Epilogue- A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA – BORN AGAIN - Palghat Tales

I              

Vaithy

They say old age is a return to childhood. Thangam and Vaithy would find a new lease of life upon returning to the village. Living there again and getting re-acqainted with neighbours and relatives, re-kindled memories of growing up. Vaithy once again became familiar with the emerald green paddy fields, the village pond and the small temple. He formed a local committee to renew the pond and build a wall around it. The village had roads, street lights and buses and taxis that made it easier to reach the town. In many ways though, it was still a quiet oasis. Bhagyam settled into a satisfactory routine. Visiting the temple in the mornings and spending time with

Thangam and Kannan

Nambisan’s daughter, Savitri, who became their companion. Eventually, she moved in with them.

Venkatta too became a part of their lives. When Aachu mama was alive, he could not formally adopt his son with Alamelu. Known as the village simpleton, his loving nature was visible to all. Now, he became a son to Vaithy and Thangam. He would fetch milk from the co-operative, help her cut the vegatables and braid her hair. He became attached to ‘Vaithyppa’ and went for walks with him to the corner-store and along the canal. He insisted on holding the umbrella for him when it rained and was devoted to him in ways that moved him. He would wait outside the temple, guarding his slippers and sit beside the barber shop, and walk him home. He would go to the bus-stand, and be the first to bring home the The Hindu and Mathrubhumi, not content to let the papers be delivered home. When Vaithy returned home from his trip to Thanjavur, he would be waiting on the platform eagerly, with Thamby the driver waiting outside the station. On the way home, he would excitedly deliver a list of the things Vaithy had missed while he had been away. The state of the mango trees. The school miss who had disappeared. Khader’s ducklings which he had seen in the paddy fields.  

Venkatta

Jayashree and Manikandan

Each day, they would walk over to the mana to visit Vaithy's friend Kesavan Namboodiri. Manikandan the tusker would be there, for them to admire and adore, along with Jayashree, his keeper.  Ever since Vaithy had brought him from Thekkessery mana, he had searched in vain for a good mahout, until he found Jayashree. She was more than an elephant-keeper, she was a soul-mate to Manikandan. A woman as a mahout? Unheard of, people had said, but Jayashree proved them wrong. Manikandan was a magnificent specimen, the envy of his peers. Thangam was bemused, but Vaithy was not to be swayed.  There was no denying him. He had to have Manikandan. An elephant had been his child-hood dream.

II             One rainy season, Bhagyam was doing the dishes after dinner with Kannan when she casually mentioned that if Vaithy hadn’t married her, she might have remained a spinster. Kannan was intrigued. What did she mean?  Later, as they sat in the verandah, with the patter of rain outside, and her children around her, Thangam told them.

“Your father saw me at the temple and told his Periappa he wanted to marry me. They asked for my horoscope but Aachu mama didn’t have one, they didn’t know my exact date of birth.” “I told Periappa, but he said it was not possible,” Vaithy began. “I had a Namboodiri friend, Kesavan, and we went to his father.” Thirumeni listened to the young Vaithy and asked him if his mind was made up. Vaithy said he would remain a bachelor, if he didn’t marry Thangam. “Not marrying is not a solution. A paradesi brahmanan like you must

Kesavan Namboodiri, Vaithy's childhood friend

become a gr’hasthan. Let me speak to Panicker first, then we shall see.”

The consultations took some time. Panicker was not entirely sure, but in the end, he was reasonably certain that a horoscope could be made to match Vaithy’s.  After much discussion with the Thirumeni, it was decided that Thangam was born on a pournami in Medha maasam, five days after Thrissur Pooram. That meant she must have been born in the year 1111. Accordingly, Panicker was asked to draw up a horoscope. It would show that Thangam was born well within Swati nakshatra.

Thirumeni called Periappa to counsel him. “Even the Gods smile on a gandharva vivaham, master. Who are we to stand in their way? Panicker says that the boy’s horoscope bodes well for his future. They are a good family. Think about it.” It would be another year before Periappa would give his blessing to the match.

Chuppam (foreground) with Ammangal and Mama

Dorai

Papa

III            “When my parents were married, I was already born.” “You mean Patti Amma was not your mother?”. “No. Patti Amma was not my mother.” “Who was your mother then?”

Meena

Thangam looked at her children. Kannan, Papa, Meena, Chuppam and Dorai waited for her to speak. She looked at Vaithy, who nodded slightly. “You remember Nambisan? He was my older brother. When Patta married, I was about three months old. When Patta and Patti died, Aachu mama moved into our house and he and Vishala Patti took care of me.”

There was a stunned silence.

Text by: Shankar A. Narayan      Photo credits: Manoj P and ‘The Hindu’

Ch. 11 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA – CLOSING BELL - Palghat Tales

 

I      Swamiji looked stern. “What have I taught you Vaithy? Have I not taught you anything? Non-violence is for sanyasis. Do you not remember the story about Gandhiji ? This was exactly what Gandhiji said in our time: “You allowed your women to be dishonoured by the police; you must use even your teeth to protect your honour.” These are the words of Gandhiji, who was a votary of non-violence from every point of view; but he knew that cowardice, and non-violence cannot go together. Humanity has this weakness. Sometimes they can be excellent people, very peaceful; sometimes they become aggressive, wicked, violent.”

 

Swami Ranganathananda

“Keep these emotions and feelings inside, just calm them down a little. Then you can see things clearly; otherwise, it will be like life in Delhi when there is a dust storm. They call it 'Aandhi' (आंधी); you can't see anything. The whole sky is full of dust. Similarly, emotions and feelings without any control, become like 'Aandhi' for the mind. When they settle down, you can see things clearly. So, in the burst of emotion, in the burst of feeling, don't do anything; don't say anything. Whatever you do at that time will not be correct. Feeling should be controlled by thinking.”

Vaithy, listened, face down. He had first met Swami Ranganathananda when he was Secretary at the Ramakrishna Mission in Calcutta. Now, he was President of the Mission, responsible for its activities all over the world. For Vaithy, he was teacher and spiritual guide. He had come to Belur, to seek his advice and the teacher was being direct, as always. In the end, Vaithy knew what he had to do.

II     The night manager recognized him when he checked in at the Connemara. He was led into his room, overlooking the garden and room-service brought his supper while he rang Thangam, to tell her he had arrived.

Bharathiyar Memorial

As always, he arose early and after his prayers, headed to the Parthasarathy Temple. The crowd was thin and he felt distracted, his mind elsewhere. As he came out, he remembered his days as a student, living in Triplicane. The sights were familiar, as he walked towards the house where the poet Bharathiyaar once lived. It was now a museum. He wandered through the by-lanes, trying to remember the way to the mansion in which he had once shared a room as a student. He found it at last, and walked in. He climbed the worn, wooden staircase and paused before the familiar door on the second floor. It was locked, but he tried to imagine the room as it had been.  He imagined the easy laughter, the calendars on the walls, the camaraderie within.

A little before noon, he joined the patient crowd outside the door of ‘Kasivinayaga Mess’, bought his token, and greeted the owner K. Vasudevan . Then, he sat down with the forty or so others around him and ate a hearty lunch of rice rich with ghee and daal; sambaar, rasam, koottu, poriyal, vathalkolambu, pickles, buttermilk, curd and appalam. He relished every morsel, and it reminded him of the days when he would eat in ‘Patti Amma’s Mess’. Those homely meals were the only comfort in an otherwise spartan, student existence.

 

Kasivinayaga Mess, Akbar Sahab St., Triplicane

Returning to his hotel, he dialled the number to Chuppam’s in-laws. Her father-in-law answered the ‘phone and was taken aback when Vaithy asked him if he could drop in. Would five o’clock be convenient? He arrived at the house on Bradis Kesil Road five minutes early, waited outside and rang the bell precisely at five, walked in and said “No” to coffee, “I just had coffee, before I left”, his voice curt. When did he arrive? Last night, the hotel was comfortable. No, he didn’t want to cause any inconvenience. No, he didn’t want to bother them, the hotel had a car. Adayar was not far. How were they doing? No, really, he didn’t want coffee, a glass of water perhaps.

Eventually, Dr. Gopalakrishnan broke the awkward silence. “We are so sorry. My wife has not been eating or sleeping properly for several weeks now. He is our only son, and she blames herself. It is not her fault. I was not at home enough when our son was growing up, not there to discipline him. He grew up getting everything he wanted. I became a good surgeon, but a bad father. We miss the children terribly. The house is empty without them. I have suspended him from hospital duty. I wanted to come to Calcutta, but what face could I show to Chuppam? Only you can speak to her. You have my word. I am giving you my word. As a father.”

When Vaithy finally spoke, his voice was steely-edged. “I didn’t come here to bargain for better terms for my daughter. You had fifteen years to correct what was going on under your roof. You let my daughter and your grand-children be abused. I have bought a flat for them, next to ours. There are good schools in Calcutta. I still have the strength to look after my children. Namaskaram. I have to reach T. Nagar before the shops close.”

III   The IPO had been a success and Vaithy was going over the report from the lead managers. The 150,000 shares allotted to him by the board had given him a good nest egg. In the following months, Vaithy and MD’s son worked hard, hiving off divisions and restructuring the firm. The first signs of dissent appeared at a meeting of the board that was called just before the Diwali holidays. MD’s son sent in a letter of absence, along with a dissenting note.  MD was in the chair and placed the note before the meeting. “Under the present circumstances, I feel compelled to draw the attention of the Chair to the board resolution at the last meeting, where it was decided that the future course of action with regard to Points (2) and (6) on the agenda would be discussed no later than July. This has not happened. Dissent is not the same thing as disloyalty. I therefore, think it prudent to place before the board, my viewpoints, in order for discussions, without my presence being a disruptive factor.” MD’s son had thrown down the gauntlet. In the coming months, the debate within the board about the firm’s future would escalate.

The next board meeting was a tumultuous one. Since MD had signalled he wished to step down as Chairman, there had been murmurs amongst the outside directors. They were split between Vaithy and MD’s son. As the day neared, Vaithy made up his mind. When he met MD a few days before the meeting, he shared his decision with him. “It’s time for me to go, we both know that.” MD nodded. He seemed shaken, for the first time. “We both need to go. Hand over the reins. Thank you for everything. Come, we need to get his blessings for the last time.”

They rode to Burrabazar and reached the modest office of Shardaram Narinjandas. MD asked the head clerk inside to fetch the keys to an ancient safe. He opened it, and removed a small, velvet pouch. MD took out a worn, silver coin from it. “When our great-grandfather opened this business in 1862, it was the start of everything we have today. He brought six coins with him after a pilgrimage to Manasarovar. He got them from a baba, who blessed him and told him they would bring good fortune. Our family has four coins left. Two are with our uncle. Here, take this coin. A small token, KV. For all the good things you have done for the family. Keep it. For good luck.”

Sardaram Narinjandas, Burrabazar

Guests at MD's farewell party

MD's son greeting a guest at his father's farewell party

Royal Calcutta Turf Club, founded 1847

IV        A month later, the farewell party at the RCTC was a glittering event. It was attended by MD’s friends from business and social circles. The Mayor dropped by. A smattering of celebrities, diplomats and bureaucrats. Singers and poets. Mrs. MD’s favourite designer. MD looked happy and relaxed for the first time. His son stood back and watched, as his parents were traced on canvas by a young artist. Everyone present enjoyed the lavish spread. The great chef Adarsh Khosla outshone himself with his fusion cuisine. Smoked Collared Greens. Ginger Infused Gobi Masala. Anari Baingan. Roasted Potato Dumplings with Red Cheese Sauce. Goji Berry Pulao. Peshawri Naan. Rose crust pedas. Crème brûlée rice kheer. Pear Tatin. Sandesh. Kesari Kulfi withTal Mishri.

Sri Kailasa temple, Manambadi, Thanjavur

They went out into the lawn and MD lit a cigar. “What will you do now, KV? Thangam told me you have found a temple. Is it really a thousand years old?” “Yes, I found some papers in our old house in the village. My great-great grandfather came from a village near Kumbakonam. There is a Shiva temple there. Built by Rajendra Chola himself. The inscriptions prove it. I saw it in a dream. When I went there, I knew it was the same temple. I am going to contact the ASI. The shivalingam is intact, but the gopuram is in ruins. Imagine! A thousand years old and no one cares! MD, we are a nation of ignorant people! No sense of heritage. I know what I must do with the money from the IPO. Shiva is calling me.”

Main shrine, Shiva Temple, Manambadi village

-          The End

Text by Shankar A. Narayan. Photo credits: Ramakrishna Mission; Srinivasan Sampathkumar, Pushpa Iyengar, Biswarup Ganguly, BCCI, Sundeep Bhutoria, Krishnendu Das and Arunkumar Marimuthu.

Ch. 10 - A PASSAGE TO CALCUTTA – BUILDING BLOCKS - Palghat Tales

Thangam's 60th birthday

I             Thangam’s 60th birthday was celebrated that year. All the children and grand-children would be present together in the village. Aachu mama was happy and tired at the same time. He seemed less active than before, and Nambisan’s daughter had to walk with him. His steps were less steady and he repeated himself. He asked Thangam several times, whether she was coming back soon. A few months later, Aachu mama would pass away, peacefully in his sleep.

Aachu Mama

Vaithy at home in the village

It would be Vaithy’s last chance to spend time in his child-hood home.  It had been a difficult decision to tear down the old house, filled with memories, but in the end, it had to be done. In its place, he decided to build a modest house, in a mix of the old and the new, a style sported by so many houses in the area.

 

Vaithy's child-hood home

When Thangam met Kaberi  BoseTuttell for the first time, it was at a Rotary function in Pittsburgh with Kannan. Born in Calcutta, she had migrated, married and worked as a teacher, Now widowed, she was active in her local circles. She told Thangam about her recent visits to Calcutta, and how she wanted to do more in her chosen field. They stayed in touch, and on her next visit, she and Thangam compared notes and found they had common goals. Thangam told her about the progress with the school at Shiuli and she agreed to move to Calcutta and help.

The ground-breaking ceremony had taken place almost two years ago. Since then, progress had been slow. Initially, Vaithy had thought it was just a matter of putting up the building, but it turned out to be otherwise. Thangam had found two very enthusiastic assistants. Atanu and Sutapa Roy, were then working as school-teachers in Calcutta and were employed as the first full-time workers at SEWA. Along with them, Thangam and Kaberi had started the process of making the rounds of the architect, the village panchayat office, the block office and the zilla parishad to get the necessary permissions. There were endless waits, repeated visits, followed by more visits. Weeds took over the foundations, while they waited for the necessary permissions. The architect they had hired gave up his commission. He would wait no longer.

II     Vaithy was a great believer in fate. He met Christopher Benninger at a talk given by the famed architect at the Bengal Club. Benninger had given up his tenured post at Harvard and settled in India. Since then, he had made a name for himself in urban development and signature structures, under the tutelage of his mentor B.V. Joshi. He had formulated concepts for affordable housing in several Indian cities, and had been overseeing the development of ‘bastis’ for the CMDA in Calcutta. Several SOS Children’s Villages bore his distinctive style.

When the talk was over, Vaithy approached Benninger and told him about the school project. Could he trouble him for some ideas? Perhaps he had some low-cost solutions that would be suitable for the project? The previous architect had told him that the site had an extremely high water-table, being next to a river, and the soil was very porous. Benninger was interested. He was free the next day. Could they visit the site? He didn’t like the hustle and bustle of cities anyway. A trip to the countryside would be welcome.

Christopher Benninger

Benninger was delighted with what he saw. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a site like this? It’s perfect for a school. The river provides natural air-conditioning. The plot is already fully planted with trees, so there is plenty of shade. I can see it. No high rises. A series of low class-rooms connected by walkways. Flower beds, lawns and fruit trees and open playgrounds. I have a young associate. I’ll send her over to make some drawings. She is better than me. Let me get back to Pune and I’ll get her to call you. You need a decent contractor. Someone who uses local materials.”

A few weeks later, when  Thangam answered the ‘phone, the voice asked if it was Venkitachalam’s mother. “Collector wants to speak, please hold.” She waited, and then a flustered male voice came on the line. “Hallo? Mrs. Baidyanath? I am Sinha, R.K. Sinha. Yes, yes, your son and I are batch-mates. Yes. Very brilliant, your son. Very brilliant. Yes, same batch. I have been posted here as Collector last month only. I spoke to Benkat, he told me about the school. You are facing problem? No more problem madam. Yes, yes. I will ask for the file. No problem. I will take care personally. From today. Yes, yes. At your service. All permissions, all clearance, my responsibility. Yes, yes. What? No, no, no. You don’t have to come. I will send my man. You go ahead with construction. Block office, panchayat, nobody will do anything. No, no no. Yes, you have pen? My name R… R.K. Sinha. Yes. You please take my direct line. Call me anytime. Day or night. At your service. Yes, yes, yes. I will take care. No problem. If anybody ask, you please take my name.”

R.K. Sinha, District Collector

III   R.K. Sinha kept his word and more than that. Within a few weeks the panchayat had sent over clear title to the land and a “No Objection” certificate. The BDO personally visited the area and ordered the PWD officials to start work on a metalled road to the proposed school, giving it easy access to the village and train station. Drainage, water and electricity connections, even street lighting appeared like magic. A contractor approached Thangam at the site, brandishing a letter of introduction from the Collectorate, offering to undertake the construction on a cost-only basis. She was taken aback, but he was convincing. He showed her photos of other buildings he had completed.

When the school opened, in the first year it had 32 students in two classes. All of them were children of farm-workers and daily-wage earners. Atanu and Sutapa Roy worked tirelessly to convince the villagers to send their children to the school. At first, it was an uphill task, but the lure of two square meals a day was a powerful tool. It persuaded the first set of parents to enrol their children. Within a year, there would be 90 students and in two years, their numbers would rise to 226. 

Atanu and Sutapa Roy

The school’s  philosophy was simple. Impart education in the vernacular, with a stress on building character and self-sufficiency. The school was as much a bridge to a brighter future for the boys and girls who attended it, as it was an outreach to the community. As the number of students grew, so did the staff. Among them, was Rehana, the girl Vaithy had brought home from the pavement many years ago. She joined the school as a teacher, and vindicated Thangam’s faith in her own vision.

Rehana with students

As the school grew, Thangam and Kaberi Bose Tuttel devised new plans for its future. They held fund-raisers in Delhi, Bangalore and Pittsburgh, and found new suporters for their cause. MD donated a collection of paintings that were auctioned, fetching a tidy sum for the Trust. Kaberi used her network to the hilt, bringing in much needed expertise and funds. Students from Pittsburgh began to trickle in, spending summers in Shiuli, teaching and helping improve the facilities. Even more important, they would spread the word when they returned, and more of their peers would find their way to the quaint village the following summer.

Kaberi Bose Tuttel

Three years after the school was opened, a vocational school and day care centre were opened. The new school offered women training in tailoring, arts and crafts and aquaculture. Upon completion of their courses, women were encouraged to start small businesses with micro credits. Within a few years, the women of Shiuli began to harvest the fruits of their empowerment.

IV   All the while, Vaithy was keeping a punishing schedule. Driven by MD’s son, who had joined him, they set about growing the firm. They travelled to Tokyo and Munich, to sign partnership agreements, laying the foundation for a new business foray. Overseas offices were opened in Lagos, Jebel Ali and Jeddah followed by Frankfurt and Port Louis. The firm’s expansion had been driven by a mix of ambition and pragmatism, but now its sights were firmly set on the future.

One morning, Vaithy was preparing to leave for the office when he felt panicky and called out to Nandu. Within a few minutes, he felt dizzy and lay down, while he tried to clutch at a glass of water. It slipped from his grasp, fell to the floor and shattered. Hearing the noise, Thangam came rushing into the room, and saw Vaithy clutching his chest, gasping for breath. That evening, he would wake up from the sedation in hospital. The doctor was surprised he had not felt it before. This could not possibly be his first heart attack. The test results were clear.

Chuppam was by his bed-side when he was discharged and came home. “Appa, I have something to tell you. Can I stay here? With you? I don’t want to go home.”  Vaithy looked at Thangam.”Not going back? What about the children? Are they having vacations?” Then came the tears and the welter of words from Chuppam.

Thangam had noticed the swelling on her arms previously, but had thought it was a rash. This time, when Vaithy was in hospital, mother and daughter had spent time alone, and Chuppam had confided in her. “He has been using all kinds of drugs to keep himself awake. I think it started when he was a resident. He used to do it to keep him awake, sometimes he had shifts that lasted twelve to eighteen hours. When we were newly married, I noticed that something was wrong. He had mood swings. He has a terrible temper. He has hit me. Many times. I asked him about it, but he kept refusing to talk to me. He works very hard. Sometimes he does six operations in a day. He is a very good surgeon. Once he comes home, he is a changed person. The children are afraid of him. I found out he uses steroids, and it only makes him more aggressive. I have told Appa, but he refuses to believe me. He treats his son like a prince. It has been hell for fifteen years.”

Vaithy listened as Chuppam sat by his bed and lightened her burden. He felt the anger swell within him. “My child, all this time, and I never knew.” He turned to Thangam. “You knew, and didn’t tell me? We need to show our face to our son-in-law.” His voice turned cold. “Don’t fret child, Appa is here.” He raised his hand, and wiped the tears streaming down his daughter’s cheeks.

Text by Shankar A. Narayan. Photo credits: Manoj P and Suman Ganguli.