Brahma Kamalam!

 Cereus! Brahma Kamalam!

Its botanical name is Selencereus grandiflorus (or is it Epiphyllum oxypetallum? Or Saussurea obvallata?) We in India know it by its Indian name of Brahma Kamalam. It is commonly known as Night Blooming Cereus.

Last year, on 13^th June to be exact, the Brahma Kamalam bloomed late in the night and we were treated to a rare sight which lasted for just a few hours. After that, the blooms closed up. Soon, the plant went back to being an ordinary, anonymous, cactus-type pot dweller.

The plant was taken care of along with its other potted neighbours and watered every day. It remained in anonymity.

Last night, close to midnight, this once-a-year night bloomer chose to open up and give us a repeat performance. Fourteen days short of one Gregorian calendar year.

The plant is of the cactus variety, with narrow, elongated leaves. The blooms are large and pearly white in colour and their stalks grow out from the leaves. The flower starts to bloom late in the night. When in bloom, the flower gives off a heady aroma.

There were four of them and all bloomed at the same time. It took about 3 hours for each bloom to open up fully and the flower was a sight to behold. Their fragrance filled the air. This spectacle lasted for just an hour or so before the petals started to close up. By morning, the petals were fully closed and the flowers were drooping as if they had never opened!

Au revoir! Until next year!

Bangalore of the 1960s - visiting tradespersons

Bangalore of the 1960s - visiting tradespersons

“Perugu, perugu!”

This cry from the street usually signalled a flurry of activity from my grandmother. She would quickly wash a vessel and run with it outside to wait for the “perugu” seller.

The year would have been 1962 or 63. The place was our tiny two-roomed rented house in a narrow street off Cavalry Road (since re-named K. Kamaraj Road) in the Cantonment (Civil Station) area.

My grandmother ruled a small kingdom consisting of our house with my elder sister and me as the denizens (later on joined by our younger sister) and which also included a couple of docile Telugu families who were our neighbours. She laid down the rules and regulations for amicable living in the dominion. These rules were never broken and life was quite peaceful.

The “perugu” seller would visit our area once or twice a week. “Perugu” in Telugu means curds and this, along with butter, was what she sold. The curds and the butter were kept in steel vessels placed in a basket which was carried on her head. My grandmother would purchase a small quantity of curds to supplement the curds she made at home. The purchase would be accompanied by light hearted banter and a bit of friendly bargaining and conclude with the lady doling out a little bit extra, or “kosuru”, whereupon both seller and buyer would be happy.

The milkman with his cow was another daily visitor, early in the morning and again early in the evening. There was always a suspicion that he diluted the milk so he had to be carefully supervised while he extracted the milk into a cylindrical container (which I now realise might have contained a bit of water to start with). But he neatly avoided this supervision by tethering his cow a little away from our doorstep. He would measure out the milk into a “paav” measure and pour it into the steel vessel held out by my grandmother, adding, like the “perugu” seller, a few millilitres extra as “kosuru” to assuage any feelings of suspicion.

There was the “kalayi-kaaran” who visited our street once every few months. His trade was tin-coating copper and brass cooking vessels (known as “kalayi”). He carried all the tools and ingredients of his trade in a canvas bag. He would sit down, spread some charcoal from his bag on the ground, light a fire and keep blowing with a mini bellows till the coals were glowing. He would then heat up the vessels one by one by placing them face down over the fire and deftly turning them round and round. When each vessel became red hot, he would rub a small bit of pure tin all over its inner surface and then smoothen it out by polishing it with a cloth till the vessel looked new and shiny. After he finished his work and handed over the coated vessels, there would invariably be a huge argument with my grandmother before an agreement was reached on the charges. But in spite of these arguments, this man would turn up again after a few months!

We had a well in our house which always had plenty of water. During and just after the rains, the water level rose till it was hardly three feet below the ground level! Sometimes, small vessels would fall into the well either by accident or by design (kids loved to throw these things into the water and hear them splash and gurgle as they went down). There were persons who dived into wells and salvaged these vessels for a small fee. One such person, a ferocious looking man with a luxuriant moustache twirled up, visited our area regularly, enquiring at each house if there was anything to bring up from the well. He wore a “dhoti” (a loincloth) and carried a rope coiled around his shoulder with a multi pronged hook at one end. Sometime he would throw the rope into the well and try to dredge up the vessel with the hook. If that failed, he would tighten his dhoti, take a deep breath and descend into the water, to come up a couple of minutes later with the salvaged items. It was not exactly deep sea diving, but still a big thrill for us to watch him at work!

Used clothes were not thrown away but stored carefully to be given to the tradesman who announced his arrival with the cry “Steeeeyl paa-aathra saamaaaaan”. This tradesman, short and stocky and a regular to our street, ran a barter programme under which he accepted used clothes in exchange for steel utensils, which he carried in a huge basket over his head. He would set down his basket and spread out the utensils to be chosen. He would then examine the used clothes offered in exchange. Then the bargaining would start. To us children, it seemed the haggling would never end, but end they would and a friendly exchange would finally be reached. Old clothes replaced by shiny new utensils.

These, then, were some of the tradespersons who visited our area in the Bangalore of the 1960s. There was one thing common with all of them – the personal touch they brought to their transactions. The little chitchat before and the murmur of good wishes after every transaction made it a pleasant experience while, of course, ensuring the customer’s loyalty! Sadly, there is no personal interaction in any of the malls and departmental stores which dot our fair city and shopping has become another form of “paid entertainment”.

© Shiva Kumar 2014

(Note: The article and/or the sketches may not be reproduced wholly or in part without the express written permission of the author)

Jai Shri Hanuman!

Shri Rama Jayam!

Nature's smile!

    Smile, have a nice day!

Some guidelines for first time voters

Some guidelines for FIRST TIME VOTERS:

If you have registered yourself as a voter (being more than 18 years of age at the time of enrolling as per Election Commission of India guidelines), you have the right to exercise your franchise during the forthcoming elections to the Lok Sabha.

1.      Check that your name is listed in your constituency. You can verify this in the electoral rolls displayed in your Ward Office. You can also access the Election Commission of India website eci.nic.in and verify that your name is included.

2.      Also read the Guide published by the Press Information Bureau, Govt. of India on their website: http://pib.nic.in/archieve/others/2014/apr/d2014040203.pdf

3.      Carry a proof of your identity (any of the documents prescribed by the Election Commission and listed in the above Guide) when you go to cast your vote.

4.      At the Polling Station, one of the polling officers will verify your ID and tick off your name in the Voter’s List available there, ink the FOREFINGER OF YOUR LEFT HAND and take your signature on the Register of Voters (in Form 17A) before directing you to the polling booth to cast your vote.

5.      If the voter does not have a left forefinger, the next finger on the Left hand will be inked. If he does not have any fingers on his left hand, the forefinger of his Right Hand will be inked. The rules laid down by the Election Commission in this regard are strictly followed and the Polling Officer will explain this to you if required.

6.      If the Left Forefinger is already inked (if you have voted in Municipal elections or any other elections held in your constituency recently and the ink mark is still present), your Right Forefinger will be inked.

7.      After inking your finger, the officer will direct you to a vacant voting booth to cast your vote.

8.      Please remember that the voting is through secret ballot. You will be allowed to vote in secrecy and nobody can compel you to reveal which candidate or which party you voted for.

9.      Electronic voting machines are being used for voting. The machine will display the names and election symbols of the contesting candidates. There is a blue button against each name. When you depress the blue button against the name of the candidate you choose, a red light will glow along with a “beep” sound, indicating that your vote has been registered.

10.  You may also use the “None Of The Above” option by pressing the NOTA (None Of The Above) button, which is the last button on the machine, to indicate that you do not wish to vote for any of the candidates in the list.

AS A CITIZEN OF INDIA IT IS YOUR DUTY TO PARTICIPATE IN THE ELECTION PROCESS BY CASTING YOUR VOTE.

(Compiled by Shiva Kumar)

                                                                                                           

The Cat and the Beanstalk

(This story was published in Reading Hour magazine, Sep-Oct 2012 issue)

The Cat and the Beanstalk

This is actually a mystery, as you will find out sooner or later.

Once upon a time there was a forest. Well, the forest might have been there all along, we don’t know. What we do know from reliable, if anonymous sources is that at the time this story took place this forest was there. We do not know the details of which forest and where it was since the sources omitted to divulge those details. In any case, they are irrelevant. Suffice it to say that there was a time and there was a forest. 

In this forest then, lived many creatures like lions, tigers, elephants, snakes, ladders, adders, subtractors, monkeys, duplicate keys, chimps and xyzees, 22/7thons (big snakes which swallowed small animals) and many more. As well, there were birds like parrots, eagles, sparrows, kites, vultures, peacocks and other types which flew in and out of the forest. Last of all, there were insects like grasshoppers, praying mantises, dragonflies, ants and crickets. Of course, before this storyteller forgets, there were also many trees and creepers and bushes in the forest (storyteller pauses, checks record to see if it’s set straight and continues with narrative).

All the above mentioned animals, birds and insects went quietly about the business of living peacefully (or not) amongst themselves. So did the ant and the cricket, who are the main protagonists of this story. The ant, being an ant, went about his business of collecting food and storing it away in his anthill. The cricket, being a cricket, went (not so quietly) about his business of cricketing. Cricketing is a pastime of crickets whereby they go “cric...ket, cric...ket”, in full voice, all the time hopping from one place to another. They do it especially in summer (one reason why summer is known as the cricket season), while the ants are collecting food.

(Going off the main story for a moment, you may be wondering why there is a cricket season but no ant season. You see, it doesn’t help if you go about your business quietly; on the other hand, it certainly is worthwhile going around making a noise, even if it is about nothing in particular.)

To resume, many of the animals and birds and other insects passing by now and then, stopped to ask the ant why he was collecting food and the cricket why he was cricking and ketting all the time. The ant replied that, it being summer, food was available in plenty and that is why he was collecting it. The cricket replied that, it being summer and food being available in plenty, the ant was collecting it so why should he bother? Therefore he was singing away.

From the above conversations of the ant and the cricket with the passers-by, the readers may have divined that it is summer.

In any case, summer being a season that comes before winter, soon passed and was followed by winter. Winter being cold made the entire forest cold and wintry. It became so cold that the water vapour froze and turned into ice and snow. Snowflakes carpeted the ground with white and gradually hardened and turned into ice. Icicles hung from every leaf and limb of every tree; there were icicles hanging from the tails of the animals. The snow fell on the monkeys’ eyelids and hardened, and they couldn’t even blink. They just closed their eyes and tried to sleep. The snow fell on the elephants and hardened to ice and when they tried to flap their ears and sway to and fro in unison, as elephants are wont to do, the breaking ice made such a loud creaking noise that it frightened all the other animals. They threatened to complain to higher authorities unless the elephants stopped the racket. So the elephants stopped moving and stood still, reminiscing about happier times and warmer climes while they waited for the winter to pass.

Soon the whole forest fell silent and went into sleep mode. It was an incredible sight, everything still and white. One animal who couldn’t pronounce his ‘L’s properly, was heard to sleepily remark, “how incredibry beautifur everything rooks”. The other animals sleepily agreed and by general consensus used the acronym “h-i-b-e-r” to call their forest the Hiber Nation.

Much later, the state of doing nothing but just staying still during the cold winters came to be called “hibernation” and this activity, or lack of it, became very popular with certain animals like bears and with certain departments in the government.

From the preceding description, the reader might have gathered that it is winter, the whole forest is covered with snow and ice and the animals are hibernating.

Most of the birds flew away to warmer places. The trees couldn’t flee, so they remained there, cold and stiff. The ant didn’t flee because, firstly, he was much too busy to think about fleeing. Secondly, having stored all the food he had collected during summer in his anthill why would he go anywhere? So he stayed.

The cricket too stayed because no one had told him that he should flee and he had forgotten that winters can be cold. 

(This fact that crickets have short memory-spans was not generally known until a revered scientist accidentally discovered it while working on the theory of reverse swing of a cricket ball. This storyteller, who however, is of a different mettle, was aware of it all along.)

So there they were, the ant and the cricket, in the cold forest in the thick of winter. The ant busied himself in his anthill cataloguing the food and marking the use-by date on each lot. The cricket had started off by trying to “cric...ket” in his usual strong baritone but, as winter progressed, soon found that he couldn’t sing because his troath (apparently, that is what crickets’ throats are called) had gone dry. He was also feeling cold and hungry. Desperate for something to drink and eat, he went in search of the nearest store only to find it closed. So he came back and tried to sleep under a leaf, but the leaf kept shaking in the wind (or perhaps it was trembling in the extreme cold) and disturbed him. He couldn’t fly because his wings had frozen (this is a regular problem with crickets during winters; scientists working on a cure have so far come up with a couple of remedies, one of which is to go away to Florida or Chennai or some such sunny place during the winters; the other, part of a top secret project for the army, is under wraps) and so he sat there, feeling miserable and wondering how to extricate himself out of this tricky situation.

Finally, after some deep thinking and deep breathing, the cricket crawled up to the ant’s hill and, using his last ounce of energy, called out to his friend before passing out. The ant, busy with his cataloguing, thought he heard something and came out to investigate. Seeing the cricket sprawled near his gate, he promptly hauled him in and dumped him in the lot containing cabbages and greens, to be catalogued. In time, the cricket thawed out and was able to get back a semblance of his voice. And so, spying the ant reclining in his favourite armchair munching on a bitten-off bit of a mushroom, the cricket sidled up to him and asked him for a spot of something, appealing to his patriotic sense and throwing in a pitch about benefits in the afterlife, for good measure. The ant didn’t think he belonged to any country, so patriotism meant nothing to him. Nor did he ever think about death, so the afterlife held no charms for him. He was not impressed. He gave the cricket some lofty homily about neither a borrower nor a lender being. He also told the cricket that since he had sung his way through summer, he could dance away the winter.

The poor cricket wobbled away, sad, cold and hungry, in search of the nearest cricket club with a clubhouse attached where he could hope to get a decent meal.

Moral of the story: If you are not trained in dancing, don’t sing.

And you will have noticed that there is absolutely no mention of either the cat or the beanstalk. Therein lies the mystery!

Disclaimer and note of caution: This story was concocted out of the thin air of a winter evening by the storyteller. It is based on neither fact nor fable and was written purely for fun. The reader is well advised to laugh it off.

©Shiva Kumar 2012

The setting Sun captured in my mobile. 29th March 2014, Yelahanka.

Busman's holiday

Just back from a 3-day busman’s holiday in South Kodagu. The weather was hot and dry when I drove into the district. Autumn-Spring was giving way to Summer. All along the drive, the trees had shed their leaves and new leaves were just beginning to sprout. There was no breeze and the forest was still.

On the second day there was a little bit of rain and the temperature dropped albeit by just a degree. It gave marginal relief but any relief was welcome. Thankfully, the nights were cool.

I was told by the locals that there were quite a few forest fires already and they were worried about this. They are hoping that the rains will arrive in time.

Here are a few pictures I took with my mobile camera.

The Suddenmobile

The Suddenmobile 

Mark 1

Engine-less.

Driven by will power.

Rear wheel drive.

Twin seater "Tandem" model. Plus a "Koodai" basket in front for basket cases.

Separate step and ladder for front and rear seats. No step or ladder for basket (basket cases to be lifted and shifted into the basket).

Tubular chassis frame made of ultra light weight Multinium (Carbonium-Titanium-Zirconium-Anothernium) alloy with a 58-micron layer of Parthenium compound coating to reduce surface tension and give it added zing.

Revolutionary designs for front and rear wheels incorporating “Re-Vol-Vo” 16-inch front wheel, provided with 16 solid carbon-steel grade plastic spheres of 1.6-inch dia on periphery for superior all-terrain traction and “O-Vol-Vo” 32-inch rear wheel with a slight oval bias for additional rocking and rollicking propulsion.
Instantaneous stopping power with "Dix" rear disc brake and "Rook-ja" imaginary front brake.

Two pedals (one for each foot) attached to a 12-inch rotary sprocket which connects to the rear wheel by chain and 4-inch sprocket.

Powerful “Verikleer” head lamp and “Red Eye” tail lamp with clear lens.

“Kurt-i-see” courtesy lamps provided on bottom steps of both ladders for night time visibility.

“Dono-Pud-Ho” reading lamp fixed under the umbrella canopy. Serves both front and rear seats.

“Sun-n-Shade” umbrella for that shady feel. Outer surface of umbrella panels contain "Ra" solar cells.

Special “Zap” charging station with two outlets (“Zap One” and “Zap Another One”) at mid-point of handlebar for charging cellular phones. Powered by solar panels on umbrella.

Head lamp, tail lamp, reading lamp, courtesy lamps and charging station powered by "Ra" solar cells on the umbrella.

“Ting Tong” bell on handlebar powered by rider's thumb.

Concealed wiring from solar panels to lamps and charging station (routed thru centre tube of umbrella and tubular chassis frame).

“Ssitt” leather seats. Colour coded black for front seat and brown for rear seat.

Trapezoidal spring-loaded “Sstandd” stand fixed to rear axle for convenience in parking. Springs back to horizontal when lifted.

Comes with two “Safum Cranium” helmets in matching colour.

© Shiva Kumar 2014

MY DAYS IN SCHOOL - BOXING IN THE CLASSROOM !

MY DAYS IN SCHOOL - BOXING IN THE CLASSROOM !

Boxing, as a sport, is believed to have been popularised in India by the British through the Army. Every cantonment had at least one boxing team. The boxers were young soldiers, or jawans, given time off from regular duties to focus on training and practice. They were trained by veterans and put on special diets aimed at building their muscles and stamina. Each centre had its annual boxing tournament and vied with other centres for top honours.

I remember, during the mid nineteen sixties, as a boy of some ten or eleven years, standing by the road outside my house near Madras Engineering Group & Centre (MEG) on the banks of the Ulsoor Lake and watching with awe the groups of boxers, with their boxing gloves on, jogging around the lake and practicing their jabs and cuts.

We schoolboys were allowed inside the MEG campus to witness the boxing matches. Oh, what a thrill it was to see the top pugilists spar with one another, “floating like butterflies and stinging like bees” (a phrase made famous by the legendary Muhammad Ali)! I still recall the exploits of MEG's champion boxer "Tiger" Subramani during the mid-sixties.

During the nineteen forties and fifties, Bangalore was home to several well known boxers, including some who were in the world rankings during their heydays. The exploits of "Tiger" Nat Terry, Gunboat Jack and Arthur Suares are well documented.

Our school, St. Germain High School, was the cradle of boxing talent in Bangalore. But some time during the late fifties (or early sixties), boxing was stopped in school due to concerns of injuries. My class teacher, Mr. Bruce Suares, who was also a student of St. Germain’s before returning to teach there, was, apart from being a great teacher, no mean boxer himself. He was the scion of the legendary Suares family of Bangalore, known for its sterling contribution to sports and to the teaching profession, and a nephew of Arthur Suares. 

The year 1970 saw the introduction of the ICSE system, replacing the Anglo Indian Secondary School Certificate (AISSC, also known as "Junior Cambridge" and "Senior Cambridge" exams for Standards X and XI respectively) system in India. The new syllabus was announced only in July that year, so, during the first few months, we had nothing to do except wait for the syllabus. One day, during the lunch hour, some of us students got together and rearranged the benches in the classroom to create a boxing ring. Another classmate, a good boxer himself, produced 2 pairs of boxing gloves and we were in business! The class was witness to some great boxing matches during those lunch hours. We took great pains to ensure that the benches were put back in their proper places, just before the lunch hour ended, so that the teachers did not know of the boxing bouts going on inside the classroom.

But we were caught in the act one day by Mr. Bruce – and then he took over. He decided to continue the bouts, albeit under his supervision! He became our coach and referee. He taught us how to protect oneself with the right hand in front of the face whilst jabbing away at the opponent with the left. He taught us how to dance in with a smart left hook or dance out of harm's way. He taught us that it was the small jabs which progressively weakened the opponent and brought him down rather that the one big left hook which not everyone was gifted with.

As we learnt how to box, we began to enjoy the sport. Contests were held daily between boys of similar builds. The contests became more and more thrilling with each passing day and there were many future boxing champs in the making. Until, unfortunately, one of the boxers slipped and fell during a bout and broke his arm; that put an end to the boxing matches.

© Shiva Kumar  2014

Om Namah Shivaya

Ekla Chalo!