, Ananthalakshmi had four girls - Satyabhama (Bhama), Cauveri, Kamla, and Radha. Her fifth child she lost after carrying it to term.

Each of the girls were born in Ananthalakshmi's parents' home in Namakkal. So when it was time in 1928 for Ananthalakshmi's sixth childbirth, she went to her parents' home, four little girls in tow. A home that housed her father and his brothers' families.

Drumstick Hulli

During this sixth pregnancy, Ananthalakshmi craved hulli (sambar in Kannada), made extra sour with tamarind. Everyday when the hulli was ready, she took out a portion for herself and added a hefty portion of tamarind juice.

One summer afternoon, when the kitchen ran out of tamarind, Ananthalakshmi went to the outhouse storeroom to get some. In those days, most large homes had an outhouse storeroom - a windowless shed with thick insulating walls, built under leafy trees. This ensured that the storeroom stayed cool and fruit, vegetables, and groceries could be stored within easy reach of the kitchen. Grains were stored in sacks. Unripened bananas were hung upside-down. Spices, pickles, gur, and tamarind were kept in earthenware jars.

Traditional Earthenware Jars
Photo Courtesy www.tradeindia.com

Ananthalakshmi waddled into the dark storeroom and searched for the earthenware jar that contained the tamarind.  She found it on a shelf at the back of the room. Slipping the lid off with her left hand, she reached into the jar to pull out a fistful of tamarind.

To her horror, she felt the claws and legs of a scorpion brush her hand. Instantly she pulled her hand out of the jar, shut the lid, and screamed - long and loud.  Her terrified scream reverberated in the old house, calling every adult and child to come running to the rescue to the storeroom.

Scorpion Bomb
Photo Courtesy www.Smithsonianmag.com

That afternoon, the eldest male in the house was 12 year-old Sheshagiri Rao (of Salem Bananti fame). All the women in the household, looked at Sheshagiri Rao to be the brave soul to capture and kill the scorpion, so that Ananthalakshmi could have her specially sour hulli. After all, she was pregnant, and in this family, no one dared to deny a pregnant woman's wish.

Sheshagiri Rao, a boy on the cusp of manhood, keenly felt the pressure of the collective wish of the household to be brave. All the women said it. It was a man's duty after-all. Duty to be brave and protect women and children.  He could feel that pressure like warm viscous liquid in his veins even as fright turned his stomach to mush.

Photo Courtesy
www.sheknows.com

Sheshagiri Rao, took a blanket and wrapped multiple layers over his arm and hand, punching the palm of his right hand with his left to create an indentation - creating something like a baseball mitt. He then gingerly entered the dark storeroom. His heart pounding hard, he made his way to the dangerous tamarind jar. Gathering all his courage, he whipped off the lid and rammed his blanket covered hand into the jar. His hand closed over the scorpion tightly and he pulled it out of the jar.

Triumphantly, he carried the blanket-covered captured scorpion out of the storeroom.  He then placed it under his foot and crushed the blanket-encased scorpion. The crunch of its exoskeleton could be heard by all.  For good measure, he jumped up and down on the blanket-encased scorpion, till it was pulverised into a chutney consistency.  The women of the household cheered his bravery and Sheshagiri Rao beamed with happiness.  He was then carried off to the kitchen for sweet lime water and ladoos in honour of his bravery.

Doesn't this look like a scorpion
 stuffed into a tamarind shell

Ananthalakshmi stayed behind, looking at the blanket-covered-chutney-consistency scorpion.  She was left with the task of cleaning-up the mess. She gathered the blanket and it's pulverised cargo, and took it to the hand-pump. With her right hand she pumped out water as she shook the blanket with her left hand.

Imagine her surprise as squashed and pulverised tamarind fell out of the blanket!!

There never was a scorpion in the tamarind jar.

For years, Sheshagiri Rao was teased mercilessly about his bravery.

On 28 Jun 1928, Ananthalakshmi gave birth to her fifth child, a boy. My father. 

IPL Auctions Remind Anna of His Glorious Football Career!!

Courtesy www.zeenews.india.com

Anna watches in awe as IPL players are auctioned for what he calls "an exorbitant amount of money”. His questions range from, "How do they determine a player’s worth?" to "That is a king's ransom!"

I don't answer his questions because I don't know how to. One, I am not a cricket crazy Indian - the outlier that proves the rule. Two, Anna sometimes gets confused trying to fathom the cost of things in 2016. His strong memories of costs are from many years back. Like when you could send a postcard, yes postcard, for 25 paise, and a cup of coffee at an expensive place was Rs.25/-. I run him by the standard logic thread of the comparative years, impact of inflation, GDP growth rate,etc. 

Football
Courtesy www.shughal.com

Then Anna tells me, "You know I had a glorious football career?"

"Really Anna!?", I ask. 

This is the first time I've heard that he had a career in anything other than working for the Government Of India or UNDP.

“Was this when you were young?”, I ask.

Anna confirms this with an "Yes."

Seeing the small smile, I should have realized there was more to the football career. But the mind-numbing cost of IPL players and the economics lesson made me a little slow. 

Here is the story he tells me.

Brazil World Cup
Indigenous Amazon Village
Courtesy www.todayonline.com

When Anna was about11 years old, his father sent him to Erode Middle School for a "good education". Within the first few days of joining the school, the boys were taken to the field to play football. They watched as the two team captains, Abdul Sattar and Arunachalam, carefully measured the distance between the goal posts and the field. The boundaries were marked by stones and rocks. The field itself was a packed-mud field on which they played barefooted.

Then came the critical time of choosing the team. The captains, stood two arms-length apart with the rest of the class standing in front of them.  

Village Boys Play Football by Shivu K
 Courtesy www.exhibition2012.giadinhphoto.com

Abdul Sattar won the toss and hence got to choose his first team member.

"Srinivas Murthi", he said with confidence. Anna was thrilled at being the first boy to be chosen. Anna was tall for his age, and Abdul Sattar believed that the longer length of his stride would be advantageous in a game of football.

Anna stood next to Abdul Sattar and whispered his choices for the other members of the team. Once they had 15 players per team, the game started. There were two 45 minute stretches of hard & fast running on the field, bare footed in the heat. Then the match ended.

Anna does not remember if they won or lost. What he remembers is that like all good captains, Abdul Sattar gathered them around, and told them that they played a good game.  

Top 10 Fastest Football Player 2015/2016
Courtesy www.youtube.com

Then Abdul Sattar took Anna aside and said, "Srinivas Murthi, you can never play football on my team again."

Anna was shattered. He was tall. He was the first boy to be choosen. He had run strong and hard on the field.

Bewildered he asked, "Why? I ran between the goal posts so many times, and faster than anyone else."

Abdul Sattar acknowledged Anna's running skills and said, "Yes, you ran fast ……. but your foot didn't touch the ball even once!"

Thus ended what Anna calls, his "Glorious Football Career"!!

Anna had never seen or played a game of football before that day.

Anna Runs Away From Home

Photographer Arindam Mukherjee documents the life of
13-year-old Sheikh Alamgirwho ran away from home at 7
& lived at a railway station in Calcutta for 6 years

One evening, Anna greets me with, "I have something to tell you that will frighten you."

"Oh-ho! Now what?", I think.

"I just ran away from home", he replies.

I hesitate for a bit as I think thru' how to respond to this.

Its 6:30 pm and Anna is sleeping on his bed, in his classical praying mantis pose. His razai (i.e. comforter) is pulled up over him, covering his mouth. I bend over his bed rail, and hold his thin hands through the razai.

"Anna, aren't you warm under your razai?", hoping that it will remind him that he is at home and not cold and alone somewhere, thinking he has run away from home.

"Yes", he says. And yet, there seems to be no change in his eyes. Normally, I can make out when he moves from a disoriented state to reality, by looking at his eyes.

"Sangeeta, you should get me a wrist band with my details so that people can find me when I am lost", he adds.

"Like the lanyard with emergency contact details I had made for you in Bangalore?", I ask tho' I know that he can't move a step without an attendant.

"Yes", he responds. "Someone can bring me home then".

Pause

"Anna, you are at home. In bed under your razai. You haven't run away", I say.

Long Pause. I continue to hold his razai covered hands.

"No, I didn't", he responds. "Baachoo did".

Ok, now we are getting somewhere. The name Baachoo, sounds familiar but I can't remember the context.

"Baachoo ran away from home. Maybe I thought I did," he adds.

"Phew! He's all here", I think.

"Who Baachoo, Anna?", I ask.

So he tells me about Baachoo.

Baachoo (Bhaskhar Rao) is Anna's second cousin.  Baachoo's father was my grandfather's cousin. His family lived on the same street as Anna's family. Baachoo was born some time between Anna's two younger brothers, Padukaka and Krishnakaka.

I ask Anna, "Why are you thinking of Baachoo suddenly? Did something happen to remind you of Baachoo? He will be an old man now."

I am wondering if there was a call about Baachoo. He doesn't tell me why he is thinking of his childhood cousin and friend.

He then tells me, "When Baachoo was 13 or 14, he ran away from home. The family saw him go to bed one night. When we woke up the next morning, he wasn't there. Poof!"

"Oh dear! That is so sad", I think.

"Anna, how did they find him?", I ask.

After a long pause, he smiles and says, "Do you remember, 'knowddi wodeno Baachoo!'" Loosely translated from Kannada, this means, "Watch what you are reading Baachoo!".

Now I remember the story of Baachoo.

Every afternoon and evening, Baachoo, would sit with Anna, Padukaka and Krishnakaka (Anna's two younger brothers) and study. And as was the fashion those days, they would sit crossed legged on the floor, books before them, and oscillate forward and backward as they read their lessons aloud.

One evening, Uncle Ramachandra Rao returned from work as Baachoo was diligently studying his English lesson. Baachoo's torso moved forward and backward, keeping pace with his sing-song voice that intoned four words endlessly, "The horse lays eggs. The horse lays eggs. The horse lays eggs."

Uncle Ramachandra Rao, didn't miss a step as he walked by and gently admonished his son with, "Knowddi wodeno Baachoo!" Watch what you are reading Baachoo!

The three brothers rolled on the floor with laughter. And for a long time when someone mucked up something in their studies the others would loudly say "Knowddi wodeno Baachoo!"

Anna smiles as he finishes the story. Thankfully the sad memories have ended with a happy one, and a smile.

Anna has never run away from home. 

Baachoo never returned home nor was found.

Losing a childhood companion must have been traumatic for Anna.

I still don't know why Anna thought he had run away or was thinking of Baachoo.

The Original South Indian Dirty Picture!

Kissing Flowers From Cathy Garitty

We grew up watching Hindi movies where love and sex were shown implicitly. Two flowers would gently lean towards each other, or the hero and heroine would hold hands and disappear behind a tree. The picturization of a really hot kiss or really hot sex was something else.  As the 2 lovers moved in for the kiss, a multi-coloured spiral circle would appear between soon-to-be-puckered lips. All to the crescendo of a string quartet!

We wondered why Bollywood wouldn't show an actual kiss, and asked our mother. She smiled, and told us that things had changed dramatically.

Really, Amma?? Can anything be more conservative than two sunflowers closing in on each other. And a long shot of flowers in a head-to-head touch, to show a long kiss?

Amma smiled and said "Do you know that Anna and his brothers were punished by Tatha for going to see a dirty picture when they were teenagers?"  

Anna, barely got through the door that evening, before he was bombarded with "You saw a dirty picture when you were a child with Padukaka and Krishnakaka?"

"Oh! We didn't. We had all intentions to see the film though", acknowledged Anna. This comment was met with round eyes and ooohs and aaahs.

Vana Mohini
Original Poster

In 1941, when Anna was about about 13 years old, a Tamil movie called Vana Mohini was released. It created a scandal.  "Respectable" Tamilians spoke about the movie in whispers, and didn't go to see the film. The film's heroine was a Sri Lankan actress named K. Thavamani Devi who appeared in revealing clothing. 

A major role in the film was played by "Chandru", an elephant.  It is said that this is possibly the first time an elephant received top billing in the credits of a film. Anna and his brothers were probably attracted by this too!

Of course, given the scandal, Anna and his brothers were forbidden by their father from watching Vana Mohini. 

"It is a dirty picture", Tatha boomed, emphasizing and dragging on the letter "r", making the word "dirty" more salacious and dramatic.

Obviously, forbidding young boys on the cusp of teenage-hood from doing anything is a sure-shot way to get them to do exactly what you don't want them to. 

K. Thavamani Devi

Anna, Padukaka, and Krishnakaka, pooled their saved money to buy film tickets. Then one afternoon, when the household was in siesta mode, they sneaked out and went to the theater to watch Vana Mohini. Unfortunately, there was a storm and they had to return home without seeing the film.  Tatha (my grandfather) was so upset with them that he locked them out of the house and they slept that night on the steps to the front door of their home. 

"But Anna, what was in the picture that made it a dirty picture?" we asked, obviously more interested in the dirty stuff than their adventures and punishments.

Anna's response stunned us for a few seconds.

"The heroine, Thavamani Devi showed 2 inches of ankle."

The four of us rolled over with laughter. 

Anna has still not watched Vana Mohini.

Read "Blast from the Past - Vana Mohini 1941" - The Hindu - 28 May 2011