A drop of tear for my Damodaran Potti

 

I did not want to go there as I did not want to see Potti’s motionless body. I did not want to see his face without that eternal smile on his lips. The smile that spoke a thousand words. The smile that won many a heart and demolished many an adversary without uttering a word. Yet I went there as I knew for sure that Potti would love to see me before leaving. He was just peacefully sleeping. But with that missing smile, was that my Potti? I don’t know. My mind was still shuttling between reality and a refusal to believe it. Standing beside him, did I hear someone saying that Potti  departed after a heart attack? Very much possible. How could his slim body house such a big heart. Yes, he was incredibly large hearted. It is an irony of fate that there were people (very few of course) who could not understand the depth or vastness of his love. It is equally incredible that he could overcome hate with love. After all, love was the only language he knew.That sparkle in his eyes, those soft words he uttered, that smile that radiated love: Oh God, all these not any more?

Only those close to Potti knew him as a humourist. Of all the dimensions of humour he perhaps lacked just that clownish one. Most often his humour carried an element of the intellect. Self ridicule may sound clownish but it is possible only for those who are very confident of themselves. I remember the following incident. Potti was a PG student of physics in CMS college during 1986-88. The students of that class were on a tour to Kodaikanal along with some teachers. The students were engaged in some games in the Kodai garden and we all went back to the Kodai guest house where we were staying. Next morning Potti came to my room and said, “Sir yesterday Mini (P T John Sir’s daughter) lost her mutthumaala while playing in the garden. She realised of the loss only after reaching the guest house. She asked me to accompany her to the garden. But since it was too dark by then and after all it’s only a mutthumaala I discouraged. I thought she could buy a new one during the next Thirunakkara Utsavam. But Sir, she now tells that it coasts a few thousand rupees. Sir, will a mutthumaala cost ten or twenty thousand rupees?” This mutthumaala was a pearl maala! I sat wonderstruck by the Potti innocence. But in the years to come I had many occasions to realise that he was an incredibly strong personality who chose to remain behind the veil of innocence. He knew a lot on a variety of topics. He had a lot to speak. He never tried to impress anyone. But whoever came across him was won over by his purity of thoughts and the romantic beauty of the words he chose while speaking even casual things. His dreamy eyes spoke all that he wanted to speak. But did everyone hear those unspoken words? I doubt. He never complained and was a very contended man. While talking he was never in a hurry to stop. “But dear, didn’t you leave a little too early, in a hurry”.

Long back, once I met him near the Thirunakkara temple. Then he was working with the AHUJA company. He was their engineer responsible for the acoustics of big auditoriums in different parts of the country. I asked whether he was happy with the job. The answer to my question was so characteristic of him. He said. “ Sir, sabdathinte ardtha thalangal manasilaakki cheyyan aanenkil, dharalam cheyyanuntu” ( Sir, there is a lot to be done if one works understanding the nuances of sound). His employers might not have wanted him to go this far. But Potti with his sincerity and his eternal quest for perfection would go farther. These are virtues not often or never appreciated or applauded. But Potti never  worked to impress a boss. He was his own boss. Any work he took up, was done with the same devotion with which he performed poojas at the temple.

Let me come back to the tour to Kodaikanal. We all were having some exciting times at Kodai. During one of those ecstatic moments Mohan Kurien Sir’s then small little daughter Mini addressed Potti as Pottichayan. After that moment, Potti was Pottichayan to his class mates and we teachers. It is over three decades now. His name is saved as Pottichayan on my mobile phone. Some four or five years back we had this conversation.

“ Potti, I have saved your name as Pottichayan on my phone. I am going to change it as Potti”

“Why Sir?” He asked

“Potti, when we gave you that title you were a boy. Now you are a man, in fact a senior man. I should not take your name lightly.”

With his characteristic smile he replied,

“ You are not taking it lightly. That title carries the weight of love. Don’t change it Sir ”.

I did not change it.

I might not call up that number again.

But that name will never be deleted. That cannot be.

'Kabhi Alvida Na Kahena'.

"No Byes For You Potti'; Oh no .Pottichaya .........

Reema Poddar

 

Since March this year when the first of a series of locks down were declared, people are literally confined to their homes. While the young ones work from their homes the retired ones like me leisurely engage in whatever is of their liking. Though I am still busy with online teaching, I too find some time for leisurely engagements. Very often I slip into the slope down the memory lane. Most of these lanes criss cross  the CMS college campus or emanate from there. Most of the lanes that go out end in Kodaikanal, my dream destination. Yes, the annual tours with the PG students were something that I enjoyed most. I used to tell my students that they have every right to enjoy for five days after working hard for three hundred and sixty days. During my strolls down the memory lane these days, I reached places like Kodai, Ootty, Mysore etc. And at each of these places I relived those days singing, dancing, sitting beside the fire in biting cold etc. On the latest stroll, I was with the 1989 batch of PG students. A few days back I had received a message from Suresh Thomas of that class. (There was another boy in the same class, James Raj who appears in one of my earlier posts – “Note for sale” posted on Sept 25, 2017).

So we start. Our destination was Mysore. We could have taken the MC road route but we decided to go to Ernakulam first so that we can pick Thara from there. Thara was with this class for her first year MSc but shifted to Maharaja’s college after getting married to an advocate stationed in Ernakulam. The rest of the class wanted Thara also to be with them. We teachers also liked the idea. I think Thara was not informed earlier as others wanted to surprise her. We reached her home at about nine in the evening. We teachers waited in the bus and the students went in to surprise Thara and pick her too.  After some half an hour or so they all came back but the excitement was missing. Thara too was missing. “What happened?”, we kept asking. But there were no answers. Suddenly a girl came forward and told me “ Sir, woh nahi aathi. Uska shape badal gaya”. This girl was Reema Poddar. We proceeded without Thara.

For every annual tour one student is selected as the treasurer. The selection was often done by Devassya Sir. After the tour he would demand a detailed financial statement correct up to several decimal places. Convincing Sir was not a easy task and the selected students were very careful. Sir’s principle was that while dealing with public money we should be correct up to the n'th decimal place. Suresh was ordained as the treasurer of their tour. While others enjoyed, Suresh kept writing essays which were detailed accounts of the expenditure. We all felt happy as Devassya sir, who also was with us, will have nothing to say this time. Many things happened during the tour. I think I shall narrate those in another post.

We were on the last stretch of the tour. The students were singing, dancing and rejoicing as if there won’t be another day like this in life. And this boy Suresh continued with what he was doing all these days; essay writing. Just four or five kilometres to Kottayam he completed his job, folded the paper(s) he was writing on and just when he was trying to put it into his pocket the wind blew it off into the dark. By the time the driver was alerted and he could stop the bus it had gone forward a quarter mile at least. We realised that it made no sense to go back and search in the dark. All celebration came to a sudden halt. Everyone looked at Devassya sir. He was deep asleep. People asked. what next? Will there be any next at all? Unfazed, Suresh said “don’t worry, carry on”. That brought great relief to all. In a few minutes we were back in CMS college. All of us alighted the bus, but Devassya sir was still asleep. Someone woke him up. He turned around and seeing Suresh, said “ detailed account day after tomorrow”.

A day later Suresh came to the Physics department with a piece of paper and handed it over to Devassya sir. All of us remained very cool as we knew that, given his nature, Suresh would certainly have had some back up material. Indeed he had. Sir showed us the detailed account. It read:

Cash in hand at the beginning of the tour  = X

Cash in hand at the end of the tour             = Y

Therefore expenses (X-Y)                          = Z

We all prepared ourselves for the worst. But to our surprise, sir had a smile and asked “what happened?” The story was narrated to him. I am sure that with any other treasurer in such a situation sir would have let loose all hell.

But then, for his friends and teachers Suresh was Mr Honesty.

And today, Mr Honesty is Captain Suresh of the Indian Navy.

Every tour with MSc students was memorable in many ways. During this tour I was very happy as I could talk a lot of Hindi with Reema. I was so fond of Hindi and what I missed most in CMS was someone with whom I could talk in Hindi. Another thing that made this tour very special was some 'unprintable Rajalakshmi innocence'. She kept making innocent statements and really wondered when others laughed. Thus she turned to be the unwitting humourist of the tour party. Our driver Mr Saju was an exponent of folk songs. If I remember correctly, one of these songs landed Reema in some trouble. (or was it a story we spun? I don’t remember). The song was the following.

“aalappuzhakku pokaadi Mary, vellathi chaady chakaadi Mary”. Back in the Lea Hostel Reema was singing this song and suddenly the hostel warden appeared before her. To those who know the iconic Miss Mary, I need not explain anything.

Now what prompted me to write this note. The message I received from Suresh was an incredible story about Reema. She is selected as one among the top Asian-Americans. Yes, she is in the big league of Indra Nooyi, Sundar Pichai and Satya Nadella. Last year she was selected as one of the most powerful 50 women in Technology in the US.Yes, she is on the top of the world.

Proud of you Reema. Next time in Kerala, why not a visit to your Alma Mater? Technically speaking, I have no capacity to invite you to CMS. Yet I do that as who else can invite you dear to CMS with the same fondness?

Come surely. Standing in this campus with closed eyes and meditating you still feel all those sublime virtues this campus has valued as its life breath for over two centuries. Anyone with the faculty to feel the 'beyond' can hear those Sloks;

Slok of love, compassion, equality, unity, liberation from ignorance and what not?

Come Reema. Come with your Slok. And of course Kiran.

 

GURU DAKSHINA

In the past four decades I have attended hundreds of wedding ceremonies of my students. In our twenties, my colleagues and I attended these functions as if we were on a picnic. As years passed by, this feeling changed. In my forties I started praying for them. Once I fell onto the wrong side of fifty, students apart from inviting to their wedding, started requesting me to receive ‘Dakshina’ from them. This often posed logistic difficulties as the Dakshina had to be received in the morning at the bride(groom)’s house and the wedding happened at a later time at a different place. But I always obliged.

What a ‘Dakshina”

Ten years ago, this girl named after her birth star invited me to her wedding at the famous Mahadeva Temple in Vaikom. Since her home was too far away she didn’t request me to receive the Dakshina in the morning. After the wedding ceremony we moved to the reception hall and waited for the newly married. The sun was merciless at the highest altitude and I took refuge under a tree with leaves in such abundance that no sunlight or heat could percolate down. But I was a little uncomfortable wearing a branded ready-made shirt for the first time in my life. With a large number of buttons almost all over, I thought I looked like a clown. I told myself not to worry as I was a total stranger there. Even as I was trying to settle down to the comfort of the thick shadow, the cavalcade carrying the young couple arrived. The bride stepped out of the car in typical slow motion as per instructions from the photographers. Upon seeing me, she ran a full twenty meters towards me to the astonishment of everyone including the groom. The photographers ran after her not missing a single frame of the galloping bride. Never before in their professional lives might they have clicked such bizarre images. Reaching me she knelt to touch my feet. I felt sorry for her as it was very difficult to kneel in her pompous Kancheepuram saree and with all those glittering gold ornaments. So far so good. The satisfied photographers rushed back to take positions in front of the stage inside the hall. Even before I could realise what had happened I heard the senior photographer still beside me shriek, “come back”. The girl while rising in a hurry after touching my feet had her hair and some thin gold chains on her head tangled with the buttons on my shirt! In her anxiety she started shaking her head violently and the photographers ran around the hapless guru and shishya clicking with a vengeance as if there was no tomorrow. Suddenly there was a lightning from above and I told the bride: “It’s God showering those choicest blessings from the heaven”. The bride without losing her characteristic sense of humour even in her predicament, answered; “Might be Sir. God is everywhere: sometimes He hangs from a tree like a bat”. I looked up and saw the youngest of the lens brigade, beating his older colleagues, taking aerial shots with the camera in his left hand and hanging from a fairly high branch of the tree using his right hand. I advised the girl to stop shaking her head and I started setting her free from those innumerable buttons one by one. In a minute or so the girl was free and I could hear many a sigh of relief. A short while ago I was a total stranger in the crowd and now I am the centre of attraction. I tried to put up a brave face and feigned as if nothing happened. But clearly I was failing at it.

Thank you Azee

The first two weeks of the lockdown went off like a holiday. We had sufficient provision for a week and could easily manage them for a little more than two weeks. But when new locks down were announced one after the other we had jitters seeing the almost depleted storage. Going out was unthinkable. Convincing the police of the purpose was impossible.  Also, the scare of the virus had multiplied disproportionately.

In distress I called up Azee of the K A Stores. I gave a list and told him to keep everything ready so that I can come, pick up and go back quickly without getting noticed by the police. To my huge relief Azee replied “Don’t worry Sir, police have given us permission for home delivery”. He kept his word. I took the freedom to ask him to get some more things from elsewhere, which he did with no fuss. Anyone would have bought some medicines for us in times like these. But his willingness to find time to go to the Ann’s Bakery to buy sweets for us really moved my heart. To understand the greatness of this act, one should know how much busy he is managing his shop. During the extended locks down Azee helped us a few more times also. He did all these with no air of doing a favour. In fact he did all these with that characteristic smile, radiating love.

Now a little on Azee. I had described him in one of my earliest posts (K A Stores, dated 11-28-2013). He has gone a long way since those days. Now he is a very hard working young man running the K A Stores with good business acumen.

Until a special news about him appeared in the Malayala Manorama daily none of his customers including me knew that he is a national level winner in bike racing. If he is not seen in the shop for more than two days, now we are sure that he is participating in some competition somewhere in the country. And to top it all, this fashion freak changes his hair style every now and then with one avatar having no resemblance to another. The long and short of it; he is an eligible bachelor.

Gods and Angels

In the recorded history of mankind none has ever seen a God or an Angel. Despite this, almost all of the humans believe in their existence. The purpose of this note is not to have a philosophic analysis of the issue, obviously for two reasons. One, I don’t have the scholarship needed for such a discussion. Two, I don’t want to add to the miseries and mental agony emanating from the lock down.

 Everyone knew that the Janatha curfew was a precursor to longer versions. But none expected it to be beyond two weeks. As days passed by people started enjoying the “holidays” without realising the ferocity of the issue. People believed Trump when he said that it’s only something like the common cold. People remained happy with TV (the old gen) and the new gen with whatsapp, FB, twitter, tik tok... ( I have heard only these names). But things started changing by every passing day. People turned scary and realised that this virus like any other does not discriminate between gender, caste, creed, one’s political affiliation, nationality, colour of the skin, rich or poor or any kind of barriers we humans have erected over the centuries. I think the virus knew just one thing, that blood is monochromatic across all divisions. With places of worship closed people started praying from their homes with greater belief in the unseen God. As I have admitted in the beginning I cannot engage in an erudite discussion on the unseen God. But haven’t all of us seen or experienced the manifestations of God in various forms at various stages of our lives? Let us recall some incredible scenes during the two floods that ripped Keralites of their solemn sense of security they enjoyed for about a century. Who can forget Jaisal K P who knelt, bent his back and offered it as a stepping stone for some stranded women to escape into the safety of a boat? Who can forget Kanhiaya Kumar, the NDRF jawan who ran over a sinking (collapsing) bridge with an infant in his arms? This bridge collapsed moments after this great act of bravery and the child had to be rushed to the hospital where the doctors and other medical staff swung into action and saved the life. Who can forget the images of the stranded Sajitha Jabil in labour being rescued by an Indian Navy helicopter. There are any number of instances like these. For these miraculously saved people, who might have abandoned even their last hopes, who or what is God. Surely, to them the saviours were God or God-sent at least.

Starting with the Janatha version, we had several locks down forcing us to remain indoors. Indoors we remained. But would we have been so disciplined but for the police force on the road braving the April-May searing sun? I doubt. There of course were some excesses which shouldn’t be seen lightly. Overall the Kerala police did a wonderful job. We saw them all on the TV.

Now, there is a group of people which like God is ‘unseen’. This most important group unfortunately do not have a face and never receive appreciation as individuals. This group comprises the self-less doctors, nurses and other paramedical workers. I said this group of Gods and Angels does not have a face, as they remain inside their PPE for hours together in the furnace like atmosphere. Nothing can make up for these self-less dedicated Godly deeds. Face-less. But don’t you see God’s face here? Don’t you see the Angels all around?

I cannot conclude without writing about my “doctor-in-need”. Dr D Balachandar is a paediatrician by specialisation. Yet, at sixty four, I still seek his advice which he is ever willing to provide.

During the locked down days I sought his help several times for me and my family. His prescriptions over the phone were a great relief. As usual they brought relief to the patient. There was a greater relief. During the stringent lock down days even going to the medical shop was a difficult task. One had to carry the paraphernalia of mask, sanitizer, a statement in the prescribed form detailing quite a few things and the doctor’s prescription (this last item was demanded only by some overzealous police men). It is here that, Dr Balachandar’s prescriptions are a relief by themselves. Who will rush to the medical shop with the prescription:

(i)   Luke warm water

(ii)   Plenty of fluid and one week rest!

He belongs to the glorious tradition of doctors who prescribe medicines when there is no option left. Oh God, a doctor indeed.