SHANKAR BHATT ? WELL ALMOST

It happened at dawn in Berhampur around 56  years ago – a couple of months before I was born.

Around 5.30 AM at Dwarka Niwas in Giri Road, my mom entered the kitchen to make the morning tea. As she approached the platform there was a sudden loud hisss. Just a couple of feet away in full fury was a cobra. My mom shreiked loudly and fell backwards. Luckily the snake did not move. It only hissed and stood its ground swaying angrily as my mom crawled back to safety.

Dwarka Niwas in the sixties had a huge compound. We had our cricket pitch and badminton court surrounded by coconut, jamun, badam, mango, chikoo, guva, and champa trees. There was space for huge kitchen gardens too which was also the payground for the birds and the bees - not to speak of the snakes and scorpions. To our right was the sprawling Janana Hospital, to our front was Geeta Bhawan and all this on the Giri Road – Berhampur’s Champs Elyees which ran between Palace de la Giri residence to Arc de Tata Square!

The three houses where the Bhatts (Hindi lecturer in Khalikote college), the Krishnans (English lecturer at Khalikote college) and the Vardarajans (the house owners) stayed were built in a cluster, adjacent to each other without any gap. In the relaxed easy paced Malgudi days type ambience of the fifties and sixties it was almost like a huge joint family. Krishnans had five children, the Vardarajans had six off-springs  plus a sprinkling of cousins too. Buli, the self- invited and self-appointed brown stray dog, was our mascot and guard. Later we would have our own cat, dog and tortoise to add to the variety.

There was also a small, just a small, under-current of a South-North cultural adjustment issue that was getting slowly sorted out. We were referred to as people who eat roti and ‘capsule dal’ (rajma). There was also surprise expressed when parents would walk alongside for an evening stroll in Giri Road. In the mid-fifites of Berhampur such public exhibition of marital bliss was probably perceived as too modern a style statement! Parents were clearly on a learning curve.

My mom’s shriek in June 1960 was enough for the neighbours to descend in droves. There were concerned shouts of enna aachi, enna aachi (what happened, what happened). When they saw the spectacle there was a collective gasp. My dad had meanwhile got a stick to kill the posionous serpent. To his surprise he was not only stopped but also chided “ Shiva-Shiva-Shivaaa what stupidity”, they said slapping their foreheads with their palms.

God has come to your house and you want to kill it? Don’t worry, they said, it will go away. And yes, when the son will be born to you, name him Shankar. Mom was expecting and yours truly was curled up nice and comfortable in her womb when all this pandemonium was happening!

My dad had no option but to wait. The only North Indian family, in this far away land, the onus was on us to fine-tune our sensibilities.My dad pulled a chair near the kitchen door and sat there on a vigil waiting for God to go. Attempts to expedite his departure by prodding him with the stick proved futile. The cobra would hiss, display his hood and sway angrily before coiling back and dozing off.

In the midst of a continuous supply of filter coffee and idly-vada-sambhar from our friendly neighbourhood (our kitchen was out of bounds) it was also education time for my parents. You see, they were told, when a pregnant lady’s shadow falls on a cobra then it becomes blind. My mom was aghast. As it is she was in a state of shock. She had escaped near death. She was even worried about the likely effects her fall would have on her unborn child and now she was being held responsible for the serpents’ blindness and consequent immobility!

When by lunch time God had not moved and the crowd began thining, our six footer short-tempered neighbour from the adjacent compound made his quiet entry. He took the stick from my dad and assured him that he will shoo it away. Then without much fuss he proceeded to kill it.

Again my hapless father was subjected to tirade- this time on rationality. You are an educated young man in the noble profession of teaching, he reminded my dad. You have a small three year old kid and a pregnant wife to look after, how could you accept this kind of blind faith? With that he marched out in a huff.

My mom still remembers the grand funeral that was arranged for the snake God. Tulsi and sandal wood, milk, vermillon, kum-kum, incense sticks were arranged and amidst chants of shankara- shankara, ringing of bells and blowing of the Konch the funeral pyre was lit and the snake was reverentially burnt. Burning it was a must as my mothers’ photo was there in the snake’s eyes and if some other snake would see it there could be revenge! Some comfort.

Few months later I was born very early in the morning. My dad got to cuddle me in his arms by the time the orange sun was peeping over Berhampur’s eastern horizon. So he named me Arun- the rising sun. It also rhymed well with Anil -my brother.

Years later, when this story was told to me, I asked mom why I was’nt named Shankar? Oh, she said, you see Mrs.Krishnan was also expecting her baby. When they were blessed with a son they decided to call him Shankar. It would be so confusing to have two Shankars in the same compound.

MY TWO CENTS ON JNU AND AZADI

At the age of 31 I had already worked in SAIL for 8 years, earned two promotions and was working hard for the third one.

At 31 my dream of joining the elite civil services had died five years back and I had even recovered from self-inflicted inferiority complex.

At 31 my marriage was 4 years old.

At 31 I had already been blessed with two children.

At 31 on a rainy night, in Bhilai, my wife had to get down from my modest second hand fiat car (bought on loan offered by SAIL) and push it so that it could splutter and start and overcome the weak battery that I could not afford to replace.

At 31, that night, I had promised my wife and kids that one day I will earn enough to buy a new Maruti 800 and give them azadi from the rickety car.

At 31 I had even taken a loan out of my Provident Fund account and ensured my parents first flight on Indian Airlines (Raipur- Bhubaneswar) and also pitched in with a decent amount to help them to build their modest home in Dehradun.

And yes. At 31 I had left JNU 8 years back.

I too fought for Azadi.
An azadi with responsibility.
An azadi where I could stand with my middle class parents.
An azadi where the responsibility of wife and children were taken on with fun and frolic.
An  azadi  sans slogans.
An azadi that was not subsidized by the tax payers money.
However,it came at a cost. I do not have the bragging rights of being a revolutionary.
And I could never do a PhD. 

But thanks JNU, you taught me how to live and fight in the real world.

When Child gives birth to a mother: the wonders of the canine world

In Odisha the common man, by and large, shows a lot of tolerance ( I had to use this word!!) for the street dogs. In fact you can broaden the ambit a bit and include crows, pigeons, cats, cows and bulls too. Almost everyone has a soft corner for one or two of them. They keep feeding and pampering them almost as a daily chore.The crows incidentally are thought to be harbinger of rains, symbolize the coming of guests and are also believed to be embodying the souls of the deceased relatives!! Almost everyone has a soft corner for one or two of them.

I remember our Odiya neighbour once saying that he does not shoo away an animal because ‘you never know God has come in witch avatar to test you.’ I did not believe it then but today realize that it’s a nice philosophy to have. Fortune Tower, where our office is located, is full of such good Samaritans too.

This season, two mama dogs gave birth to a dozen puppies and unfortunately one of them died soon thereafter. The other mama quietly adopted the naughty dozen. But it was taking a toll on her health. Very soon the guards realized that not only was the mama getting weak but few of the pups too had died, possibly of malnutrition. The word got around and very soon volunteers began bringing in milk and biscuits while the guards kept an eye on them round the clock. It’s quite a sight watching them all bond together and fight for survival. While we all are doing our bit its hats off to the brave ‘mummy’ of 12 (now 9) kids.

Many of us look down upon these 'street dogs'. But honestly, hand on heart, could anyone from the human species discover this motherhood so naturally and feed them all even at the risk of her life? A point to ponder.

Then one day she was no more there. Where is she, I enquired from the guards. "The municipal van came and took her away" was his matter of fact reply.

No wonder the Fortune Tower is considered Misfortune Towers by many. And it's not a corporate thing.

An Evening in Puri

There are times when you can sit at one place and watch life slide by. That’s exactly what I did one evening next to the sea in Puri. It began with a stray dog being bullied away by a couple of bigger canines. A few kind words and gestures later we became fellow companions. I had no biscuits or bones to offer yet we bonded and sat silently close-by, watching the sun set behind the bank of thick clouds.

From the corner of my eyes I watched couple of young guys parking themselves close to a sun bathing blonde. Creeps I thought. Half an hour later I regretted my fist impression. They were sand artists leaving their own impressions in the sands of time. No wonder the blonde found them interesting!

Then this guy came along selling conches. “Teach us how to use it” was my pre-condition to buying the stuff he was trying to sell. Not only he taught us how to blow the conch but in the process also taught some of the greatest face expressions ever possible!! I managed to catch one.

The guy selling beads, “genuine pearls” and “precious” stones came by. Having failed to impress the blonde he now was trying his luck with the desi babus and memsahibs. We did not disappoint him either. How could you? After hearing all his ‘genuine’ stories how he personally found them in the sea bed miles away from the shore!

The ‘professional’ photographer was having no luck. He was convincing me and every other guy on the beach about the useless cell phone cameras. A forlorn figure in a crowd of selfie maniacs, I realized that no one can ever convince him and his tribe that “ache din” will come again.

The blondes’ discovery of India process was still on. This time she had 

discovered the jhal-muri. She was enjoying the attention she was getting as everyone around tried explaining the ingredients.

As the sun began sliding down quickly, I remembered the 50% rebate offer at my hotel bar during sun set. Oh yes! Sun downer concept is here in Odisha too!!

The dog followed and just as I was entering the hotel premises she stopped. She gave me one last goodbye look and without fuss melted into the evening sunset.....

She too knew that in this day and age loyalty takes you thus far and no further.