Gatekeepers & Gatecrashers

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It was exactly 41 years ago to the day.

The first inkling we had that something was afoot involving us 30 odd carefree bachelors living in our beloved Faculty Hostel-cum-Guest House was the rumor that we have to quit for about 10 days bag and baggage and shift to Gokhale Hall.

And we resolved unanimously that they have to remove our dead bodies.

But a Visit by the Director himself with his Eloquent Appeal to our fond sentiments about the Proud Hospitality of IIT KGP removed our living and kicking bodies for the nonce.

We were to be the proud hosts of the famous Science Congress started in 1914 by our own Sir Asutosh Mukherjee in Calcutta and held non-stop every year War & Peace.

Professor B C Basu of AE, 15 years my senior but a bachelor living in a Palatial A-Type Bungalow and driving a tiny but cute Fiat Millicento, was and is my close friend:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/09/cook-it-up.html

BCB visited me one fine morning and sought my help in manning the Registration Counter set up in the tiny Office of B C Roy Hall for an afternoon. And of course it was my pleasure although I was otherwise a lazy bum prone to gathering wool on a Harry's wooden bench then.

We were given to understand that we were the First Front to welcome the Esteemed 200 odd Registered Delegates with an IIT KGP Smile (although we wished there were a Lady or two amongst us with ready-made folded-hand Namastes...we had to improvise...).

Apparently all we had to do was to receive the busloads as they arrive, check their names on the IBM 1620 List given to us and hand them their Badges and Folders and Room Numbers in the Nehru Hall which was vacated for the period.

We thought we would open shop at noon and lock it up and go home for our revelries by 6 PM

Ha!!!

By 6 PM the checklist was exhausted and a new busload arrived.

They said they were a wee late, but they had their Money Order Receipts to show for the Registration Fees of Rs 20.

BCB said let us be nice and we picked up their MO Receipts and handed them the few spare Badges and Folders and Room Numbers.

Then a couple of more busloads arrived by 9 PM.

They said they were rather late but were willing to produce two crisp Rs 10 Notes.

BCB said let us be nice and brought a bag to hold the currency notes, and we gave away slips with BCB's signature since there were neither Badges nor Folders nor Rooms in Nehru Hall any longer.

Pandemonium at Nehru hall with Warden screaming: No Room...No Room....

BCB convinced the Warden that we can't throw out honorable Delegates and get a bad name for IIT KGP, let them double up which the Delegates happily did.

Lots more busloads by Midnight and new bags brought from BCB's Home to shove the currency notes...hectic calls from Warden Nehru Hall, Deputy Director, and locksmiths perhaps...but BCB stood firm..

By 3 AM the last busload arrived and the Count reached almost a thousand.....

"All Are Welcome"

as far as we at the Hospitality Counter were concerned...

Stories of Delegates being supplied newspapers to spread on the floors of verandas....

....."All Are Welcome", come what may!!!.......

When we breathed at last around daybreak and were locking up to go home, a very old gentleman (around 80) arrived in a Rickshaw.

He said he was a Dr Aparup Chatterjee from Rashbehari Avenue, Calcutta (BCB's Place), had never missed a Science Congress, and decided late last night to go anyway....

BCB asked him to get into his Millicento and be his Honored Guest...

Next day we crashed...

The next morning I was taking a walk and was hailed by several Delegates adorned with Hasty Badges and saying: "Wonderful...Wonderful Hospitality" with Warm Return Smiles in the Coldest Weather...and wishing:

Happy New Year!

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Blogger Wonder

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I am fed up!!!

Wasted one hour trying to time my blogs properly today.

Please note that there are TWO blogs posted today (other than this wretched thing):

1. Word Play

2. Youngest Widow

Sorry about this!

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Word Play

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Chandamama Story 1950s:

The Irritable Shopkeeper (IS) was vexed with his Irritating Customer (IC).

IS: I know you aren't going to buy a single banana; why are you haggling for hours?

IC: I can chew up the entire bunch of your bloody bananas, what do you think?

IS: If you can really do it, I will gift you a Laddu that can't fit up even my doorway!

IC: Challenge?

IS: Challenge!

By then a curious crowd gathered and egged them on.

IC plucked one banana from the bunch of dozens, chewed it a bit and flung it up in the air; and repeated with the next and the next...

IS: What the Hell are you doing?

IC: Why! I 'chewed' them and 'up', no?

The crowd giggled and asked IS to keep his end of the bet.

IS then picked up the tiniest Laddu from his jar and gifted it to IC.

iC: What the Hell are you doing?

IS: Try your bloody best and 'fit it up' my doorway!

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True Story; no Gul!

April Last Week 1995, IIT KGP

I was reading my Thurber in my Office waiting for the QM II Exam of the 4th Years to be over in another 5 minutes.

There was a gentle knock on my door and A entered and spoke grimly:

A: Please fail me; I wish to appear in Supplementary

Me: No way...What is the matter?

A: I just browsed my answer-script before submitting and am sure I won't be getting my A Grade. I will prepare well in the Summer Vacation and knock up an Ex in Supplies so I can get an A: one Grade less as per rules

Me: Meet me before you leave for the Summer Vacation

Duly on April 30 A appeared on my threshold...

Me: Your scores are good in the Mid-Sems, Assignments, Attendance etc....so you did knock up your A Grade...go home and enjoy!

A: But..but...sir! I scratched all the answers by drawing diagonal lines on every page and scribbling: Please Omit across each diagonal line!

Me: Yes, I did 'omit' each and every alphabet that was on those lines..

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If you are curious to know more about the now-famous Professor A, please look up:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/08/reco-mela-5.html
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/06/class-of-96.html

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Moral: Don't think you can outsmart your Teachers..they too were students once and know every trick in the book.

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Youngest Widow - Repeat Telecast

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http://lowres.cartoonstock.com/death-buried_my_husband-burial-grieve-griving-grief-mban2062_low.jpg

When I joined IIT KGP in 1965, there was this wonderful High School (HH) in our Campus, affiliated to the West Bengal Board of Secondary Education. There was also a fledgling Central School affiliated to the Kendriya Vidyalaya Sanghatan (KV).

Most Professors were admitting their kids in HH and year after year a couple of kids from our HH used to top in various subjects at the State Level.

HH was following the system of the British Raj where a High Second Class with around 59% was as rare as a swan among geese.

KV was following the nascent system where you are a dud if you don't score 90%.

Still...HH ruled for various reasons.

For various other reasons, HH declined in popularity among Professors as KV rose and flourished by the time my son came up for schooling 30 odd years later (30 years is a long while).

So, this Prof K debated, demurred, and decided finally to admit his daughter in KV in the same Class as my son.

By and by spread rumors of a new rule that kids in schools not affiliated to WB Board would no longer be eligible to get admission into its Engineering and Medical Colleges.

Prof K was very close to me even though he was not in the Physics Department, because we happened to be teaching a Common Hotch-Potch Course.

He walked into my Office one fine morning and in an agitated tone asked me to sign a Common Petition to the relevant Court of Law that this sort of a rule is unjust and should be made legally null and void.

It so happened that there were two reasons that I was unwilling to sign it.

1. Our Conduct Rules forbid signing Mass Petitions...

2. My Uncle who was a Lawyer had advised and warned me to never go to a Court of Law...

So I was demurring while Prof K was provoking and taunting me....

Then I had to narrate to him this Chandamama Story:


Chandamama Story,1950s:

The Rich Man who died had 3 wives.

The Eldest Widow was embracing the Corpse and weeping and howling and cursing the Gods endlessly to the satisfaction of everyone around.

The Second Widow went one better and was asking everyone around to fetch a barber immediately so she could have her head tonsured as per strict orthodoxy (short of Sati, legally forbidden by William Bentinck under the influence of Raja Rammohun Roy).

The Cutest and Youngest Widow was in her usual dress and was watching the wailings, sitting largely unconcerned.

One Old Woman approached her and expressed her disapproval and asked the Youngest Widow why she was not joining the Elder Widows in their heart-rending Performances.

And got this cool reply:

"If their wailings bring their joint husband back to life, I too would cease to be a Widow automatically"....




Prof K listened to my story, got up to go, turned back at the door, and cursed me aloud:

Pox on you!!!

Our story however has a happy ending...both of our kids have done well in Life and Career...and Prof K remains my wonderful friend.

That Pox eludes me yet...

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Lead Kindly Light!

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Chandamama Story 1950s:

All that the rich man owned was a Herd of Elephants.

When he died they broke his Chest and found his Will dividing his Elephants among his four sons as follows:

"Half his herd should go to his first, half of the remaining to his second, half of the remaining to his third and the rest to his fourth".

The Elephants in his Herd then were just 15.

Everyone was baffled how to execute the Old Man's Will.

Just then a passerby riding his Elephant asked what the puzzlement was.

He then stood his own Elephant at the end of a line along with the 15, making 16 in all.

He gave 8 to the first son, then 4 to the second, then 2 to the third, and the rest 2 to the fourth and asked him to return his own Elephant and rode it away....

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True Story; no Gul:

About 3 months back I was in our nukkad Marwari Shop:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/12/water-harvesters.html

And noticed a tall transparent plastic jar at one end of the Counter Desk.

The mouth of the jar was sealed by a tough linen cloth leaving a slit on top.

The side of the jar had this legend:

"Contribute generously to the Unwanted Children Fund: ....Sevashram".

I noticed that the jar was filled by one rupee coins to about a fourth of its height.

I struck a Deal with my young friend, the Grandkid, who was manning the Counter and slipped a Rs 50 Note, folding it up.

Every now and then later on I was looking at the contents of the jar and was pleased to note that no more coins were inserted but only Rs 10 and 20 Currency Notes.

This morning the Grandkid called me up on my mobile to say that the Sevashram chaps came down to break the seal and collect its handsome Contents.

I walked down to the Shop, collected the Rs 50 Note with my signature on it, and as per the terms of the Deal bought Rs 50 worth of sugar with it for Ishani...

Everybody Won!

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Honeybreak - Repeat Telecast

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http://www.cigarinspector.com/images/cartoons/honeymoon-gone-wrong-b.gif

Gudur, May 18, 1979; Red Letter Night:

This is about my First Night.

As I am no Salvadore Dali, don't expect a Tall Tale of my Prowess.

If you watch the date and place listed above, and happen to have an Atlas with you, you will figure out that the Summer Sun is at its zenith there that day. And there was a devastating summer cyclone a few days back and so it was unbearably hot and humid.

I had a prolonged Ph D under my belt but also three pending Loans and so had to postpone my marriage by 6 long months till at least one of them is cleared so I could feed us two (don't believe all that gul about two can live as cheaply as one...).

My wife had an M D under her whatever it is that replaces belt and so could diagnose my precarious condition.

I was 36 (my father being a retired HM of a Govt School of the Nehru Era was too scared to lie and so I trust him). My wife insists she was just 29 (her granpa was a retired Civil Engineer with the Tungabhadra Dam in its heydays and so is suspect as far as facts and figures go).

So ours was not exactly a child marriage prohibited under the Sharda Act.

Around midnight when all the formalities were gone through, we both walked hand in hand upstairs to the Honeymoon Room (specially built for that purpose...we were seven siblings). Hand in Hand because the steps were narrow and steep and my wife was no giant and had a recent ankle fracture, I didn't verify...

We closed the door and were about to make up when there was this gentle tap on the door.

Both of us were surprised and on duly opening the door I found my father trembling with a telegram in his hands and a ruddy blush on his face.

The Express Telegram read:

"Send Third Year Grand Viva Marks urgently stop Tabulation held up stop Senate Meeting on 30th..HoD Physics".

I crumpled the telegram and told my father I will reply tomorrow.

My father had a paper and pen in his hand and wasn't moving (HMs of the Nehru Era were like that). And he was worried my job would go and he had to feed the two of us on his meager pension.

So I scribbled: "Viva Marks with the Viva Board Chairman...gps"

My father said so many sorries and left...for the Post Office, I am sure.

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On my return to the Department post-honeymoon I asked my roommate DB what the matter was. He said smiling that Raamda, the Chairman of the Viva Board was used to wearing dhoti-punajbies and the Marks List with our 3 signatures was washermanned, as the best guess went.

I then barged into the HoD's Office and banged him for disturbing me and my father on my honeynight on such an obvious matter....Viva Marks are the responsibility of the Viva Board Chairman...period...

The HoD demurred and said that Raamda says he left for the SBI midway and that I was in charge. I replied that Raamda bloody well returned in 10 minutes and in any case the Chairman had no business to quit the Viva Room without collecting his Marks List.

After some humming and hawing by him I proposed to the HoD that since the Grand Viva of the outgoing B Sc (Hons) students couldn't be bloody well conducted again without making it into The Statesman, I could help by giving out the marks of the 12 students from memory; but in no case would I sign it....it had to go under Raamda's signature.

The HoD agreed to talk to Raamda, with a sigh of deep relief.

It so happened that Raamda never taught this batch nor did the newcomer Prof S; while I had taught them in all their three years and knew the kids like the back of my palm.

Before an hour went by, MSS met me and told me that Raamda, 20 years senior to me but that much more naughty, is spreading that:

"gps left for honeymoon and so did the marks.....gps returned from the honeymoon and so did the marks!"

Before 2 minutes ticked, the newcomer Prof S met me and confirmed Raamda's gag.

It was a matter of another 5 minutes before Raamda walked into our Room to take dictation of the 12 marks (there were no grades then).

Myself and Prof S, under the gleeful winks of DB, told Raamda bluntly that marks would be delivered to him from memory as he reads the Names and Roll Numbers iff (if and only if) he writes in his own hand and signs on a piece of white paper that:

"gps and Prof S are not responsible for the loss of the Grand Viva Mark Sheet which I lost to the Dhobhi Ghat...RGC".

Raamda scowled and he got up as to go away....

But sat down again with dark mutterings about gps and his bloody tricks, and said:

"Give me a bloody piece of paper and pen!".

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I wonder if Prof S still has that Confessional Statement of Raamda with his handsome writing and his million dollar autograph.....

I had shared Office with Raamda for 2 years earlier on and can vouch that he is one of the two best teachers of his generation (MSS is the other) and a perfect gentleman bhadralog, but prone to joking...

...but Grand Viva Marks are not funny especially if they break your long-awaited honeynight...
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...Posted by Ishani

BTDT

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The Old Man of Hyderabad (OMOH) gets up early fretfully, thinking it is 8 to discover it is only 5.....BTDT....

Switches on the Pre-Loaded Washing Machine and listens to its grudging gurgle...BTDT...

Opens his Brushing-Shaving Kit and finds the tooth-brush long past its prime and decides that he will get a new one today, come what may,.....BTDT.....

Looking at it, he muses...the wear-out is so evenly uneven....maybe by taking its Fast Fourier Transform he can get his Dental Profile...Fourier Transform?...KGP...BTDT...

Makes some Tea and sits down to sip and finds he forgot sugar...BTDT...

Post-Ablutions and Feed, he relaxes on his cot, wife still asleep...BTDT...

Sonoo's door opens, he comes out with li'l Ishani, stands her on the threshold and whispers: Thatha Po! (GO Play with OMOH!)...BTDT..

Ishani has all the Joy in the Morning on her lovely face....BTDT..

She takes two steps, halts, adopts her Dad's Risk Management Policy, gets down on all fours and crawls fast to OMOH's open arms and says.."Ta-ta...Ta-ta...".....BTDT....

What tender warmth in the biting cold!!!...Both go out to look at the routine couple of pigeons on the sill of the Opposite Apartment Complex...and OMOH recalls having taught her father the lovely rhyme with finger-play....

Two little dickie birds,
Sitting on a wall;
One named Peter,
One named Paul.
Fly away Peter!
Fly away Paul!
Come Back Peter!
Come Back Paul!

.........BTDT.......

Finds the Young Man of Hyderabad (YMOH) running and panting in his white half-pant, white kets, white muffler and white T- Shirt with the bold Message:

Been There....Done That

Suddenly it dawns on OMOH that YMOH's Entire Life has been one of Vrishanayasam...

......in case you can't figure the Sanskrit out, here is the pithy & bawdy translation:

Ball Fatigue

I first learned BTDT from Ashish Bhardwaj's gps autograph: Been There...Done That

...or is it someone else's?...... I forget...BTDT....

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Bored?

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1950s Story:

The train halted at Samalkot for a few minutes.

A contingent of a dozen Senior Students in sports outfits clambered and scrambled into the Third Class Carriage noisily with their sports kits on their way to the Grigg's Memorial Finals, and found the Compartment all for themselves but for a Thatha (Old Man) sitting quietly on the bench at one corner.

He was dressed simply in a cotton dhoti and a khadi shirt; fountain pen clamped in his shirt pocket and a Note Book in his cotton sling bag.

The students were as restless as a troop of monkeys on their way to Lanka to battle the Rakshasas of Ravan. They climbed up the upper deck, jumped down, picked mock fights, pulled out their ring ball and played it with all sorts of spins, wobbles and jerks, played badminton of sorts running hither and thither, trooped down at every wayside Station to haggle with vendors of fruits, tease the beggars, sip cups of coffee jointly, climbed back into the coach for further rough & tumble entertainment, singing film songs in unison to drumbeats on the wooden bench; all the time watching curiously the Thatha in his seat with a quiet smile playing on his feeble lips but otherwise lost in thought watching out the window the Passing Show.

At the end of an hour, they saw him prepare to get down at the next Station Rajahmundry, adjusting his sling bag and smoothing his crumpled shirt.

And crowded around him joking: "Thatha! Have a nice time...you must have been pretty bored sitting alone not talking..."

Thatha replied: "No children, it was you who were getting bored not knowing how to beguile time noiselessly...I was busy finding the right end to my short story due to appear in the next Issue of Bharati"

"Oh, you write stories, do you? What is your name?"

"Bhamidipati"

So saying Thatha got down and vanished in the crowd.

The Sportsmen were shocked to know that this is the Bhamidiapati whose story was in their text and appeared in the Half-Yearlies they wrote just a week ago....

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Nowadays I stroll down to Chintalbasti around 10 in the morning to warm myself in the winter chill.

And sit down on the cement roundabout outside the Hanuman Temple. Across the road is the Subjunior Vernacular School. Around this time every day, the Interbell rings and it is great fun to watch the gates open and all kids rush out noisily like so many inmates of the District Jail on Independence Day.

I find two more Thathas like me arrive together at this time with tiffin boxes in their bags and occupy the other end of the bench. They look to be great friends because they joke, argue, laugh, pass comments and enjoy themselves the ten minutes they have to wait for their wards to arrive.

One day after observing me for a week they came down to me and said: "You must be getting bored at home..."

I just smiled and demurred.

How could I tell them that I just found the outline of my day's blog-post: Tenterhooks...or that I have to get going back quickly...Ishani would have had her bath and tiffin and would be looking for her Thatha to play Hide & Seek, Pillow Fight and Horsie Horsie...?

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Publish & Perish

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When I was 18 and in my Final Year M Sc, I was allotted: Cosmic Ray Showers as my Seminar Topic by our HoD.

That was the first time I had to enter the Journal Section of our Library at AU. I was told that Bhabha and Heitler had published a Definitive Paper on the subject in Physical Review around 1948. I took down the slim bound volume for the year, glanced at their Paper and promptly shoved it back into the rack. It was too forbidding for me. And I contented myself with whatever was available in Janossy's book.

But Physical Review made a great impression on me because the authors were celebrities heard by even me. And the look was Exclusive.

By the time I published my Paper with B K Parida in Physical Review in 1978 or so, it has been split up into Phys Rev A, B, C, D, E and maybe F. And our article appeared in Phys Rev D15, meaning perhaps it had become a fortnightly appearing on the 1st and 15th of every month. And neither me nor Parida were anywhere near celebrity status; unfortunately.

My redoubtable Ph D Guide SDM used to speak of Proceedings of the Royal Society as the Tenth Heaven and Physical Society as the Ninth Heaven during his prime time.

When it came to me, the Physical Society thing vanished and reappeared as European Journal of Physics, A, B, C, D, E and perhaps F. And even I could publish in it Papers read not even my me later on.

American Journal of Physics was cute in the 1950s and great names published great Papers in it. I did publish quite a few Articles in its watered down version from 1970 for about 30 years. Sadly they had to advertise for Referees and when I applied I was chosen for almost a decade; one Paper every six months.

But by and large I am happy with my 25 odd Articles in Educational Physics Journals rather than the 15 odd in Research Journals.

For 2 reasons:

1. They are well read by teachers and students and had something nice to say which was unsaid earlier.

2. They brought me in touch with great teachers like G M Volkoff, A M Portis and E F Taylor; and I milked them for my benefit.

As for Book publishing, I had never any reason to publish a Book because I had never that much NEW to say to fill about 250 Pages. But when I needed to write one for my Jumbo First Year students in a hotch-potch course, I did write a Lecture Notes which took about 9 months to compose and a lifetime in Physics to sort of understand.

After retirement I promptly went into Severe Clinical Depression and couldn't read or write for almost 2 years.

My students and younger colleagues knew that I would recover. But my Close Relatives who knew neither about Depression nor Writing proclaimed from roof-tops rather firmly that I was a Gone-Case (Theory of Relativity).

It is to convince them that Depression is like Headache and curable completely that I compile my blog-posts once in a while and get them printed and distribute them to Doubters. In my 5th booklet I even succumbed to the artifice of Propaganda by including, instead of a Preface, an Impeccable Page titled Best Compliments from: Professor Anushree Roy (anonymous) and Dr G Gopal Rao, MD OBE (onymous).

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All in all I would say that everyone in the Academic World should try and publish something or other every year. It keeps one writing-fit and is fun.

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Anger

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The Old Man of Muthukur (OMM) was good but short-tempered.

He used to sit down on his seat under the Neem Tree and read his Ramayan.

When the bald tennis ball of the urchins used to fall on him he would glare, curse, fling it, miss and become the laughing stock of the urchins.

And feel bad.

When he went on his Kashi Yatra, instead of renouncing the regulation vegetable and fruit for which he was supposed to have a weakness, he renounced his Anger.

On his return to Muthukur, when the bald tennis ball fell on him, he smiled and passed it on to the urchins who were bemused and dismayed.

They gathered round him and asked him what he renounced in his Kashi Yatra.

He smiled and replied: "Anger".

This amused them even more and they repeated: "What did you say again you renounced?"

After their fifth unrelenting query, he lost his temper, chased them all around the ground till he fell down and broke his ankle.....

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Vishwamitra (VM) was born to the Family of Kings.

He renounced his Kingdom, resorted to austerities, penanced in the forests and acquired all Powers on Earth by his Royal Will and Determination.

And was known as Rajarshi (Emperor - Rishi).

He however envied Vasistha (V), a Brahmin-born Rishi known as Bramharshi and inwardly wanted to be hailed Bramharshi by Vasistha.

VM approached V's Ashram and was welcomed: "Salutations to Rajarshi!" by V.

VM grew angry at the taunt and cursed the eldest of six sons of V dead.

And went back and regretted and penanced for a year and approached V's Ashram and was greeted: "Welcome Rajarshi!"

And cursed the second son dead.

Repeat....

In his sixth attempt, he was again hailed: "Welcome Rajarshi!"

VM was on the point of cursing the last son dead, but felt pity and retreated.

Upon which V greeted him: "Return, Brahmarshi!"

And he returned and brought to life all the elder sons of V.

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The Mangement of an Organization was unable to satisfy its Employees for reasons beyond its control.

Resentment mounted and the 250 learned Employees found a Fiery Leader whose eloquence was spell-binding.

They all gathered round him and chose him to be their Lead Negotiator.

The Management employed spies who discovered that the Fiery Leader was perfect but was prone to domestic violence.

During the protracted negotiations, the Management employed their well-known Teaser who teased the Fiery Leader again and again till he lost his temper and threatened to beat up the Teaser.

Upon which the Teaser went across to the Fiery Leader's seat and heckled:

"Beat me up if you have the guts!"

The Teaser was happily beaten up in public, pretended to fall to the floor and break his collar bone...

Upon which the negotiations ended abruptly and a Police Case was registered against the Fiery Leader.

The Management won hands down on a sticky wicket and the 250 Employees spent the rest of 5 years fighting the Police Case of their Fiery Leader in the Court of Law....


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Anger is ok except in your roles as a Leader, Teacher and Father.

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Thrift

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Two ladies are brought before King Solomon.

One of them is a Mod Lady in the most fashionable outfit and gold ornaments dangling all over.

The other is an Old Widow barefooted, modestly dressed.

Solomon asks his Minister of Law & Justice what the Issue is.

The Minister says that the Old Widow is complaining that the Mod Lady borrowed one gold sovereign from her a year ago, didn't repay, and is now denying everything.

Solomon asks them who and what they are.

The Mod Lady replies that she and her husband are highly paid Software Professionals from Hyderabad.

The Old Widow says that she is childless, lives in a hut on the Interest she gets from the few gold sovereigns her husband left her by lending them on trust.

Everyone titters except Solomon.

He asks both the ladies to go out, walk in wet mud and return,

He then stands them on either side of a partition, with a bucket of water and a mug each, and asks them to clean up their feet.

Pretty soon the Mod Lady comes out with the bucket emptied and asking for more water.

The Old Widow comes out spotlessly clean with all the water in her bucket intact but for a mug of water she used up.

Solomon decrees that all the gold ornaments on the Mod Lady be handed over to the Old Widow.

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Q: What is the modern antonym of Thrift?

A: Outsourcing

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Cynicism

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I define Cynic as one to whom there are no surprises.

If they say Osama has been found and elected President of the US after the Impeachment of Obama, he would say: I am not surprised.

If they say Wheeler really SAW a Black Hole, he would say: I am not surprised.

If they say Superstring Theorists finally found the Theory of Everything including himself, he would say: I am not surprised.

If they say they have found a 500-page Proof of Fermat's Last But One Theorem, he would say: I am not surprised.

If they say India and Pakistan decided to live in Everlasting Peace, he would say: I am not surprised.

If they say the British decided to overthrow Monarchy and imitate the French Revolution, he would say: I am not surprised.

Is there really any Perfect Cynic?

He can't be convinced unless he sees one; which he does everyday in his Shaving Mirror.

I am not surprised!!!!

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Truthfulness

===========================================================

The Old Court Jester of Avanti begged the King that he was tired of jesting for forty years and wished to retire gracefully.

The King was pleased and pensioned him off to Hyderabad.

Since Avanti turned out to be a Happening Place, its CM wanted the Best and went through the Resume's in Minister.com and appointed a CJ from the Midwest with a Degree in Jesting from an Ivy League School at whopping Pay & Perks.

When the New CJ arrived, he was advised by the CM that he should talk to the retired CJ before taking up his duties.

The New CJ brushed off the suggestion and said he was trained in Multicultural and Crosscultural Jesting.

As soon as he arrived at his new Post, everyone including the King was stunned by the brilliance of the New Arrival.

The New CJ straightaway wanted to Jest with the King on his Appearance as taught in Unit 1 of the Ivy League Course.

New CJ said that the King's ears looked like the Indian Elephants'. The King laughed and everyone laughed.

New CJ said that the King's nose looked like an Indian Garlic Bulb. The King laughed and everyone laughed.

New CJ said that the King's head looked like an Indian Pumpkin. The King laughed and everyone laughed.

New CJ said that the King's head under his Crown was in Truth as bald as an Indian Hen's Egg.

The King's face grew red and he rose and left.

Under the Fineprint of the Contract which the New CJ didn't bother to read, he was hanged and his body flown First Class A/C Cargo to the Midwest.

********************************************************************************************************

Pratik accused that I am like a Polarizer: I absorb all Inconvenient Truths and pass only Convenient Truths.

Proof:

Reco-Mela 2: http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2010/08/reco-mela-2.html

scored a Century of Hits just now.

=============================================================

To Eat or Not to Eat

====================================================

Food has always been a problem with me.

When I was really hungry and famished and wanted to gorge, there was not much food to eat and I had to make do with Tea and Singaras (Samose'). I am sure this is true with all students and employees forced to live in Hostels and Otherlands than their Motherlands during their youth.

And when I had all the food I wanted in the world, my interest waned away...food was a punishment due to a stomach that shrank and couldn't digest more than one meal a day; and teeth that decayed from smoking continually for 14 years.

Wastage of cooked food is something that pains me immensely; not due to any moral principle or bias, but due to a bringing-up in childhood in a family where food was precious. My pen-friend Edwin Taylor forbade me to set foot on the US Soil, knowing this predilection of mine. He tells me that everything is giant-size in the US and wastage is routine.

How much food do we really need and in what dosages depends on individual capacity and work-ethic.

I see Daily Laborers in India work unusually hard (even in this mechanized age) and make do with a few morsels. They are very happy to eat their meager lunch and relish their onion, mirchi and rice (licking their fingers) much more than the Participants of the Conference and Convention Meals that go on inside the 5-Star hotels they build.

At IIT KGP there used to be a Convocation Lunch which was supposed to be free for the Senate Members (about 250 at one time). I never understood why a Free Lunch should at all be there for an essentially Academic Event. I used to routinely get a nicely got-up Invitation Card (rather than just a Circular or e-mail) with a routine RSVP. I used to at once ring up Gangulisaab and tell him that I won't be there and he would laugh knowingly...

Anyway, I always had one less than the usual BLSDS (Breakfast, Lunch, Snacks, Dinner, Supper) at 30, two less at 40, 3 less at 50 and 4 less after 60:

Nowadays, I have just one Full Meal at 8 AM and then just Tea and Sprite rest of the day. And the Full Meal consists of all the left-overs taken from the fridge, mixed in a Micro-Oven-Compatible Standardized Bowl, heated for 8 minutes and eaten, away from public gaze, in my Blogger's Room: eating and mating ought to be intensely private affairs {;-}

This keeps me free the whole day...

**************************************************************************

Ek bhuk Mahayogi
Dwibhuk Mahabhogi
Tribhuk Maharogi
Chaturbhuk Mahadrohi

****************************************************************************

=====================================================

Infatuation

========================================================

Laid up (or down?) with fever and cough for the last 24 hours.

Somehow, willy-nilly, Ramayan has been entering this blog for the last few days.

Great Epics (well-known to be cock-and-bull stories) have survived thousands of years by oral, written, sung, drama, film and all other traditions.

Why?

.......Because they touch sometime or the other bits and pieces of our own lives so we connect with their situations......

********************************************************************************************************

Tossing in my bed after Dolo - 650 eased the fever a bit, I open my bookshelf and pick up RKN's prose Ramayan, of all things.

And notice that it was a cheap edition printed and bought in 1977, a good 33 years ago; with RKL's B & W Drawings.

Paperback covered with an old office-calender page, its pages turned brown and brittle; still good for one more reading, it looks.

*******************************************************************************************************

The Opening Chapter is about the advent of Sage Viswamitra to the Court of King Dasarath asking that Dasarath's youthful darling son Raam (who was born pretty late to his father) be sent away along with him to the dense forests on a mission of taming the demons there.

Dasarath is bewildered because he considered Raam to be just a wee baby since he was never out of his sight from his birth.

And is heart-broken at the thought of their separation, into the jungles and junglees.

He almost declines Viswamitra's request, but is prevailed upon by wiser counsel:

"No father should come in the way of his son's growth...ships are built to sail on high seas...not stay back in the safety of harbors...."

And relents.

Viswamitra promises Dasarath that he would see that no harm would come to Raam.

And indeed it turns out that the seeds of Raam's marriage to Sita are sown during this sojourn.

*****************************************************************************************************

2006 June, Hyderabad

My only son, Sonoo, born to me at my 38, never stayed away from me for more than a few days from his birth till he was then 25...a boy...indeed a kid as far as I was concerned.

And I had not yet recovered fully from my Severe Clinical Depression.

My Doctor advised Sonoo to come home early and take me out for a daily short walk before Dinner at 10 PM (I hardly ate anything and had lost 6 kg in one month).

On one of our late night walks, Sonoo blurted out (promising that he would abide by my will), that for the past few days, his fond Employer, Subash (my erstwhile student at IIT KGP), was keen that Sonoo visit UNM at Albuquerque (of all Desert Places) to clinch a Deal with a tough customer.

And that none else in his Company would suit (like Raam, Sonoo was youthful, cute, handsome and very user-friendly).

I stopped in my Depressed tracks and my heart was beating like a thousand bongo drums.

Sonoo let out that Subash assured him that he would go by the best airlines, stay in top-class hotels, and have a couple of days each way through New York City so he could meet his friends and class mates.

But New Mexico, of all places?

I looked at Sonoo....and Sonoo looked at me..... with different feelings.

....I knew my Viswamitra...

Ultimately, after a few seconds, I said ok....

Sonoo never looked back and has visited all sorts of places in the US and the Europe a dozen and a half times during the last 4 years and grew early to be a Project Manager @ 26 with handsome pay and perks...

As I learn from References in his Linked-In, customers tend to eat out of his hands.

And during his ten-day absence @ UNM, I realized that Sonoo has grown to be a Suitable Boy and inserted his resume' in a well-known Matrimonial Site.

Next year his marriage was fixed to our own Sita, named Sailaja, who gave us li'l ishani...in another year...

This particular ship, it looks, is born for more voyages on high seas...

=========================================================

Post-Partyem

=======================================================

Yesterday, Post-Party, was a day of sightseeing for the guests. Everyone left cramping themselves into 3 cars to make the best of a sunny wintry afternoon and returned late at night after the ritual has been gone through.

Feeling they have accomplished something big to talk about and feeling miserable inside.

My son dumped them in the In-Orbit Mall in the Hi-Tech City hoping they would swipe their credit cards hastily and repent at leisure.

But folks nowadays are too clever by half: It was the Mall that was fooled....

I was alone for the 9 hours at home and slept off in fits and starts.

The mood was into Telugu lullabies, missing Ishani badly for 9 long hours.

There was one composed by my great-grandfather around the time Sepoys were mutinying in India, Lincoln was having one of his nervous breakdowns, and Autocrat was going strong in Boston gabbing away and composing delightful verses.

Due to the prevailing oral tradition, only two stanzas of the lullaby survived and passed on to me.

So, I composed two more and closed the chapter.

Adi Sankaracharya was going forth with his 12 disciples one morning and found an old man trying to learn Sanskrit Grammar the hard way.

And took pity on his futile attempts and composed extempore on the spot 12 verses now called : Dwadasa Manjari: 12 stanzas in the Manjari prosody; somewhat like the short and sweet konika of Rabindranth Tagore.

The 12 verses with "Bhaja Govindam" as the refrain are gems pouring forth the futility of worldly aspirations: 2G-Spectrum, 3-G, 4-G and N-G.

Then on each of his disciples composed one each as a Supplement...24 in all.

Anyone who reads any of the verses can at once decide if it was composed by the Adi Guru or one of his disciples. The Sankara trade-mark is all over his.

Likewise, if anyone listens to the 4 stanzas of the lullaby I spoke about, they can decide at once which are my great-granpa's and which mine: the trade mark of genius is all over my ancestor's gems...in lullabies Sense is secondary to the Sound...

Still...not all is lost...;we don't relish hilsa fish and that is a tragedy; otherwise, the original 4 would have surely survived...



========================================================

Party Spirit

==========================================================

Yesterday's Ishani First Birthday Party was truly Grand!

The Venue was the 4th Floor of the 3-Star NKM's Grand.

And it cost just a Grand: about Rs 45K at the going exchange rate. Dead cheap for the immense customer satisfaction.

Trust Hyderabad to give you a 5-Star ambiance @ 3- Star Rates. And all you have to do is to swipe your Credit Card (if you have one), mention the requirements, invite your guests and forget; they will do the rest.

I allotted myself the Gate Duty: as soon as some group arrives dazed into the Hall, I greet them with an ooh and an aah with that disarming smile as if I was waiting for just them and have known them all my life although I don't: from Adam to Eve: they are my son's colleagues, my daughter-in-law's friends and colleagues and my wife's Crowd; I didn't invite mine because my side of the family is a Vanderbilt Convention and my son would be pauperized for no fault of his.

And then ask the mia, bibi and the kids if they have any, to go and hang themselves out as best as they can, since the next crowd is due.

After everyone is in and the cake and ale (fruit juice) is through, I go around with that same plastic smile and lead them to the buffet queue.

And hold the scared baby and show her around, asking everyone if the food is good enough: everyone will say: wonderful, although tears are streaming down their Biryani eyes.

And ask them to have some more Ice-Cream much like that Alice's Mad Tea Party.

And stand at the Gate with that smile again and ask if they had their fill and thanking them for gracing the occasion.

Everyone is happy. Because folks don't come for the food and drink of a vegetarian, teetotaler, non-smoking, closed-air Party; but to have a nice time Posting Crow-Comments about their bosses: everyone has a boss.

And the Gatekeeper (even if he is a Senior Citizen-Joker) makes them feel like Someone once in while. And they will remember..

Although it is funny that if 98 of the 100 invitees turn up, the talk will be about the ones that got away.

And in less than 3 hours, the shutdown starts mercilessly: you collect the gifts, load them into the cars and get back home.

I am convinced that, like that saying: "The dead will crowd out the Living", the junk in the house will crowd out the Inmates.

The trick is to learn to throw without looking: not easy.

I am right now crowded out of our home and blogging from the nukkad Cybercafe:

The Absconding College Girl is breathing down my neck to Face her Book:

Bye for now!

===========================================================

Ishani's Birthday Gift

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pratik's Post Script

to

"Between You & Me & Li'l Ishani"

*************************************************************************

Ours was a Hindi medium Theosophical School in Varanasi. As long as we lived in the city we were happy and gay. When I was in class V and my brother in VI, my father moved in Banaras Hindu University(BHU) quarters to save the house rent. In BHU, most of the boys and girls of our age went to Convent Schools and spoke English fluently and read Mills and Boon. Girls refused to converse in Hindi. At home we saw the hard bound Tom Brown’s School Days with a young boy’s picture in school uniform on the cover but inside it everything was Greek to us. This gave us a feeling of inferiority. My father was not ready to admit us to a Convent and instead purchased a Linguaphone® for us by paying Rs. 400/- in those days, which I suppose was the sum needed as a donation for our admission to the Convent. ‘Linguaphone®’ had sixteen EP (45 rpm) records. The first one started with the arrival of Mr and Mrs Hunt at the Heathrow airport in London from Geneva and in the subsequent ones they moved through Immigration and Customs to reach the hotel. Soon we learnt to pronounce Passport, Cassette, Tape, Record and Pepper-mint Chocolate with their right accents. We could mimic the sentences of Linguaphone® but could not make a single one of our own.

Among neighbours we envied Ronny, a boy a year or two senior to us, as he stood always first in his class, could recite from Shakespeare, chant Rig-Veda Hymns, write poetry and solder resistors, capacitors and transistors on a circuit board. All parents wanted their children becoming replicas of Ronny. We tried several of our tricks to outwit Ronny but all in vain.

Then my brother and I planned that we must knock him out of his own ring of expertise in front of others somehow. So we chose English Vocabulary as the subject. After going carefully through the list of new words we learnt, courtesy Linguaphone®, we settled for Cosmetics and thought this word would definitely knock Ronny flat.

Finally the moment came one evening in our drawing room when Ronny was present with other elderly people. Point blank we asked him the meaning of Cosmetics with our right accents.

Within a split of a second Ronny shot back: Prasadhan Dravya.

Neither of us heard either of these words ever before!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Surely you are fishing, Jeeves!

==============================================================

Had you entered the Hallowed Hall of the high-ceiling-Central Library in the late 1960s (before the false ceiling came up) and took a leisurely stroll along its book-shelves, you would be amazed at the number of books 'Donated by Dr S R Sengupta' (say a thousand on random sampling).

This SRS was the Director @ IIT KGP when they made the fatal mistake of recruiting me (too late now). A stern and austere figure to look at but his Collection of Books spanned every subject under the Sun from Jeeves to the Royal Society Christmas Lectures like Perry's Spinning Tops & Gyroscopes and C V Boys's Soap Bubbles of which I talked in my Spin Series of Blogs.

Like so many famous public figures in Bengal those days, SRS was a Singlet; i.e. semi-educated: imagination seethes and boggles how many more thousands of books he would have collected and donated if he were a Doublet or even Multiplet like our Laloojee & his extended family {;-}

******************************************************************************

Then there was this Professor of GG, about a decade my senior: Supriyo Mohan Sengupta. Whenever we met we talked of his collection of books; and whenever I mentioned an author of whom I read in Reviews and Quotes, he would reel out paragraphs from their books, stunning me.

He was just a Doublet; still, something is better...
*******************************************************************************

Then I come to my contemporary in GG, Professor Saradindu Sengupta.

My Friend & Bengali Language Guru of Ag E Professor Hrishikesh Das (Singlet again) taught me the rather little-known but Heavenly Konika: "poth bhabhe ami deb...".

I flaunted this to the Senior GG Sengupta mentioned above, and he had to look up his Rabindra Rachanavali.

But when I did the same to this Junior GG Sengupta on the cement bench under the Bodhi Tree of the Canteen, he stunned me by reciting its first half (untaught to me by HD): "Ratha jatra janaranyo...".

****************************************************************************

Then we have this Professor of Bio-Info @ JNU: Supratim Sengupta

....now that we have embarked on this Sengupta Convention, let us try and see how far we can go...

In addition to making me read two fat books of 500 pages each in a single post-retirement semester, he is threatening me thus: 


"...Talking of which, I was wondering if you have a leftover copy of your first (?) booklet 'Limericks & Light Verses (2009)'. It was before I got back in touch with you and so I missed out on being a lucky recipient. If you have any leftover, I will greatly appreciate a copy. I was once thinking of creating my own edited version of your limerick collection, and I will probably do that if you don't have a copy left...." (italics mine)...


...Pure & Simple Arm-Twisting...
******************************************************************************************************

Let us now come to Professors Khastgir:

There are many... one of them was in the Phy Dept @ BHU during my childhood....rumor went that he was our Paper-Setter in Spectroscopy while I was larking about at AU....I must have failed miserably in that Part I if I know my Khastgirs... luckily we had this other Part II of Optics....

Like the Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr (Autocrat) & Jr (Supreme Court Judge) father-son duo, there are two more Physics Khastgir Professors in my ken....

Of their vast book-collection, let Junior Khastgir himself speak:

"...The most awful question I face frequently from new visitors is 'Have you read all these?'; I tell them 'Collecting books is my business'. (courtesy Raymond Chandler). The most interesting comment I got for books was from our colleague Prof. B. N. Das when he visited us for the first time: 'Progressive bujhi natun branch khuleche?'...('Looks like Progressive Book Stores has opened a new branch here)'..."

If you think Khastgirs are a different branch than the Sengupta Convention, you are sadly mistaken: they are like Tweedledum & Tweedledee...or like Felis Leo & Felis Tigris.... ask Pratik...

****************************************************************************************************

When I joined IIT KGP in 1965, my friend NP, then a Lecturer in ME, used to take me to his Lab; and once introduced me to the Lab Asst Nag Babu..a charming figure with soda-water-bottle spectacles and the default paan.

35 years or so later, NP was DD and Nag Babu STA (perhaps retired). NP visited Nag Babu's home to invite Nag Babu for his son's Wedding Reception; and found him studying a book keenly under his table lamp.

Rejoicing the timely visit of his old friend NP, Nag Babu apparently held forth on the book he was reading: History of the Vijayanagar Empire; to hold our DD spellbound for a good while before he could proceed with his Invite.

*****************************************************************************************************

Professor Amalendu Mukherjee of ME was younger to me by a few years. He was practically brought up in Rajasthan where his father was a Professor at a College.

Amalendu told me once that the abiding image he has of his father was that of a man wrapped in multiple shawls in the biting Rajasthani Winter and poring over fat books in the flickering light of a hurricane lamp long long into the wee hours of the morning.

One morning while I was gathering wool under the Bodhi-Mango-Neem Combo Tree of Harry's, Amalendu came in, sat beside me and asked for a penny worth of my wool.

And when I said that I was recalling Ishopanishad's famous verse:

The face of Truth is covered by a golden disk;
Unveil it Pooshan so I, a lover of Truth, may have a peek!

....he asked me where he can find it......

I told him that the 1000 page Principal Upanishads by Radhakrishnan is available at the Progressive, he left at once, started his scooter, and was back in 10 minutes with a copy of the book...

**************************************************************************************************

This is just the tip of the bookberg...


******************************************************************************************************

The other day I saw a ticker in Yahoo News titled: "Indian American's book rated among the Top Ten Best Books by NYT".

Before clicking on it I bet with myself (always safe...it is a win-win..) that it is either a Mukherjee or a Sengupta (....Siddhartha or Gautam...the same fish...);

...and I won hands down:

"...Just three weeks after publication, Indian American cancer specialist Siddhartha Mukherjee's first book 'The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer' has been rated among 'The 10 Best Books of 2010' by the New York Times..."
****************************************************************************************************

The other evening I was in the Smoking Lounge of Drones Club and I collared Bertie and asked him:

"What is this thing between Books & Bengalis?"

He scoffed at my ignorance and replied:

"It is them Hilsa they eat, Old Man...."

===================================================================

Science, Religion & the Nobel

========================================================

My Guru and Ph D Guide SDM used to Catch me and Have me (as that Sardarjee in NY joke goes) as a one-man captive audience in my final year with him; and talk nonstop for six hours at a stretch every Saturday and Sunday Evening at his Qrs (Mrs SDM fed me sumptuous loochies as Relief).

He used to talk on every subject under the Sun except my Thesis and Religion:

Thesis because I will run away as soon as he okays it, leaving him talking to the horses in his stable as Churchill used to do for rehearsals before his War Speeches in Parliament.

And Religion because he was too shy since it is an unscientific topic.

But once he slipped in one of his weak moments and let out that whenever he visits his elder sister (didi) at Gauhati, he reads her entire collection of Upanishads in Sanskrit.

And bit his tongue and changed the topic at once to Naxalite Ideology:

He was always scared (as he admitted to me) that pro-Naxalite students at IIT KGP hailing from his Calcutta will slit his throat as they apparently did to the HoD of Calcutta University....

That single year SDM was our HoD: his Administrative Acumen is better left unsung despite his boast that Administration is cakewalk compared to Theoretical Physics Research (He had to dourly apologize to Raamda in public for a snide remark he made to students that all Non-Researchers of his Department are Dead Wood....students found a golden opportunity to tom-tom this fruity stuff in that drab campus).

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Theoretical Physicists like Einstein and Dirac made laughing stock of themselves commenting needlessly on God. Feynman was cleverer...he declared that though his father was Jewish, he couldn't care for Religion...indeed I recall he made snide remarks on Jewish Theology Students who asked his Authoritative Opinion if Electricity was Fire.

The Retired Chief Engineer in our Apartment Block who first assaulted me with the question: "Can you follow English?" is very religious. He says he spends all his spare time reading and re-reading his Gita.

When he asked me that question on English, I was delighted that Here is an English Lover in this desolate and arid Deccan Plateau.

So, I gifted my 5 booklets (2 in verse and 3 in prose...Elephants in a Beetle...) as and when they arrived from the Printer, hoping that I would get some encouragement to carry on blogging...

He made only 2 comments in 3 years:

1. "I tried reading your booklets...but your English is quaint, quite unlike the English I learned at my School"

gps: I have no issue with this..rather I take it as a compliment.

2. "At your age you should be writing about religious topics"...

gps: This is funny...I think all my 3 Ishani booklets are deeply religious in the sense that they are attempts by an old man in a hurry to make some sense of his life and his world...which I think is the gist of religious quest..... ...

What do you say?...

Moreover, did I not, in half a blog, narrate the Heart of Raamayan, that took an entire verse to the Poet:

****************************************************************************************************

Aaadau Raama Tapovanadi gamanam, hatva Mrigam kaanchanam,
Vaidehi haranam, Jataayu maranam, Sugriva sambhashanam,
Vaalee nigrahanam, Samudra taranam, Lankapuri dahanam,
Paschaat Raavana Kumbhakarna hananam, Etadhi Raamayanam!

......Ek Shloki Raamayaan

**********************************************************************************************************

As for encouragement, I got plenty of it in the past 24 hours:

Pratik: "That was absolutely brilliant. From the stage-setting with the Raam episode till the finis..."

Anushree: "We received your lovely book quite sometime back and enjoyed (short moment) reading it. This time Ishani's and Pratik's stories are the best!"

Aniket: "Enjoyed your latest piece as much as any other. Your writing seems to get better every day. Whatever happened to the blogger's block you experienced? Some avid admirer must have wished it away.."

Supratim: "During the week of your absence, I was quenching my thirst by re-reading your older booklets.."

***************************************************************************************************

Please note the significant coincidence that all the above mentioned + the DQ of the 'Ogo Dada' fame are avid hilsa-lovers (of which there is going to be a whole blog in the near future).

I hereby Will that, as and when my blogs are awarded (posthumously as a special case) the Ig-Nobel for Religious Literature, these people should share it with my half-hilsa Ishani...

And I hereby appoint Google as the Executor of this Will hoping it survives That Long.


=========================================================

Water Harvesters

======================================================

In our small towns in AP in our childhood, there were these few curious families: they practically owned the entire Gold Ornament Business in addition to Clothes Stores.

The males wore their Dhotis differently than my father...they were forward-backward symmetric. The ladies wore their saris with their pallus on the wrong side unlike my mother; and they covered their heads with bright and flowery veils. And they spoke something like Hindi but not the chaste Hindi we learned at school. Their kids spoke Telugu with a sweet li'l accent and got back home at dusk abandoning their games midway...

It was only much later that I came to know that they were Marwaris from Rajasthan settled all the way down deep South towns for generations.

When I joined IIT KGP, I faced bright li'l kids with quaint surnames like Mittal, Singhania, Maheswari...all of them extremely well-behaved and studious without being odiously pretentious.

Then I came to know that they came from families wealthy enough to buy a dozen gpses hired by IIT KGP @ Rs 375 + DA.

And about their Birlas, Dalmias, Bajajs...with their vast Business Empires, Temples, Institutes of Technologies, Planetariums....

****************************************************************************

In KGP Gole Bazaar there is a Marwari Dry Fruits Shop which I used to visit every Sunday. It was owned by a dhoti-clad vermilion-foreheaded short and stout Patriarch.

One day I found a new local Sales-Urchin in the shop and asked as usual for a packet of cashew nuts: "Ek packet kaju dedo!".

The urchin innocently queried: "Bada ya chota?" (Large or small?).

I then heard a big thump on the back of his tiny head: "Bada de do...poochna mat!" (Push the large one; don't ask!), implying "Let them refuse the large one".

***********************************************************************************

In our nukkad in Hyderabad we have a Marwari Business Family. They own three contiguous Stores: Provisions, Medicines, Cell Phones and such. They all live together palatially behind their Stores almost incognito.

They are four elderly brothers, their wives, sons, daughters, grandkids...all trained to sit in all the Counters and man their Business as and when need arises.

They have two Helpmates imported from their Village in Rajasthan; smart youth practically living as family members.

One morning I was in their Front Provision Stores to purchase toothpicks. The Counter was being manned by a young Bahurani (D-i-L) of the Family.

She stopped a Cart-Wheeler with his Cart full of spring onions. He was shouting: Rs 20 a kilo...

She stared at him; and he whispered: "Maajee, Rs 15 for you only". She whispered back: "10". After a few curt exchanges, they settled for Rs 11. The Cart Chap asked: "How many kilos?". She replied: "Download the entire Cart".

The Cart-Wheeler jumped with joy. Her Helpmate assisted. The Cart-Wheeler ran back with his Cart to Chintalbasthi Wholesale Market for a second helping for folks older than me at their doorsteps at Rs 20 a kilo.

The Bahurani ordered her Helpmate to separate the small ones for the Family Kitchen and dump the big ones in the Drum to be sold to folks like me at Rs 15 a kilo.

It is win-win for all: I get a Blog @ toothpicks...

*****************************************************************************

The only time Marwaris got bad publicity was a few years back when a Family Will was disputed and the entire thing spilled over into the wildly jubilant Newspapers which displayed the Birla Family Tree with all its sumptuous branches.

That reminded me of the Vanderbilt Convention:

****************************************************************************

Frank Sullivan: The Vanderbilt Convention:

*****************************************************************************

"....Suppose we start all over again and get this thing straight. Let's begin once more with the doughty old Commodore. He married, first, Sophia Johnson, and, second, Frances Crawford. William Henry Vanderbilt was their son. Not the William Henry Vanderbilt who gives all the clambakes; the other one, the one who married Maria Louisa Kissam.

Now, if William Henry and Maria Louisa Kissam, after getting married, had let it go at that, things wouldn't have become so complicated. But they didn't. They had issue: eight children. These eight children had children and these children in turn had children, so that in due course of time there came to be so many Vanderbilts that the family became known as the Vanderbilt Convention. And the doughty old Commodore had started practically on a shoestring.

Now then. What I am trying to do here is simply to give an explanation of which Vanderbilt is which, so that the reader who is interested may be able to distinguish them.

Damn it all, why the hell should people want to distinguish the Vanderbilts, anyhow? This country is supposed to be a democracy, isn't it?...."

************************************************************************

I read that the secret of the Marwari grip on Business is the fact that they hail from Villages of the Thar Desert in Rajasthan with its scanty rainfall.

Those who know how to conserve every drop of water, the Wellspring of Life, know how to conserve every coin.

No wonder that our nukkad Marwaris' profits come mostly from the 30-liter Water Cans they sell like hot cakes in Hyderabad where there is a perennial water shortage due to the ever-leaking civic water pipes.

It is a different matter that a couple of months back there were untold floods in their Rajasthan Desert Towns due to Cyclone Phet (also in Pakistan):

.....Of course due to Faithless Customers like me who don't much care for the archeologically proven fact that Raamjee was born precisely @ that sweet spot at Ayodhya....

========================================================

Tenterhooks

======================================================

The Decoy Fake Golden Deer beguiles Raam far astray into the forest, and on being shot at, cries out: "Ha! Laxman!", revealing himself as a vengeful dying demon.

Raam is full of misgivings which are boosted by Laxman joining him on his way back to their Kuteer (Cottage). And they prove right when they can't find Sita anywhere.

Their long and weary search for Sita begns and they are given a clue by the Eagle Jataayu on his fighting deathbed waiting to tell them that Raavan filched her away Southwards.

They meet Monkey-King Sugriv and seek his help in finding Sita. Sugriv agrees to help if Raam kills his brother Vaali, which Raam does.

Recovering his throne and wives, Sugriv forgets all about Raam.

And then come the Rains, the Fertile Season for monkeys.

After rains cease, Raam reminds Sugriv of his promise amid threats of making him join his brother Vaali up there...

Sugriv feels sorry, relents, and deputes 4 of his worthies to go forth in the four directions in search of Sita.

And chooses Hanuman, the most powerful of all, to go South.

Hanuman returns in a few days and finds Raam desolately sitting on a stone bench forlorn, waiting and waiting and waiting....

Hanuman approaches Raam, and without ado says:

"Saw Sita Alive I....".

Raam descends from his stone bench, embraces Hanuman who falls at His feet and never looks back in his devotion to Raam...

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1977, November 16

I board the Howrah-Madras Mail at KGP on a perfectly clear Autumnal Night on my way to Gudur to attend the marriage of my sister S on 27th; a 26-hour journey.....

My other sister V is supposed to join me at Vijayawada on my way at 9 PM on 17th.

V is an alumnus of the Phy Dept of IIT KGP (DIIT:1974-75) and now a Lecturer in the Womens Junior College at Bapatla near Vijayawada; and so closest to me among the six.

My train stops 3 Stations before Vijayawada next evening abruptly at Nidadavole.

We are told that a cyclone is brewing in the Bay of Bengal and we will be given the green signal after it crosses the Coast.

The train plods to the next station Eluru next morning and stays put there for the rest of the day...

News trickles to us that the cyclone turned killer and crossed the Coast at Bapatla where my sister was staying in a Cottage close to her College...

The Cottage was covered with a thatched roof...

As the train enters Vijayawada Station, we are told that the entire Section between Vijayawada and Ongole centering on Bapatla is blown to smithereens...

And that the killer cyclone took 20,000 lives on its way that eerie night....

Next morning, the 4th starving day, the train halts at Bapatla but there is no Railway Station to speak of and the entire town razed to ground apparently...

Not a single tree stands upright...

I get down thinking that I will break my journey and look for my sister V, swimming across the waterlogged Station; but on second thoughts continue my slow journey to Gudur, throw my baggage at home, and at once take the first bug-ridden evening train limping backwards to Vijayawada....

It is midnight when it reaches the non-existent Bapatla Station....

It is raining hard, and me and a Hindu Photographer are the only souls sitting on the cement bench and getting fully drenched in the steady rain...

.....Apart from the Station Master with his hurricane lantern and an umbrella overhead....

The Hindu chap tells me (huddling his costly equipment) that a Church in Bapatla collapsed killing more than 300 children seeking shelter there that ghostly night; and he is looking forward to some scoop shots...(which I find later in center-spread)...

At dawn the rain stops and I slowly wade my way through knee-deep water skirting skinned cattle carcasses...

Only to find the roof of that Cottage blown off and walls collapsed in a heap of rubble....

I stand there transfixed...

An Old Woman comes out from her collapsed neighboring hut, recovering her luggage, and recognizes me...

And all but embraces me for my sibling devotion and says:

"Safe Your Sister is at Her Friend's Concrete House"

it is then my turn to fall at her feet...

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The last 350 Blog-Posts read in any random order could be titled:

"Autobioguly of an Unknown KGPian".

I guess that is how real autobiographies ought to read...at random...at ease... rather than a strict linear Womb-to-Tomb page-marked chronological order...

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