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Why I love my years at my Village, Muthukur, is because I never felt any sense of responsibility there. It was all play, play, and more play of the rustic type and very very outgoing. I never missed classes when I was well but don't recall doing any homework or studying at home but for one night before Quarterlies, two before Half-yearlies and 3 before Annuals. While playing, I never cared for hunger because Mother was always there to run to for a quick piece of energizing copra with jaggery. There was daily walloping from Father for one thing or the other but you take that sort of a thing in your stride and forgive him...for he knew not what he was doing.
By the age of 13, my life suddenly changed. I was sent to College at a small town to live with my Shakespeare Uncle in his home. Riding a rickshaw daily with the Principal was a sure way how not to make friends. Every kid avoided me. My Uncle was a widower with his very old mom living with him. There was a cook but she had no feelings except for how to make her two far ends meet. There was no playground nor hostel. I was confined to a home which was very far away from 'home'. There was this excruciating home-sickness and bitter unshed tears.
One gloomy evening, I was called out to the Drawing Room (Hall) by my Uncle and introduced to the Donor-Owner of our Private College. My Uncle, with a wry face, told him that this boy is the only son with one elder and five younger sisters and that his HM Father is hand-to-mouth. Then and there the childless Donor looked pityingly at me and said: "So much responsibility on such young shoulders!!!" (he could have shared some ;-))
I never knew that; and since that moment, I was no longer my earlier self....that single sentence was life-changing. I withdrew into a shell from which I never recovered. And became so diffident that, then on, I never made a friend on my own volition...nor an enemy...it was always them who chose me.
And I had to travel by trains on the Madras-Howrah route all my life. Train journey those days was rustic...it still is if you travel by the lowest class. As soon as someone sat beside me and arranged his luggage to his satisfaction, he would peer at me and ask: "Where are you going?...Which is your home town?.. What is your Father?...What is his salary?... How many siblings are you?"...unending queries like a veritable inquisition.
I couldn't ask them to go to hell out of fear that they would think I have much to conceal. So, the practiced drill was to answer each question in monosyllables and look out the window. Then the chap would be expecting me to ask him the same questions, with very well prepared glowing answers. I never did that. But it made no difference...he would answer his own questions like some boorish teachers in a Grand Viva...
But, the fact that I did answer personal questions put to me gave me a right to ask back, if and when I liked to...except to Doctors...
It is fun watching senior citizens retired from Govt Service congregate daily at dusk in their mufflers and walking sticks. Each of the stag party is talking and none listening. Pretty anti-autistic, if that is the word I want...
Since they don't have willing listeners, senior citizens in Hyderabad look for and visit a retired GP who is affordable not so much for prescriptions which they don't exactly follow but to bore him.
That was why my GP was very abrupt with me in our first visit...he was scared I would open out.
But finding I was smiling all the time and not talking (my son did most of it), he got curiouser and curiouser by the visit and finally cracked up yesterday...our fourth visit. He was alone and about to leave. After finding that my BP has stabilized at a comfy 120 / 80, he asked me to continue the drugs and see him after a month. I then offered him a Rs 500 Note which he declined with a hand-shake!
And asked me finally:
"Where did you graduate from?
"Andhra University, Vizagh"
"Oh, I too was at Vizagh doing my MBBS"
"When?"
"Between 1961 and 66"
That answered my curiosity...the chap is three years younger to me...although he looked like my eldest brother if I had one ;-)
It was then my turn to open out:
"I was there between 1958 and 1965"
"Which College?"
"Dept of Physics, AU Colleges, Waltair"
"Then you must be knowing XYZ?...he is my maternal cousin"
"Well, he was my buddy...he used to come to my place for combined studies a month before exams"
"He was working at Vizagh and has settled down there after retirement"
"Do you have his phone number?"
"...Here it is..."
Then I did something to embarrass him...I called that number then and there. He was flummoxed and rang the bell pretending there was another patient waiting for him outside...
We took the hint and walked out to the Pharmacy opposite to buy the drugs, I speaking with XYZ after half a century. He was all of a doodah as they call it and when I said I was at the chamber of his cousin in Hyderabad to get my BP stabilized, he roared:
"Oh, that fellow!...Say hi to him from my side"
By then my GP was getting curiousest and came out of his chamber pretending to walk to the loo but on seeing us coming to us:
"Could you get XYZ?"
"Oh, yes, Thanx!"
"What did he say?"
"He wanted me to say hi to you"
MY GP breathed easy and started probing more about myself. I then asked him:
"You must be knowing Dr K Krishna Murthy, MD...he must have taught you Medicine at your medical college"
"Oh, Yes! He is a Genius! He is brilliant!! He is God!!! We were all scared of him"
"Well, he is my Maternal Uncle and I stayed is his house for two years"
"He is no more, no?"
"Sadly, no"
"Ok, I was going to the bathroom..."
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Why I love my years at my Village, Muthukur, is because I never felt any sense of responsibility there. It was all play, play, and more play of the rustic type and very very outgoing. I never missed classes when I was well but don't recall doing any homework or studying at home but for one night before Quarterlies, two before Half-yearlies and 3 before Annuals. While playing, I never cared for hunger because Mother was always there to run to for a quick piece of energizing copra with jaggery. There was daily walloping from Father for one thing or the other but you take that sort of a thing in your stride and forgive him...for he knew not what he was doing.
By the age of 13, my life suddenly changed. I was sent to College at a small town to live with my Shakespeare Uncle in his home. Riding a rickshaw daily with the Principal was a sure way how not to make friends. Every kid avoided me. My Uncle was a widower with his very old mom living with him. There was a cook but she had no feelings except for how to make her two far ends meet. There was no playground nor hostel. I was confined to a home which was very far away from 'home'. There was this excruciating home-sickness and bitter unshed tears.
One gloomy evening, I was called out to the Drawing Room (Hall) by my Uncle and introduced to the Donor-Owner of our Private College. My Uncle, with a wry face, told him that this boy is the only son with one elder and five younger sisters and that his HM Father is hand-to-mouth. Then and there the childless Donor looked pityingly at me and said: "So much responsibility on such young shoulders!!!" (he could have shared some ;-))
I never knew that; and since that moment, I was no longer my earlier self....that single sentence was life-changing. I withdrew into a shell from which I never recovered. And became so diffident that, then on, I never made a friend on my own volition...nor an enemy...it was always them who chose me.
And I had to travel by trains on the Madras-Howrah route all my life. Train journey those days was rustic...it still is if you travel by the lowest class. As soon as someone sat beside me and arranged his luggage to his satisfaction, he would peer at me and ask: "Where are you going?...Which is your home town?.. What is your Father?...What is his salary?... How many siblings are you?"...unending queries like a veritable inquisition.
I couldn't ask them to go to hell out of fear that they would think I have much to conceal. So, the practiced drill was to answer each question in monosyllables and look out the window. Then the chap would be expecting me to ask him the same questions, with very well prepared glowing answers. I never did that. But it made no difference...he would answer his own questions like some boorish teachers in a Grand Viva...
But, the fact that I did answer personal questions put to me gave me a right to ask back, if and when I liked to...except to Doctors...
It is fun watching senior citizens retired from Govt Service congregate daily at dusk in their mufflers and walking sticks. Each of the stag party is talking and none listening. Pretty anti-autistic, if that is the word I want...
Since they don't have willing listeners, senior citizens in Hyderabad look for and visit a retired GP who is affordable not so much for prescriptions which they don't exactly follow but to bore him.
That was why my GP was very abrupt with me in our first visit...he was scared I would open out.
But finding I was smiling all the time and not talking (my son did most of it), he got curiouser and curiouser by the visit and finally cracked up yesterday...our fourth visit. He was alone and about to leave. After finding that my BP has stabilized at a comfy 120 / 80, he asked me to continue the drugs and see him after a month. I then offered him a Rs 500 Note which he declined with a hand-shake!
And asked me finally:
"Where did you graduate from?
"Andhra University, Vizagh"
"Oh, I too was at Vizagh doing my MBBS"
"When?"
"Between 1961 and 66"
That answered my curiosity...the chap is three years younger to me...although he looked like my eldest brother if I had one ;-)
It was then my turn to open out:
"I was there between 1958 and 1965"
"Which College?"
"Dept of Physics, AU Colleges, Waltair"
"Then you must be knowing XYZ?...he is my maternal cousin"
"Well, he was my buddy...he used to come to my place for combined studies a month before exams"
"He was working at Vizagh and has settled down there after retirement"
"Do you have his phone number?"
"...Here it is..."
Then I did something to embarrass him...I called that number then and there. He was flummoxed and rang the bell pretending there was another patient waiting for him outside...
We took the hint and walked out to the Pharmacy opposite to buy the drugs, I speaking with XYZ after half a century. He was all of a doodah as they call it and when I said I was at the chamber of his cousin in Hyderabad to get my BP stabilized, he roared:
"Oh, that fellow!...Say hi to him from my side"
By then my GP was getting curiousest and came out of his chamber pretending to walk to the loo but on seeing us coming to us:
"Could you get XYZ?"
"Oh, yes, Thanx!"
"What did he say?"
"He wanted me to say hi to you"
MY GP breathed easy and started probing more about myself. I then asked him:
"You must be knowing Dr K Krishna Murthy, MD...he must have taught you Medicine at your medical college"
"Oh, Yes! He is a Genius! He is brilliant!! He is God!!! We were all scared of him"
"Well, he is my Maternal Uncle and I stayed is his house for two years"
"He is no more, no?"
"Sadly, no"
"Ok, I was going to the bathroom..."
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