Nakshatrakas

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The Celebrated Coast of Coromandel where the early pumpkins of Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo blow was so hot and humid that none of the male population fancied any upper garment except when they went to their white-collar work.

Besides, there was no 'current' in our seaside Village of Muthukur where we 'blew' into schoolkids from toddlers.

So, my HM Father would divest himself of his white shirt the moment he came home from School and cool himself by asking me to fan him with a hand-powered palm-fan. And I would do my filial duty perfunctorily and run for my goli-play at the earliest.

But I would keep a Calvin's Mother's Rear-Eye on his movements and as soon as he gets back into his white shirt, I would abandon my play and run to him leaving everything and ask:

"Where are you going?"

followed by:

"I will also come".

And then he would smile, hold me up in his arms, and say to his wife:

"What a Nakshatraka you have brought forth?"

It took a good six years for me to get to read that Nakshatraka was the Collection Agent of Sage Vishwamitra for his hefty EMIs from Raja Harishchandra.

The Devil himself as far as relentless pursuit went.

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In my long life I have been pursued and persecuted by only one species of Nakshatrakas: LIC Agents.

These are by and large well-meaning and handsomely behaved folks; but that makes matters worse for shedding them off your back.

As soon as I drew my first CSIR JRF Scholarship amount of Rs. 250 in 1963, I was followed like a shadow by a very old, slim, and nice gentleman who was a complete stranger to me. He put one of his feet in the doorway of our humble tenement and asked for a glass of water. After cooling his thirst, he embarked on a long lecture on the precariousness of human life, the need for ensuring the welfare of one's dependents, Double-Accident Benefit Policies...in short the motto of LIC: "Yogakshemam Vahamyaham"...Lord Krishna's assurance to Arjun: "Leave everything to me and I shall take care of you and yours".

I told him that I have no dependents but he brushed it aside saying that I would soon get one in the form of a wife...brides are simply waiting in queue for a husband with such a fabulous earning as Rs 250.

To cut matters short I signed on the dotted line and shelled down Rs 30 of my hard-earned Fellowship amount and forgot all about it.

It lapsed in no time and that was that: "cut the losses".

That was one of half-a-dozen Lapsed Policies I had to take for the sake of politeness. One can't drive good men away from one's door.

But our colleague KVR in the Faculty Hostel at KGP had no scruples like that, since he was a busy man and valued his privacy (by and by he rose to become the most respected Prof of EE).

One day, Chanda, our Library Assistant in CL in charge of Issue and Return of Books (a vital position those days) climbed three floors on a Sunday Morning and entered KVR's Room unannounced and applied the usual LIC grease (he was the Collection Agent for his wife in whose name he was working part-time).

KVR gave him a patient hearing for half an hour and asked Chanda to get lost.

But Chanda was a seasoned guy and refused to take a NO.

This outraged the normally courteous KVR so much that he physically pushed Chanda out of his Room and bolted the door.

After an hour of working out a very interesting Laplace Transform, KVR opened his door in a jubilant mood.

And Chanda said: "Now, jokes apart....."

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During the 1960s the Central Library was a Heaven for Faculty Members.

They could get any number of books issued against their name and retain them for any length of time. All that they have to declare is: "Needed badly for teaching".

Rumors and legends were floating that when Professor X retired the number of books he returned to get the No-Demand Certificate required for his Pension ran into three figures...

And those were the days when the CL had just enough funds to buy one copy of each pricey book, and photocopying was unheard of.

I badly wanted to read the celebrated Landau and Lifshitz's Classical Theory of Fields (first edition). The Catalog showed that there was only one copy in CL and I hurriedly took down the Accession Number and began a fruitless search and finally landed in Chanda Babu's lap.

He said: "What about it?"

I replied; "OK...10,000"

He then spent a good hour frisking through his voluminous registers and whispered:

"Issued to Gagan Babu of your own Department...when shall I come?"

"This evening".

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I went to Gagan Babu's Office and he said: "Tomorrow I shall bring it" and made a note in the famous loose-chits in his pocket.

Many tomorrows went by and I finally pursued him one evening to his palatial A-Type Qrs, got down from my push-bike and followed him into his Drawing Room.

He turned round, saw me, smiled, brought forth the slim golden volume, handed it to me and said:

"You are like the Nakshatraka of Raja Harishchandra"...


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