A SMALL TOWN

Chapter -1

The Essay

It all began in class, one day when their teacher told them to write an essay on life in a small town or village. While most girls quickly plunged into writing about what they had seen or heard Indira sat stumped. How could she write about something she had not experienced? Later, after class, she asked her classmates if they had been to a small town - some had, other’s hadn’t. But that was no problem, they said. They could always manage to conjure up pictures of life there having read or heard about them. Indira couldn’t do that. She told her teacher so. Her teacher did not insist because Indira was a fine writer anyway, and if she hadn’t written her essay this time it was alright. It was just class work.

But Indira took her subject seriously. She asked her mother when she got back from her boutique that very evening.

“Mom, why have we never been to a small town or village? We were asked to write an essay in class and I was foxed.”

 Her mother shrugged her shoulders. She asked a counter question. She always did that. “Who’s got the time to visit a village or town?”

Clever Indira understood from her mother’s tone what she meant. Yes, what did the likes of them have anything to do with a village or town?

Indira was furious. She did not like her mother’s attitude. Didn’t people living in small towns or villages have their own dignity? In fact, they were good and simple people and she liked them for their lack of guile and naivety. A brilliant teenager, and a young adult, she was beginning to see the world in an altogether different perspective.

Her father was a business tycoon. Her mother ran her own boutique. The family had no time for one another. But at least it kept her mother away from all those terrible kitty parties! thought Indira.

 She saw her parents, once a week, on a Sunday morning for an all American breakfast of fruit juice, cold milk and cornflakes and coffee.  Some how they managed to find time for parties that mattered. Indira sighed. It had always been like that. For holidays they went to Europe or to the United States, or England.

  And there was nothing Indian about the way they lived. Everything in their house was from abroad - the costly wines, cheeses, the cutlery, the crockery. Even their clothes! All the bric-a-brac in the display cupboard. Keeping up with the Joneses was her mother’s great preoccupation and late night parties were the norm.

Indira had learnt to be by herself even as a kid. There was Gopal their good, old Tamil Brahmin cook who did most of the cooking He also told her the loveliest stories - of gods, goddesses, demons, animals and birds. But all in Tamil, her mother tongue. He insisted she learn it. The clever man promised to tell her the stories only if she repeated the same to him in Tamil - without her leaving out a single detail. So Indira was forced to learn Tamil this way! 

There was a maid to attend to Indira, her clothes and things. This one spoke Tamil, too. There were two other Hindi speaking maids to look after the house and a butler to lay the table. She was in the company of these servants, most of the time, especially when she had been a small child, and they loved her and kept her amused and happy in that big house!

As she grew up she learnt to look around to make friends. But it took her time. So, she began to mingle with girls whose parents were exactly like her own. She liked them but did not exchange confidences with them. She managed to survive pretty well all on her own.

 But she had no dearth of things to play with, especially when she was small kid. Her cupboard was chockablock with things - dolls of every kind, books from all over the world. Now that she was a teenager, it was clothes and pop music. She had cassettes and cassettes of her favourite music. So her only preoccupation now was, chatting with people on her the Internet, or turning on the music at full blast and spending whole evenings or holidays wiggling to it until she collapsed out of sheer boredom. Some times she read a book or two. She liked romance, light fiction, detective novels, mystery-just about anything that did not tax her mind. Sometimes she was invited to those snazzy, poolside parties, barbeques - the works. She went for want of anything else to do. This was the only life she knew and she was not yet a judge of things good and bad. But she would have to find that out a number of things for herself.

The class essay had brought it all up and set up a whole new world before her.

She asked herself a number of questions. How did people in her country live? Did they have enough to eat? What was their life like? What a varied culture we had! India was a mini world with such a diversity of cuisines, languages, cultures and peoples. She could find out things by reading books. But she wanted to travel and discover first hand. She had seen enough places out side her own country. But what was the use? She knew little or nothing about her own. Now the thought became an obsession.

 One evening she caught hold of her mother, while she was relaxing with a cup of coffee. Now or never, she told herself. She said.

“Mom, I want to visit a few places in India. I must also meet some of our relatives. But first I want to visit a small town. So arrange for me to go there, this winter vacation.”

Her mother was taken aback. She winced. Indira was used to having her way from childhood. This was her way to get even with her absentee parents. This was not exactly a request but more in the nature of a command!

Her mother wasted no time in prevailing upon Indira’s father to make arrangements for the girl to visit a small town. Her father was forced to sit and write a letter to his elder brother and ask him if Indira could come on a visit to Pudukolam (or Mayladuthurai) again in Tamilnadu- to spend her winter vacation, there. 

Indira’s father Rajagopal, grumbled as he set about it. It was years since he had visited his ancestral place or kept in touch. Who had the time? He was sure his brother did not possess a computer. He did not have his telephone number either. In these days of e-mail and Internet who wrote letters? Anyway, he had the postal address. He would drop a line. This girl was obstinate. Her word was law.  And there was no way of arguing with their incorrigible daughter!

“You have no idea how primitive that place is!” exclaimed her father to her mother out of Indira’s hearing. “Even I would find it difficult to adjust now, though I grew up there.”

“You had better talk to that girl yourself” said her mother. “She’s hell bent on visiting a small town and is asking me why we are not in touch with our relatives!”

Venugopal Periappa, her father’s elder brother was a school teacher. He was a nice, quiet man. He had a daughter the same age as Indira. So it would be alright for Indira to go there, thought Indira’s mother. Her own sisters and brother lived in big metros. The only small town person was her Periappa! Thank God! Indira could manage to speak fairly good Tamil. That was a good thing. She could manage pretty well.

 Her father sat down to write the letter and got it posted. Hardly had a week gone by when Periappa’s letter arrived. He wrote that the family would be glad to have Indira for her vacation. Indira herself read the letter. She had learnt to read and write Tamil from lessons on the computer! 

This was the first time she was seeing a post card. The letter was in chaste English. She liked Periappa’s neat hand and simple style. When school closed she was all set to go. She had a month’s holiday.

“Don’t forget that the house is primitive and lacks things you are used to. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” said her mother over and over, again. Indira was annoyed with her mother for making such a fuss.

“Come on, Mom! Don’t make such a fuss. I can manage very well.” She said.

“That house has a tiled roof, an open courtyard. When it rains there is going to be problem. It is a hundred year old house. They don’t have furniture. You may have to sleep on the floor. You may have to eat sitting on the floor. Think of all that. It’s not what you are used to. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Indira said in exasperation. “Those things don’t matter to me. Let me live like an ordinary Indian for a change! I am bored with this house. I am also looking for new experiences. A new way to live. I will manage nicely. I hope they will like me.”

Indira wanted to go on this trip because she had to discover her country and its people and in that way she would be able to discover herself. In spite of the pampered upbringing she had a tough streak to her character and so she would be able to rough it out no matter what came her way. She knew that.

This trip would be a good test of her latent skills and talents. Indira was no longer a kid. She was into her teens. In a year she would have to leave school behind. These years were crucial to her, in the sense she would have to look around, absorb the right values, the right priorities. How could she do that unless she met and mixed with the right people who could guide her? Her childhood was a spoilt one. She did not blame her parents. They were living their lives the way they thought was good for them. Each person lives out his or her dream. She had to take charge of her life and do something worth while with it. The present one had no direction. She had to open the doors hitherto unknown to her and learn from life itself. The class essay had suddenly made her sit up and take notice. And she was happy her parents were not stopping her but letting her do what she wanted and making arrangements for it.

She packed her bags. One medium sized bag held half a dozen dresses. Her mother wanted her to take clothes from her new wardrobe. But Indira did not want to draw attention to her self or stand out in a small town with all those funny modern clothes -tank tops and tops with spaghetti straps, jeans and pants! She preferred to take the simple, old fashioned salwar kameez sets, with matching dupattas which she found in her cupboard and which she had seen many girls from middle class homes wearing. There were some gifts, too for her hosts and her cousin. The second bag was her hand luggage containing a set of clothes in case she wanted to change, a small toilet kit, a towel a sheet and her bathroom slippers and a book to read on the flight.

 Her father had fixed with his Chennai office to deliver her a lap top and also fix an internet connection in Periappa’s house. She had her cell phone with her. She would use it until she reached Pudukulam. Once she was there she would decide whether to use it or switch it off. She was now ready for the trip...

Chapter 2

A Different Milieu

Her parents put her on a flight to Madras. They were tense and hovered around her at the air port. Indira was very amused by all the things they told her. She got into her flight happily. When she reached Chennai, a lady from her father’s company was there to look after her and to accompany her to her destination. The night train from Madras brought her to Pudukulam railway station.

Indira stood with her baggage and her companion on the near empty platform like a fish out of water. She winced when her companion asked innocently. “Have you spotted your uncle?”

She looked out eagerly for Venu Periappa. How could she recognise a man she had never set her eyes on? There was a small group of people on the platform and they were running hither and thither looking for their relatives who might have arrived by the train that had just steamed in. Now which of them was Periappa?

Well, any way he it seems had more sense than her, for he spotted her even from a distance and began waving frantically to her. Yes, that would have to be him! Did he not resemble her dad, but for his clothes? He, for his part had no difficulty in recognising his tall, stylish niece who looked the spitting image of his own father, Vedamurthy Sastrigal, but for the fact, she was a young girl! The same chiselled features, the same fair skin, the broad forehead and the wonderful enigmatic smile! His heart skipped a beat. He had never felt so attracted to any one like this before. He had adored his father whom he had tried to emulate. And this girl whom he had never seen before was bringing up a revered past.

“Hello! Hello!” he cried hurrying towards her cheerfully. Indira heaved a huge sigh of relief when he came gripped her hands firmly and affectionately in his and asked happily. “Is it Indira?”

Indira for her part ran towards him out of happiness. He had such kind eyes! And when he held her hands she felt such a great sense of kinship overwhelm her. Seeing him the lady companion said, sighing with relief. “Sir, here is the girl’s baggage. Now I take my leave.”

Indira thanked her. Then turning to Periappa she found him getting hold of her bags and proceeding towards the exit. She followed him. She felt awful that he should be lugging her bags.

“Periappa, what about a porter?” she asked.

“No need. No need.” He said whisking her off in the direction of the exit. There were a few autos, some cabs but he headed straight for a horse cart. Indira’s mouth fell open when he heaved in her small luggage and helped her to get in and then finally got into the cart himself.

This was the first time she was travelling in a horse cart.  It was most amusing. Periappa said in response to her thoughts.

“We could have taken an auto. But a cart is cheaper. We are not in a hurry, you see. And then how will the poor man survive these days if we don’t use his cart? It is eco friendly.”

Periappa was right. She marvelled at his concern and logic. As the cart wove along the not too busy road he pointed to the landmarks – the General Hospital, the Court, and the boy’s  College. And the girls’ college.

“This  is a nicely planned town” he explained. You must visualise it. It is a kind of rectangle. In the centre are the palaces. Around it on all four sides are the streets-the first is Raja Vidhi or Raja’s street, the others are the Second, Third and the Fourth Streets.” In fact, many towns in India have mushroomed on their own, without planning, but not this town. That is its unique feature.”

They passed through the Main street or Raja Veedhi, which had several buildings, banks, aristocratic houses and shops. Soon they were on their own street- The East Second Street. 

Periappa said. “Here we are! Our agraharam.”(The Brahmin neighbourhood.)

Indira stared. She had never seen houses stretched like this from one end of the street to the other on either side. At the sound of their cart, windows on both sides of the street swung open and many pairs of eyes peered to catch a glimpse of the visitor. Every one knew that she was arriving. Indira was a little embarrassed but she got over it in a trice. In a small town, people were curious, knew everything about everybody. In fact, she waved to some, taking them by surprise. She had her first question. “Periappa, where is the greenery, I mean the gardens? I can’t see a single tree on either side of the road, here!”

Periappa laughed. “Oh! That?  We have trees in our backyard. You will notice once we get home!”

Now the cart had come to a standstill opposite their house. Periappa jumped off the cart, helped Indira get down. The cart man carried the baggage and deposited in the front of the house- the entrance. 

“Here we are” said Periappa, “We are home!”

The front door was open. Meena, her cousin came running hearing their voices. She stood framed in the doorway and cried out aloud to her mother, in great excitement. “Amma! Amma!” They have come!”

Meena stood hesitantly looking at Indira. Indira went to her and put an arm around her affectionately. How small Meena looked compared to her! Indira towered over her! Meena was dressed in a full-length skirt or ‘pavadai’ a dhavani, (a half saree) with a blouse to match. She was extremely slim and fetching, in her own way. She had her hair done in a single plait. On her wrists were gold bangles and around her neck a thin gold chain. She wore a strand of flowers in her hair. She looked the picture of a typical south Indian teenaged girl.

Kamakshi Periamma came hurrying to welcome Indira. “Come, come, Indira! How pretty and tall you are! she exclaimed in a tone of great affection which warmed the cockles of Indira’s heart. 

Indira said just as affectionately. “Thank you for having me here, Periamma! It’s lovely meeting all of you!” She removed her sandals at the doorway before coming into the main hall. Meena said. “Come you can wash your feet.” She led her to the yard and picked up a mug of water and handed it to Indira. Indira washed her feet, took a look around. “So, you have a garden here?” She ran her eyes over the tiny strip of garden.

 The girls came into the hall. Periappa had just deposited her bags in the front room which overlooked the street. He told her so. Indira ran to take a look. She saw the two bags. She also noted a table holding a new laptop, on it. That was good. She was back in the hall.

Indira was sure she was going to like it here. She had never seen a house like this one. One could actually see the sky!

“Where’s the roof?” she asked staring at the blue sky in place of the roof. Every one laughed.

Periappa said “This is the courtyard or mitham. Why, is it the first time you are seeing a house like this one?

Indira nodded. She had another question. “What happens when it rains?”

Meena began to giggle hearing the conversation. She whispered to her mother something. Periamma laughed. She said “Meena is saying that you have come in this season. It could rain. Then you will see what happens!” Every body laughed again.

Periamma said “Indira shall I make coffee for you? Or would you like to drink Bournvita or plain milk?”

“Coffee will do nicely, Periamma.” Said Indira. Now she was happily ensconced on the huge teak wood swing or ‘oonjal’ in the hall. She beckoned to Meena to sit with her. Both girls were merrily swinging, when Periamma brought the filter coffee in the traditional way in a ‘davara- tumbler -combination.’ Indira sniffed the air. “Coffee smells great, Periamma!’ Thanks!’

Periappa who was hovering around came to where she was sitting, said “Now let me show you how to cool your coffee. This is the way we drink it- very practical.” He poured the hot liquid from the tumbler to the shallow davara and vice versa. “Now, your coffee should be perfect to drink.” He handed the coffee back to her. Indira stopped the swing and took back the coffee, and drank a few sips. “Lovely!” was her pronouncement. She liked the little exercise of cooling it, also.

“In our house we take coffee in a mug.” She said to Meena. Periappa said. “This is the way we like to drink our coffee. We have got used to it.”

“I like it, too Periappa. You don’t have to scald your tongue, drinking it this way!”

In the meanwhile, Indira said to Meena “I like this house, with all the pillars and the open sky above. I think it looks great!”

Periamma came and asked Indira. “Would you like to have your bath? There is plenty of hot water in the bathroom.”

“Yes, please.” Said Indira jumping up to obey at once. She did not want to disrupt the household routine. But she asked Periamma. “Can I open my bags, first?”

“Sure! Sure!” said Periappa . “Go ahead.”

Indira disappeared into the front room where her luggage had been kept. She wanted to give them the gifts she had brought from Delhi. Her mother had picked them for her. There was a printed pure silk sari with a blouse to match for Periamma, a polyester shirt for Periappa, a pretty dress material for Meena. Meena had an additional gift-a necklace of fine Hyderabad rice pearls.  Meena was ecstatic with her gifts. She put on her necklace right away to Indira’s great delight. Periappa and Periamma thanked her for the gifts. They said. “Indira, these are very costly gifts. Your mother has taken a lot of trouble.”

They thanked her all over again exclaiming that the gifts were lovely. Periappa said “I must sit down and write a letter to your father.”

Indira said. “You can use the laptop, Periappa. I see it has been fixed. Would you like to send my parents an e-mail.? That would reach them in a second.” She quickly sent her own e-mail to her parents telling them of her safe arrival. Periappa saw her at work. It was all over in minutes.

“Alright” said Periappa “I have to write and thank your mother for the gifts.” 

Indira said “My father has taken the liberty to fix me an Internet connection here for the time being. I hope it is alright, Periappa.” 

“No problem. I let them do it, since you would have to use your laptop.” said Periappa. “Can I dictate my letter or do I send it myself? I do use a computer in my school.”

Periappa typed the letter and Indira got the e-mail sent. Now her Periappa did not have to write that letter, which would take almost a week to reach! 

“Technology has made some things so easy.” Said Indira.

Periappa said. “Like I told you I do use a computer in school. My students use it all the time. But I don’t keep one at home. I will have to buy one for Meena. It will of use to her.”

Indira made a note of it. She picked up her clothes and set off for her bath.

All the warnings by her mother had not prepared her for what she was to encounter when she stepped into the toilet. She nearly jumped. It was the old fashioned type! She had never even seen one. Luckily it had a flushing system. And it was very clean. Her Delhi bathroom was a dream -the last word in luxury. She hesitated for a split second. This was primitive. She made up her mind to use it. When in Rome do as the Romans do was a practical enough adage. She then went to bathe, in the next room. She undressed and looked around to locate a clothes rail, but it was simply not there. She heard Meena calling out to her to hang the clothes on the door. She hung them on the door. Then she drew in a bucket and set to mix the cold water from a cement tank and the hot water from a copper pot with a fire going below it. The fire had to be fanned from time to time to time to make the wood burn. She dropped her old clothes in a bucket as her Periamma had told her. She had a good bath. The water was just the right temperature. When she was done she came out and took a peep into the well. Meena was drawing a bucket of water to fill a cylindrical tank that stood near the well. This was used for washing and rinsing the vessels.

Indira wanted to try her hand at drawing the water from the well but Meena would not allow it. So Indira stopped to take a look at the trees in the yard. There were a few trees in all. A huge neem tree with a platform built around it so people could sit around it. There was a medium sized curry leaf tree, the best in the neighbourhood, said Meena plucking a leaf, then tearing it into two with her fingers. “Now smell this!” she said to Indira. Indira took the leaf and smelt. “Lovely!” she exclaimed to Meena’s great delight. The third was a bitter lime tree or ‘kidarangai’ tree. Meena said. “These bear green fruits which look like unripe oranges. They are like big bitter limes, you could say, but have a very special flavour and taste. Made into pickles they are divine. Even the leaves are made into a special powder to eat with curd rice. Amma makes it. It is called ‘vepilai katti’-though it has nothing with to do with veppilai-that is neem leaves!”

 Indira heard it all with great interest. Along the compound wall she saw a line of plantain trees. There were a few bushes with flowers on them. Meena pointed to a patch of green coriander leaves. It was a tiny garden and did not need much looking after.

Now, Indira hurried to the hall and back to her room. Periappa was at his puja. So she quietly closed the door behind her and attended to her toilette. She combed her hair tied it into a pony tail and stuck a bindi on her forehead. She looked quite alright in her clothes. She glanced at herself in the long mirror which was fixed to the door of a tall ornate old cupboard which stood in the room and which held Periappa’s clothes. When she opened the door she found Meena looking out for her.

“What is Periappa doing? Asked Indira, glancing at him sitting on a wooden plank and reciting some slokas.

“He has finished reciting the daily slokas. Now he will do the parayanam.”
“What’s that?” asked Indira.
“He reads parts of ‘the Ramayana and the Srimad Bhagavatham” every day.

“Can I sit and watch? Asked the eager girl. She had not seen any one do puja in her house. This fascinated her. The reading of the slokas had a cadence which was beautiful. When he was done Periamma brought in some cooked offerings, which were offered to the household deities with the ringing of the bell to summon them. Soon after this he performed the arati by burning a piece of camphor and waving it in circles in front of the gods. Everybody came to touch the flame to their eyes. Indira too followed suit. Then they bowed before the deities bending their heads to touch the floor. Periappa prostrated full length before the deities. That done the puja was over.

Now, every body went their ways. Periappa picked up the newspaper which he had not scanned from morning and Periamma dashed off to the kitchen to give finishing touches to the morning meal.

They had their morning meal sitting on the spacious kitchen floor. Indira wondered why they did not use a table, but refrained from asking. Was this not a very traditional house? Did not Periappa belong to the old guard? So it was a meal and not a breakfast. The important thing was she was ravenous and did full justice to the lovely spread cooked by Periamma with so much love and concern. 

The vegetables were served first. A helping of cabbage, dry curry, flavoured with coconut and curry leaves, and keerai mashial (cooked, mashed greens). Then came the super soft steaming hot rice followed by a dollop of ghee. Green drumstick sambar was poured over the rice, mixed nicely by hand and eaten with the already served helping of vegetables and a fried appallam. This was followed by the second course- more rice, now eaten with tomato rasam, and another helping of the vegetables and appallam. The third and last course was rice with curds and the lime pickle. Indira said. “Periamma! This meal is absolutely divine!  Its years since I have eaten a typical south Indian meal!” 

 After the meal Indira wanted to help Meena to clean up the place but Meena would not allow her anywhere near the kitchen.

‘What a nice child!’ Thought the good hosts.
‘What nice people!’ Thought Indira. 

After the meal, Indira and Meena played a couple of indoor games. Meena was shy wondering if her cousin from Delhi would play these silly games. But Indira rose to the occasion happily played with her cousin two games of ludo and one of Snakes and Ladders and enjoying herself thoroughly in the bargain! How long was it she had played these favourite games of her childhood? 

Now it was time for a little snooze. Periappa and Periamma had woken up at the crack of dawn and so they were tired after being on their feet till almost twelve p.m.  Meena unrolled three mats for the three of them and so the ladies, including Indira stretched themselves on them. Periappa snoozed stretched on the easy chair. The funny thing was the moment Indira put her head on the small pillow she fell asleep!

When they woke up Periamma gave them hot coffee with some home made snacks. Indira found it all very welcome and delicious. Later in the evening Periamma made some hot tiffin of uppuma. Meena ran to bring a couple of sprigs of fresh curry leaves for it. The uppuma was eaten with freshly ground coconut chutney. Indira liked the delicious tiffin and said so.

Periappa took the girls for a walk in the evening. They went to Pudukolam- the place got its name from the  lake which supplied water to the town. The place was cool and airy. The weather was good.

Indira told Meena “Some day, you must come to Delhi. I shall show you the whole city.  Periappa said, “One of these days we will go to the library. I shall get you nice books to read. This is the time and age to read the best books. They will leave a lasting impression on one’s mind.” Meena met some of her friends on the way. She introduced her cousin to them. The girls were tongue-tied not knowing how to address her, wondering if she even spoke Tamil. But Indira, had no inhibitions, extended her hand, said a nice hello, and spoke to them happily in Tamil which took them by surprise. 

Meena was very pleased. Periappa noted the ease with which Indira reached out to people big or small for the duration of her stay. She was simple girl in spite of her affluent background. She had a heart of gold, a happy person with no hang ups or airs and a great mixer.

Supper was a very light affair. Plain ‘vattral kozambu’ and roasted appallam. There were ‘mavadus’ (tiny pickled mangoes) with a crunch to it. Indira loved the food. The kitchen was cleaned and wound up for the night. Now it was television time- some news in English for Indira’s sake. Then there was a favourite serial of the family. Now it was time to call it a day. It was around 9 p.m.

The family slept in the hall. Periappa offered his one cot to Indira but she refused it saying she would sleep along with Periamma and Meena.

“In that case you have to sleep on the floor” said Periamma “You may not be used to that.”
“I can try this one night.” Said Indira bravely. 

Meena fetched mats for all of them with pillows and sheets for covering. Periamma felt bad. She fished out a fairly thick mattress unused. She stretched it out for Indira. “Now that’s better.” She said. “You can sleep with less discomfort and I can sleep in peace!”

Indira lay down to sleep. She tossed a little. This was the first time she was sleeping on the floor. She had a mattress, though. That way she was quite comfortable. It was the first time she did not have a room to herself. Her Periamma asked “Are you alright, Indira?”

“Of course, Periamma.” Said the girl “A new place isn't it? So I am taking my own time to get sleep. Or may be I overslept in the noon. I shouldn’t have. Don’t worry, Periamma. I like to think before I fall asleep.”

Satisfied with her explanation Periamma heaved a happy sigh and turned over.

From where she lay Indira could see a strip of the dark night sky with all its stars. This was simply lovely. A small puff of wind blew. From some where a bird called breaking the stillness of the night. Panic seized her. What was that? Could it be a bat? But nothing happened and silence prevailed. She thought of the day and all the new experiences. She was happy and glad she had come. Pretty soon she fell asleep soundly.

Chapter - 3

An Old House

Indira stirred, still wrapped in the silken depths of sleep. Around her the hall lay in darkness. Soft trains of music floated across and fell on her ears like pure, limpid dewdrops gathering on newborn rose petals. How lovely they sounded, filling the very air around her with their auspicious notes! She had never woken up this way to the strains such music. Some how the music seemed perfect for this time of dawn. She would ask Meena what it was, later and get herself a cassette. 

She shook herself now and looked around. Meena was up and she saw her hurrying towards the backyard. She must get up, too. Indira was on her feet, wide awake. She folded her sheet and left it on a stool. She rolled up the mattress lifted it in one shot and deposited it in the front room on the bed where she had seen all the sheets and pillows piled up. She now picked up her sheet and pillow and piled it on the mattress on Periappa’s bed. This done she took out her tooth brush spread the toothpaste on it and hurried to the yard to brush her teeth. Her Periappa and Periamma must have woken up ages ago and now up their varied tasks of the day.

Meena was rinsing her mouth with water from a mug. Indira picked up another mug filled it water from the cement drum near the well, up to the brim with water. She too commenced brushing. Meena wiped her face with a towel draped on a clothes line, waved to Indira and ran off to the kitchen. Indira finished her ablutions and went into the kitchen to greet her Periamma. Now the girls had their coffee in the kitchen itself, sitting on two modas which Meena had placed for the two of them. The music had stopped.

Indira asked “What was that lovely music I heard on getting up?”

Periamma said. “That was Venkatesa Suprabhatam.” This is the song to wake up The Lord at Tirupati. We play it every morning.”

“It was so beautiful. I need to buy a cassette. I have never heard it before!”

She added after a pause. “In my house, I listen only to English pop music.” 

Meena said “Come Indira, I want to show you something.”

She held Indira’s hand affectionately and led her to the front of the house. She stopped at the doorway, led her to the space in front of the house, part of the road. “There!” she exclaimed. “Look at the kolam my mother has worked out.”

Indira gasped in astonishment. It was a gigantic kolam covering the whole space in front of the house.” It was very artistic and precise.

“How very wonderful!” exclaimed Indira stopping and staring in awe and wonder. “How long does it take her to work it out?”

“A few minutes.” Said Meena. Periappa appeared there. “Good morning Indira. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, Periappa, I slept very well. I am admiring Periamma’s handiwork.

 Periappa said his piece about the kolam.  

“Indira, a kolam is made of powdered rice flour. It is meant to decorate the home front. But it has an auspicious connotation, too. It is supposed to draw Goddess Lakshmi to one’s house. When that happens the inmates enjoy prosperity. That is the belief.”

Indira had a question “What if somebody tramples upon it? It will be spoilt, won’t it?”

“Sure!” said Periappa. “It happens all the time. There is so much traffic on the road. But that doesn’t matter. It has to be there at dawn when the sun is about to rise- the time Goddess Lakshmi is supposed to be on her rounds”

Meena said. “I am also quite good at doing kolams. But Amma’s kolams are the envy of the neighbourhood!”

“You must teach me some basic kolams. I would love to do them. But I am awful at drawing.” said Indira.

Periappa who was now reading newspaper, sitting at his table in the pyol said. “That does not matter. Every body can work out kolams. You need to make dots and connect them.”

“You mean you know how to do them?” asked Indira.

“Of course!” said her Periappa. “But it is supposed to be done by women. I have tried them on paper! Ask Meena to show you her kolam book. It is full of kolams which the neighbourhood girls learn from one another!”

Meena took hold of her hand, again. “Come I will show you something else now. This is also Amma’s work!”

Now the girls were back in the hall. Meena pointed to the two pictures that stretched on either side of the Puja cupboard or almirah. Both were pretty intricate. One was a full-sized panel with the Pattabhishekam or coronation scene of Sri Rama. The other was the famous Brindavan scene of ‘Rasa Lila’ with Krishna in the centre and the gopikas forming a circle.

“My mother painted them both.” She said softly not without a tinge of pride.

Indira’s mouth fell open. “What? Periamma has painted them, is it? I thought they were prints! I did see them on my arrival. They are incredibly lovely!”

Her Periamma came into the hall to glance at the clock.

 Indira ran to her and said. “Periamma, what lovely things you do apart from the wonderful cooking! Your kolams are lovely. So are your paintings. Oh! Periamma, you are a genius!  If Meena had not told me that it was you painted them I would have never known. We have beautiful pictures, in our house. But they are all done by famous artists! These are just as good! I am not one for abstract work.”

Periamma said. “Indira, talking about kolams, all girls are supposed to know how to work them out. We watch our mothers at work and learn from childhood. It is part of our upbringing.”

Indira said “I have an eye for beauty, though I can’t produce a thing myself. The moment I stepped into this house I was struck by its simplicity and beauty. I had not noticed the kolam, at the entrance, because of the excitement of my arrival. Meena showed it to me, just now. I can only say that our people are very artistic and have such a fund of knowledge in every field. There is so much to learn and my eyes are just opened to a few things ever since I came here!”

“Yes” replied Periamma. Look at the fabulous Madhubani paintings on the walls of houses of small towns and villages in north India. The ladies of the house would work on them for days in order to spend time and while away the hours! What simple and wonderful art work! Every year they would rub out the old pictures and work out new ones! Now they are made into prints on cloth and adorn the houses of the rich and the famous. We have so much art done by housewives!”

“I love the lay out of this house-so open and spacious!” said Indira. “The moment I came in I also noted that a part of the yard is visible from the entrance! I have never seen such a house! The courtyard on one side and the rooms on the other.”

Periamma said. “The architecture of the old houses of a bygone era was all like this. One could see the ‘tulsi matam’ from the entrance. Periappa told you that Goddess Lakshmi would stop at the entrance attracted by the kolam. She would also take a peep inside to see if the tulsi plant was worshipped, by the inmates.  If she saw the plant she was sure to step in and bless the house. This is also a belief. So the old houses were built with certain ideas and beliefs in mind.”

How interesting!” exclaimed Indira running to take a look at the ‘tulsi matam’ with its little niche for keeping an oil lamp for its worship. A small kolam had been worked out for the tulsi, too. “That was lovely, Periamma!” she said when she came back.

Periamma continued. “Indira, I was telling you about the house. This is a hundred year old structure made of mud. It has its problems, when it rains as you rightly said. Luckily there is not much rain in this place. The roof is made of tiles. All these keep it cool. In summer we provide a thatch for the courtyard, to keep out the heat and the radiation from the glare.”

Periappa said. “Are you people discussing this house? Well, not many of these houses are left now.  In those days there was the joint family concept. These types of houses were ideal. The courtyard is a place for drying things. It is used by small children for playing. It is safe and the mother can keep an eye on the kids. People of the house could gather here for chats. It gives the house a feeling of spaciousness and airiness. It is ideal for a joint family as one doesn’t feel hemmed in. The sad fact is they are being pulled down every other day to make way for flats in many places. Do you know that well-known hotel chains are buying up old houses like these, renovating them and offering them to visitors who come and find this kind of living a new experience? They are called ‘Heritage Homes’. Yes, to many they bring back an era forgotten by the present generation-a lost heritage.”

Indira said. “I would like to live in a similar house. But I would like to add a few things to make it comfortable.” She looked around and remarked. “You do have taste, Periamma. You have made it so elegant.”

Periappa laughed. “You don’t know your Periamma. She took this old, broken down place and gave it such a nice look!”

Indira said. “I have never seen or lived in such a house. It is a new experience for me. But what is amazing is the moment I entered the hall my eyes were riveted to the Puja almirah. It is simply captivating with its intricately carved wooden frame. Here, in this house, it seems God holds centre stage, bang in the middle, the heart of the house, to catch one’s eye! I also liked the interesting puja things laid out in it. –the lovely stone and metal idols, the pictures, the shining brass lamp, that dainty kolam for the Gods.  Above on either side of it, as if to enhance its beauty, on the whole sweep, of the wall, your pictures, Periamma! Incredibly lovely! I also like the shiny, teakwood swing, the low seating arrangements, the pillars around the house, the simple modas and the light cane chairs, the nice potted plants in the courtyard. This house has none of the things we keep in our modern houses. No sofa sets, no dining table, no beds- no furniture, no carpets, no upholstery, no bric-a-brac, no curtains on windows or doorways, nothing! That is why it has that uncluttered look. And yes, the shining red, cement flooring makes all the difference! It is so immaculately clean it took my breath away!”

Traditional homes are marketed today as 'Heritage Homes' promising an experiential stay!

Periappa stared at the girl no bigger than a child, but speaking like some professional interior decorator. “You mean to say you noticed all these things? You are a remarkable girl!”

“Not at all, Periappa. I was comparing notes. Our house has a great many things. It is huge and yet it has a cluttered look! My mother is still adding things. Shopping is her hobby. She wants to have new things, all things her friends don’t.”

Periamma said “You are a remarkable girl, like Periappa says. If I were to notice things it is understandable I am a housewife. But you are a young girl in your teens!”

Indira laughed again. “Only now I am beginning to notice things. This trip is special. I have made up my mind to travel and study people in their milieu. The best way to begin is here where you have preserved the old way of life. It is my luck that I am seeing all this. For me it is a learning experience. I am beginning to see things in a new way. I want to be a real Indian. A proud Indian.”

“Swami Vivekananda would have been happy to meet you. He wanted Indians to be proud of their unique heritage and not ape the west. You should read some of his works and his advice to the youth of the country.”

“I must. I must. You must help me and get me the best books to read, Periappa!” said Indira “As yet I am a poor judge of things. I have to go a long way before I make up my mind about what I wish to do with my life.”

Periappa and Periamma were very impressed with the girl.

The pressure cooker in the kitchen began to whistle. Periamma darted towards the kitchen, saying. “I must see about lunch” and bustled off to the kitchen .The pressure cooker let off another whistle.

 Periappa hurried off for his bath to start his morning puja. Meena ran off to pluck flowers for the puja. Indira followed her, even helped her and then went to her computer to do some work. She wrote a kind of dairy, of every day happenings so that she could remember all the details, later.

That day the meal was different. The gravy was made with thick butter milk flavoured with ground coconut, jeera curry leaves and green chillies called ‘mor kozambu’. The vegetable was green, banana roast, done to a crisp. There was a repeat of the keerai mashial. There was rasam, of course and curds. The pickle was made of chopped ‘mahali ‘root, soaked in thick buttermilk with a dash of chilli and salt to taste. This had a great flavour and was another delicacy in the south. These roots made their appearance only in the winter season. 

Periamma explained “Your thatha (grandfather) was a health buff. He would insist we have a green leafy vegetable every day for the morning meal in addition to another fresh vegetable.”

“Yes.” agreed Periappa “My father was a great one for diet. We had to eat the freshest vegetables, every day and everything in its season. All we need to keep healthy is provided by Mother Nature herself, he would say.”

Later, in the course of the day after the morning meal was over she asked Periamma what she had studied in college. “Periamma said. “Nothing much. I did my Masters in Philosophy.”

“Oh!” said Indira “After that did you do a course in Interior Decoration?”

Periamma laughed heartily. She said “No. I tell you why this house is so empty of things. I was kind of rebelling against my mother. My mother’s house in Mysore was chockablock with furniture. One was always bumping into things. It was alright for her to have so much furniture. She did not have big gatherings, especially religious discourses and things in her house.

 Here, the heat can be terrible. A house full of furniture can be awful. The open courtyard can bring in lots of dust. Your Periappa loves to have musicians coming here to give performances. We have Hari kathas, in the house and of course we have gatherings for ‘Navarathri’ and other pujas. I need space and have ensured it. This kind of house suits our lifestyle.”

“Apart from art you have managed to put that little telephone table and the television, too, unobtrusively!” remarked Indira.

Periamma laughed. “Yes, that required some doing!”

In the afternoon they had coffee with snacks. Indira went off to do some work on her computer.

Later, in the evening, Meena’s music master was to come to take a class.

Chapter - 4

The Music Class

The master came twice a week to take the class. Indira was very excited. “What music do you learn?” she asked.

“Carnatic music.” said Meena.

“Do you like Carnatic music?” asked Periappa.

Indira shook her head. “I don’t know anything about Carnatic music. I once heard a Hindustani concert. I did not understand any of it.”

She watched Meena getting things ready for the class. She laid out a wooden plank for the master. She would sit facing him, so for herself she rolled out a mat. She went and fetched her music book, in which she had made copious notes. She was ready. Indira was surprised that the teacher took the trouble to come home. Was Meena a special pupil? She wanted to know.

Periappa said. “Shivarama Sir is an old friend. He used to teach my sisters when they were young. Now he himself offered to come and teach Meena. We were honoured. He does take classes at his place, too. But that is for a group.”

They heard footsteps at the doorway. Meena whispered. “That must be Shivarama Sir!” She was all attention.

Indeed it was him. He came and was welcomed most warmly and respectfully by the family. Periappa introduced Indira to him. Indira did a namaskaram and the master nodded acknowledging it. Periamma hurried to fetch coffee. Periappa and the master made some conversation. Then the master sat down on his seat. Periappa sat in his easy chair waiting for the class to begin. Meena sat down most reverentially in her place on the mat, opposite the master. The coffee arrived. The master drank it in a few gulps and the class began.

Soon, Periamma also sat down leaning against a pillar, a little distance away. Indira sat next to her from where she could get a good view of the proceedings! The class began and went on for an hour. Meena sang a krithi. (Song) The master listened attentively and corrected her now and then. When she sang very well he let her go on. The correction was only when there was some confusion or when it was not up to the mark! When he sang in order to correct her, it was wonderful, the way he stressed some lines, the way he glossed over others. The raga then had a life of its own, meandering like a river, quietly flowing now, then hurtling on its way, eager to immerse itself in the ocean..! It was most profound. So many emotions emerged and one held one’s breath in sheer wonder at the magnificence of the raga brought out so skilfully by the singer.

Janya ragas are Carnatic music ragas derived from the fundamental set of 72 ragas called Melakarta ragas, by the permutation and combination of the various ascending and descending notes. 

 Indira sat spell bound, listening keenly. Could music be like this? When the master rose to go everybody rose. Periappa saw him off to the door, came back to the hall and resumed his place on his easy chair.  He made a comment.

“Meena, you must sing with feeling. Bhava is the essence of Carnatic music-the soul, as it were. If that is missing, the song is nothing. The other aspects were alright. The teacher corrected you.”

Meena blushed. She hung her head, silently accepting the criticism. But Indira came quickly to her rescue. “But, Periappa, I thought Meena sang very well.”

Periappa said. “This music is more than a good voice or correct singing. One has to sing with deep humility and utter reverence-as if God was your sole audience!”

Indira asked. “Periappa, do you also sing?”

Periappa laughed. “Not me, though some of my best friends are great musicians, today. But all of us grow up with this kind of music. It is part of our upbringing. And do you know that once music was for God alone?”

This was the first time Indira was hearing such a thing. She said so.  Periamma came into the hall from the kitchen. Meena whispered to Indira. “My mother can sing nice bhajans!” Periamma made herself comfortable on the mat now the teacher had gone.

  She said to Indira “Girls in every family learnt to sing. It was part of our upbringing like Periappa was just saying. We girls had to sing for the gods when the oil lamps were lit for the evening. We sang for the gods when we had the festivals. During ‘Navarathri’ it was a whole lot of singing. You see Carnatic music is very spiritual just like Hindustani music of north India.  There are songs sung for the deities in the temples. There are songs to awaken the Lord. Songs sung as lullabies when he is ready to sleep. Our gods are said to be very fond of music. For us girls it provided a lot of socialising and fun, singing together, learning new songs. Only some went on to make it their profession.”

Music and singing in Bharat have always been for God!

“I have two girls in my class who want to have careers in music. Once the teacher asked the class and the girls told her. These girls are also south Indians.” Indira said

Periappa said. “Music can be a very fulfilling career. I want Meena to be professional singer. She has a good grip on the essentials. Her master offered to come home to teach her because he sees a lot of promise in her. I know she has the potential to make it big. But I want her to sing for God alone. If she does that the audience will come on its own.”

Indira looked at Meena with great admiration. Meena blushed again but said nothing. She was a silent girl unlike Indira. Indira asked “Periappa, when the master sang it was wonderful. I mean the way he held…”

“Explored the raga, -yes, great knowledge, devotion, and insights can make one sing like that. You see, in those moments they are tapping spaces unknown or unheard –what the poets refer to as -‘the music of the spheres ’- in those moments, divine insights come in flashes to the singer.” 

Indira was silent. This was simply stupendous! 

Periappa said. “While on the topic of music I must tell you about Saint Thyagaraja. He was one of the Trinity of Carnatic Music. A was a great composer, and one of the very best. He sang for Sri Rama alone. He was in communion with his god all the time and all his compositions are addressed to this beloved deity. What immortal music flowed out such devotion! After a whole century he is still remembered and once every year many musicians come of their own volition to Thiruvaiyaru, his birth place for his aradhana, to pay homage to him on the banks of the Cauvery by singing his immortal compositions-musical gems. This is a one of a kind of gathering in the world!”

The highlight of the Thyagaraja Aradhana is the group rendition of Thyagaraja's Pancharatna Kritis, a set of five compositions.

Indira said “Wow! I must hear some of his music. “Periamma, I must get some nice cassettes before I get back to Delhi. I am just beginning to glimpse our wonderful heritage- our music, our art and our cuisine. There is so much to learn in our own country. It is amazing! I have hardly been here and I am learning the most wonderful things!” She glanced at Periamma. She said softly.

“Now before we forget, Periamma, you must sing a bhajan for me.”

Periamma said. “Alright, I like to sing bhajans, any way. This one is by Meera Bai. I don’t know much Hindi. You can correct me after I am done. I might not be good in my pronunciation of Hindi words!”

She began to sing. She sang with great feeling and reverence. She had a remarkable voice. Her absorption was total. Indira understood at once what her Periappa had meant when he checked Meena. Yes, this music had certainly touched some inner chords of her being.

She said to Periamma. “That was beautiful. I could listen forever to that.”

Periamma said. “I can sing only small bhajans. For instance I cannot hold forth like the music master or Meena. Today, they were singing a krithi or song by Purandara Dasa, another saint who had lived in Karnataka. That song was in the ragam, Hindolam, a lovely ragam. The knowledge and musical skills of a singer is judged by the raga elaborations and delineations. That needs hours of rigorous practice and sadhana and great insights as well as the blessings of one’s guru to be able to handle that.”

“Periamma, you could have learnt it all” said Indira.

“Oh! Yes, I could have! Our saints have proclaimed music to be the Royal path to God. But that was not my way. In fact, Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa once told somebody that there are as many ways to reach God as there are people! Is it not a wonderful thing?” Periamma added. “I want to sing small bhajans only for God. I opted to be a housewife and all my energy is used up for my housekeeping. I love it. I am not complaining. Actually, everything is God’s work. You can worship Him through numerous ways -with flowers, through service to mankind, being a good housewife. Or you can paint or sing or do anything. But all this must be done as an offering to God. Therein lies the secret”

Periamma got up and said. “Now, I must go and get the chutney ground for the evening tiffin. We are having iddlis, today!”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Indira. “We are having such a variety of food, Periamma. I simply love it all!”

Soon they were in the kitchen eating up the foamy, white iddlis that went so well with the creamy, coconut chutney. There was ‘molaga podi (a dry powder) made specially to go with iddlis and to be taken with a spot of gingely oil.

“Doesn’t your cook make all this in your house?” asked Periamma.”

“He knows everything, but my mother gives him the menu. He is forced to cook a lot of continental dishes with the help of the butler. My father and I eat what is put on the table.  But where do we eat together? Nobody is home for lunch. My father eats in his office, my mother at her boutique and I at my school canteen. In the evening I almost always eat alone, anything I fancy. But now, when I get back, am going to eat all this wonderful stuff. I eat a lot of junk food which is not good.”

Later in the evening they went with Periappa to the library. Periappa picked up some good books for them, ‘My Experiments with Truth,’ by Mahatma Gandhi, a small book on Swami Vivekananda, and a book on Carnatic music.

The Story of My Experiments With Truth by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

Supper was just fresh rice with buttermilk and salted ‘kidarangai’ pickle. Meena said pointing to the pickle. “From our tree!”

Later, it was the news on television, some music and it was bed time.

“Early to bed and early to rise is what we do here.” Said Periamma.

Indira said “Makes sense, Periamma.  “We save on electricity. We also wake up so fresh in the morning!  Just like the birds!”

Chapter - 5

Seeing Sights

For a whole fortnight they were busy. Periappa took the family on a round of temples. There were some very interesting places to visit. They visited a temple of Lord Shiva also known as Gorkarneshwarar. This temple was built inside a hill! Another famous temple dedicated to the Mother Goddess. They made it to a temple of Lord Muruga, the family deity, a full forty miles away.  For this trip they took a bus. The temple was on top of a hill. “A Murugan temple will always be on the top of a hill.” said Periappa.

 Periamma had packed their lunch in tiffin box-easy to eat, picnic fare. She had also brought banana leaves to eat the food on. After the darshan of the deity they sat under the shade of a huge tree and ate a nice meal of lemon rice, coconut rice and tamarind rice with fried peanuts thrown in for that crunch. There were vadams to go with it. The last was of course the curd rice without which a south Indian meal is incomplete. For this there was fresh, nicely chopped carrot pickle flavoured with a dash of lemon, a pinch of asafoetida and green chillies. From atop the temple one could catch a good view of the surrounding country side. 

(Periappa took them to visit the Maharaja’s palaces. The old one had stables where they saw the horses and elephants. Indira saw the elephants being fed buckets and buckets of food- cooked rice, mixed with tons of jaggery, leaves and twigs. The girls were very amused. One morning they went to view the south Indian Ajantha -‘the Chittana Vasal’- cut.

  Indira persuaded Periappa to take her to a village. Periamma laughed. “You can take the girls to Sellukudi, where we have a small coconut farm. Your Periappa, generally so patient is very impatient when he gets there!” she said laughing. “The man in charge of the coconuts is not a very straight chap. Periappa wants to sell off the land and be done with it.”

They did make the trip. It was only three miles from town. They went by bus. They had to foot it out to the grove. Velu, who was looking after the farm lived in a hut at the edge of the grove. He seemed pretty poor. Periappa asked him a few questions. Velu plucked some coconuts for them and promised to bring a few of them to the house after selling off the rest. But that never happened. Periappa was in a hurry to get back. They did not get a bus and walked all the way home! It was quite an ordeal. But Indira got a good glimpse of a village. There was just a small huddle of houses, mostly huts. Some were proper houses big or tiny, here and there. One could catch sight of fields of rice or wheat or whatever they had planted.

There were some shops selling all kind of things from vegetables, fruits grocery, pot and pans, some eateries and coffee stalls. Poverty stalked the place. The children were ragged and dirty but they were full of laughter. Some of course stared at them till they were out of sight. On the out side the village seemed peaceful. But it was not really peaceful. Fear stalked the place. There was crime aplenty. There were television sets in some houses. Road side tea stalls and small hotels had film music blaring. People had gone film crazy. Indira was haunted by the picture of the poor kids who did not have clothes to cover themselves. She winced when she remembered her cupboard overflowing with clothes. When fashions changed she had a new wardrobe!

She mentioned the children when she got back. “Why are they so poor? I am sure they are starving!”

“Yes” said Periamma, “After so many years of independence the condition of the poor is still the same. We need incorruptible people at the helm of affairs to uplift these people. The rich farmer is getting richer and the poor one is where he was.”

“Only education can improve things. The computer is changing life here. Many children are attending schools. But a lot needs to be done.” Said Periappa.

She was beginning to piece together things. She asked many questions and her Periappa and Periamma answered them all. 

She liked to have conversations with them, ask her questions and have her many doubts cleared. How kind and gentle they were! They never thought she was silly or stupid. They listened carefully to everything she said. She had led such a sheltered life. For the first she had seen such abject poverty in that village. 

Her own life had been a bed of roses. She had never been exposed to life in the raw- like the village visit. She had taken everything for granted- her parents, her friends, relatives and teachers. Now she began to see every human being as a person who had his or own life to lead and problems to solve. And every one, she surmised was a unique in his or her own way. She no longer looked at things with the eyes of a child, but with the knowledge and awareness of an imperfect adult world. She seemed to be weighed down by her thoughts.

She took a good look at their own town. When ever her Periappa went to the market she would go along with him. She found the market very interesting. It was overflowing with shops stuffed with things. Television sets, clothes, vessels, gadgets, jewellery- a hundred things! Here people seemed better off than in the village. There were cycles, autos, cars, buses, lorries, horse carts-the works! People seemed happy and cheerful. Most of the men wore dhotis while the women wore sarees. Little girls were dressed in skirts and blouses or frocks. Teenaged girls wore ‘dhavanis’ like Meena. Some wore salwar kameez suits. Some men wore dhotis and shirts while others were comfortable in pants and shirts. Small boys were dressed in shorts and shirts.

 She liked the vegetable market with tons and tons of fresh fruit and vegetables, overflowing, heaped in mounds in the street corners. The noise was killing. But nobody seemed to mind the noise or the dirt and dust. We are immune to everything, thought Indira. Generally the people were a happy lot. They put their faith in God and learnt to cope as best as they could. This resilience on the part of her people was what surprised her. 

Her Periamma and Periappa agreed. “What would kill a well-to-do man will be endured by the poor and the ordinary. Thank God for that!” Otherwise it will not be possible to carry on was their surmise.

One day, they were sitting in the kitchen having their tiffin. Periamma was deep frying bhajjis with an assortment of finely sliced vegetables- potatoes, onions and raw bananas. Meena said “This is my favourite tiffin. I simply love them. I like potato bajji the best.”

Indira said. “I remember eating it a long time ago.”

Periamma said. “I generally avoid making fried stuff. But once in a way, it is fine to eat it. If you don’t eat it now when will you kids ever get to eat such stuff? Actually during all our festivals we make vadai and payasam and other eats” She continued after a pause, “Our fermented tiffins like the iddli, dosai and adais are all high on protein. The first two are light on the stomach and very healthy. Our nutritionists are beginning to see all this and even recommend them now when processed and junk food is being consumed by the young people who are already having health problems!’

Indira was taken by surprise with her Periamma’s wide reading and awareness. “We as an ancient civilisation, have a three thousand year old cuisine. Everything has been given thought- on how, what and why to eat. They knew how to combine the mental and physical well being, in which food plays such an important role.” Periamma said quietly.

Indira had a swipe at the deliciously crisp bajjis, which came in batches depending upon the vegetables. So Meena gorged on her potato bajjis. Periappa liked his with raw banana .The last to eat was of course was Periamma.

Indira said “Periamma, I don’t like this. You always are the last to eat. You must eat with us.”

Periamma said. “No, I like to feed you all. Only then I can relax and sit down with my plate. But if you want to eat with me your share would be stone cold1 I will not have that”

Chapter - 6

The Hari Katha

On another day, after their tiffin, the ladies were in animated conversation in the kitchen. Periappa who had finished and had even washed and rinsed his plate came into the kitchen, stopped, and made an announcement.

“Kamakshi! I think Subarama Sastrigal will be in town shortly.

“Did he phone?” asked Periamma.

“Not yet. I am expecting a call today. Remember, last time he was here, he promised to come in December to do the Bhagavatam?”

“What’s that?” asked Indira eagerly. This girl was full of gusto and wanted to know so much. Periamma had never seen a child so full of life. Her own Meena was a relatively quiet and restrained girl.

“Haven’t you heard of a Hari Katha?” asked Periappa sitting down to explain. Indira shook her head.

Periappa said. “You see we, in India have an oral tradition. We are not good at keeping records like the westerners do. This is because we give a lot of importance to diction. Our Scriptures were simply handed down by word of mouth. That is because the spoken word had a powerful effect and brought on the expected results. So, in ancient India when our boys came of age they went to a gurukulam or hermitage to seek out masters or gurus to learn from them the Vedas and the Upanishads and other holy texts. But how were the common folk to know their Scriptures? Everything was in Sanskrit and the ordinary folk did not know even to read and write. And even if they did know the local dialect they still had to learn Sanskrit to be able to read the works in the original. So storytelling began as a profession because of necessity. The surprising thing is it continues to thrive even today!

Scholars and learned men went to towns, cities and villages camped there for a whole week or so and performed Hari Kathas that is told stories of the Lord and His many avatars known as ‘The Srimad Bhagavatam’.  Some told their eager audience about the Epics ‘The Mahabharatha’ and ‘The Ramayana’ and the Puranas or stories from our mythology the most important of them being The Srimad Bhagavatam. These beautiful stories thus got repeated year after year and today every man, woman and child in many villages, towns and cities have got acquainted with our ancient Scriptures. They are familiar with the Gods and the goddesses and their doings. The Hari kathas are more than mere stories. They are full of wit and wisdom and contain lessons in good conduct and righteous living. They are unique to us, as a people.”

Indira said. “I have seen The Ramayana and The Mahabharatha on television. I loved them. In fact, the whole city watched them. They said that no serials had captured the imagination of the people as much as these two!”

“There you are!” said Periappa “That is because it is not a mere story. It is our Scriptures. Hence the impact.”

Periappa continued. “The Hari Katha is more than a story. It portrays a whole way of life which includes dharma, the moral order and all the great human values which we have to imbibe in order to be perfect human beings. Of course, the Lord’s story is there and His many Avatars and you will see him take a form to suit the age and time and mission. But every time He takes birth it is obviously to destroy the wicked and protect the good. The stories capture the imagination. The interpretation and the lessons derived at every step are as varied or as deep or colourful depending upon the knowledge and skill of the story teller. That is what makes a katha so interesting. These lessons are for all age and all time and so its value or interest will never wane. It is the same and yet it is different. I have been hearing the katha from childhood and I haven’t grown tired. Can you believe it? It touches the heart, stimulates the imagination and the mind rises above petty things in those great moments if our absorption is total. Not even the television, such a powerful medium can have that effect upon us! A live katha is better than a book for that matter. It is a collective and enriching experience and if the exponent and the audience are of one mind then it can be a wonderful thing.”

Indira was very impressed. She said to her Periappa and Periamma. “I can hardly wait to hear a Hari Katha. I am sure it is a great experience. How glad I am here to hear one!”

Chapter - 7

The Storyteller

That very night there was a phone call from Subbarama Sastrigal. He informed Periappa that he would arrive at the end of the week to do the Bhagavatam. He would stay with them, of course.

Periappa was galvanised into action. He had to arrange for the accompanists. They lived in the neighbourhood. But he had to alert them so they were available for the duration of the katha. They too were aware of the plans, in a way. There was a katha every December and they, too, looked forward to it. Yes, they were all there.

A couple of days before he arrived, it rained. In fact, the place darkened suddenly as huge banks of clouds had gathered overhead and strong gusts of wind blew. Periappa and Periamma quickly removed the cane chairs and modas from the courtyard. Soon rain poured. It must have lasted a full ten minutes or so. Then a nice warm sun appeared. All was well.

Meena said. “Indira “You wanted to know what happens when it rains.!”

Indira laughed. “That was nice.” She said.

“When good people come it rains.” Remarked Periappa.

  The day before the honoured guest arrived, Periappa got the string cot down from the attic, dusted it and set it in courtyard. The weather was chill, especially in the early mornings before the break of dawn. He bought a thick sheet from the market so the guest could be comfortable, in case he felt cold so he could cover himself. A new pillow was also purchased. A nicely scrubbed copper ‘shombu’(a small water pot) filled with cooled boiled water and placed on a stool near the cot was all that was needed to make the preparations complete. He would have all meals with the family-on fresh banana leaves, pure sathvic food, that is with no garlic or onion or rich spices.

Subbarama Sastrigal arrived by horse cart, on the appointed day. His arrival caused quite a stir in the agraharam. Every one wanted to touch his feet and take his blessings. Only God Almighty could have commanded such reverence! He had quite a following in the town with his awesome reputation as one of the finest exponents of this ancient art of story telling.

Periappa and Periamma were all attention, night and day. But the kindly man himself made no demands on them being simple and organised. He had brought with him, everything he needed and they were all neatly packed in a small travel bag.

Indira studied the good man, who was drawing so much attention. He wore a white dhoti (panchakacham) and a green coloured silk angavastram. He was fair and had fine features, a glowing skin and deep set kind eyes. There was something about his face that made Indira stop and wonder. What was it? It had a strange kind of peace, even beauty. He was awake like the family, at the touch of dawn. Indira heard from Meena that he was at meditation, sitting under the neem tree in the backyard. There was perfect silence in the house when he sat thus in contemplation. Then he came into the house to do the morning puja. Venu Periappa and Periamma had laid out all the puja things. When it was over and he had waved the lights (the arati) and offered some cooked offerings all this accompanied by the ringing of a silver bell, he was ready for his morning tumbler of coffee. Coffee over, there was a long line of people come to meet him. This stream of visitors coming lasted about an hour. Indira saw how kind and courteous he was, no matter who they were or what they said. And more than all that he wore his knowledge so lightly. In fact, he was glad to listen to people and help them solve their problems. He was a happy person. Indira saw his eyes twinkling merrily as if laughter as bubbling up within him. Once she had seen the Dalai Lama in some gathering. He too was so full of laughter! She had thought that spiritual people were serious! How wrong she was!

The katha was at the local school where Venu Periappa taught. Since school was closed it made an ideal venue. The katha began at 6. 30. p.m. and got over at 8 p.m. On important occasions there distribution of ‘prasadam’ by volunteers, men from the neighbourhood. For a whole week Indira went with the family to hear the Srimad Bhagavatam. She found Subbarama Sastrigal expound the great Purana in full blown, dazzling glory! The Lord’s story unfolded on many levels like flowers opening their multi hued petals. The Krishna story was set like a precious gem in the heart or the middle of the story. It sent the audience into raptures! There were stories within stories replete with wit and wisdom. Oh! Yes, they were more than stories.

How eloquent he was! How much knowledge he hid behind that unassuming exterior! How he held the audience in the palm of his hand for a whole week, making them laugh, cry, sing and listen spell-bound, lifting them to great heights! In those moments their hearts seemed cleansed and pure as if bathed and drenched by the waters of the holy Ganga, itself, flowing from the matted locks of Lord Shiva- such was the effect of the Lord’s story upon their ears!

This was a new found experience to Indira. She had never taken part in an event in which a whole town participated. She was surprised that almost all the people in the audience seemed conversant with the chanting and the music, including her Periappa, Periamma, even Meena! She was the only odd fish out. She vowed she would learn to read the Scriptures and learn the famous verses that every one knew by heart.

Subbarama Sastrigal had a deep and resonant voice and when he sang, the whole place echoed. Indira had goose pimples on her arms listening to him. Day after day, he held forth, elaborating some episodes glossing over others, delving deeply into this never-ending mine and coming up with precious gems of great luminosity and brilliance. Tears flowed down his withered cheeks as he sang and swayed and the audience wept and sang and swayed with him. They seemed to be carried away by some great flood of emotion, an outpouring of bhakthi that rose like a giant wave washing over them and leaving them spell bound. Even the air above them crackled like flashes of lightning setting up vibrations.

Subbarama Sastrigal said. “When the air gets supercharged like this, many things are bound to happen. Remember, God loves such an overflowing of bhakthi. It makes Him happy. It draws Him here. Don’t for a moment think that He has not heard us. He has. Now, He will be forced to come. This is the truth. In this age of Kali we need the help of God more than ever to cleanse our mind and hearts and make them pure, again!”

Indira was able to respond to such lofty thoughts because Venu Periaapa and Kamakshi had already prepared her nicely for this wakening. She was still a child and deep within her was this quest for perfection, another aspect of God. Her mind was pure, too.

Subbarama Sastrigal was saying “A child can respond instinctively to such an outpouring of bhakthi because its mind is purer and as such it is closer to God than a grown up.” 

Indira was startled. It was as if he was addressing her. Indira’s eyes welled up with tears and her heart overflowed with happiness. Everything he said seemed to find an echo in her simple heart. On the last day of the katha, she was as tearful as the audience. The thought that it was all coming to an end, brought within her a deep sense of desolation. The good man said “Reflect upon what I have said, here. That will help you to pursue your life in a way that can be as perfect as possible. And, remember the master or guru can only guide you but it is you who must make the effort to find your goal. It can be anything depending on your inclinations. Our Scriptures, the Vedas say that your dream is also God’s dream for you. So follow your heart and all will be well.”

Before he left the whole family took his blessings. Indira also took his blessings touching his feet to her eyes. He smiled, looked deep into her eyes and said softly. “A great future awaits you, my child. You have been specially chosen to carry out His work.”

Periappa and Periamma were very happy to hear him say that.  Periappa said after he had left. “Generally, I have never heard him predict anybody’s future like that. But, you, Indira are special. So he made a mention of it, I am sure.”

The family was very excited. But Indira did not know how to react.

But, the departure of the good man made Indira as unhappy as if the Lord Himself had taken flight and left her orphaned. What a powerful hold he had on her young mind! From the Harikatha pandal to Periappa’s house was like stepping from one holy place to the other. She was happy to breathe the same air, drink deep from this sacred and perennial spring to satisfy her newly awakened spiritual yearnings.

She remembered Subbarama Sastrigal’s words. “Let us remember that God is the only Truth. Let us build our lives on that strong and unshakable foundation. Whatever we say, hear, do or speak should be touched with this Reality”

Whether others understood his words or not she had. It had taken hold in her mind like a seed ready to take root and flower.

When she discussed it with Periappa and Periamma, he said. “Whose grand daughter are you, by the way? This spiritual torch had to be handed over to some one worthy. Your grandfather Vedamurthy Sastrigal was a great scholar, deeply spiritual. He is said to have been in communion with the Mother Goddess. He was well versed in our Scriptures and Sastras and the Puranas, though a lawyer by profession. We have great hopes for you!”

Indira understood what they were saying though she was as yet not clear in her mind about her goal. She understood that she had been changing in the last month or so, ever since she had come here. Oh! Yes, she was at peace, here. She wondered if there had been a lack in her life an emptiness, which had been fulfilled in a strange and inexplicable way, here. Living as she was, in this house, absorbing, the very best of Indian tradition and culture, had made her glimpse a new and fulfilling way one could live.

Simple living and high thinking had some how been worked out into their life by this young couple in this age and time, which in itself was remarkable thing for it was not easy. It required discipline, self sacrifice and holding one’s own in spite of many odds.

Periappa and Kamakshi Periamma were role models in their own quiet way. They never told her to do this or that. They only answered her many questions and let her draw her own conclusions. So her eyes were opened to a good, many things, she had not seen and heard. Her life in her house in Delhi was something very different, more in accordance with the way her parents wanted to live out their lives and dreams. There was nothing really wrong. How could one sit in judgement on another? It was neither fair nor right. In fact, they were wise enough to give her total freedom to do what she wanted. She had insisted on coming here and they had made all the arrangements. Now, she had seen and experienced another way to live and see things. She liked it. She could have turned into a perfect brat had she been left to herself in that milieu. But something had brought her here and saved her. It was that essay! May be Destiny.

Now she was ready to begin a new life with all the knowledge she had gained here. She said to Periappa “I have to learn Sanskrit. Can you start giving me lessons?”

Her Periappa was delighted. He was a teacher and he started that very moment, wasting no time. Indira being a diligent student picked up very fast. He got her small books to begin with. “When you return to your house continue the lessons. I am sure you will master the subject very fast. You are a quick learner.”

“I want to read the Scriptures in the original.” she said. “Periappa, I want to learn The Vishnu Sahasranamam. How do I go about it.?”

“Let us recite it every evening.” Said Periappa. “We can get you a cassette. You can recite alongside when you back to Delhi. In a year’s time you will have learnt it by heart.”

 “I also need to pick up other cassettes. The best music-compositions of great masters of Carnatic music. Could I also get recitations of ‘The Vedas’ and other chanting? You are the best judge of that. Subbarama Sastrigal has made a great impression on me. I can’t get the katha out of my mind.”

“Yes, Subbarama Sastrigal is a great story teller, a great exponent of our Scriptures and sacred texts. If you come here next December you can hear him do the ‘The Ramayana.’ That will be a ten day affair.”

Indira was very excited. “I will be here, for my next winter vacation, too! Does he go round the country? “

“Sure! He goes abroad, too. Twice a year. He is very popular there.”

“I never knew the kathas were so popular.”

“They are!” said Periappa “Now, specially. They have caught on. Did you notice the crowd turn out? The whole town was here. In the cities, too, I hear the people simply crowd the halls. It is surprising. It only goes to show that our people have not lost their roots.  If, you ask me, I would add that the Gods won’t let us go, either and so will make sure to send their messengers to draw us back to their fold, if we as much as deviate from the path!”

Indira laughed. She liked his interpretation. She said “If I hear of any katha in my place I will certainly go. If it is in Hindi I will have no problem. It is my second language!”

“Good for you!” said Periappa. “And do you know this kind of story teller is not an ordinary man? He has a duty to perform. He has a responsibility, being the spiritual guide of the audience. He has to keep an ancient, spiritual tradition alive in this fast paced world. He is doing us a great service. Many years ago, a friend of mine who lives abroad, sent me a newspaper clipping which predicted that one day, the story teller will be the highest paid man in the world. I am sure it will be a Hari Katha exponent. He has to be.”

Indira said dreamily. “Periappa, some day, I would like to be story teller - in the best Indian traditions. Do you think it is possible? Of course, I will have to prepare the ground for it by a life time of reading and absorbing and getting the blessings of some great guru.”

Meena, silent listener to any conversation between Indira and her parents had something to say. “You already got the guru’s blessings!” 

“Meena is right.” Said Periamma who had also been listening. “He must have for seen a future disciple in you!”

Indira hung her head in shame. What did she know? She had hardly begun learning. She had a long way to go! “Oh! No!” she cried. “I know nothing!”

“Why not?” asked Periappa “Nothing is impossible. You are a very bright girl. You can do it in English like many people are doing it today. Swami Vivekananda foresaw a time when an Indian woman dressed the Indian way would be able to carry the best of our knowledge and culture to western shores. It would be a great day, he said. Many great women are doing it. You can add to the galaxy!”

Meena said. “Indira! You are a genius!”

Indira blushed again “No, no.” she said “I was only thinking aloud. I have yet to make my future plans.”

“Take your time.” Said Periappa. “You are a gifted girl. For you the sky is the limit. I am sure you will decide what to do with your life.”

Yes, this girl was pure gold. Her purity and character, her ability to see through things, her capacity to absorb and learn and discriminate were astounding. “Take it from me, Indira” he said to her. “As Subbarama Sastrigal predicted you will have a brilliant future. I have a hunch it will be in the spiritual field!”

Chapter 8

The Eager Student

It was a nearly a month since Indira had come here. Life in Venu Periappa’s house, had been an altogether new experience.  She insisted on going wherever Periappa went just to see and witness things first hand. If he went to pick up post cards or envelopes she was with him. Periappa introduced her to many people. She made quite an impression on them. If he went to the market to fetch vegetables in the morning soon after coffee, she went, too. Meena stayed back at home to help her mother. Indira could not help seeing the bad condition of roads, the many pot holes, the drains that ran along the street which would pose problems in the rains, if not cleaned in time. The traffic was so haphazard with cycles, cycle rickshaws, horse carts, autos, cars, trucks, scooters, motor cycles and buses ploughing through the streets creating such a din. There were dogs, buffaloes, cows, even pigs on the streets. She took note of the houses and buildings, some spanking new, some in awful condition. Some buildings were brand new and looked good. Some buildings were old but so very fine. The old and the new were mixed together. Thank God there were no high rise buildings as yet. One thing she saw and shuddered. People were swarming like flies everywhere!

“Today, people are into money.” remarked Periappa. “Look at the changing lifestyle! Once upon a time one had had money only to buy necessities. Now there is so much money to splurge! Consumerism has arrived in these small towns.”

Indira said. “It is good, Periappa. I am happy to see people having so much money. That means they have good food to eat and houses to live in.”

“I am happy, too, for people to have a good, decent life. But so much money and flaunting it is not good for anybody. Look at the way crime has increased. Look at the way money is made. That is not a good thing, either. People have become greedy and selfish. Companies want profits all the time. They even manipulate their accounts. Look at the scams. Look at what has happened to the United States. All this is a result of reckless greed. Look at what we are doing to Nature. There, too, we see exploitation. Can the earth sustain itself if man is so greedy? Everybody wants everything for himself? When did we become so selfish, greedy, and envious? Like I said before those who have wealth believe in having lavish life styles. They want so many houses, cars, servants for their upkeep. It may be a cliché but what Gandhiji said was never as true as now. ‘We have enough for our need, not greed’ The Earth’s scant resources have been stretched to its limits.”

Indira understood everything. She had seen these things where she lived and yes, she had seen so much greed, envy, crime and killing in the big city where she lived. People blamed the violence shown on television especially in the movies. The youth wanted big money without working hard for it. Kidnapping, doing in old, helpless people to death were all there in newspaper reports. Where do we go from here?” she thought sadly. The small town was better and this itself seemed bursting at the seams like Periappa was mentioning. In cities problems had increased a hundredfold!

But once, home all the problems evaporated for her. She liked Periappa’s unostentatious house and the very simple life here. It would never draw envy! They lived such quiet lives far removed from everything, though right in the heart of the town, but untouched by all the new fangled ideas and lifestyles. Yes, they may have their problems but who didn’t have problems? But the couple went their way living with certain principles, spending their energy on things that mattered and had value. How practical they were!

They dressed simply. Indira found Venu Periappa busy though, school had closed. Being a committed person as well as a teacher he gave tuitions to children who were weak in some particular subjects like science or mathematics though he taught English and history in school. In the beginning he did not take money, but since the kids were quite well to do, he would ask the parents to buy school text books for the poor children in the school. His understanding, sympathy and willingness to understand a child and its problems made the children flock to him. He spent two hours every day teaching them now that it was vacation time. He took two classes a week for the bigger children and two classes a week for the smaller. The other two days was for the children who were unable to cope and needed special attention. Once they joined the mainstream, he was happy and took on others. He sat in the pyol with his students to teach them. When school opened the schedules were different.

Kamakshi Periamma did not lag behind Periappa. In her, he found a perfect partner, a great giver. She was just as committed as Periappa. She took sloka classes for the children. Gifted with musical skills and great knowledge of Carnatic music she taught it to the neighbourhood children. Like Periappa, she would not charge fees for she said it was ‘vidhya danam’ the giving or sharing of knowledge. But would the children and their parents allow her to give lessons for free, especially when she was such a busy house wife? They brought her small gifts in the form of new cassettes that had appeared in the market, or home made powders or snacks or home grown vegetables or fruits or what ever they thought fit. On Guru Purnima Day, when the teacher is worshipped by the student, they gifted her saree and a blouse piece to match or a shawl to use in the cold season. The teacher’s heart ran over with gratitude and love.

Periamma was a very organised person. That was why she was able to fit in many things into her very busy life. For, one thing, she cooked all the meals for the family. Some times relatives came after giving them notice. At other times, they stopped by for a chat having come to town to meet, somebody, and gladly stayed back on for meals. Periamma, at the drop of a hat could quickly rustle up something extra, on those occasions, with a smile on her face, never minding the trouble. People loved dropping in and meeting the good couple. They radiated such joy and happiness. Meena’s friends dropped in now and then to meet her and Indira, too. The girls liked Indira.

One day, Indira asked Periappa a question. “Is wealth the most important thing? Can it bring happiness?”

Periappa said, “Money is quite important. After all, one needs money to pay one’s way through school or college, for one’s upkeep and to raise a family. Yes, one needs money, up to a point. But, it can’t bring happiness, by itself. It has to be shared or given to people who are in need. Then wealth can bring real happiness. Actually, what we give comes back ten-fold. That is the beauty of giving. What I am trying to say is at some stage in our life, we have to stop and ask ourselves if we are happy with what we are doing. Is it making us happy? If material wealth alone is going to give us happiness why are many wealthy people living luxurious lives abroad, coming to our country in search of spiritual gurus to salvage their wrecked lives?

We have to turn back to God to get back our true happiness. That does not mean we should become a ‘sanyassi.’ Not at all. A householder’s life is given great importance in our Scriptures. We are the back-bone of society - the keepers of the tradition and culture of the country. So we have to go to school and college, earn a living, marry, raise a family, achieve success in our field and doing all that, learn to give charity to the needy, look after the less fortunate, in whatever way we can by giving small donations or by active service according to our purse and our inclinations, lead an upright life and through all this, be always anchored in God. When we are not spiritual we become empty. We fail to understand life, in its entirety. We lose sight of its beauty and glory.”

“Periappa, are all religions true?” asked Indira. This issue had been bothering her for some time now.

Periappa said. “Of course, they are. All great religions are true. Have they not been guiding mankind for centuries?”

“What is the difference between our religion and others?”

“Hinduism is not exactly a religion. It is ‘Sanatana Dharma’ An adherence to  Dharma, in day to day living, a code of conduct in place involving a moral order, all part of one’s life. Our Vedas on which our religion or Hinduism is based is a treasury of spiritual laws which were received by rishis-perfected human beings over a period of time. These laws are for all time and for all mankind. If it is one thing that can unite mankind it is the Vedas.

People think that the Vedas are only rituals. That is only half the picture-the first half. The second half is the Vedanta or the end of the Vedas, embodying the highest truths the human mind is capable of. It is the study of ‘that by knowing which everything else is known.’ You must read Swami Vivekananda’s speech in the ‘Chicago Parliament of Religions.’ That is the most perfect interpretation of our religion I have come across.” He paused and added. “A man of his stature and knowledge spoke and the whole world listened!  This event is unique and unparalleled in our history. Religion, that day got a new interpretation. It was India’s moment of glory!”

Chapter 9

The New Routine

 Periappa began a new routine for the sake of Indira. Every night, before they went to bed Periappa spoke to the girls or read out excerpts from his favourite books. He was a fine raconteur. He dipped into the Puranas-that treasure trove of endless tales! He read to them some nice passages from the biographies of great men and women of the world. Being an English teacher he was especially fond of the old classics which many children did not like to read or found too long and tedious. 

Periappa liked Abraham Lincoln. He was a great favourite- this tall, backwoods boy who did not possess a slate to do his sums and who taught himself how to read and write!

“Do you know how he did his sums without a slate? He wrote on shaved logs of wood with a piece of charcoal. And when he had finished one layer he shaved it off and had a whole new sheet to work on! What ingenuity! He hungered for knowledge and had to walk several miles just to borrow or return a book. What ever he read was burned into his memory. He made good use of all he read for later, he made some of the greatest speeches one has ever heard. For, you see, this remarkable man went on to become the President of The United States of America! But, he never forgot his humble beginnings. His heart always remained with the poor and the simple.

 What about our own Gandhiji? He became a world leader as he led our country to freedom and victory. You must read his works. I shall give you a book about this great soul- a Mahatma! Every Indian should read about him and what he did and how he lived. 

Another great man was George Washington Carver - a great, Black American agricultural scientist known also as the peanut man. Apart from agriculture where he made new discoveries he was good at many things- Painting, knitting, sewing, singing, gardening, even crocheting! His inspiration? Nature!

“Nature will give out her secrets if you will but observe her.” was his advice to his students. What a great teacher he was!

I have been telling you about Swami Vivekananda” he said to Indira. “You must read his works. Every Indian should read his works. Especially the youth. He will be a great inspiration and role model. I am glad I am a teacher for I can introduce this greatest of Indians to every young girl or boy. It was he who gave us a sense of pride and dignity when our self esteem was at its lowest. We need to read about him even now when we are having this great resurgence of Indian power and might. For the seeds of that resurgence and awakening was sown by this wonderful Prophet teacher.

Today after many, many years India is rising once again, in her estimation and in the eyes of the world. We are suddenly seeing people making their mark in every field- in Information Technology, medicine, the classical arts- you name it and we are there.”

The girls listened. So did Kamakshi Periamma. The evenings deepened into nights and Indira forgot everything in the rapture and delight of listening to these stirring tales woven with skill and sincerity by Venu Periappa. These lofty thoughts took such a hold on the girls’ young minds and hearts creating a great impact.

On other nights Meena sang for them. She sang like a nightingale. Periappa and Periamma were proud of her. She had improved so much in just a month! How did that happen? Asked Periamma. Meena pointed to Indira and said “Indira is so clever. I want to be like her.” 

Indira said “But I can’t sing. I simply can’t. You are a wonderful singer!”

Meena said “If you can learn so much so quickly, I told my self why can’t I sing better and better if it is going to be the only thing I am going to be doing? So I am improving very fast.”

Every one laughed at the logic of her argument.

Periappa said. “Indira is a good motivator. You will make a good leader.”

Periamma agreed. “We have learnt so much after you came. I mean we never had so many family discussions. You started it all!”

On many nights, Periamma sang for them her wonderful bhajans. Sometimes she recited slokas. Meena joined her and their chanting together wove magic in the air filling their beings with splendour. Indira never failed to watch the stars come one by one and on some nights the golden moon rose above the courtyard which then took on a strange inexplicable aura of light and radiance.

Inspired, the very next day, Indira ran off to the Town library to pick up more books, with faithful Meena in tow. She also learnt to ‘Google’ and get information which she discussed with Periappa. “Wonderful!” exclaimed Periappa “We can access so much information, this way! Good for students who can’t go to libraries or buy books!”

Indira had never read so much in all her life. She was now literally like a sponge absorbing things. How she listened, asked questions trying to assimilate knowledge as if this holiday, this life itself was too short for her hungering to know and do things.

Venu Periappa observed this remarkable girl. She was the best student he had ever had! He told her that. How she hung on his lips! He had least expected his niece to respond like this, this stylish and very modern girl from the country’s capital moving about in her own affluent circle of friends and people.

“It’s the ‘samskaras’ that we bring when we come to earth with our mission that makes us what we are. It shapes out thoughts and attitudes.’ was all he could say.

“What are ‘samskaras’ Periappa?” came the prompt question from Indira.

“They are the seeds of our thoughts from our previous births which we bring with us that determine our present life.” Said Periappa.

 Periamma too wondered about this girl, this happy visitor from the north about whom they had once wondered, whether she would have trouble fitting into their milieu. 

Now, the question was what would her parents say to this new girl who was going to arrive back in her home a week from now?  How would she fit in there was the question?

Life is strange, thought Periappa. Meena, his own daughter was so placid. Just like him. But Indira was made of another mould. She was a born leader. She had the qualities of head and heart, the drive, the indescribable quality called charisma. He had watched her bloom before his very eyes in the month she was here- a sensitive, caring and lovely person. She seemed to combine in herself the best of the old and the new- the modern with the ancient. This was a great miracle. Could it be because of the blessings of the saintly man?

Chapter 10

The New Way to Live

Indira could hardly believe that she was the girl who had arrived here a month ago. Her parents, teachers and friends would be astonished to see her. She had fitted in here effortlessly as if she had been born here. She was up like lark at the break of dawn like the household, her ears now attuned to the melodious and auspicious strains of the ‘suprabatam’ floating and wafting in the air around her. What a way to begin the day! She thought. She loved the few moments she spent with her Periamma and Meena in the kitchen drinking her coffee, the south Indian way with the ‘davara tumbler,’ which she had nicely mastered.

 She also liked watching her Periamma work out those lovely kolams with pinches of dry rice powder to decorate the home front, the puja place as well as the tulsi matam. How perfect and big and intricate some were! Meena also managed to make good kolams but they were smaller and less complicated. Most of the women or girls were busy on this job, at this time of dawn with the doorstep being wet and just washed with cow dung and water, to keep out bacteria, explained Periappa. Any way Meena taught Indira to draw simple kolams in her note pad. She also showed her a small ‘kola kozai’-a contraption that helped one to make kolams by simply running them along the floor! One could manage huge kolams effortlessly! 

She would on going back have her own puja place. She would work out a kolam for the gods!

Indira also helped Meena pluck flowers for the morning puja. The yard had a few flowering bushes. Indira loved to sit and watch the morning puja and hear Periappa chant all the mantras and later read out portions of the sacred epics. 

She tried to help in the kitchen in what ever way she could by picking the rice or even offering to grate a cocoanut. One day, she even tried her hand at making a dosai in the evening. But cooking was not her forte! 

Periamma was aghast. “What will your mother say?” she asked.

Indira laughed. She said “They will be thoroughly amused. That’s all. At home, I am a very different person. Obeying my parents is not what I generally do. I do what I please, Periamma. I am not like Meena. The picture of obedience!”

She heard Meena’s chuckle and laughed heartily. “In fact, Periamma, in our house we do as we please! Sounds chaotic, is it? But we have learnt to go our ways without treading on each other’s toes!” 

Her Periamma liked the young girl’s frankness and her supreme self confidence.

“You know, Periamma, the best thing about my parents is that they leave me alone. As a kid, I was miserable. But as a teenager I find the freedom to do what I want.” Said Indira.

Periamma said “But you are such a beautiful girl. I have never seen a girl like you! You are so different, so mature. You know instinctively what is good for you. In one so young it is a rare quality!”

 Indira said. “The credit for what I am now should go to you both.”

Periappa had come into the kitchen with the morning vegetables. He said “We are proud of the way you are shaping and blooming before our very eyes! How can we take credit for your achievements? You have hardly been here! May be all those qualities of head and heart were already there waiting to blossom.”

Indira said quietly. “That could have been. But you both have been the responsible for bringing them all out into the open and changing me inside out. I must tell you that before I came here I was a very different person. I was very good in class. That was all. But I was filled with some rare longing, a fitness of despair; I can’t figure out, what it was even now. With all the wealth and tons of influence, I was full of strange anxieties and doubts. Indeed I was on the verge of drifting. I am sure God sent me here. How bored, unhappy, and frustrated I was with the life I saw around me! I had no idea what to do. Now I know. Ever since I came here I have rediscovered myself and my moorings! I am at peace, so to say. And do you know how it all started -with an essay!”

She heard Meena ask “An essay?”

 “Yes, Meena. My teacher one day, told us to write an essay about life in a small town. I did not know what to write. I had never been to a small town. That was when I suddenly decided that I would have to visit one if I were to write about it. I had to be true to myself. I told my mother that I had to visit a small town! She was taken aback, but when she found I was serious she persuaded my father to write to you and you asked me to come over. And so here I am, rediscovering my roots, as it were”!

Periappa said. “Indira it was all meant to happen. You were born for great things. Some times things happen and one is suddenly pushed by events into a path for a particular purpose. Today people are discarding the old ways because it requires a lot of discipline, more so when God is our goal. Do you know what the Scriptures say? That we were given this human body only in order to attain God.”

Indira was startled to hear this. “You mean God should be our goal?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Periappa “Our rishis realised their goals. They were in touch with God all the time. They lived in light. They had reached the highest state of consciousness-the supra conscious stage, as it were, when there is nothing further to be known or achieved. We cannot become rishis over night. But we can make a beginning. We can lead disciplined lives. We can have faith in God, lead a good, honest life follow our dharma and be good human beings, Is it difficult to do this?”

Indira was surprised. It was easy it seemed to build one’s life on such sure foundations. She said. “One thing, I have seen on coming here. Once, why even now, in this house God is everything. He has to be. The kolam is for God. The first cooked offerings are for Him. Music is for Him. Even the outings are in some way connected with Him!” 

Periamma said “Some time ago I was reading a magazine in which Sri Satya Sai Baba, who many consider as ‘The Avatar of the Age’, said that if the whole world was a house with many rooms, India was the puja room. India is a deeply spiritual country. That is why it has stood the many onslaughts and attacks on it from time to time from conquering hordes. Like a mother the country absorbed the people who came as her own!

‘If Spirituality has to be preserved then India would have to be there on the world scene! Swami Vivekananda said so.” added Periappa.

The days passed and Indira made full use of her time by keeping her eyes and ears open! Indira loved to listen to Meena and her teacher singing during the music classes. She was transported to another world in those moments. She listened keenly to the lyrics and went into raptures. She tried to understand the complicated ragas as they unfolded in all their grandeur.

When she went to bed, she reflected on all that she had heard, seen or read. A subtle change was certainly coming over her and an inexplicable inner joy filled her being. She was filled with shame thinking of the inane films she had been used to watching all day on previous vacations for want of anything to do. They were so crude and violent. Day after day she had listened to the ear-splitting sounds that went by the name of music to which she had writhed and contorted wildly!

All that made her squirm now. The lyrics were so obscene! She blushed at the thought. Had she not come here she would have been at it, still. Now on coming here, her eyes had been opened to real music. This was so elevating, as if the soul had discovered its language. Even the books she had read in those days were not good. They were bunk! In fact in her group the girls read and exchanged such trash. How much time most of them spent gossiping about other girls and what they said and did. What a waste of time! She thought to herself. They were also in the habit of discussing film stars- what they said and did. Goodness, she had been so silly. Some times they had big fights over stupid matters.

She asked Periappa one day. “Is it wrong to read books on crime or watch those soaps on television?”

Periappa said. “It is not wrong. But is good to know what is good for you. One must know how to sift the grain from the chaff if we want to lead meaningful lives. Do you know that a swan when given milk mixed with water will take only the milk separating it from the water? We should be discriminating like the swan. Everything depends on the goal. You have to work towards it and plan your life accordingly.”

“Is it wrong to be westernized? In our house, we live like that.”

Periappa said “Nothing is wrong. One should have the choice to live the way one chooses. We should know what is good for us. There is s much good in the west. Can we match their sense of cleanliness or hygiene? Look at the advances they have made in every field? We must learn to take the best from them and use that knowledge to improve our life. Look at the computer! It was discovered in America and sees how it is changing the world! Now even the down-to- earth Indian villager wants to use it and learn English! Do you know what Gandhiji said? That he would like to keep his windows open so that the breezes from different countries and cultures could blow freely inside but himself refusing to be blown off his feet by any. That strength of mind is what we should possess. We need another Ghandiji and another Swami Vivekananda to awaken us to our glorious heritage and culture.”

Periamma said. “Indira, I recall what our ex President Mr. Abdul Kalam, another great Indian of our times said when a child asked him a similar question- about our westernisation. He told the girl that there was nothing to fear. Wearing western clothes was not going to be a problem for we had Indian genes!”

Indira liked to hear her Periappa and Periamma discuss such matters. She wanted to know more about Gandhiji. 

Periappa said. “As a child he was average in his studies. He wanted to pursue a career as a lawyer. He was given to reflection and was upright and honest. As a young lawyer in South Africa the racial discrimination practised against his countrymen stung him to the quick. Justice, ahimsa and Truth were his only weapons. When he spoke the world listened. He won for us our freedom and independence from the British rule. His heart bled for the poor. Since most of our countrymen lived in the villages he believed that they should be made self sufficient. But the country’s leaders wanted to copy the western model and went in for industrialisation in a big way. Now look what has happened to our country! All the haphazard growth of big cities is the result of this move. All the pollution and the many ills we see around us can be traced to the same cause. Now, the people are beginning to realise the truth of the Mahatma’s words. He was a great visionary and had the good of all in mind, especially of the helpless and the very poor!”

Indira was very impressed. “She said. “Periappa, Even if one cannot become another Gandhiji; one can emulate you and influence a young mind. When I see Subarama Sastrigal I want to be a story teller. When I hear you I want to be a teacher and influence children!”

Yes his teacher’s job was cut out for him. His own life, though simple was touched with high ideals, discipline and lasting values. Living with the family for just this vacation had made her aware of the best in our culture and tradition.

“Is it wrong to have too much money?” she asked.

“Not at all.” Said Venu Periappa “All our kings were men of great wealth. Our Scriptures don’t decry wealth. But it should be put to good use. When a man has earned enough he has to remember to put back into society what he has taken from it. Directly or indirectly he uses the services of many people and institutions to come up whether he is aware of it or not. How does he give back?  By building schools and hospitals, libraries or anything he wishes. Or he can put his talents to good use. That is, if he doesn’t have money he can teach for a salary but he can give free tuition for a poor student. If he is a lawyer and making enough money he can take a case or two free and help a poor man in need of justice. This is what Sri Sri Ravi Shankar- a present day saint keeps saying. One can give in cash or kind. Do you know that what you give without expecting anything in return comes back to you ten-fold? That is the beauty of all giving.”

“Having nothing and having too much can both be stressful-each in its own way. Poverty can be humiliating, but having too much should not be a problem really if a person

knows what to do with it. Having plenty and still choosing to live simply can be a happy solution. In this land of rishis it is not difficult to choose to live simply.

“Living lightly on the planet is also one way to preserve the earth’s scant resources.

The world is coming full circle and now we are beginning to realise that voluntary simplicity is the ideal way to be at peace and harmony with one’s self.”

It was almost time for Indira to pack her bags and leave. When she went to sleep a couple of days before she left she knew that coming here had made a great difference to her life. It was the first time she had stopped to observe herself and the way she was going. Not only had that she learnt a good deal about life in general and about values and things.

This had been an unusual winter vacation! She had liked the old house and better still its inmates, who had preserved the old ways of living. From the break of dawn till she went to sleep She had observed her Periamma at work simply keeping house and  the simple occupation had comprised of a number of things-  charity, art, music, the cuisine- the preservation of all that was best in Indian tradition and culture. This was just one house! In India, may be in other small towns or maybe even in cities some families might have continued to keep their own tradition, culture, cuisine alive. What a vast country India was! How much more there was to see and learn before she could plan her life!

But this house was an oasis to her. She would have to come here again and again as if to quench her thirst at some never-ending fountain. She had loved being here and absorbing things. After all, she it seemed belonged here!  She was surprised to find that she a product of the most modern upbringing taking to everything here like a duck taking to water? Was it a way of ensuring continuity? Was it because when one generation breaks away from the fold the one coming after goes back to it with renewed vigour? Perhaps. She could find no reasons for what was taking place within her. Her ‘samskaras” perhaps had a role to play as her Periappa put it. Now she was beginning to speak Periappa’s language!

She was at home here. That was it! 

This was a small town. Periappa did not have a car. He did not need one. Everything was within walking distance. He was always on his feet going to the market, the post office or walking to his school every day.  He had a cycle, though and used it if he had to go long distance.  

Here, there was time for everybody. Friends and students were dropping in all the time.

The family had time to cook and eat delicious meals- all fresh and new because Periamma did not have a refrigerator. “How do you manage?  Asked some people. She said they used a mud pot in summer to keep water cool. Food that was left over was given to the maid who came to do the housework in the morning. The evening food if left over was given to a beggar who came at 8 p.m. sharp in the evening. Vegetables were bought fresh every morning by Periappa

Indira said “Periamma, do you know what? I read some blogs on the computer. People are trying very hard to trash the fridge in the United States of America!”

Periamma was thrilled. “Then I am alright not to have it. You see with our kind of lifestyle, with pujas and things, I can’t use the refrigerator much anyway!”

“You are not polluting the atmosphere in any way, Periamma” said the clever girl always willing to see the happy side of things.

Periamma said. “I have a friend here whose daughter lives in the United States. This lady lives in California in a village off the sea coast. There nobody uses cars because everything is within walking distance.  They use cars only when they have to go to work in the suburbs. The pollution here is nil, can you believe it? This lady said that she would go for her morning and evening walk and pick up fruits, vegetables and grocery. She did not have to wait for the children to drive her around. But it is a costly place!”

Periappa said. “We have to pay money to live simply, now. See, people wanting organically grown vegetables have to shell out a lot of money. That is the price we have to pay for all the industrialisation we brought on ourselves!”

Indira was going to miss all these conversations when she went back to her Dehli home. How different was the atmosphere here to that of her own house!

She was surprised that she had put up with all the discomforts here, not even being aware of them, what with the family lavishing so much attention and love on her! She suddenly realised that she had not sipped a single bottle of coke or munched those potato chips or eaten junk food, her mainstay back home! She had not listened to a single cassette of her’s though she had slipped in a couple of them. She had put the computer to good use and not had a single useless chat.

So after all one could still choose to live the old way or even manage to combine the two if one wished. Her Sanskrit had improved. She had learnt quite a few slokas. In the beginning she felt hesitant to repeat, but now she found herself a good deal better and more confident.

In this house God had pride of place. The first offering of food was given to him.  Even the outings were connected with the Gods.

She blushed when she remembered the tiny neglected shelf in the store where her cook had set up a puja corner. It was he who lit an agarbathi for the Gods or put a flower or two when he said his prayers. But here, God occupied the central place!

“Are all people here spiritual?” asked Indira. Periamma said “Oh! No. What you have been observing is a very traditional, Brahmin household where we have tried to preserve the old ways and customs.”

  It was time to leave. The count down had begun. Indira said “Periamma, I have just a day left to go. How nice and kind you have all been! I shall never forget this holiday!”

“We are going to miss you, Indira!” said Periamma. “We have been so happy having you. We have learnt so much from you”

“From me, Periamma? I can’t think of what you could have learnt from me?”

“Being such a perfect guest. By paying us such handsome compliments whether we deserved them or not. One has to learn humility from you. Coming as you do and living like a princess in your house you put up with all the discomforts here with such a happy smile. You made us feel special by following all the things we said or did. Really, you are one in a million!”

“You would have made your grandfather proud had he seen you.” Was Periappa’s sincere compliment.

“Can I come here, again?” asked Indira. “I am not done yet with learning. I have to learn a great deal more. When I get back I am going to write not an essay but a little book and give it to my class teacher. I told you that this was the essay that brought me here to this small town!”

She told Periappa. “Periappa, I am leaving behind my lap top for you. I have a desk top at home. I have transferred all my work to my Delhi computer. I want you to use it, Periappa. Meena will find it useful, too. I have taught her some things I know. With the computer here I can be in touch with all of you! I would like that!”

The day to leave had arrived. Indira was to leave in the evening. Her heart was heavy and she wondered how she was going to handle the parting. She had never become so close to any one like this. And this family was very special to her.

Periamma gave her coffee. She drank it, her mind, far away.  Any moment the cab to drive her to the railway station would arrive. Her bags were packed and ready. She sat on the swing collecting her thoughts. Kamakshi Periamma pressed a small box of home made sweets and snacks into her hands. She steamed some iddlis and wrapped them in banana leaves so Indira could eat them on the train for supper. Indira slipped the packets into her bag. “Thanks, Periamma.” She said

“Don’t buy any food on the way.” warned Periamma.

These simple words warmed the cockles of her heart.

The cab arrived on the dot. Indira got up. She said to Periappa and Periamma who were hovering around “Please send Meena for a holiday to my place. Both of you must come over, too, some time. We can plan it.” and taking Meena’s hands in hers she squeezed them affectionately, giving her a hug she said. “Bye Meena, thanks for everything.” She turned to Periappa and Periamma and said softly.

“Periappa and Periamma, I can’t than k you enough for what you have done for me!”

She hugged Periappa and Periamma. Suddenly, she fell on her knees and touched their feet to her eyes. When she got up her eyes were full of tears but she managed to look away, retain her composure, and quickly walked across the hall, got into the cab which her lady companion, had brought to pick her up so they could go to the railway station and save Periappa the trouble of escorting her there. The lady put her bags in the car. The car began to move. Indira waved to her hosts till she was out of sight.

On the train, Indira’s companion was engrossed in a novel. Indira heaved a sigh of relief glad to be left alone with her thoughts. She would be back home in a couple of days. She would have to set herself a new routine there. When the school commenced she would submit that belated essay to her teacher and surprise her. She could write that essay now with authority and knowledge. There was nothing small about life in a small town. That was what she had learnt. The first lesson.

She remembered what Venu Periappa had once told her. “Your thoughts are very important. As is your thought, so is your action. As is your action so is your attitude. As is your attitude so is your destiny. So one has the capacity to shape one’s destiny. Our Scriptures say so. How powerful we are then, if we can make our own future!”

Her life had taken a new direction, a new turn. Now that she was she was on this sun lit pathway into the unknown, she was sure a pattern would emerge and break out of the mists of Time and shape her future. There would be very little confusion. “Your dream is also God’s dream for you.” Subbarama Sastrigal had said. Was there any doubt about that after this winter vacation which was not coincidence but a glimpse of her destiny?

She knew that the life ahead was going to be wonderful, one of promise and fulfilment. There may be challenges and hurdles on the way but if she was determined, then there was nothing that would stop her from achieving her goal. She could hardly wait to begin!

The End.

(This book is a work of fiction and any reference to any town, village, house or street is just for the sake of convenience and to give colour and body to the manuscript)

Prema Ramakrishnan.