‘Be proud of your town because it is a big
part of who you are!’ said some wise
gentleman.
“Pride without knowledge is like a tree
without roots!” said somebody else, a
little wiser maybe.
Of late I have begun to follow their words
and I have started learning about Namma Bengaluru. What better way than to read
all the literature about the place we live in? While discussing our
common interests (read books!) a friend recommended me ‘Peter Colaco’s Bangalore: Century of Tales
from City & Cantonment’. I was on an eager search the same day.
“Your
search ‘Peter Colaco’s Bangalore: Century of Tales from City &
Cantonment" did not match any products. Try something like using more general terms or checking your spelling”said Amazon.
“Sorry,
no results found! Please check the spelling or try searching for something else”said Flipkart.
“Sorry, out of stock”said Sapna Online.
“Out of stock, it is in print Madam...”said Mr Maye Gowda of Blossoms Book House with his signature smile.
And then like all roads lead home, I sent this on our WhatsApp
group of Akruthi Books.
Pat came Guru’s reply, a dear friend and the owner of the bookstore. If there is something called as cloud
nine, it was this text for me at that moment. There is a reason why some book
stores become your favourite, it is because they are run by warm people who
make the place feel warmer than home. They make a way to your heart. They are
not about sales. They are not about discounts. They are not about author meets
and greets. They are not about book reading sessions. They prevail for something
beyond all that, for the higher purpose of reading.
I received the book by post today and cannot wait to read it.
Thank you Guru :-) I am Bangalored, of course for good.
Off I go on a nostalgic through Namma Bengaluru :-)
PS: For all those who love reading and who live in Bangalore,
do visit this bookstore at Rajajinagar, a quiet but bright basement very close
to Bashyam Circle. I bet you cannot stop loving this little den and getting some books!
Here are the details:
Whom to contact:Mr Guruprasad on 098866 94580 [Ask him about a book, he will review it in a line or two within a couple of minutes for you :-) !]
And where it is:No. 28 (Old No. 733), 2nd Floor, 3rd Block, No. 31/1, 12th Main Rd, Gayathri Nagar, Rajaji Nagar, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560010
He had told my mother during one of their late morning
tête-à -tête after a round of household chores. My paternal grandfather
had no second thoughts on repudiating some of the customs that did not make sense
to him. This was during the period when he was diagnosed of prostate cancer in
his seventies, he was being treated for the same and palliative care was all
that could be given after the surgery which he had undergone. It was all seeded in
his bones and lungs, the cancer cells and of all that mattered to him was his ‘THITHI’ for reasons known only to him;
he did not want us to perform the ritual every year. I must say he was very
opinionated. Nevertheless his children do it every year now; if he is watching
us from somewhere I am sure nothing else will be making him more furious!
Why I brought this up today was because I happened to
watch a Kannada movie by the same name last evening with my parents so I couldn’t
help but reminisce about it. While some call the movie a dark comedy with unpretentious
frivolity, there is something esoteric about it. This was beyond all the brouhaha
that Kannada movies are receiving these days, and I am glad I have watched all
of them in the theatre. Nothing feels better than watching our fellow
Kannadigas put our cinema and our land on the world map.
I am not going to let off any details here because
this is not a movie review, this is about the feeling it left me with after I
walked out of the theatre, the smile it brought on my face when a group of kids
who were walking down the stairs started dancing in front of the theatre screen
when the closing credits was on with the orchestra music. I do not know what
they understood of the movie but this was a good sign. Watching good cinema is
as important as playing a good game or reading a good book, I am glad that with
movies like these we can do this today.
Century Gowda, Gadappa,
Thammana, Abhi, Cauvery, the shepherds, the dealer in the Xerox shop, the kids
playing tiger and sheep after school, the money lender lady in the arrack shop,
the dancing old man in the death procession and a dozen other characters
portrayed in the movie are all around us. And therefore people of this land connect
to the story. What hit me more is the ease with which issues like patriarchy,
property, religious beliefs, complex family matters, teenage sexuality, loans, bribes, support of
the neighbourhood and all the rustic village life are portrayed in every scene.
All one needs is an observer’s eye and a listener’s ear. See through the scenes
and listen in between the dialogues, especially Gadappa’s and your movie
watching of ‘THITHI’ is complete.
After the movie was
over, when Appa was still on his seat hooked to the screen.
“Eli, thithi oota hakalla illi theatre alli!”
[Get up, they are not
going to give you lunch now in the theatre!]
So said my Amma with her
natural brevity. The lady next to me smirked [The movie by the way is a feast!]. Miffed by the force Appa decided to take his own way out of the place, as we were walking ahead I
realized he is not with us. I turned back and remarked...
“Appa elli
Amma?”
[Where is he?]
“Yen nin
problemmmu….your Appa must be gone somewhere” she said, as cool as a cucumber.
This year I am trying to be a voracious reader, a little diverse as well.I decided to stop all the English Vinglish and start something in Kannada last week. A lot of people had recommended me this book before.
I am not yet done with the book but so far it has been a great read, usually people write reviews when they finish reading the book but I felt like talking about it today for a different reason. While I flip from page to page I am realizing how much I have missed reading Kannada all these years! Thankfully I can do more than just manage! We Indians are blessed with wonderful languages and we rarely do appreciate our own literature.It is enormously commendable, isn't it? I have realized my fault, have you? Do share any must reads that you know of ,I will be happy to read :-)
Namooru Bengalooru is a quirky place. While the roads and traffic are a woebegone issue, there are some amusing things one finds while travelling. Ever noticed these kind of signboards? I saw this one somewhere near Kengeri last week, I have never found one with the correct spelling until now. I call this Kannadizing English. Sakath alla :-D
Eliya, this house has a couple of entrances
apart from the main door that one can see here. Once upon a time there was this
man in his eighties loitering around the kattewhich is built
all around the house,a little elevation or a bench to sit is called so in Kannada. The summer heat of coastal towns of Karnataka ensure that
one stays out of the house, sweating yourself out in the sun is better than
getting fried like jackfruit chips in a pan of coconut oil inside the four
walls. Fit and fine, dhoti clad with a walking stick but very much unlike
Gandhi, this man, my Eliya Ajja was
a man of swear words. He would walk from one door to the other looking for
something outside or eagerly waiting for someone to come. If we were at one
door wanting to go out we would find him there, thinking of not to trouble him
we would move to the other, lo and behold he would be standing there too tapping
his walking stick on his shadow on the floor.
“Ajja!hopale daribidi”[Leave some place for us to go]we would tell.
“Acha bagilinda hogu”[Go through the other door]he would reply.
Go to the other and he would be there
again.
“Ajja!!!” we would scream our lungs out.
“Entha upadra ningaladu makale!“[What
trouble you give me kids!] he would shout back with a 'nayi inde mone' [son of a d** in Malayalam] and continue to
stand there.
Eliya Ajja strolling in the front yard
As far as I know Ajja was not much
into reading and writing, knowledge during his days was beyond all that. So
when I thought of letters and books of mysteries of life my ancestors have left
me only one person came to my mind. And it had to be him, my Ajja, a man
of shadows. There is this interesting story I have heard during night time from
his dear wife, my Ajji with whom he has had the best of arguments and also his
life. She would always add this nice prologue.
‘Aaaringu heleda!’[Do not tell anyone!]
The story would then begin.
Dakshina Kannada is a land of ‘Adike
Thota’ [areca nut farms]. Monsoon skies and greenery, mango trees and
sunshine, peacock calls and tender coconut water, cashew fruits and small
rivulets, ah! This experience deserves another post. Well Ajja being a farmer
took the best care to ensure he had a decent crop every year. There were a
couple of servants in the thota working
for him; ‘Aalu’ as they are called,
of course the caste system is now abolished. This incident was to do with one
of them. Areca nut markets were in rich business during that time, and where
there is money there is bound to be some theft.
On one dark night Ajja was out for
his rounds guarding his thota with
his ‘bedi’[rifle].
Apparently he heard
some movement, thinking it was a ‘kudka’[wild fox]
who was a frequent visitor to his thota at night he pulled the trigger and fired
a shot in the air. Far away, he heard a noise, like the deep ripping growl of a
thunder. He walked some distance, after only a few lapsed heartbeats he
understood someone was hurt and wailing. It was one of his ‘Aalu’ Rama, he was
shot dead. Ajja thought he was probably there to steal some areca nuts like he
had done previously, unfortunately it was his bad day and he paid a heavy
price. Not knowing what to do Ajja pulled him into a cave, he hid his body
behind the bushes and returned back home. The next day, Rama was not to be
found anywhere and news spread. "Rama has run away to the ‘Ghattas’" so people were told and thought, it usually happened with Aalus during those times, they would run away in search of work to the
Western Ghats and beyond.
The story would end here, and life
continued.
What Ajji narrated is something hard
to believe. I wonder how much of this is true. Ajja was a hero definitely but how
can anyone escape a murder even if it is accidental? Or is it possible for a
man as frail as an old areca nut tree himself to do this? Look at him, look at the picture. Can it be
him? Did Rama really die? Or did he run away? This kind of furtiveness is
interesting, it does not let me move on. It has been years now since I heard
this story, as a child I did not think much of it. But when I visit my uncles
at Eliya now, I think of whatever Ajji told me. In the lull of the noon when
Ajja’s clock is ticking or when the rest of the house full of his children and
their children are gorging on telavu[dosa made of rice batter] with kai[coconut] chutney or
when the raindrops fall from the edge of the roof at night I become aware of the voices coming from
somewhere up. It feels like Ajja wants to tell me something.
I wish he wrote down something
somewhere about what exactly happened, about Rama, about his escape and most
importantly how did he feel about the entire incident. I wish there was a
letter or a diary. Such thoughts compel me to search the atta[attic] or the old cupboards and trunks hoping that there is
something. I do this every time even now whenever I visit Ajji mane. On the flipside I am sure Ajji is up
there somewhere watching me and laughing ;-) After all what is life all about? You
and your loved ones, little mysteries about each other, some truths and lies, some
stories and experiences, some memories and moments, some learning and sharing,
some love and hate, some satisfaction and guilt, sometimes just being there for
each other and living your life to the fullest. I wish this was all in a letter
or a book. Their funda of how they went about doing it so graciously along with
raising nine children! That would definitely not be any cock and bull story. I would be the happiest if these beautiful mysteries are revealed and that would be my higher calling to follow and live by.
Love and miss you both, two of my most favorite people in this world.
The best love story is not about
Romeo and Juliet who died together,
but of Grandpa and Grandma
who grew old
together :-)
PS: I am participating in this creative activity organised by makers of The Path of Zarathustra in association withBlogAdda.
