***********************************************************************************************************
************************************************************************************************************
That is an image of Sherlock Holmes with his walking stick he occasionally used as his weapon.
Walking sticks (or umbrellas) were part and parcel of the fashion accessories of Britishers I read about. Age, sex, and circumstance had nothing to do with their use...both young and old, rich and poor, men and women displayed them.
Sir Roger de Coverley, a landed country gent, a charming 18th century character created by Joseph Addison, of whom we read in our English Text in our Pre-University, used a trick walking stick that could conceal important papers in it. Sherlock Holmes had several. Psmith (Pea-Smith) of PGW used one as part of his dandy attire. Edward Pierce (Sean Connery) of the First Great Train Robbery had one which concealed a sword.
The gents of my earlier generation, after their retirement, either bought or were gifted walking sticks which they used not necessarily as aids to their walking but as a symbol of prestige. My grandpa, who served the British as a Revenue Officer, used to twirl his own on his walks on the roads of Nellore. I asked him if he used it to scare the street dogs away. He laughed and replied that the Nellore dogs were not afraid of sticks but only stones and chappals. And all they did on seeing my grandpa with his stick was to form a street-side ensemble and bay at him furiously. His gorgeous framed bust hanging on his wall was scary...he was dressed in a coat, a huge turban, and sporting his walking stick across his chest.
My Shakespeare Uncle was gifted a lovely walking stick when he retired from the V R College, Nellore. And he used to carry it proudly on his evening walks...he was as fit as a fiddle and had no real use for it.
The other day I was talking about the grandpa of my wife...Pathri Hanumatha Rao. He had one gifted to him on his retirement as Executive Engineer and he loved it and carried it to Kharagpur on his periodic visits to examine how I was treating his fond granddaughter. Fortunately he had found two other retirees (possibly with their walking sticks) with whom he used to tread the streets of the campus of IIT KGP every evening without fail...no doubt gloating competitively about their sons, each of whom was a Professor, and who, according to their fathers, single-handedly bore the massive tower of IIT (or the Veterinary College at Tirupati) on their shoulders like Atlas...but for them the towers would have crumbled and crashed pitiably.
Mr Hanumantha Rao (Bless his Soul!) was the Prime Mover of the alliance of his granddaughter with me. He scanned my resume', approved it, corresponded with my father, sent her photo and horoscope, and arranged the all-important Bride-Seeing Ceremony at his place in Tirupati on the afternoon of Vijayadasami (October 18, 1978). This was of course the most vital of all the (physics) interviews I attended. And I dressed myself in my best outfit and went to the bride's place along with my sister Dr U and her hubby K (of the Maruti Zen fame) who were then at Tirupati.
Mr Hanumantha Rao received us graciously while his son and daughter-in-law were presenting the prospective bride from their side on the sofa. And we three were seated on the opposite sofa. And aloo-bhaja were copiously consumed and coffee imbibed, while all the while the bride didn't speak a single word but looked on like the Visitor's Nominee. Mr Hanumantha Rao was gloating about the achievements of his granddaughter while I was expounding my own...my sister and her hubby were quite innocent...
An hour passed pleasantly (the aloo-bhaja were tasty...Madhvas mix a little hing in the dough). And everything was going merrily when all of a sudden Mr Hanumantha Rao got up and went inside. And emerged after 5 minutes, dressed in his evening attire, picked up his walking stick from its stand, mumbled a few words the import of which escaped me, and walked out of his house.
I was somewhat dismayed (and worried) at such an abrupt termination of my interview. And after 5 minutes (with a lot more aloo-bhaja still left on the plate) we took the hint, excused ourselves, and parted company.
It was only much later, well after our marriage, that my wife told me that her grandpa would leave his home every evening without fail at 5 PM with his walking stick, come hail, fire, or brimstone...his half a dozen friends with their walking sticks would be waiting for him at the street corner...
************************************************************************************************************
No comments:
Post a Comment