tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45673684729340303522024-03-19T02:27:56.286-07:00``Mysurean Musings
....Memories, experiences, recollections, observations,
compilations and what have you!Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.comBlogger260125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-74863350116202035322023-07-04T02:09:00.000-07:002023-07-04T02:09:56.365-07:00How Somu found me<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDl0SnvGTHbi2RZxWi9mHDa3a6O165j-CNeW36eM2P_BlLPehPVBPjxBwxZvQVEaPRLwEG2nBMRD_vuvYt-iEMl4yaWxPlf6Z6eO7ZXiInnK4hC7Eu6SccFA2JUJfop766QKJbmt67KfHUQD-JdBbWZPaBuFZn6lLvvvA6jy1rOpLqBFjO5Q-tDX7pRqd/s1024/Somu%20vaaranna.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDl0SnvGTHbi2RZxWi9mHDa3a6O165j-CNeW36eM2P_BlLPehPVBPjxBwxZvQVEaPRLwEG2nBMRD_vuvYt-iEMl4yaWxPlf6Z6eO7ZXiInnK4hC7Eu6SccFA2JUJfop766QKJbmt67KfHUQD-JdBbWZPaBuFZn6lLvvvA6jy1rOpLqBFjO5Q-tDX7pRqd/s320/Somu%20vaaranna.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Hair raising thrill is obvious when something sweet by chance happens. It happened to me nearly two months ago. Cutting down our evening walk at the nearby ground we had parked our car on Devaparthiva Road where we lived for decades as the road perpendicular to it was under repair. We had to visit a shop close by on that road. We had got down from the car. On seeing us, our friend stopped his scooter with a pillion rider. The pillion rider [he was to soon reveal that he was the rider's elder brother] dismounting the scooter asked for the house of one Subba Rao. "Subba Rao!" ....my late grandfather. I was happy someone known for years to our family was in search of the house which was no longer with us. Ownership and house had since been changed and we had moved to another ancestral house. I told him "I am Subba Rao's grandson". To make him believe his ears I repeated! His face lit up in utter happiness. When he told me that long ago he was coming to our house for weekly evening meal, I immediately recognized him as <b>'Somu' </b>as he was called by us then. He must have been around 20 by the year 1962 when he was coming. In the dining hall, after my grandfather returned from his office, dinner plates used to be arranged for the eight of us in the family plus one Butea leaf plate for Somu near the door. I insisted to sit next to him [his left] for the meal and I have very vivid memory of this as a four year old. He remembered my name too as clearly as me. It was a most joyful moment for him meeting me and that too in that fashion. Somu must be around 80 now. He also recalled the other relatives' houses he went for the meal on other days of the week and mentioned he was trying to meet their families also. Those were economically difficult years for his family, living in nearby towns where there were no colleges and they used to be sent to Mysore for studying further so that they can get a job later. Mysore was and is a popular hub for higher education. <br /><br /><div><div>The system of offering meals esp. to poor brahmin boys studying in college [and living in a hostel] was known as "<i>vaaraanna</i>". Such boys used to eat in different houses on prior arrangement on set days of the week on rotation. This helped them save some expenses. It was a tradition followed by many brahmin families as helping others in whatever way possible, considering it as God's service. <p></p></div></div><div>All the years, Somu's memory has a very deep impression in my mind and I often wondered about who he was and where he was. In the meantime, my wife's friend and our distant relative had hinted about this Somu a couple of years earlier. He must have inquired his interest on meeting us. Recently on our second meeting at Somu's brother's family function, last month he mentioned he had retired as head master of a school in the town of Hassan. He was yet again fondly recalling the famililes that served him food in those years, that helped him build a career in life. He even joyfully introduced me to all his family members. </div><div><br /></div><div>My wonderment ended about this Somu whose physical appearance was blank but he used to come white dhoti and shirt with a small towel on his left shoulder. Somu's dream of meeting the family also ended with that accidental meeting. Joyful moments.</div>Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-57755138271470039582023-02-22T08:12:00.091-08:002023-02-22T19:07:40.434-08:00We unique foursome<p>Srinivas Rao, Mukunda, Ramesh and yours truly, were in the same department at the workplace. What was unique with us in the mid 1980s was that we were in our 50s, 40s, 30s and 20s in that order. Unfortunately, the first three have passed on, also in that order, making me the lone survivor now! </p><p>We used to join together twice every day to go to the canteen for coffee breaks. These were most refreshing fun filled breaks. Jokes were told, esp by the first two, Rao and Mukunda who were excellent in telling jokes while Ramesh and I enjoyed laughing. Rao laughed as he told, simultaneously. Funnily, he often laughed before he uttered! All of us had a good sense of humour and this is what had brought us together, actually back in 1983 itself. In fact, it was Rao who bonded the group in a way, when India won the Cricket World Cup that year. He hosted a party in the famous Mylari Hotel to celebrate India's maiden win. This hotel is/was renown for tasty and unique Masala Dosays plus Idli, which we washed down our gullets with excellent coffee. These were the only two items this hotel prepared on its menu and only up to noon. No evening opening. From that time onwards, we decided to go every month, each month hosted by one of us on rotation basis. Rotation was by draw of chits. (I have blogged separately on this hotel trips). We foursome did other things to eat out as well till about the year 2007. </p><p>Once on a working day, we went to a place called K.R.Nagar an hour's drive by bus just to eat Masala Dosay at the famous Sri Hotel in that small town, all of us applying one day leave, en masse! We would gather at the agreed time at the bus stand and travel. Then after that hotel breakfast, we traveled to the nearby Chunchunkatte where river Kaveri forcefully flows amidst rocky terrain. A popular picnic spot. There we spent till lunch time, relaxing near the flowing water. We went to the temple close by and the priest there specially arranged for us sumptuous and tasty lunch in the form of Puliogrey, which we remembered for several years. We profusely thanked as we rewarded the priest with some money for taking care of our hunger. This arrangement was unexpected but most welcome. Then relaxing on the temple platform relishing the taste of Puliogrey for sometime we travelled home. </p><p>Another time, we applied en masse half a day leave for the forenoon session. The programme was to see a morning show movie at Olympia talkies, have lunch at the hotel opposite there (well known in those days for good lunch) and go to office to attend the afternoon session.</p><p>Another working day, we travelled by bus to a place, an hour's drive, called Melukote. There is the beautiful temple of Sri Cheluvarayaswamy on top of a small hillock reached there by a flight of steep stone steps, below it is a Kalyani (pond). What we remembered more than the trip was the argument Mukunda picked up in the bus with a fellow villager-passenger about the price of butter back in "those days"....and the quality of it. It was a serious fight, but it was a draw. For this trip, we had one extra member in the form of Suresh. </p><p>By 2006, Mukunda had retired and had shifted to Bengaluru, three hours away. Srinivas Rao had retired before him. Ramesh was in his hometown there and was on leave. This time the programme was to meet there just to eat Dosay at the highly renown Vidyarthi Bhavan in Gandhi Bazar and have lunch in another hotel. From here, Rao and I traveled by train and gathered at the hotel at the set time. We enjoyed eating, went to nearby Lalbag gardens and relaxed there for a while and we dispersed to our places, Rao and I returning by train in the evening. Yet again it was a working day. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-rnT_kFjmsumnorkfvuj71KylhdJk2lsw4TPm55cHnimvRLA59SAimqs7d9dwWsaP3sN6W4pL84waAncGEWZ1VKNVTVHLlGxzUhzw_56sqQI1ZC3YinLmT4EeNrtZrerUvOZ75HFnOjBnjeBHm2iKZxY8leBoS8ItgBrhhArLY1OJBDsC5N02MPuOQ/s800/Dosa%20Eaters.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-rnT_kFjmsumnorkfvuj71KylhdJk2lsw4TPm55cHnimvRLA59SAimqs7d9dwWsaP3sN6W4pL84waAncGEWZ1VKNVTVHLlGxzUhzw_56sqQI1ZC3YinLmT4EeNrtZrerUvOZ75HFnOjBnjeBHm2iKZxY8leBoS8ItgBrhhArLY1OJBDsC5N02MPuOQ/s320/Dosa%20Eaters.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene at Vidyarthi Bhavan, starting to devour. <br />Similar was the scene at Mylari Hotel. I had this new digital <br />camera in 2006. Hence this memory.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Aside from this group outings, there used to be other random little eatings. Thanks to one other colleague gastronomer Nagaraja. He enjoyed hosting breakfast in the form of Masala Dosay from, yes 'from', one Prasad Lunch Home (now closed). He would come half an hour early, packing Dosays to 4 other colleagues who were in the same room. He would take us to another hotel called Anand Vihar near Zoo and get us Bonda-Sambar which he was fond of. A few times, we went out for lunch in a hotel during lunch hour. </p><p><br />There was a good camaraderie among the colleagues, what with a strict workaholic boss and heavy work. Often many went to others' desks for short chit chats which the boss didn't mind as long as work was done.</p><p>Good memories with colleagues and the good times at the workplace we cherish for a long time. </p><p> </p>Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-5430226055884427462022-09-21T07:36:00.002-07:002022-09-21T07:36:53.161-07:00At the Smithsonian where I saw Concorde<p style="text-align: center;">When I first made a model of an Air France Concorde jet way back in 1977, I had never even imagined that I would see it one day. Unexpectedly, a visit to the United States in August 2022 turned this into a reality when I visited Washington DC where my long time friend Srinivas took us to the Smithsonian Institute of Air and Space Museum, Steven F. Udvar Hazy Center. Here I was most delighted to see this huge and beautiful jet from very close range, the very one that had its last flight before being withdrawn from service on 23 Nov 2003. More details on the unique supersonic jet and of the museum are available on the web. It produced a sonic boom, so it flew at a height of 60,000 feet only transoceanic. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4IwaSgVYSQP7I4wCcmuoObIsrXCnEJ2jYRUuFtl-qN290eQ6Gz6a1f5n7fFNlgc1EAHgUWPPSWLkLjNQYLSNy8IKc7ZbHHW8M8RoXYndW5dNuZ5fs2AA1heUDeTGcWMkEzuloLU7_-EiekWgIqHx1vW_LSuAbVNftNcd4FML-Y3nAWCH6u0fbOEBCA/s1229/IMG_20220807_200817094_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4IwaSgVYSQP7I4wCcmuoObIsrXCnEJ2jYRUuFtl-qN290eQ6Gz6a1f5n7fFNlgc1EAHgUWPPSWLkLjNQYLSNy8IKc7ZbHHW8M8RoXYndW5dNuZ5fs2AA1heUDeTGcWMkEzuloLU7_-EiekWgIqHx1vW_LSuAbVNftNcd4FML-Y3nAWCH6u0fbOEBCA/s320/IMG_20220807_200817094_HDR.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />Entrance</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>It is a huge museum where they have kept old aircrafts like toys in a showcase, under a huge curved roof and very vast area. What a delight! There were also many rare little aircrafts hung from the roof. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxEtXxusDl7xEum_u1wKjhaMREagrWbde0mb2zawh3ZseOLHjLa9tsYuW6dMSxrjGOhQCLF1WSAB9VL63ZKWUtJ3IlWOPsav6gJ8BT6KGiWph0F5P3ULxIJXyVWPXz56cS9MpQpjQu6Dbkawybct4HIcyJXuE6Nndq7ywVACPGKIbErGW78HwgGsR4w/s1229/IMG_20220807_211953408.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxEtXxusDl7xEum_u1wKjhaMREagrWbde0mb2zawh3ZseOLHjLa9tsYuW6dMSxrjGOhQCLF1WSAB9VL63ZKWUtJ3IlWOPsav6gJ8BT6KGiWph0F5P3ULxIJXyVWPXz56cS9MpQpjQu6Dbkawybct4HIcyJXuE6Nndq7ywVACPGKIbErGW78HwgGsR4w/s320/IMG_20220807_211953408.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There it is, the Air France Concorde. Look at it! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzv-JG_EkU01eFdoZGuLzOcAehmY2pKOsU6fAxufzk0RFXIujXKsbSCfkzh54xg4w5Ff0-x_3JXSWnZ89Kib5svwUMypgLMzgwOYm5XRkFIThI2T2oESLlki8EOQPg6KNU-wcKK-79aSFTGkkcoK9BDYAj4r2rU_-8Y168o6eWOE1aT_urhzQxUpYW5Q/s1639/IMG_20220807_212340618.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="1639" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzv-JG_EkU01eFdoZGuLzOcAehmY2pKOsU6fAxufzk0RFXIujXKsbSCfkzh54xg4w5Ff0-x_3JXSWnZ89Kib5svwUMypgLMzgwOYm5XRkFIThI2T2oESLlki8EOQPg6KNU-wcKK-79aSFTGkkcoK9BDYAj4r2rU_-8Y168o6eWOE1aT_urhzQxUpYW5Q/s320/IMG_20220807_212340618.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Its unique nozzle and cockpit, seen from above</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh873cJLWJ4vjW7i4kPEqqbC0PjU2U2NL0CY0o7eMexbH4RtfqBmjXM1suCqc1p-01rld0uimvuOplIWytTi0_g9yoSjq__VZ9_pbbbYcLUKnn0nYSY8q3dnK5ASbIZWtVUzt0FBxrpjnM6p9wA8PFjPCeUtPf2QX77kV1tRyJBOXn1juf4qUKU5tWXqA/s1229/IMG_20220807_212917838.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh873cJLWJ4vjW7i4kPEqqbC0PjU2U2NL0CY0o7eMexbH4RtfqBmjXM1suCqc1p-01rld0uimvuOplIWytTi0_g9yoSjq__VZ9_pbbbYcLUKnn0nYSY8q3dnK5ASbIZWtVUzt0FBxrpjnM6p9wA8PFjPCeUtPf2QX77kV1tRyJBOXn1juf4qUKU5tWXqA/s320/IMG_20220807_212917838.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Wheels<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwMlbwcoeYyEe2Q4hVt8BGCsab94EfjwVC-Rr0H-xHUenIKAmBC8lM32DoP5JPKuoJmAfOdWCGUphv-kxfQzwbjjs1Du8f0k4TvChP9Fouvb_qxFAJAviMTDWBzFJOmC3B6X4MvmACVYx4uvaqvvzChrb5nKQ3Ofhehhxq3QmhrYYm4FG1yMGAsMpcw/s4096/IMG_20220807_203101194.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4096" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdwMlbwcoeYyEe2Q4hVt8BGCsab94EfjwVC-Rr0H-xHUenIKAmBC8lM32DoP5JPKuoJmAfOdWCGUphv-kxfQzwbjjs1Du8f0k4TvChP9Fouvb_qxFAJAviMTDWBzFJOmC3B6X4MvmACVYx4uvaqvvzChrb5nKQ3Ofhehhxq3QmhrYYm4FG1yMGAsMpcw/s320/IMG_20220807_203101194.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Nearly under it, next to the huge wheels</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcQz-Zz0srObubnjFmDmVAjeWBdoNBWGlKInB42osu4SvJDiWe8jmSucIWDWVkSA9oXj_YfDJPyfrZX03MYu_n_9ceUMiTVa2g0jPWGCNw560UqSixpoadY98Co9cb5dPx_gH7pVxq0xF23xjtjqCTI3_r-VD6Ra9lIXwuA4ZyhafMNMFolg-XXeRkA/s1024/IMG-20220809-WA0012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcQz-Zz0srObubnjFmDmVAjeWBdoNBWGlKInB42osu4SvJDiWe8jmSucIWDWVkSA9oXj_YfDJPyfrZX03MYu_n_9ceUMiTVa2g0jPWGCNw560UqSixpoadY98Co9cb5dPx_gH7pVxq0xF23xjtjqCTI3_r-VD6Ra9lIXwuA4ZyhafMNMFolg-XXeRkA/s320/IMG-20220809-WA0012.jpg" width="320" /></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcQz-Zz0srObubnjFmDmVAjeWBdoNBWGlKInB42osu4SvJDiWe8jmSucIWDWVkSA9oXj_YfDJPyfrZX03MYu_n_9ceUMiTVa2g0jPWGCNw560UqSixpoadY98Co9cb5dPx_gH7pVxq0xF23xjtjqCTI3_r-VD6Ra9lIXwuA4ZyhafMNMFolg-XXeRkA/s1024/IMG-20220809-WA0012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcQz-Zz0srObubnjFmDmVAjeWBdoNBWGlKInB42osu4SvJDiWe8jmSucIWDWVkSA9oXj_YfDJPyfrZX03MYu_n_9ceUMiTVa2g0jPWGCNw560UqSixpoadY98Co9cb5dPx_gH7pVxq0xF23xjtjqCTI3_r-VD6Ra9lIXwuA4ZyhafMNMFolg-XXeRkA/s1024/IMG-20220809-WA0012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyh76IwKts5whgsUB0dD7qi4fcGm3HmXQNH5nMoSyUg8vrPtSixWEH3Aw5mzAxkQDRHT1Cxp9Uvx49wfYOj5A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">A video of its full view.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcQz-Zz0srObubnjFmDmVAjeWBdoNBWGlKInB42osu4SvJDiWe8jmSucIWDWVkSA9oXj_YfDJPyfrZX03MYu_n_9ceUMiTVa2g0jPWGCNw560UqSixpoadY98Co9cb5dPx_gH7pVxq0xF23xjtjqCTI3_r-VD6Ra9lIXwuA4ZyhafMNMFolg-XXeRkA/s1024/IMG-20220809-WA0012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZsatRmNj0drV8dzuDuY1R56212fT_FJcKDsXh_jjI45irSL-nRwIUDWxDA9j5GGii2J8LYCSL0T1lybsbVt2kPPPE79aWzNCgGYoMk4HMawmz5U1UYoI9bg6n-lLj09rRhwzmvc4c0sHLGB3OAYfHvn5em37oeXZ1cdXNhy8kVT5g6mptxiauoaP8Q/s1229/IMG_20220807_205422359.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZsatRmNj0drV8dzuDuY1R56212fT_FJcKDsXh_jjI45irSL-nRwIUDWxDA9j5GGii2J8LYCSL0T1lybsbVt2kPPPE79aWzNCgGYoMk4HMawmz5U1UYoI9bg6n-lLj09rRhwzmvc4c0sHLGB3OAYfHvn5em37oeXZ1cdXNhy8kVT5g6mptxiauoaP8Q/s320/IMG_20220807_205422359.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here was also the Space Shuttle Discovery, that had spent 365 hours in space on its several visits. Standing under its huge barrel like exhaust outlets was a thrill. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwPdEsrasYCN7M2C28bwscSN3ShuUdHZtsPpHQgeLqhd3JOpk2lwIYg6AOMvVb4fXO4PL6WSdk2iKJZjQis71Gi0uT6TMMSFD3Paj14JNeXJF23cacH6XW73ws85S1UOGlr3EpJNmurs0Isk2cZDwbK6yJE-OAQr--Si3uoISJs1puEkVnYNGpKmiAQ/s1229/IMG_20220807_210429052.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwPdEsrasYCN7M2C28bwscSN3ShuUdHZtsPpHQgeLqhd3JOpk2lwIYg6AOMvVb4fXO4PL6WSdk2iKJZjQis71Gi0uT6TMMSFD3Paj14JNeXJF23cacH6XW73ws85S1UOGlr3EpJNmurs0Isk2cZDwbK6yJE-OAQr--Si3uoISJs1puEkVnYNGpKmiAQ/s320/IMG_20220807_210429052.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Front portion view</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnUe8TLmpdpc6FqE7KqR-cXeeBuCXCqrQZ4FmLYV8S0unujx2Lw1sJ0VWajmsEqvjb6CBRf2hDoFNal5wnBW1bJMt24OB9e0476637-xciO0Ggw4R_7II_0sSbxMevSSvUWMhg-TOPtrAsmnm1SM5cg37SlQct87JD6ACSSgJeMmMpOfbEBORJoiTiQ/s1229/IMG_20220807_210425529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQnUe8TLmpdpc6FqE7KqR-cXeeBuCXCqrQZ4FmLYV8S0unujx2Lw1sJ0VWajmsEqvjb6CBRf2hDoFNal5wnBW1bJMt24OB9e0476637-xciO0Ggw4R_7II_0sSbxMevSSvUWMhg-TOPtrAsmnm1SM5cg37SlQct87JD6ACSSgJeMmMpOfbEBORJoiTiQ/s320/IMG_20220807_210425529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rear portion view</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDgnTOybKbCE7bLiiffDAsx2uy6sTg-66uQmWvJ8bMf7FmBfqJ_H9_-yn3h1q19qN5jpr0DEvSvOx6OkOw6HW54bG104OHBL_jcdZVmtmbgy3pwKyMXui1A9rhkrbhy21dcP9asy9l9-aI00fGFKNTaWOsxs7LeWMZIUySSihmjcHJSgFK2KqurwBmw/s1229/IMG_20220807_205309345.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1229" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDgnTOybKbCE7bLiiffDAsx2uy6sTg-66uQmWvJ8bMf7FmBfqJ_H9_-yn3h1q19qN5jpr0DEvSvOx6OkOw6HW54bG104OHBL_jcdZVmtmbgy3pwKyMXui1A9rhkrbhy21dcP9asy9l9-aI00fGFKNTaWOsxs7LeWMZIUySSihmjcHJSgFK2KqurwBmw/s320/IMG_20220807_205309345.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Nozzle view<div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-HdqHE2SWTWuFd2n9nsXqOwFyrb4T4eY-Sv9H4z7xDdBWmp1ObX7PcIDpJaZD58Ni7Lk_OBwpA2dEB5xqSZoYccAS5RaOIxoX9yf_PkE7u2W6TrVdCJEgvnaFsTwLND-noqe6cDtJ1XFzqZYApIsrTrBWBe8MEgex3PaN-HcRBt3-3yWc7xUZbQKNA/s1652/IMG_8649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1076" data-original-width="1652" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-HdqHE2SWTWuFd2n9nsXqOwFyrb4T4eY-Sv9H4z7xDdBWmp1ObX7PcIDpJaZD58Ni7Lk_OBwpA2dEB5xqSZoYccAS5RaOIxoX9yf_PkE7u2W6TrVdCJEgvnaFsTwLND-noqe6cDtJ1XFzqZYApIsrTrBWBe8MEgex3PaN-HcRBt3-3yWc7xUZbQKNA/s320/IMG_8649.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Above is the model I made</i> from balsa wood, keeping a picture of it from a magazine as the basis, in 1977. I have a separate post on its making <a href="https://junkunjunk.blogspot.com/2012/05/my-two-aeroplanes-of-balsa-wood.html">here: [Click]</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">State of Virginia is very close to Washington DC and this is located in this state. This is one place one will remember for a long time, if visited. I will, thanks to my dear friend Srinivas. It's only here we get to see such things under one roof.<br /><br /> ~~~~~~~~~~ </div><div><br /></div></div>Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-43296959303001791992021-08-27T06:02:00.229-07:002021-08-28T00:01:29.516-07:00Rats and rat trapping circus<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Rats and bandicoots are havoc-making pests nearly everywhere and our garden area is no exception. Trapping them to reduce their numbers and troubles they cause is a perpetual circus. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A box rat trap had been set with a 'vade' piece as bait food and kept in a certain spot in the garden overnight. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvBpG20I7F98olGFF3LxuhgD8yamXZX4x-eyw8RCHHuRc3doPow3TcGTvcTTQZ30y8IOadDSzY0mpvZ2GWbkmCHZP6RLkLLdvfGHE0oW0ZNVvHfShocsoS_PTmQWA2-9AmiKAIO15-vj3/s534/Fullscreen+capture+8282021+121318+PM.bmp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="364" data-original-width="534" height="79" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvBpG20I7F98olGFF3LxuhgD8yamXZX4x-eyw8RCHHuRc3doPow3TcGTvcTTQZ30y8IOadDSzY0mpvZ2GWbkmCHZP6RLkLLdvfGHE0oW0ZNVvHfShocsoS_PTmQWA2-9AmiKAIO15-vj3/w116-h79/Fullscreen+capture+8282021+121318+PM.bmp.jpg" width="116" /></a></div><br />Morning... nothing had been trapped. It was the wrong place for that occasion though they frequent that area. I noticed a burrow opening that was not disturbed [I had kept some dry leaves there] the previous evening, now open and disturbed, thus indicating the burrow resident's presence and fresh movement. The location of this opening was at the corner of the compost pit where we dump kitchen scrapings and other small organic matter. I now kept the trap near this opening of the burrow... [Picture].......</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzIRUnEe-ffGOu8NVRjsBtIMzs2y0F6UyO4gM9eBJA1WBBLbw8U61uvBt2JC-GSoESYjltVZamlvXOJ8PZxVocoXuX7hJRLVfaDVSEOqm9GwOT6mCYUv0tjgiqUu0f7L8IYC0O8NRiZ7F/s2048/IMG_20210827_141417744_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBzIRUnEe-ffGOu8NVRjsBtIMzs2y0F6UyO4gM9eBJA1WBBLbw8U61uvBt2JC-GSoESYjltVZamlvXOJ8PZxVocoXuX7hJRLVfaDVSEOqm9GwOT6mCYUv0tjgiqUu0f7L8IYC0O8NRiZ7F/s320/IMG_20210827_141417744_2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">........and walked a few feet away to check something in the garden. Lo and behold! "Bonk"! <br />The aroma of the 'vade' bait had drawn the burrow resident and into the trap, <b>within literally two minutes!</b> Immediately, I decided to give this trapped rat a beautiful ride, fully free, on my scooter to be released safely a mile away. Sometimes some rats are lucky to get free bicycle rides. This one was getting a scooter as I had just then returned from my bicycle ride. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rSKw2yL9cgP-bllwCAf3JYc_-4Rd3TKAYf1NtTxSPGFeL6iMYUa3sjLDM5Ajks2J82Go8DAvKMCPumeJ0TZXcK6hvyAjZBwkNtufFoXEq37KCH7G1fiotDEbRJexDxJ6UzQv7_dAz0-d/s2048/IMG_20210827_141605591.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5rSKw2yL9cgP-bllwCAf3JYc_-4Rd3TKAYf1NtTxSPGFeL6iMYUa3sjLDM5Ajks2J82Go8DAvKMCPumeJ0TZXcK6hvyAjZBwkNtufFoXEq37KCH7G1fiotDEbRJexDxJ6UzQv7_dAz0-d/s320/IMG_20210827_141605591.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is another hole nearby that will have a link to the one in the pit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtCvbfuyACTAPUciw_tghnQV6vcMyrJweAvqw02I3xEVWKjZXSxjC4DKbpVbvaSF_MKg-CY8aCm14qcZqJRNC-LHwMPg8MKBW1dzASUXOUftMlS4Ku1fVL3C-0iBIBcgw_d3TaJTvu3lt/s964/13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="964" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtCvbfuyACTAPUciw_tghnQV6vcMyrJweAvqw02I3xEVWKjZXSxjC4DKbpVbvaSF_MKg-CY8aCm14qcZqJRNC-LHwMPg8MKBW1dzASUXOUftMlS4Ku1fVL3C-0iBIBcgw_d3TaJTvu3lt/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They dig up holes like these in search of earthworms, often damaging plant roots. </div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxu-WqezXwTO86DPrkDhJ0Tw6vq0-Dd8Ulj6CmqJWZTv153t9oMg-hJesaLclTAwtEXmUEtMuo575I67lTHCg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">[Video, 22 seconds] Quite a grown up rat that was!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When I opened the spring lid, it saw a lovely drain in front of it and happily jumped out in joy of the trap to its new environs where it is sure to find new friends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Due to this pest's proliferation, such releases have become fairly regular. I release them at different places away from homes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Some record this.... trap-set, trapped, released a mile away within ten minutes! <br />:) :)</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">===== === === =====</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Social media had given me some simple fun ideas of trapping mice. I did try a couple of them. One is the bottle trap. It worked very well for small mice [bottle mouth was small]. It trapped 5-6 successfully. One of them I took it to K.R.Nagar, 40 km away and released it at the cricket ground... ... I had gone to play our club cricket match that morning! And my team mates were curiously looking at this contraption and the rodent in it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GU7QogrjWwLY40VwXvro6pDX9JJc1lH4T4maZi7NZDZ5SfZyiF4uRqZgDyU8ToFCPKxWh2XqcYtchFQuwpLq-HjrZY9dJEVx4NCGpjQKrzHeF05ankPoSFUo1a0TIxKZHyJsYcbBreb4/s1024/October-2016.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="1024" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2GU7QogrjWwLY40VwXvro6pDX9JJc1lH4T4maZi7NZDZ5SfZyiF4uRqZgDyU8ToFCPKxWh2XqcYtchFQuwpLq-HjrZY9dJEVx4NCGpjQKrzHeF05ankPoSFUo1a0TIxKZHyJsYcbBreb4/s320/October-2016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8VnOX0jc3mV3R1QEXSYGD_fB3nWNhmGLQ16JuAChbYRG-HgK06xOAX8tDwXX61w1lrnCYBerEHQcDA3RsIchQdtxobi5-aA8sgEY2nJrSnrlOiKgXf3frmuru-dMiZN5JD00hy-PKNbp/s1024/October-20162.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="1024" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8VnOX0jc3mV3R1QEXSYGD_fB3nWNhmGLQ16JuAChbYRG-HgK06xOAX8tDwXX61w1lrnCYBerEHQcDA3RsIchQdtxobi5-aA8sgEY2nJrSnrlOiKgXf3frmuru-dMiZN5JD00hy-PKNbp/s320/October-20162.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrYfxS3fKmYu5-DT4Zw_Tno9Xb6058K3HllP7VTbjx_T1UB6Vd-PGfglN7qaF6NEa56sO_in34XloM0in1583rsiTBIH62NjYqbBDyRsYBTDkQtXwN8EreLtb8I_KM92K0iai4JV5gGZ1/s1024/October-20161.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="1024" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrYfxS3fKmYu5-DT4Zw_Tno9Xb6058K3HllP7VTbjx_T1UB6Vd-PGfglN7qaF6NEa56sO_in34XloM0in1583rsiTBIH62NjYqbBDyRsYBTDkQtXwN8EreLtb8I_KM92K0iai4JV5gGZ1/s320/October-20161.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I tried another with a bottle with a slightly wider mouth for fatter mice. It worked, but since one mouse started to bite the bottle trying to escape, I discarded it. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZJsgSgp0YrP5FjO7-j4C_VgzBe1Z-Xh2u6k8NybOla3eWp9dkCqfPvD5VqBg4hSZLkO0YHQZjYRUvBBPJuBuUyfxTf48csnoTF6FvlsPkAgZhqHZAjRWrLkkPO1DhfcUqCU-8gSSjOoW/s1655/P_20190729_064145.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="931" data-original-width="1655" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZJsgSgp0YrP5FjO7-j4C_VgzBe1Z-Xh2u6k8NybOla3eWp9dkCqfPvD5VqBg4hSZLkO0YHQZjYRUvBBPJuBuUyfxTf48csnoTF6FvlsPkAgZhqHZAjRWrLkkPO1DhfcUqCU-8gSSjOoW/s320/P_20190729_064145.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My friend's large garden has the problem of much larger and more ferocious bandicoots. Since he is a fabricator himself, he made a strong cage-trap for these pests. I had borrowed this once as one bandicoot had proliferated its generation. I caught the big one - almost the size of a medium size cat!! It roared like a tiger when I took it out to the far away park to release it. Here's that cage:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxenj71Sixnv_sBAD1bNV8LfabvUYYiHSP9ULTTkIiMJvcFdFcsvgjZsVixHqMc2VuMF6OuApUXLz0B2642H0Up2anUWDdvv97kMSGQqEys3Oyz7EZtOf4nPOZ5UAMi8wi9gAsCe6BdUG_/s952/P1060072.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="952" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxenj71Sixnv_sBAD1bNV8LfabvUYYiHSP9ULTTkIiMJvcFdFcsvgjZsVixHqMc2VuMF6OuApUXLz0B2642H0Up2anUWDdvv97kMSGQqEys3Oyz7EZtOf4nPOZ5UAMi8wi9gAsCe6BdUG_/s320/P1060072.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a juvenile bandicoot fearlessly feeding on rice grains we had put for the spotted dove. These are nocturnal but see their daring in daylight! </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGO2_oxFcMQ3x9rysnFwuCR-T0wVsksLRKYo1ZvY4PXqGQLtTojHUtbSD-rhB7Vi5031V0gsmSOaxwOWFCpM21Gmv6gZuMwEyMeRLFfw753xQVlK1Lbtwc_dha3x6dfDjQvh9Hk97ezB8/s1125/P1520656.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1125" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGO2_oxFcMQ3x9rysnFwuCR-T0wVsksLRKYo1ZvY4PXqGQLtTojHUtbSD-rhB7Vi5031V0gsmSOaxwOWFCpM21Gmv6gZuMwEyMeRLFfw753xQVlK1Lbtwc_dha3x6dfDjQvh9Hk97ezB8/s320/P1520656.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They sometimes enter indoors [mainly in search of food] and it is another thrilling game.... they scamper like lightning. Armed with a stiff broom and some reflexes I have knocked a few down unconscious after locking the doors and then threw them away from the house. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqrtWAO_fUvXQCJCq9PimFkAPZs7PwVAyeU6nQ_A60txyqtQIc5w5fXuDo_QpDQXHD2slmTJTFNUpg0gTBEx8HEvLwoj3Ec_ZkFhZkjoGZnRsF7-Xq7fofMUG1hzPErjrfWUgW8xjGkFX/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1327" data-original-width="1117" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqrtWAO_fUvXQCJCq9PimFkAPZs7PwVAyeU6nQ_A60txyqtQIc5w5fXuDo_QpDQXHD2slmTJTFNUpg0gTBEx8HEvLwoj3Ec_ZkFhZkjoGZnRsF7-Xq7fofMUG1hzPErjrfWUgW8xjGkFX/" width="202" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A rat had entered the worship room a few years ago. Later it was successfully knocked out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_osPRpWtMb6gQFETvHpMFPa6rjK1KR4_zKkPWNqxMt-EqccYvUr-0CmPxNcKJp_9sdcYHcYG3N8dVlYx7lGmhLzQjmIiXbL9OCV63q_Y5HXaDQ0izWIrQPJZ8Ttw6jGRcj6oMRD8oUbq/s1200/P1340154.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="1200" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_osPRpWtMb6gQFETvHpMFPa6rjK1KR4_zKkPWNqxMt-EqccYvUr-0CmPxNcKJp_9sdcYHcYG3N8dVlYx7lGmhLzQjmIiXbL9OCV63q_Y5HXaDQ0izWIrQPJZ8Ttw6jGRcj6oMRD8oUbq/s320/P1340154.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4G1VFwIXB3UyRhbEpDUZwZJdZey36yqhmv0g0xmiYP1YFZckeX1nIRIUttnRTZ_eUaheTfR3W1wl8t0mdUx0bQUaRo9-M_SlmCNh7ruKVws3J_l91q4U8XpiN5DuUI9HTIfNmXzFpNm6P/s1200/P1340155.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="1200" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4G1VFwIXB3UyRhbEpDUZwZJdZey36yqhmv0g0xmiYP1YFZckeX1nIRIUttnRTZ_eUaheTfR3W1wl8t0mdUx0bQUaRo9-M_SlmCNh7ruKVws3J_l91q4U8XpiN5DuUI9HTIfNmXzFpNm6P/s320/P1340155.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>Spotted owlets</b> are natural predators but their number seems to have dwindled. Same are here in the south also. This is a picture I took in Chandigarh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpun53jxkGJWrWGoYaKwsDi2rKQ7CsXb2GmaThXMmiXdJBDXkEyaUroJuSuPVjOrGspuqEC7y6OPYRM3LOPn1ik0Bl-avvZVuD2YEaqcHawtH9VJpPUtCQAvbFNA-jn6QzNEkQlLVadx2K/s1024/P1240228+%2528Large%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1024" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpun53jxkGJWrWGoYaKwsDi2rKQ7CsXb2GmaThXMmiXdJBDXkEyaUroJuSuPVjOrGspuqEC7y6OPYRM3LOPn1ik0Bl-avvZVuD2YEaqcHawtH9VJpPUtCQAvbFNA-jn6QzNEkQlLVadx2K/s320/P1240228+%2528Large%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is in the dark, perching on our house.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmbvl0LUOmeSXyC94t6Ug-SXYFJVJsW7kAlmtnW5pgM0XfmKFvhVwDSypJv2xb13apu26-kg-UVxGj7qRI4rTzfQ3dGGWy92FrSEbGP6tGvX_l7ay2PVbY19b0Jqkqm9SVII4dSBJjllV/s2048/IMG_4995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1864" data-original-width="2048" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQmbvl0LUOmeSXyC94t6Ug-SXYFJVJsW7kAlmtnW5pgM0XfmKFvhVwDSypJv2xb13apu26-kg-UVxGj7qRI4rTzfQ3dGGWy92FrSEbGP6tGvX_l7ay2PVbY19b0Jqkqm9SVII4dSBJjllV/s320/IMG_4995.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">- - - - - - - - - - - - </div><p></p>Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-46577024539204245252019-06-23T21:45:00.001-07:002019-06-23T21:45:17.540-07:00Shankar, a tribute <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP41wgUsJE5qmlb95RyVqMwOzsB3WufpNpLk4A9CPntAoUuGUPxKXbtq0rvU6fewBwx7aGuUuhns2kxHwZboyDgD5k8N9Yt0Vild93R4LCEQm6ffq5xnqPDi5vvKouOYNUAQe8-YclKjlQ/s1600/IMG_2929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="778" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP41wgUsJE5qmlb95RyVqMwOzsB3WufpNpLk4A9CPntAoUuGUPxKXbtq0rvU6fewBwx7aGuUuhns2kxHwZboyDgD5k8N9Yt0Vild93R4LCEQm6ffq5xnqPDi5vvKouOYNUAQe8-YclKjlQ/s320/IMG_2929.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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There came a phone call on the evening of 18th December, 2017. Unfamiliar voice, <i>"This is Kiran...."</i>. A simple clue pointed he was a childhood friend. We had met each other occasionally but not in regular contact and never before on phone. He goes on to tell "<i>someone with me wants to talk to you ....</i> [gives the phone to him] ... <i>Hello Dinu, this is Shankara. Remember me? ..............[some pleasantries]... </i><i>I have come to Mysore for a few days [from America]. I am right now with JS Kiran..... where and when shall we meet?". </i>His voice, instantly recognizable, was just the same it was, when I had last met him, thirty plus years ago. What a delightful surprise! <i>He had suddenly wanted to meet me, on this visit! </i>Kiran had located my telephone number through some of his known sources. They were classmates in Engineering and one year junior to me in school. </div>
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Shankar and I were great street mates who had enjoyed playing cricket, hide and seek, chess, carrom, marbles, etc. along with other street boys at Devaparthiva Road where just 50 metres separated our houses.<br />
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Not surprisingly, it was just a smile and handshake when Shankar arrived, at my residence now at Vani Vilas Road the following evening. Shankar has never been one to show too much emotion or was too outwardly expressive. Only, some words in his speech had 'Americanized' after living there for 25 years plus. He was the same, simple chap. From a young age itself, his maturity had been beyond his age and his level-headedness was a trait. He was well behaved and decent in every manner.<br />
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Very joyfully, we reminisced the fondest and most enjoyable memories of those beautiful days for close to 90 minutes. He briefed me about how he had switched over to a job that was non-engineering/technical and how he was stressed about it and how he kept his fitness routine. </div>
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My late aunt had introduced me to play on paper, 'word building game' and sometime during my middle school days, some friend had 'Lexicon', a word game played with cards. I had then not known about Scrabble, but it was Shankar who introduced me to it with the Set he used to bring here and play. I reminded him of how we spent hours and hours playing this beautiful game, laughing and laughing so much [what we now term as ROFLOL] esp. whenever we made funny sounding non existent words. This greatly irritated my grandmother who used to come shouting at us to stop laughing!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdrDJn42QcoUwhPbDo7bS-El9YaWrzD4Ry0vv6C-Pj0vTTpzLlvX-prBhyiKqSoHO2sKqH9FTiSO0OgawQWeaXfKKM6lX_hjXQQxFjRq4gURMySxjB43sQ2k8HqtFkx3DsVkWic_beD_7/s1600/2009-04-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="1475" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJdrDJn42QcoUwhPbDo7bS-El9YaWrzD4Ry0vv6C-Pj0vTTpzLlvX-prBhyiKqSoHO2sKqH9FTiSO0OgawQWeaXfKKM6lX_hjXQQxFjRq4gURMySxjB43sQ2k8HqtFkx3DsVkWic_beD_7/s320/2009-04-23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><a href="https://junkunjunk.blogspot.com/2012/05/scrabble-set-from-cardboard.html">Later I made a Scrabble set from cardboard, myself. </a> [click to read that separate blogpost]</i></div>
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It was also from him I came to know about live radio cricket commentary from BBC in 1973. It was he who showed me that it was aired on the 31-metre band. He had taken me to his grandmother's house opposite Manuvana Park to show where he had tuned in to that station. It started off my great fancy for cricket commentary, particularly from BBC and later from Radio Australia for a number of years.<br />
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Shankar had known about radio stations from his father, G.Sachidananda [Sachi, popular name in the street]. He was a Hindi Professor at Maharaja's College, jolly chap, fun loving, loved to humourously tease people who passed by his house, in some particularity, womenfolk. He and all his children were intellectually brilliant. Sachi's father was Gundavadhani, a great Sanskrit scholar. </div>
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Shankar had showed me the news magazine from Deutsche Welle [Voice of Germany, Cologne] that his father used to get. From it, later, took me to the great hobbies of DX-ing/Shortwave Listening and Penfriendship. Details in another post.<br />
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In 11th I had failed. And Shankar became my classmate for 12th [2nd PUC] and we often went to college together. It was due to Shankar's simple teaching and clearing the doubts that rescued me get through a couple of troublesome subjects. He made them look so simple, so easy! So brainy he was. He never seemed to study long hours. He was gifted in grasping the gist very quickly and was able to put it in simple and effective words and sentences. He was never known for mugging up the lines, he never needed to, because his memory was very sharp. It was not a wonder at all that all his school education was done on scholarship [the education dept. paid for meritorious students]. It was a great thing back then, much to some awe and envy of fellow mates. Not surprisingly, his engineering, also with distinction found him a good job in Bengaluru where he moved and married silently and had moved to America! That's when we had lost touch.<br />
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In the mid 70s I had introduced him to the 'katte', where a group of mostly mischievous friends in late teens, 'wasting time' at a particular spot in the neighbourhood and also played tennis ball cricket. We were the silent ones, along with 2 others. He continued to go there even after I migrated to another group because of my joining a regular cricket club. In later years, rarely, I used to see Shankar walking by when he visited home [from America] without stopping at our house.<br />
<b>It was a mystery and will remain so, permanently, because Shankar is no more.</b><br />
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Last April, news about his demise shocked me, as it did to everyone. He had suddenly died, found fallen from the bed at night. It was not even 4 months since he visited. And met so many old friends, including me. As my mother was at home too when Shankar came, his childhood recollection about a couple of incidents with his little brother and grandmother had joyed her.<br />
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<b>It makes me think what had driven him to meet so many of his old contacts this time. Did something in him 'knew' it would be the last time?</b><br />
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When he went back to America, he wrote:<br />
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<i>Dinu,</i><br />
<i>Attached is the picture we took yesterday. Once again, it was great to meet you after a long time and to have the conversation with you and your mother. Regards S. Shankar </i><br />
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This is the picture from his phone [taken by my w], as it is:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vRukTqThnx7dmkN9cXB8E2dmKD_MeDP_lI4lXOx3HuSMWJk1nWxgHjHtt-VdACjp1J35BiCPPhxuVqnqgC7SHFC-ugGLHxZ7ckp-v4uPsMJKiN6m3lhWV9fngozovqvCV_jQaNInevCy/s1600/IMG_0962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="807" data-original-width="605" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3vRukTqThnx7dmkN9cXB8E2dmKD_MeDP_lI4lXOx3HuSMWJk1nWxgHjHtt-VdACjp1J35BiCPPhxuVqnqgC7SHFC-ugGLHxZ7ckp-v4uPsMJKiN6m3lhWV9fngozovqvCV_jQaNInevCy/s200/IMG_0962.JPG" width="149" /></a></div>
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Though he said he had a happy family with grown up children, was it job stress that took its toll? We may never know.<br />
May his soul rest in peace. </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-55622591906889818432018-06-27T22:33:00.000-07:002018-08-20T21:11:20.147-07:00Pears Soap and Cyclopaedia <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxU0Jjj4QpR76_q3WioIf93IBeYVm86cZKxn2mC4Woo82HBwKdSzzmumozaZ7eU4Ativjizw78DP1X1K-17YeHYs6YWkIk0AzI3OT40XFt_nDqNwUjPbvM4VYfHB9Cdo4GAVtIQ1XemIc/s1600/PearsOriginalSoap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="981" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxU0Jjj4QpR76_q3WioIf93IBeYVm86cZKxn2mC4Woo82HBwKdSzzmumozaZ7eU4Ativjizw78DP1X1K-17YeHYs6YWkIk0AzI3OT40XFt_nDqNwUjPbvM4VYfHB9Cdo4GAVtIQ1XemIc/s200/PearsOriginalSoap.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxU0Jjj4QpR76_q3WioIf93IBeYVm86cZKxn2mC4Woo82HBwKdSzzmumozaZ7eU4Ativjizw78DP1X1K-17YeHYs6YWkIk0AzI3OT40XFt_nDqNwUjPbvM4VYfHB9Cdo4GAVtIQ1XemIc/s1600/PearsOriginalSoap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>
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<i>[To enlarge, click on the pictures, all in the post]</i><br />
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Many of us were fond of this transparent [actually translucent], oval shaped, darkish amber coloured, delightfully fragrant and mild bath soap. It was one of the very few soap brands, even doctors and paediatricians were safely recommending to patients esp. with sensitive skin. Long lasting and hard, the fragrance filled the home when someone came out after a 'Pears bath'. How we enjoyed looking through the 'transparent' soap when it got thin! How automatically we put it close to the nostrils to take in the smell when a new bar was opened for use! 'Pears soap' was not missed when the monthly list of 'essential items' to be bought was prepared.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjn6bcEmbLNcdYz_oDC-dtkwj-MDipifqfNrfeUtBoZQwYx6ZEZmQAex-ofevLol-vp4yq4ryC5k6P4GGJh6wIhzG5KFQm5au84FHgjlguNkFVQ0edwukkDkaFHHiFI0Mft2aqnvlVBEe/s1600/andrew-pears-soap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="651" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjn6bcEmbLNcdYz_oDC-dtkwj-MDipifqfNrfeUtBoZQwYx6ZEZmQAex-ofevLol-vp4yq4ryC5k6P4GGJh6wIhzG5KFQm5au84FHgjlguNkFVQ0edwukkDkaFHHiFI0Mft2aqnvlVBEe/s200/andrew-pears-soap.jpg" width="148" /></a>Pears Soap is the world's oldest registered brand. Who made this beautiful soap? Andrew Pears. He had trained as a barber and had stepped into manufacturing cosmetics in 1781. Andrew was observing that people who used general cosmetic products were coming up with problems that resulted from the content of Arsenic and Lead in them. So after experimentation he came up with a soap formula in 1789 with just a few ingredients like glycerin and natural oils that was gentle on the skin. The first <b>"Pears Transparent Soap"</b> was marketed in 1807. The virtues of the soap gained people's acceptance because it lived up to its claim as "pure soap". 'Pears' became a household name in the following decades for its pure quality and also due to vigourous marketing and advertising. <i>"Good morning, have you used Pears soap?"</i> was one of several popular advertisement slogans used by Andrew Pears.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBvjxqat6oZNbuWG8E1r5Fbo2sC-JSm13BYLemK4Wjh7W84D38zJymvW08e-jCVTv2HuhLc2kMVzQP53l_s94t3a3TG4S2Nwe_-yhQCRRrpgTRwvOce26naN9Lg4LNpL_-EzAcqrSZQNa/s1600/PearsAds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="1193" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBvjxqat6oZNbuWG8E1r5Fbo2sC-JSm13BYLemK4Wjh7W84D38zJymvW08e-jCVTv2HuhLc2kMVzQP53l_s94t3a3TG4S2Nwe_-yhQCRRrpgTRwvOce26naN9Lg4LNpL_-EzAcqrSZQNa/s320/PearsAds.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pears_(soap)">This Wiki link has plenty of information on Pears [Click]</a><br />
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<b>A thumbnail sketch of Pears.</b></div>
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<b>1781</b> - Andrew Pears, a Cornish barber sets up business;</div>
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<b>1789 </b>- soap first produced and sold by Andrew Pears at a factory just off Oxford Street in London, England, <i>the world's first transparent soap;</i></div>
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<b>1835</b> - grandson Francis Pears joined the business to form A. & F. Pears;</div>
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<b>1838 </b>- Andrew Pears retired;</div>
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Francis' son-in-law Thomas J. Barratt, [often considered as Father of modern advertising] joins the company; under the stewardship of Barratt, A. & F. Pears initiated a number of innovations in sales and marketing. According to Unilever records, Pears Soap was the world's first registered brand and is therefore the world's oldest continuously existing brand.</div>
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<b>1862</b> - production of the soap moved to Isleworth;</div>
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<b>1865 </b>- Francis' son, Andrew, joined A. & F. Pears Ltd. as joint proprietor and ran the factory; Thomas J Barratt ran the head office in London.</div>
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<b>1910s</b> - A. & F. Pears Ltd. became part of Lever Brothers and production moved to Port Sunlight, Cheshire, England;</div>
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<b>2011</b> - Pears soap is now made in India by Hindustan Lever, a company in which Unilever controls a fifty-two percent stake.</div>
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~~~</div>
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Pears also started to publish a Cyclopaedia. The first Pears' Shilling Cyclopaedia was published in <b>1897</b>, it aimed to offer a taxonomy 'not of all knowledge, but of necessary knowledge'. The edition from the following year, 1898, which seems to be the first the British Library has in its catalogue, is split into nine distinct sections: English Dictionary, General Knowledge, Dictionary of Synonyms, Desk Information (how to mix paint, postage rates, how to remove stains from books, the order of precedence of the Royal family, etc), Gazetteer of the World, Atlas of the World, Dictionary of Cookery, Language of Flowers and Medical Dictionary. Here, then, is a compact reference library in a single volume.<br />
And this, the 1898 edition, my great grandfather, had purchased as early as 14.1.1899 for <b>One Rupee. </b>Here is his account book entry:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhiez44B_VYmJ07_IDYaYJ3ZDxKDFfvodRcYGmf12_mUIlaxZrW3-5YDcxfIhZyrGJ6QVQJ2h2fR8pnSHvndKSOBFeSiZEBVljGtixr70qPmFkJKdLyMcjtPp6VKSusnIRfLFTgvWRt1u/s1600/DSC07840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="668" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAhiez44B_VYmJ07_IDYaYJ3ZDxKDFfvodRcYGmf12_mUIlaxZrW3-5YDcxfIhZyrGJ6QVQJ2h2fR8pnSHvndKSOBFeSiZEBVljGtixr70qPmFkJKdLyMcjtPp6VKSusnIRfLFTgvWRt1u/s320/DSC07840.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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Here are some images from this edition, which survived a bad termite attack on the bookshelf. The paper has become very brittle. I made some external repairs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhElpitHIxC4Bnsrxb-XuzGd5-6GBIbXm93K8BP8wkOdaG_7l8_lwz8wFueWV__l-Fieexd-76bx2FtQgUSckMhUNja6e0Zl7k3obHNGXwxLwX3YvM7khvOZhCGjzMrmCcLeM78p0Qm1HoV/s1600/DSC07852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="1024" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhElpitHIxC4Bnsrxb-XuzGd5-6GBIbXm93K8BP8wkOdaG_7l8_lwz8wFueWV__l-Fieexd-76bx2FtQgUSckMhUNja6e0Zl7k3obHNGXwxLwX3YvM7khvOZhCGjzMrmCcLeM78p0Qm1HoV/s320/DSC07852.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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On the <i>right</i> is the 40th edition, July 1931. Actually, it was published as and when they found demand for it, sometimes more than once a year. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePtHCl-B3F4vszqSy8EKD579JCl4g6r0-yCbVvcOKwutlx9IwjYkXNpS93O4X_paN6DPTuNCf8zVBfaCUi_6AjbxDNNjN93MhHFvgem7nptWWH37AE5aAu5l5iDaeVTn9hZPUo3guxBHT/s1600/Pears1898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="1024" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePtHCl-B3F4vszqSy8EKD579JCl4g6r0-yCbVvcOKwutlx9IwjYkXNpS93O4X_paN6DPTuNCf8zVBfaCUi_6AjbxDNNjN93MhHFvgem7nptWWH37AE5aAu5l5iDaeVTn9hZPUo3guxBHT/s320/Pears1898.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The first three pages.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXk7aUkiVhcKZK_O6y2oEzs9rqgyhSyNN_74zoK1NOiGE7Ia9a1kkuoMCpBryd3mt9DAO4Jmv1w9Px0nDYa2BnxydnopiUz8jBXL3tJbde_B6gciGwSXiYMBTTWR_x4Dtc1hCBZ2zTCXM/s1600/DSC07856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="696" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXk7aUkiVhcKZK_O6y2oEzs9rqgyhSyNN_74zoK1NOiGE7Ia9a1kkuoMCpBryd3mt9DAO4Jmv1w9Px0nDYa2BnxydnopiUz8jBXL3tJbde_B6gciGwSXiYMBTTWR_x4Dtc1hCBZ2zTCXM/s200/DSC07856.jpg" width="181" /></a><br />
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The 'English Dictionary' section.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzeqB0g_Cfm78837fVGzQUTaiXxEiw3e3G-9TZC6XlGdLIM4Cq1Ik-z4xGeyXtM_EYjH4VcxEfVpbQb7aAz9wwaZ4qg1NLERswGnlu12pjKXxfY5fsDiqtReWTgck_KQRRv9PiLZ-8EKb/s1600/DSC07857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="601" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzeqB0g_Cfm78837fVGzQUTaiXxEiw3e3G-9TZC6XlGdLIM4Cq1Ik-z4xGeyXtM_EYjH4VcxEfVpbQb7aAz9wwaZ4qg1NLERswGnlu12pjKXxfY5fsDiqtReWTgck_KQRRv9PiLZ-8EKb/s200/DSC07857.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>
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Termites can destroy libraries.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnY6P4TPEL0-gobNDqFYy_rWX7vGFCKzLZETXjxMylX7vKUgTDnqQjLj0hs8LcbKBdedOK8lj1BcM6EqKn07oc0PdXlfIYbX-V8HMRwByipIUxPC3PLed3cll6TRA4IDRtqjHAywbZeOGe/s1600/DSC07858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnY6P4TPEL0-gobNDqFYy_rWX7vGFCKzLZETXjxMylX7vKUgTDnqQjLj0hs8LcbKBdedOK8lj1BcM6EqKn07oc0PdXlfIYbX-V8HMRwByipIUxPC3PLed3cll6TRA4IDRtqjHAywbZeOGe/s320/DSC07858.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A page from the section 'Language of Flowers'.</div>
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There are several entries in my great grandfather's account books having purchased "Soap". But he does not mention any name, like he mentions "Kesharanjan Oil" or "Eno's Fruit Salt". So the brand he was bringing home remains a mystery. It could be Pears, though there were brands like 'Vinolia' also at that time. That soap was also from England. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsRpKYtW0BecF1q-7m7qVIcfsLGukiLdjqQC8N0kwaTxa16UpyHtbD7-cABqgM61BeH6akbkoKoYST2TzgRYr86oO7fd5ElqoFOmt4W1IM5r3BbmxGqb66-I5Dy0bXw6Fo6BzxZoI7VvK/s1600/DSC07882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="609" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsRpKYtW0BecF1q-7m7qVIcfsLGukiLdjqQC8N0kwaTxa16UpyHtbD7-cABqgM61BeH6akbkoKoYST2TzgRYr86oO7fd5ElqoFOmt4W1IM5r3BbmxGqb66-I5Dy0bXw6Fo6BzxZoI7VvK/s200/DSC07882.jpg" width="158" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOpRev5V-T4mYg_ikX1eFDmk3e-85jvFiG0bHP9zOzsKMk1lXxy9nsdaXxBkhOGWu8Do6cLwUsPYiGCpSFqyWn8MvfC4ZbA_OZ-6awiaIQAsr10rwQbxVKgiN9tG3jRTMU02xt_tURnhH/s1600/PearsCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="1024" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOpRev5V-T4mYg_ikX1eFDmk3e-85jvFiG0bHP9zOzsKMk1lXxy9nsdaXxBkhOGWu8Do6cLwUsPYiGCpSFqyWn8MvfC4ZbA_OZ-6awiaIQAsr10rwQbxVKgiN9tG3jRTMU02xt_tURnhH/s320/PearsCover.jpg" width="320" /></a>My great grandfather's home library had two later editions of Pears Cyclopadeias, both printed in 1931, one in March and the other, July. One had survived with its jacket in tact. [See picture] But his account book does not have any entry for having purchased these during 1931 or 32. It is also not known where they were sold.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DABVl_3DU6nh3VbtFQfqeesQw1Z9DEsU7r_VlK1j6Ups-E19Vp3YYDNeQ8us3ekBwVZLduIKKsLScXMTofafj_k1BpZ8_f5S3qzpSdl5Egm_RNtDsHGsrWj6UZ6BRm2k47px-5rMuo6y/s1600/DSC07860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DABVl_3DU6nh3VbtFQfqeesQw1Z9DEsU7r_VlK1j6Ups-E19Vp3YYDNeQ8us3ekBwVZLduIKKsLScXMTofafj_k1BpZ8_f5S3qzpSdl5Egm_RNtDsHGsrWj6UZ6BRm2k47px-5rMuo6y/s200/DSC07860.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Soap makers by appointment to Their Majesties The King and Queen [King George V / Queen Mary] and to Their Late Majesties Queen Victoria and King Edward VII.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MIVCoSi2YsPe7-j0VpGSjlEw3f7ncBpS2LST5PQI4STuJiMUS94uNpPIuQtwqExCIzQP5ZTcOUuXfifEuxwr7dOBj47Rk7AT_Um2ZwO8iEdwUfu6IfzHg5J8cGtTBvprJ_rae3iBqvIe/s1600/DSC07862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="663" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MIVCoSi2YsPe7-j0VpGSjlEw3f7ncBpS2LST5PQI4STuJiMUS94uNpPIuQtwqExCIzQP5ZTcOUuXfifEuxwr7dOBj47Rk7AT_Um2ZwO8iEdwUfu6IfzHg5J8cGtTBvprJ_rae3iBqvIe/s200/DSC07862.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><i>The morning bath is baby's joy. With Pears he wants no other joy.</i></span></div>
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<i>Pears' Soap is transparent because it is PURE! "It wears, but does not waste" ~ an ad of Pears, 1789.</i></div>
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It did not waste in my time also. When it became nearly paper thin, just before it could have snapped, it was stuck in the concave surface of the new cake.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW-Tbt0JgiY6QGahxMjyJWPJ8E3HPieZgbTmgg6SXLjb8UfaHFnaYi7Jxe8m31JCGxUJFBgGMAHfXyV0JxNy-LE0YuIBaBNoDpuG1zI-tHefYxzfyqKZ_sN95_zHfGFlMJaiFlm7kseCH/s1600/DSC07863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPW-Tbt0JgiY6QGahxMjyJWPJ8E3HPieZgbTmgg6SXLjb8UfaHFnaYi7Jxe8m31JCGxUJFBgGMAHfXyV0JxNy-LE0YuIBaBNoDpuG1zI-tHefYxzfyqKZ_sN95_zHfGFlMJaiFlm7kseCH/s200/DSC07863.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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The painting: St. Paul's from Blackfrairs Bridge, 1840, in possession of A & F Pears. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlK2wPwwkVo-flV93mU_8YYYbaPStzMWycyEHum6qkv5yLmVDaYL0qpWGhCJVkQkzkSj7Ko8KQbVkyZDJUCMhvpfo20IYgfnA-w5E6uvNPmbaZGYaM_eq-Qd_ITJBK0qwg78-c3Obv-rP5/s1600/DSC07864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="751" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlK2wPwwkVo-flV93mU_8YYYbaPStzMWycyEHum6qkv5yLmVDaYL0qpWGhCJVkQkzkSj7Ko8KQbVkyZDJUCMhvpfo20IYgfnA-w5E6uvNPmbaZGYaM_eq-Qd_ITJBK0qwg78-c3Obv-rP5/s200/DSC07864.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
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3 million copies printed. July 1931.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5-Q5_9s-1rf4vnF3Y0mEdP9KwyoaBMTGEqQTsiLFNz1LTh-0Tm2BO8ZjE2wWKzFJrvwflU3vAY6npboa-c7wzzGXgbLTZ_9agwfDafkaeHmMnAKz9WCJDLGYtMAKNtQsu45GFwUV9KhE/s1600/DSC07867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="584" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5-Q5_9s-1rf4vnF3Y0mEdP9KwyoaBMTGEqQTsiLFNz1LTh-0Tm2BO8ZjE2wWKzFJrvwflU3vAY6npboa-c7wzzGXgbLTZ_9agwfDafkaeHmMnAKz9WCJDLGYtMAKNtQsu45GFwUV9KhE/s640/DSC07867.jpg" width="483" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">"Bubbles" the painting [1886] by Sir John Everett Millais was purchased by Thomas Barratt in 1890, a famous advertisement for Pears soap. See the soap near the shoe of the girl. In the 1931 edition.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMNa0Ap_LQZzBmt0hlQyDDdJ9_Uk_xvXMGLv2ZUly8SpSO7niDbdI9_BPe-_h8CI9Fx4naZfJ7mmXG9NfJgw8-N2vbedoPSKFyOmm26bkUG9w40cRSXR0oTqNM96_0L3W7aZeY87b36cP/s1600/Pears1931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="1024" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzMNa0Ap_LQZzBmt0hlQyDDdJ9_Uk_xvXMGLv2ZUly8SpSO7niDbdI9_BPe-_h8CI9Fx4naZfJ7mmXG9NfJgw8-N2vbedoPSKFyOmm26bkUG9w40cRSXR0oTqNM96_0L3W7aZeY87b36cP/s320/Pears1931.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVXF-pqr0rGkhwGGYIoacOE6tjw-bjevNY7_lxO0O6QiQwG-cyGVyAQWVlZEG1HUN6tr1Z8KlI9a0nCrgbrdJdvCcJzoKwWXQWkr81cAP2ztCdWI1-5ORAFIWXMhCrCmWONAAKAsN__7T/s1600/DSC07870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="569" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVXF-pqr0rGkhwGGYIoacOE6tjw-bjevNY7_lxO0O6QiQwG-cyGVyAQWVlZEG1HUN6tr1Z8KlI9a0nCrgbrdJdvCcJzoKwWXQWkr81cAP2ztCdWI1-5ORAFIWXMhCrCmWONAAKAsN__7T/s200/DSC07870.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
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Read the first two paras of the above. Interesting.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOFTZmRZGrlKKV0Ugf1FhhTWXWldqV4F6xa0nyj11-hwqC6NHKYvYgH-k4z4Z_irq3xt9b0H13oxuiqMmP1jaHvFPQCXMeq4yN3YDB3UGo2oB-JkPQ4zc4DNBxltK1UqGx6a1PQ7qp0AA/s1600/2018-06-25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="1024" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUOFTZmRZGrlKKV0Ugf1FhhTWXWldqV4F6xa0nyj11-hwqC6NHKYvYgH-k4z4Z_irq3xt9b0H13oxuiqMmP1jaHvFPQCXMeq4yN3YDB3UGo2oB-JkPQ4zc4DNBxltK1UqGx6a1PQ7qp0AA/s320/2018-06-25.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Section separators with interesting messages.<br />
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From the Atlas section.</div>
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Section of Dictionary of Photography. Most of the jargon in it for the present 'digital' generation will be like Greek or Japanese!<br />
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In 2017, came the 125th edition by which time demand had gone down drastically and the publishers decided that the 126th would signal the final edition which was released this year, 2018. </div>
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<b>Pears' Cyclopaedia, 1897 - 2018</b>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzBS_al0hAemOqmHKFJ7Gr2fqxBRBbEsVmVF2Bnwi43y1rlXKneRt_MagCfb3PEu-lEdebhqXGuz47N85AhglH5-7hWGyDlRf7cUrKslwLqZk-KR4iBoRdHZaogO6GnqHQyKgysApk0Gq/s1600/Pears+Box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1024" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzBS_al0hAemOqmHKFJ7Gr2fqxBRBbEsVmVF2Bnwi43y1rlXKneRt_MagCfb3PEu-lEdebhqXGuz47N85AhglH5-7hWGyDlRf7cUrKslwLqZk-KR4iBoRdHZaogO6GnqHQyKgysApk0Gq/s320/Pears+Box.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One tin box which my late aunt was fondly keeping is treasured. </div>
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"<i>The original glycerine beauty soap". </i></div>
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This is a plastic freebie, a soap box Pears offered post 1995, along with a pack of three. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8xTPzMj0WubYhanv1_sYuBcRgPAyl-5uVCtX335K5sGSbKS6aLR1wJnIsSKH_t44YX9AN3FoNVpjblsMyBBcy0_8ucVR2pW5w332N4MYKvF2TWQFDwn1eEwByrNPdEyKmvLoRBxIduCr/s1600/PearsSoapBox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="934" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic8xTPzMj0WubYhanv1_sYuBcRgPAyl-5uVCtX335K5sGSbKS6aLR1wJnIsSKH_t44YX9AN3FoNVpjblsMyBBcy0_8ucVR2pW5w332N4MYKvF2TWQFDwn1eEwByrNPdEyKmvLoRBxIduCr/s200/PearsSoapBox.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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The beautiful texture of Pears' soap, not too hard on the knife as to break nor too soft to stick to it was found by soap carving artists highly suitable for their crafts. Around the year 1970, I remember having visited with my late aunt to the house of such an artist in Chamarajapuram's Balakrishna Road. The best among his many displayed works I vividly remember was Krishna-Arjuna's chariot, a very complicated work of his, entirely from Pears soap, including the thin reins. It was somewhat like this wooden sample:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn8seY1h960i3mbSi_lsfhNgJuypTIP3DNo5r2RZkhHAd6rAO0Pn-A04jC5TXATS3MdVJRfYIxqsMJgCJY4qE61mOsWf9I0QjyiHQZ_0O-AlC8R_ryw3mgUeZMi37f29CzZBK9saOSw37/s1600/Chariot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="342" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSn8seY1h960i3mbSi_lsfhNgJuypTIP3DNo5r2RZkhHAd6rAO0Pn-A04jC5TXATS3MdVJRfYIxqsMJgCJY4qE61mOsWf9I0QjyiHQZ_0O-AlC8R_ryw3mgUeZMi37f29CzZBK9saOSw37/s200/Chariot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Millions of patrons found it hard to accept when Pears altered the original formula. We were no exception and thereafter our Pears' priority dropped low. We are left to imagine and resort to olfactory memory to recall that 'heavenly fragrance'.<br />
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-45307270034668520902018-05-24T01:52:00.000-07:002018-05-27T22:02:08.433-07:00Our Jackfruit Tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9_ePO0e3NyVcX4P8l4sjTex9HjPunek_icndqA5oIe1pHwuttd8CDYS4nEq7D8VQquKZH3V5P2a2QCjW7wIqHfrDwWFhSxJaV6q3SOpVTMx9syuO_Oj7Vp774nEAAvi2WmvRqv_E1Op4/s1600/DSC02018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-9_ePO0e3NyVcX4P8l4sjTex9HjPunek_icndqA5oIe1pHwuttd8CDYS4nEq7D8VQquKZH3V5P2a2QCjW7wIqHfrDwWFhSxJaV6q3SOpVTMx9syuO_Oj7Vp774nEAAvi2WmvRqv_E1Op4/s200/DSC02018.JPG" width="200" /></a>Many houses in olden times had ample space around them for trees and shrubs. In the Devaparthiva Road house my grandfather had purchased in 1950, there was a big jackfruit tree, among other fruit bearing trees. This jackfruit tree with its huge girth, large canopy of leaves and tallness gave an imposing sight. It must have been planted by the first owner who built that house around 1905 or it may have been there even before. I consider myself fortunate to have grown up in such green environs and yard space to run around, even managing to play my solo cricket on the northern side. The jackfruit tree was the start of my bowling run-up. I would bowl at a single stump and wanted to see it fly, on hitting with the cork ball. </div>
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<i>Colour pictures [<b>click on them to enlarge</b>] in this were taken as memories during 2007-8 when we had to leave the house to move to another ancestral house in Lakshmipuram.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGAHcE3fQJmhy1eMGDV3F87J_h4ehiWUPNKk-o8AbdJ474oSrenZNjkNjnrDssvPI8SDfTbcGhKQKcXSzvvfhCAk6LFRg6CBdHubsDwGvhj43R_kH4kUIjbJAwFKaEY3DxR8EfjLEEoN0/s1600/DSC07694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="504" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGAHcE3fQJmhy1eMGDV3F87J_h4ehiWUPNKk-o8AbdJ474oSrenZNjkNjnrDssvPI8SDfTbcGhKQKcXSzvvfhCAk6LFRg6CBdHubsDwGvhj43R_kH4kUIjbJAwFKaEY3DxR8EfjLEEoN0/s200/DSC07694.JPG" width="198" /></a></div>
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<i>Cricket in the backyard [posing]. The 'umpire' was the Jackfruit tree!</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqx0YPGI2Bsv1XiYDuZpLfPJ_dXbdk_YkgDZax7W1YhuoLqGfr-QoiwZFnxg0b1UwSj4Uwrq9bM6K_6AwWwV0bkXL7HpPY8oJ4Ce58We_xQHmnDZTfDfQ4_nr-dHqhUnvR8WzNSJhpMMx/s1600/DSCF2906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqx0YPGI2Bsv1XiYDuZpLfPJ_dXbdk_YkgDZax7W1YhuoLqGfr-QoiwZFnxg0b1UwSj4Uwrq9bM6K_6AwWwV0bkXL7HpPY8oJ4Ce58We_xQHmnDZTfDfQ4_nr-dHqhUnvR8WzNSJhpMMx/s200/DSCF2906.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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That was the space for cricket. The rose apple tree is seen. The extra room in the background was built later.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l2GfCa3kDzHJvxv3vA0oo5g3Ihbwu2hv-lyGPcwhLOSfxVYt9NVJULJxQnVm4n70KwZ76rTgcz4dzcwl4ChW90aHcg48EnD79c1Kd9rNcOa1ilCMHFKE0pfSGkbMtOCuM1EVxBIk-FN9/s1600/DSC02176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-l2GfCa3kDzHJvxv3vA0oo5g3Ihbwu2hv-lyGPcwhLOSfxVYt9NVJULJxQnVm4n70KwZ76rTgcz4dzcwl4ChW90aHcg48EnD79c1Kd9rNcOa1ilCMHFKE0pfSGkbMtOCuM1EVxBIk-FN9/s200/DSC02176.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Here, my cousin has climbed to pluck fruits. The branches needed periodical pruning to prevent trouble to the neighbouring house and spreading too much. </div>
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We kept an eye on the eyes of its spiky outer rind to check their widening and yellowing, a sign of maturity. Its fruity aroma would start wafting in the air, a hint for removal. But sometimes, crows and monkeys would find it earlier than us, with the opened rind making the aroma stronger. A hollow sound on slapping the rind with the palm was also a guide for removal. When the fruit was low on the trunk, just slitting the thick stalk was enough. 'Thud'! For those that were high, a rope was tied and lowered to prevent breakage. It was kept there for a few minutes for the latex oozed out from the cut portion. A huge one was a pleasing sight and the first of the season </div>
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was tastiest.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCb-GODti0El8WiAYX1diI0lIgM5mtH3lPyGITpf2sT6MpNsQH0M4alkikDHXRyYCs8yLpM4i3vWHRhzM6cOR5ep1xBRYoa5m3KIJPqX1kGCV-crmIhlrUFA02XCl4vUWN2WCtCNVkFYkK/s1600/DSC02183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCb-GODti0El8WiAYX1diI0lIgM5mtH3lPyGITpf2sT6MpNsQH0M4alkikDHXRyYCs8yLpM4i3vWHRhzM6cOR5ep1xBRYoa5m3KIJPqX1kGCV-crmIhlrUFA02XCl4vUWN2WCtCNVkFYkK/s320/DSC02183.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Two cousins on the tree. See the girth of the trunk up there! I could climb only up to a certain point. </i></div>
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The sweetest things come at a cost. This one, by way of sticky latex! Smearing castor oil or coconut oil to the knife and fingers prevented the goo from sticking. In no time, a passing cow stood at the gate having picked up the sweet scent from the jackfruit filling the air.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxAfGttfWaGxuaRM3ODvdCP8lK3NcH5xdzYJRRaCGNhe7iSXvhmeZZZM-DdVQ8MIt2JJXAy7oummwUMAF5LM0TOmt-EX8-MdBlC0tKk-RIhLIjG7vrWxM3kt7lZIbLQ9-_VoBkiG1mdQj/s1600/DSC02196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxAfGttfWaGxuaRM3ODvdCP8lK3NcH5xdzYJRRaCGNhe7iSXvhmeZZZM-DdVQ8MIt2JJXAy7oummwUMAF5LM0TOmt-EX8-MdBlC0tKk-RIhLIjG7vrWxM3kt7lZIbLQ9-_VoBkiG1mdQj/s200/DSC02196.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHvWyTzwK5rQ8w8algF2pSjDyw_9bQc4moNuH94VYioZJ_ZyvEds5qMfQxpS2VSCgGuEalZd5_QdnmF9rv31fhmIgojwTYhn2ZssuIKiullJpnA35TulEzIYORkbFp-PF_yOc8uick47x/s1600/DSC02203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizHvWyTzwK5rQ8w8algF2pSjDyw_9bQc4moNuH94VYioZJ_ZyvEds5qMfQxpS2VSCgGuEalZd5_QdnmF9rv31fhmIgojwTYhn2ZssuIKiullJpnA35TulEzIYORkbFp-PF_yOc8uick47x/s200/DSC02203.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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On the left, uncle is waiting anxiously to lay his hands while cousin cuts and mother already has hers on the sweet bulbs, also called fruit pods! When I was younger, once I had gobbled up about 40 'bulbs'! But this figure of 40 is an utter shame. We had a relative in Shimoga, one Suryanarayana, a renown glutton. He was known to gobble up all the fruit pods in a medium size fruit, from his own trees! <a href="http://mysoreanmusings.blogspot.in/2014/04/one-great-glutton-suryanarayana.html">There is a separate post dedicated to his eating exploits, here: [Click]</a></div>
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<i>2009 picture. Roadside neem tree in the foreground. The big canopy of Jackfruit is behind.</i></div>
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The tree also attracted jackfruit thieves at night. They would jump over the tallish conservancy wall [above picture] and got in, but would step on the dry leaves producing a rustle. The alert neighbour, Acharya's shout on hearing that from his adjacent kitchen made the thief fled. In the dark, we dared to go out there to chase. The dry leaves were used for the hearth in the bath. Sometimes the dark green, roundish leaves would be plucked and served '<i>kosambri</i>' during festival -- they were no-plastic days! The pruned branches of the tree after drying provided plenty of firewood, which mother or I would chop into suitable lengths and store. The soft wood of the tree is suited for making musical instruments like 'mridangam' and 'veena'. The thick soft seeds are nutritious, finding use in cooking with 'sambar' or roasted on charcoal, both have good taste. There are numerous dishes that can be made out of this nutritious jackfruit.<br /></div>
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This picture of the tree was taken from the road a few years after we left and before the new owner started building his big bungalow. In the open space [foreground, where Acharya's house existed] also a hotel building has come up. The jackfruit tree seems to have survived but suffering due to damaged roots judging by the sparsely leaved end branches that could be seen from the road behind new structures. </div>
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Till we were in that house we got our annual supply of jackfruit and there was no jackfruit tree in our ancestral Lakshmipuram house where we had moved. But sometimes, one or two per season were sent by our kind neighbour Lady Shenoy, from their tree. Irresistible temptation shoots when we see good fruits with the push cart vendor [below]. The parcel is taken home, washed and savoured, at times with honey. Seasonal fruits must be eaten!</div>
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Grape-like bunch, my friend's tree. Neighbour's tree. Another tree in a campus.</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-46653892721543483892018-05-15T22:39:00.002-07:002018-05-28T02:41:08.937-07:00Our Mango Tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My grandfather had purchased an old house in 1950 at Devaparthiva Road, renting the ancestral Lakshmipuram house and moved after repairs. The 6 tall coconut trees and the big jackfruit tree here were likely to be planted by the first owner, may be around 1910 after constructing the house. There were also guava, rose apple and <b>mango </b>in my time. </div>
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One day, may be 1951-2, children had eaten mangoes. Among them was my grandfather's young nephew Sathya. He had discarded a seed of his mango in a particular spot in the backyard. It sprouted and grew. Till Sathya lived [up to 81], he had clear memory of this. He would take a peek at the well-grown tree each time he visited decades later. Lucky are those that grow up in a house with some fruit trees around it. </div>
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<i>All the pictures in this were taken in 2007-8 just before our 'ownership' of this beautiful old plot ceased. <u>Click on them for enlarged view.</u></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBiXbq71u7-hVbttSjsyentmj1PWLp0e4bWAIcyV9fuc_-Itwe4RUdYlK-I0QzyVCehAak3IUb1heBxlYSJRB4w10lIbjEHUQ7pszF7vvvrWMlBvFkOSJKqxGNxHX_7ylbqcy7n7pZ66d/s1600/P1120665.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuBiXbq71u7-hVbttSjsyentmj1PWLp0e4bWAIcyV9fuc_-Itwe4RUdYlK-I0QzyVCehAak3IUb1heBxlYSJRB4w10lIbjEHUQ7pszF7vvvrWMlBvFkOSJKqxGNxHX_7ylbqcy7n7pZ66d/s320/P1120665.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The mango tree had grown and established itself without any extra care at all. This is where it stood, providing plenty of fruit to us. Rose-ringed parakeets, bats and monkeys had their good share too!! Monkeys feared my slingshot. Chasing them away was fun as they were capable of rampage! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPWDk1We_czweGK3efy7eWqZcPJZxdj9aqGLZBM53qE6B21CuXg1MmmCtMIuiyW8PHfyRq2H1i0VyZmPjOIHKfPh8MkbinGVnjAcahNmnvL6mZv8xM2qlEBSlTPdNf7ZpndAT9-YF8iUB/s1600/DSCF7545.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPWDk1We_czweGK3efy7eWqZcPJZxdj9aqGLZBM53qE6B21CuXg1MmmCtMIuiyW8PHfyRq2H1i0VyZmPjOIHKfPh8MkbinGVnjAcahNmnvL6mZv8xM2qlEBSlTPdNf7ZpndAT9-YF8iUB/s200/DSCF7545.jpg" width="200" /></a>Bunches of dangling mangoes was quite a pleasing sight! So it was when the whole tree bloomed. We were unable to find out which variety of mango this was. Because of its juiciness, someone suggested it to be Raspuri, but its correct identity remained a mystery. Not Raspuri, Badami or Alphonso but something probably very special. It deserves some eulogizing. The ripened fruit was green with a light washing of red to look at, lovely non-stringy pulp, flavourful, sweetly juicy and highly delicious to savour. Actually it defies a proper description. When green, it had just the right amount of sourness for pickling.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyLR9OmJjLQOZ-QKkAj2A1mqUrH05UqsvSM3vBbFqNaievzoOH3FDnNs-1fWzBEPk6cfHLWrsoQEz6HhYkbdHog_dGHCAhgFY68WaMKH6wQhLrh7YfixQB9Pj5fgh999AU_1Pyo6NoVa4/s1600/DSC07692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="880" data-original-width="616" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyLR9OmJjLQOZ-QKkAj2A1mqUrH05UqsvSM3vBbFqNaievzoOH3FDnNs-1fWzBEPk6cfHLWrsoQEz6HhYkbdHog_dGHCAhgFY68WaMKH6wQhLrh7YfixQB9Pj5fgh999AU_1Pyo6NoVa4/s200/DSC07692.JPG" width="140" /></a></div>
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<i>Ceramic pickle jars which were filled with diced green mangoes and stored with their necks tied with cotton cloth. Plenty of people in the family and hence, big jars! Grandmother and mother would dice them. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6jmxCrmZXjva-J_FzkLM2zL0cIzWU4Yu_FjRYeuV_6axRd4oqOSkfv6xu3-Uu2tf5yW6bQJHgLbr4iUddy0JDxJNkpnRpubuf9UVyxzc6KZPqCvSHR6lx7PaZ3xkvHayzM71hVYL6WLY/s1600/P1120679.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv6jmxCrmZXjva-J_FzkLM2zL0cIzWU4Yu_FjRYeuV_6axRd4oqOSkfv6xu3-Uu2tf5yW6bQJHgLbr4iUddy0JDxJNkpnRpubuf9UVyxzc6KZPqCvSHR6lx7PaZ3xkvHayzM71hVYL6WLY/s200/P1120679.jpg" width="200" /></a>Mischievous boys would throw stones at the green mangoes dangling from the overhanging branches from the conservancy. Stones that missed their target would fall on the asbestos roof of the out house or zinc roof of the latrines and the sound would alert us. Before we opened the backdoor and peeked into the conservancy, their swift legs would have made them 'disappear'! Now my friends boldly recall how they tried to steal our mangoes! </div>
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<i>View from the terrace. </i></div>
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I would pluck them by hand or with the mango plucker pole with net, either from the latrine roof or by climbing half the tree on to an easy-for-me branch if some green mangoes were needed for small-scale pickling or to prepare something like<i> 'gojju', 'tokku', 'chitra-anna'</i> or to give a few to some guest. </div>
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When good-enough-for-ripening mangoes were seen in large numbers <b>mango 'pluckers' </b>who came by asking. Mother would do tariff bargaining ['per hundred mangoes' plucked]. We kept track and an eye when they counted the harvested mangoes in the end. Then we would shift them to the warmth and coziness of the store room where a bed of dry straw supplied by our kind milkman was readied to keep the fruits for ripening.</div>
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It was virtually a mango-feast. At times during good yield, 500, 600! But we would keep only as much as we could and all the rest went for distribution among the streetfolk, who waited eagerly. Yield of mangoes dipped every alternate year.<br />
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The penultimate year before we got to see the tree, a pair of pluckers had been called in. This is how they did. One would drop the plucked mangoes one by one. The other person used a gunny bag to 'catch' and absorb the force to softly drop-slide them down to the ground to prevent the slightest damage to the fruit. <i>See combo pictures above. </i></div>
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Murali [click for], a poor young boy, who also climbed the tall coconut trees, came to pluck. He slipped and fell once, luckily on the latrine roof with very minor injuries and we were reluctant to hire him thereafter as he was epileptic.</div>
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<i>[Jackfruit tree in the background. Photo by cousin Santosh]</i></div>
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Imagine me sitting on those steps that faced the mango tree savouring whole juicy mangoes. A careful bite at the beak opened for stripping the skin further. I sometimes ate the skin if it was good. Then, I buried the front teeth into the pulp to pick up piece by piece till the kernel was completely scraped making it white! The excited bites were to such an extent that little fibres would get caught between the teeth and trying to remove them later was tricky! It was also not unusual for the juice to trickle down to my elbow to stain my pyjamas and a few drops would escape the mouth unnoticed and stain the shirt! So juicy were these mangoes, ripened the traditional way! Have eaten tens of them each season often sitting there, swishing away fruit flies that hovered around the eyes as they were also in proliferation in summer. </div>
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When many ripened at the same time, <i>'Seekarnay' </i>would be prepared [mashed pulp, milk and some sugar]. Mango leaves for auspicious occasions were readily available, esp. for flagging the doorframe. </div>
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During strong storms tens of mangoes fell away, but not wasted. When a hailstorm came about, that would mean fruits would rot during ripening. </div>
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<i>Old house being torn down by new owner. Mango tree seen at the back. 2012.</i><br />
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<i>New owner's bungalow under construction, 2016</i></div>
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The only occasions when we ate 'purchased mangoes' during our tenure there were during seasons of low yield. Mr. Salar Masood [a paint merchant and old client of my grandfather] would supply a basket of mangoes upon request by my grandfather. We never knew how much he used to pay for them. </div>
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An unusual thing happened after we left this house [Devaparthiva Road]. People observed that there was no flowering and no mangoes the following season! Tests have proved that trees and plants can bond and feel the human care-takers' emotions. <i>Was our beloved mango tree also feeling the absence and its chemistry temporarily altered and showed its suffering in that manner?</i> Not once had this happened before. When the new owner dug for foundation very close to the tree for his new bungalow a few years later, it is likely that its roots were severely damaged. <br />
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Henceforth, no longer could the neighbourhood get the taste of those mangoes and they felt as sad seeing the tree slowly dying as us looking in that direction as we passed by. People said they tried to save it, but it was futile. The loss is theirs. </div>
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<b style="text-align: left;">What remain with us are sweetest memories of our beloved mango tree and the most delightful fragrance of the sap </b><b style="text-align: left;">filling the air </b><b style="text-align: left;">when the dangling fruit was pulled from the stalk.</b></div>
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<b style="text-align: left;">I consider myself lucky to have grown up in that house with such useful trees and shrubs in the yard.</b></div>
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There was a mango tree in the ancestral Lakshmipuram house [half razed in the picture] also where we moved. The tree's reputation was so so, but it did bloom profusely only once and gave some fruit, as if to welcome us. Thereafter, hardly 4-5 or none! It was an ordinary variety. The new owner of that divided portion now has chopped all trees to make way for his new structure. </div>
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Now, our own mango plucker pole was idle laying in the open shed. Our Red Whiskered Bulbuls found it a suitable place for nesting! It has used the same nest 6-7 times, renovating it each time, making babies. Many little ones fledged while many eggs were feasted by the Mynas.<br />
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<i>"King of fruits"</i></div>
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We have to content ourselves to buying mangoes. Artificial ripening using calcium carbide [health hazard] has become so rampant in recent years so much so that one must exercise caution in choosing the outlets selling naturally ripened fruits. </div>
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It is no surprise that my fondness for eating mangoes is as great as it was drawing a mango and colouring it during childhood, like this, with a prominent 'beak'!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEC5Fx050sd3E_r3TFt8O3en4VW0SLIrZHy2qW54OoHtXG92TWHHe8TcJat-dO-O8ZJNlCO-357bqLzAvvT6EjYRVzO7ljTzWixFECFMZh73XYCbaw71Q8-iFrsd5ktG0P7Wd2KGd4a2f/s1600/DSC07693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="418" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEC5Fx050sd3E_r3TFt8O3en4VW0SLIrZHy2qW54OoHtXG92TWHHe8TcJat-dO-O8ZJNlCO-357bqLzAvvT6EjYRVzO7ljTzWixFECFMZh73XYCbaw71Q8-iFrsd5ktG0P7Wd2KGd4a2f/s200/DSC07693.JPG" width="173" /></a></div>
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..mangomangomangomangom..</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-75876864148285252502018-05-11T23:21:00.000-07:002018-05-11T23:21:37.587-07:00An old Radio Friend, Parikh <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fWxrhBjn1_jtgjCV3MhuT_QxQ28NF0xB1Qg7WTGkReUamluZEdtx2CDu7KpsFNhcHK-VohYDdoi1K7kfHWrIfDCkmzlOhPa5W60FBO3cpqbOfh0Y1TyBk5Un4WuxJM7R1YnI5Pq1hddF/s1600/P1050992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="631" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fWxrhBjn1_jtgjCV3MhuT_QxQ28NF0xB1Qg7WTGkReUamluZEdtx2CDu7KpsFNhcHK-VohYDdoi1K7kfHWrIfDCkmzlOhPa5W60FBO3cpqbOfh0Y1TyBk5Un4WuxJM7R1YnI5Pq1hddF/s200/P1050992.jpg" width="163" /></a>A chain of events prior to 1984 had led me to the hobby of shortwave listening. We had our vintage Bush Radio. It was not long before I had found myself sending reports to Radio Korea [in Seoul] which was broadcasting in English, an hour every night. Its signal in the 31-metre band was inconsistent, yet I listened fairly regularly. Another thrill was to hear my name on the radio when my letter was mentioned in their 'Listeners Corner'! Also, I sent in entries for their monthly quiz or essay competitions and won some prize or other. Little did I know this would lead to a great surprise. A letter from them saying that I was chosen as their 'official monitor' had me very elated.<br />
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<i>[Don't forget to click on photos to magnify]</i></div>
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The hobbies of 'shortwave radio listening' and penfriendship usually go hand in hand and are considered in many ways educative and healthy. Radio stations needed feedback from their audience across the world. 'Shortwave listeners' provide help in that while enjoying the hobby. These people write and inform the stations about the radio signal, program content, suggestions, etc. To keep audience attracted, they sent stickers, pennants, calendars or little gift. I too put my feet in this as I found it fully worthwhile. With my limited time for indoor hobbies, I was mostly content with Radio Korea and some penfriendship with a handful of people both in India and abroad [which eventually waned away]. Almost automatically, a network among the hobbyists forms as they have similar interests.</div>
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In 1985, Radio Korea had sent a list of monitors in India upon my request. In it was a certain <b>Mr. Vasudev M. Parikh's name, in Bombay </b>[now Mumbai]. The same year I was to go to Pune for a cricket coaching camp [10 days] after which I had planned to visit Bombay to meet a couple of relatives. An opportunity of meeting him had opened itself. I did not know anything else about him. So I wrote to him about my schedule and my keenness to meet.</div>
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At Pune, my relative was in the same campus as our camp. So I had given his address to respond to. I was in joy when my relative handed over Parikh's reply. I was curious to know how young he was and had inquired a few basic information about him. This is what he wrote:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVYqZUzzPnzUBguNNNFQHANV-HdmXm5tXcPkemmYzQCDexfPY3hdilBfvbsYrSe64RQCnGjWUiEWjlVisNYxWT1eC1ph63iAVCUueYdHxaAMI9ae4YPdKS3VSPMzegxFj_Iujlt1ktT5M/s1600/P1050988+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="921" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVYqZUzzPnzUBguNNNFQHANV-HdmXm5tXcPkemmYzQCDexfPY3hdilBfvbsYrSe64RQCnGjWUiEWjlVisNYxWT1eC1ph63iAVCUueYdHxaAMI9ae4YPdKS3VSPMzegxFj_Iujlt1ktT5M/s200/P1050988+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I had guessed him to be a young person but he was 65 year old seasoned veteran, esp. in the hobby!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZH8_d1ds6vfyLrJy0drUeUlPWX3IpsSRGhRjLUYrgDkvhL5ttUzxQnFr3i_10MM1jOWOqUixrTilBz9W0kAeOPkI8fKMv1jr3cy-8YWqqvGKxQfyMXSxAmfQ_vLbuiVM2A-oD_CsmjCE/s1600/P1050990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="773" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZH8_d1ds6vfyLrJy0drUeUlPWX3IpsSRGhRjLUYrgDkvhL5ttUzxQnFr3i_10MM1jOWOqUixrTilBz9W0kAeOPkI8fKMv1jr3cy-8YWqqvGKxQfyMXSxAmfQ_vLbuiVM2A-oD_CsmjCE/s200/P1050990.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>He sent this photo taken during a radio club members meet in 1986, at his Nadiad home.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA89k_kYJ-K_nJEfYMCk_FjWfDOM5vNTjD99P1jnYRv1o7cIP5n3DPsKKKJ8Z-MiohziQU4DAnQ2c39GPDY6yTA5_iq0LUo-ZYMJEugEETOwv7JJyq3gENMHN8-uiVrw_LYhDZe-mDTro/s1600/P1050994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="1024" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA89k_kYJ-K_nJEfYMCk_FjWfDOM5vNTjD99P1jnYRv1o7cIP5n3DPsKKKJ8Z-MiohziQU4DAnQ2c39GPDY6yTA5_iq0LUo-ZYMJEugEETOwv7JJyq3gENMHN8-uiVrw_LYhDZe-mDTro/s200/P1050994.jpg" width="200" /></a>After an enjoyable camp, I traveled on my favourite 'Deccan Queen' train for Bombay and reached my relative's Andheri residence. The following day, Mr. Parikh's clear directions helped me easily reach 'Jupiter' and climbed 13 floors [in the elevator!], in Colaba. On the way, I had visited my favourite Victoria Terminus [now renamed after Shivaji], the GPO and the streets around them. I was excited to see the digital radio he used and talk about several things related to the hobby. It was an engrossing one hour, learning about several new things. It was a friendship that was to continue till 2003. We used to exchange letters frequently, some contents of which were about information on different radio stations' broadcasts. His letters were neatly typewritten and full of information. We used a lot of post cards also. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOZs_YP0nh1GE_kNbSB7WbkjXyF5D-inIskViy8iSVF-Eatm_vLZpWRcdpU1aRp839m6ThnIkKp30gaJ4QLhhdEFCXmKGRIMRvFxUUXWEEGqIWIOM2v-4P1U833q-wGVPnDR7JfY9I2xh/s1600/P1050996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="508" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOZs_YP0nh1GE_kNbSB7WbkjXyF5D-inIskViy8iSVF-Eatm_vLZpWRcdpU1aRp839m6ThnIkKp30gaJ4QLhhdEFCXmKGRIMRvFxUUXWEEGqIWIOM2v-4P1U833q-wGVPnDR7JfY9I2xh/s200/P1050996.jpg" width="131" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqIFE47DBj8-v4eY5JRIeQNYT6gQKy-XFQiz12-jW-1iCWqclPsech0hrVOEqDXhva0QTt3MlekJ-osmJ5LlwrnYHL21X_QpINcpAVI7Gk4jqN01tnlOB55ie1Ksc2BjQOJ0WySHSA5Dk/s1600/P1060006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="797" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqIFE47DBj8-v4eY5JRIeQNYT6gQKy-XFQiz12-jW-1iCWqclPsech0hrVOEqDXhva0QTt3MlekJ-osmJ5LlwrnYHL21X_QpINcpAVI7Gk4jqN01tnlOB55ie1Ksc2BjQOJ0WySHSA5Dk/s200/P1060006.jpg" width="200" /></a>In 1986 also there was an opportunity to meet him again. But this time, in Hardwar, a sacred place for Hindus in North India! I was to go to Roorkee for cricket. Hardwar was very close and his annual stay coincided. He would go there with his wife for 10-15 days of relaxing. Read his invite on the left.<br />
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My team mates, 2-3 of them, were surprised about my hobby outside cricket! My third meeting with my wife happened to be the last, in 1989. </div>
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Thereafter, only letters. He had also some access to e-mail when it was introduced, but there were only a couple of exchanges through this.<br />
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<i>His e-mail.</i></div>
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He was using small address sticker labels in his correspondence. I wanted to have them too. So he had kindly helped me get a box of these. They were not available here at that time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVb8AuMSUOBqG1c0R3CCr1e8t7lfG6rNjnX-aRbcxDwhDY-PeTP3g8A2KpHkd2MnPd8SRQxKOioVWrnvuI6InKRCJjpBemk67uvSf0mXFQ5eziDL_YosDhP3b15Retxn9qNjqoilUwpf9/s1600/P1050998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="570" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVb8AuMSUOBqG1c0R3CCr1e8t7lfG6rNjnX-aRbcxDwhDY-PeTP3g8A2KpHkd2MnPd8SRQxKOioVWrnvuI6InKRCJjpBemk67uvSf0mXFQ5eziDL_YosDhP3b15Retxn9qNjqoilUwpf9/s200/P1050998.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcD1Be9YTakaQlel6s1MO8ZP7mTK8XtmIiqTPP5uZPBSsWwwIccj0xRIhaiC31BsKWPDZp8AdbuQStqPyP2-q23fD5AGLtXQmzhLocGDfeyVH1CeC18BTb2voMwew4pN-rCQuXEHriIi8/s1600/P1060001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="647" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKcD1Be9YTakaQlel6s1MO8ZP7mTK8XtmIiqTPP5uZPBSsWwwIccj0xRIhaiC31BsKWPDZp8AdbuQStqPyP2-q23fD5AGLtXQmzhLocGDfeyVH1CeC18BTb2voMwew4pN-rCQuXEHriIi8/s200/P1060001.jpg" width="168" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">He was born on <b>12th May, 1920</b>. His handwriting had slowly become very shaky, yet he managed to write a few despite his physical weakness and weak eyes. Probably he could no longer use the typewriter. But, promptly, he would wish me, my wife for our birthdays and usually on time. He also never failed to inquire about our young children.</span><br />
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He would sometimes start the letter with 'dear radio friend'. And in another letter he wanted me to write him 'Dear Uncle'. It is truly amazing how he was able to find time and energy in promptly writing to all his contacts with such long letters when he was younger!</div>
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The last mail I got from him was in 2003 in which he had expressed a rather low enthusiasm for life at 83.<br />
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[Magnified, read and feel]<br />
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<i>He writes unhappily that "SWL is a dying hobby..."</i></div>
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Subsequently, I wrote a letter or two inquiring about his health, but never heard back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRk2EKtOc2yBv_Btep699BBwhX336lpyZBuwCd26UopJpkhLpfSiTX2_UYWVWQ171kih0p-Zxw6y4ZRYmlI0xBADiRrkghh9ZxHAR-AC8rKC3s5At5fx97f_Nf5bE_tGSkX4Uvi6xdbw8D/s1600/P1060004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1345" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRk2EKtOc2yBv_Btep699BBwhX336lpyZBuwCd26UopJpkhLpfSiTX2_UYWVWQ171kih0p-Zxw6y4ZRYmlI0xBADiRrkghh9ZxHAR-AC8rKC3s5At5fx97f_Nf5bE_tGSkX4Uvi6xdbw8D/s200/P1060004.JPG" width="168" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPKEvJ1ZMTPp3l-yBJ9_65I_lZwIMwkvSQvy7MDciN7b0J0M82u100Ta8zRZz9eAhaqcyBYmXTnBZwKOjKbibOdV6BT41LPprRjrqleEHAr6CIy7Yb4OazMnRiNu_4OTXMbUAIBqhfHlE/s1600/P1060003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1019" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPKEvJ1ZMTPp3l-yBJ9_65I_lZwIMwkvSQvy7MDciN7b0J0M82u100Ta8zRZz9eAhaqcyBYmXTnBZwKOjKbibOdV6BT41LPprRjrqleEHAr6CIy7Yb4OazMnRiNu_4OTXMbUAIBqhfHlE/s200/P1060003.JPG" width="126" /></a>His was a very renown name in the hobby, one as old as him is rare to find. I had planned to write an article about him in the late 90s for which he had sent some information. But my plan did not take off. Here are two sheets he had sent for this. Astounding achievements ever since he started listening in 1938 using a Crystaltone receiver as an 18-year old! The first radio station in the country was here in Mysore, 1936, but in Bombay, radio broadcasting had started a few years before that.<br />
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One of the persons who kept my zest in tact in the hobby was him.<br />
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<i>He would have been exactly 98 as I write this today, 12th May. </i><br />
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<i>~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ </i></div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-82162373056547882122018-05-10T03:41:00.000-07:002018-05-10T03:41:33.759-07:00Binaca Toothpaste Freebies - 2 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>I made the initial post on this in 2009. Much of the 'story' is there. Click here: <a href="http://mysoreanmusings.blogspot.in/2009/03/binaca-toothpaste-freebies.html">[Click]</a>. </b></div>
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That post also attracted quite a number of people [as the comments and views suggests] that knew about this wonderful <b>Binaca Dolls. </b></div>
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Since I improved upon the old version of display, I thought an update, as a 'No.2' would help. The open old version in which I kept the dolls used to collect plenty of dust thus necessitating too much maintenance. I made a display box to solve this issue. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AuM0oDqEeod4H8DgKVtIewYsXUKqPInUShvG_cuaDIKiPY-akZ3hbn36LrcunPLL4DAWFN8WJSka4SUdkoGO05ENaDd3U8E6XT91mQvqDD9oyOA8FyEAEJMPb5i46J4eNJrtqovn14iy/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+5102018+31111+PM.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="601" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7AuM0oDqEeod4H8DgKVtIewYsXUKqPInUShvG_cuaDIKiPY-akZ3hbn36LrcunPLL4DAWFN8WJSka4SUdkoGO05ENaDd3U8E6XT91mQvqDD9oyOA8FyEAEJMPb5i46J4eNJrtqovn14iy/s200/Fullscreen+capture+5102018+31111+PM.bmp.jpg" width="200" /></a>Displaying in the showcase and also protecting from dust to avoid cleaning remained a challenge for a long time. But I found a way by way of 'v shape' clear plastic name display boards a former neighbour had given. Cutting the plastic to pieces of measured dimensions was a tricky affair. Glad it came off well. </div>
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<i>Click on images to 'enlargify'.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzMqumOlGV9qpNvQhLZhacBof2S0TVFqQJd9JtQ0JPwYf1JywkzBvOcZM0QokVRmptKgHcEsryjhvqekjjf5XLQ-IYPF5CMmJ8WXG3pJp7oL9HYO_e6CTs_vmyE06HrOUx0wv9q0U2G11/s1600/IMG_1241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="1040" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzMqumOlGV9qpNvQhLZhacBof2S0TVFqQJd9JtQ0JPwYf1JywkzBvOcZM0QokVRmptKgHcEsryjhvqekjjf5XLQ-IYPF5CMmJ8WXG3pJp7oL9HYO_e6CTs_vmyE06HrOUx0wv9q0U2G11/s320/IMG_1241.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This would form the base.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGZTQvAIsOt9eIr6zsP0qVp5gU7U_rzdjBlWsecjxGqc47MvK4v0-WjwL47p6RPWGWZUx9yXrognjGYKwNMgefCobco6Pe9owA5wUHHNnimZbeuAps3pj4_0Nh-9j2Y1m-LkSWiRFIr2m/s1600/IMG_1244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="605" data-original-width="967" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGZTQvAIsOt9eIr6zsP0qVp5gU7U_rzdjBlWsecjxGqc47MvK4v0-WjwL47p6RPWGWZUx9yXrognjGYKwNMgefCobco6Pe9owA5wUHHNnimZbeuAps3pj4_0Nh-9j2Y1m-LkSWiRFIr2m/s200/IMG_1244.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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The left shelf.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_hfhMNK813ojgPyEFjIDS9CNEsPwHJBFQ82rCCj-7TpDKN7CoWdybtOe0-Nal-mxAdO3HbujXTiUpu9EwuYz0jIljqWujAl3pIcSgu9oZ51Rt1g56XVyPR63xPEUO5fYFzixxc2OgZPw/s1600/IMG_1250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="757" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL_hfhMNK813ojgPyEFjIDS9CNEsPwHJBFQ82rCCj-7TpDKN7CoWdybtOe0-Nal-mxAdO3HbujXTiUpu9EwuYz0jIljqWujAl3pIcSgu9oZ51Rt1g56XVyPR63xPEUO5fYFzixxc2OgZPw/s200/IMG_1250.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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The right shelf. The sea horse had to be mounted on a piece of stiff plastic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-945UBs-R1rJE92hb6sqUVk4xIuoxTPZWFiDBTxiuB0ILdzP7cxFt5fqA8XHGLsAEEOTgKf3JmEKm-uusz93EB4BeMIwfPkeiABLhiJUZ7b9OAsReaRZdOxcst0WbpQfnH6xXX7s3mXE/s1600/IMG_1253+-+Copy-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="1327" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-945UBs-R1rJE92hb6sqUVk4xIuoxTPZWFiDBTxiuB0ILdzP7cxFt5fqA8XHGLsAEEOTgKf3JmEKm-uusz93EB4BeMIwfPkeiABLhiJUZ7b9OAsReaRZdOxcst0WbpQfnH6xXX7s3mXE/s320/IMG_1253+-+Copy-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Full collection before keeping inside the box.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i8RbwBV5hOTxfCyf7P36zS9Mxey8pfu-kLSTHSKyESKQ21TcvLITUZSbH6tG5t8ij7gBRU2mbhqmOKsbO0ME9Vd7wINeAZDfLOxxMxJw-z520qm2HkriVkZMeFu4aBQKi7J0HyxxyrOC/s1600/P1050986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="1129" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3i8RbwBV5hOTxfCyf7P36zS9Mxey8pfu-kLSTHSKyESKQ21TcvLITUZSbH6tG5t8ij7gBRU2mbhqmOKsbO0ME9Vd7wINeAZDfLOxxMxJw-z520qm2HkriVkZMeFu4aBQKi7J0HyxxyrOC/s320/P1050986.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The 'Binaca Zoo' now inside the box, joints sealed by cellophane tape.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZtCy40Z_E7KxNaf18jruw3vmHF3lKIjh_jSpxPue2G4ZZn7qWdGyNRy6JPhRh83RQ86QvjckYycb1zpOTQdUfWGJrpEAxJYGIw75K1w5NohvuS87G76O92xCEOsVegcknxmU8F1rMiHT/s1600/IMG_1255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="710" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZtCy40Z_E7KxNaf18jruw3vmHF3lKIjh_jSpxPue2G4ZZn7qWdGyNRy6JPhRh83RQ86QvjckYycb1zpOTQdUfWGJrpEAxJYGIw75K1w5NohvuS87G76O92xCEOsVegcknxmU8F1rMiHT/s200/IMG_1255.JPG" width="161" /></a></div>
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Side view of the box.</div>
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Ready for the showcase. Any dust.... just wipe the box! </div>
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I remembered yet another little freebie that used to come in the Binaca toothpaste box just before these attractive dolls. It used to be a <b>small gold-like plastic pendant with different letters</b> of the Alphabet. My aunt had collected many but none survived. They were the size of a shirt button, something like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7xxqBH7Hdbvb4S6LOj0UeJiyWQDsXZX2xW0CJcM9P5S1vR8s9SvxA7iscoa4IRBXGMcQ1KXJV47pax1G9iprFqCsTGwd7lQCEG9nmLc3yxzoM_AiKErb4ujHiejdUkOGfCS22dJZ3JDO/s1600/P1520040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="710" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7xxqBH7Hdbvb4S6LOj0UeJiyWQDsXZX2xW0CJcM9P5S1vR8s9SvxA7iscoa4IRBXGMcQ1KXJV47pax1G9iprFqCsTGwd7lQCEG9nmLc3yxzoM_AiKErb4ujHiejdUkOGfCS22dJZ3JDO/s320/P1520040.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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My illustration to show how it was.</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-81278389340778632892018-05-06T08:19:00.000-07:002019-05-12T21:37:00.917-07:00My time with CHESS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqqlykAFvqlawf54A6QPKfp3S2I9Tyv0gkZq5U2qqoA_4NCk4-zU3LrpwdyckOwoOFuAfFuUReDF2yRksZDawZ9h-0X4gJuHtLVEyjM5gM7iKFDxfJK6sCqurPRjkUn80huI1kDSQWoPL/s1600/P1520006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqqlykAFvqlawf54A6QPKfp3S2I9Tyv0gkZq5U2qqoA_4NCk4-zU3LrpwdyckOwoOFuAfFuUReDF2yRksZDawZ9h-0X4gJuHtLVEyjM5gM7iKFDxfJK6sCqurPRjkUn80huI1kDSQWoPL/s200/P1520006.JPG" width="200" /></a>My exposure to chess was from an early age. The earliest I can recall having been taught the basic movements of chess pieces was by cousin Manjunath. He had been sent from Bangalore to study his engineering here. I was in 7th class or so and I would watch him play with a friend. At times he would be reminded by my grandmother to study because he engaged himself playing chess during his exam time. He had an excuse, one that I would adapt years later, saying that the game of chess would improve concentration and memory. But it was not enough to convince her. </div>
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In those beautiful times so many board games were played within the family and among the children in the streets as well. Nobody at home was playing chess before Manju's entry and stay for just 3 years until his end came shockingly. Probably my father and grandfather also knew chess, I know not. I think, someone brought his chess set here to play till the time I was bought one. I had picked up the game easily by playing with friends, sometimes guided by Manju in the early stages as he watched us play. After Saturday's 'morning class', I remember my friend Gopi coming to play during high school days. In later years Sridhara, MG Ravi and several others came to play. It was a fantastic pastime.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yAvp_DM_LWfYFxlkEZ6_VIkuGoPs5qX8J8MRl9iMQBAR1tZnt_w07-z4JEQmAAdtEkhd2Hbw_DUGPq9rCL57avTHhZPnUYLm6vxaBJB6FBjaSSX83UstGIOENgupgvWQ0Ou0ZwmreJpo/s1600/P1520022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1141" height="91" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3yAvp_DM_LWfYFxlkEZ6_VIkuGoPs5qX8J8MRl9iMQBAR1tZnt_w07-z4JEQmAAdtEkhd2Hbw_DUGPq9rCL57avTHhZPnUYLm6vxaBJB6FBjaSSX83UstGIOENgupgvWQ0Ou0ZwmreJpo/s200/P1520022.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>[Click on images to see magnified view]</i></div>
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One of the early 'toys' that came to us was this plastic set [above], most likely purchased at the Dasara Exhibition where toy shops were a great attraction. Luckily, all pieces are in tact! The paper and cardboard chessboard did not last long.</div>
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Showing a few of our heirloom dolls, my grandmother used to mention these are 'Chaduranga pawns' [the old name of chess]. A few have survived. Extreme left must be the 'King'. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZN7QIbTMXSsegkEYqvH0dFKLGFqGgdbDzkgav_PO0rFI8XfF1Hwbj-vwK5GafUkUg5AIeEmUBQkYYScEwkKNF8geLkJrnBaemsxMTWeQXV_JcJtmcBDxjoM_SE-1jHDdtqV2poNX6zQsC/s1600/P1520013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="617" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZN7QIbTMXSsegkEYqvH0dFKLGFqGgdbDzkgav_PO0rFI8XfF1Hwbj-vwK5GafUkUg5AIeEmUBQkYYScEwkKNF8geLkJrnBaemsxMTWeQXV_JcJtmcBDxjoM_SE-1jHDdtqV2poNX6zQsC/s200/P1520013.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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It was in my high school days that I played chess more often than at any other time in my later life. In early college days, Shankar used to bring his father's popular chess book written by a champion in the 50s in which famous games played by J.R.Capablanca, Boris Spassky, et al were recorded. We replayed a few to see how intelligently they moved their pieces in different types of openings, endings and gambits. Our newspaper's weekly supplement also carried notes on chess games which I curiously studied.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCFQwsxxJ2529pVWc8KrMxKASO3CcEL5HEhn0PpaALGlhuM41Jlq5WVoQHl4X8G0QipeewZwsbTvJXBg57dkUpSeaWmzD53RTyAF9kgT6G694UDjDbeQGhNe-Bw4nCSQje4r6NKJNS2Oc/s1600/ch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCFQwsxxJ2529pVWc8KrMxKASO3CcEL5HEhn0PpaALGlhuM41Jlq5WVoQHl4X8G0QipeewZwsbTvJXBg57dkUpSeaWmzD53RTyAF9kgT6G694UDjDbeQGhNe-Bw4nCSQje4r6NKJNS2Oc/s200/ch.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
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<i>Shankar's book was something like this, showing moves. They were in 'P-K4' [Pawn to King Four] numbering. The chessboard numbering was later modified as 1-8 and a-h to which I never got familiar.</i></div>
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During the annual day sports events at the 'Keerthi Typing Institute' which I was attending in 1973-4, I took part in chess. I beat two people and lost to the next having run out of patience as they were played in a chain. I learnt patience and calm thinking were keys to 'holding fort' in chess! </div>
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There was an interesting, very active, old retired govt. doctor in the opposite 'Liver House', Dr.Rama Shastry. He carried a nickname of 'Bappu', very intelligent chess player with great expertise. I had seen him play with his old friend as I used to go there whenever I pleased. A huge vintage desk and his bed occupied most of his tiny room. He mostly lay on his bed due to a chronic back problem, but sat up during play or whenever he had to go out.</div>
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Bappu had known I could give good chess games. So I went to him nearly every evening in the mid to late 70s and we would play 2-3 games. It was also providing me good experience. It was a challenge to play well against him. <b>It was from him that I learnt that the white corner square has to be to our right.</b> He was extremely hard to beat but I have the privilege of <i>checkmating</i> him once, just once in a hundred plus games we played! That evening I felt like having won something very big that deserved a newspaper headline! It was the first time I saw him sheepishly struggling to see himself a loser while I was enjoying my ecstasy! But he was happy for me. He was also one of the old generation players who used the word 'Shah' for 'check' in chess. 'Shah' is a Persian word to warn the opponent King thus.</div>
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Bappu's chessboard was a big one. He had 'laminated' it with a thin white cloth for durability. The wood pieces were large and beautiful. <b>I wanted to have one such of my own! </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUD9-bewOT5BSAAFUK28PG13fGMTREpaDOCmSJUs5D3xcAKgz2ILCJAgIsjyd2eR0FkxnWi5tbhpyhNNTGNOnbQC7Spz769nQVieyGlsgw7zM4Iajac-yFzOsv4PTHpVLBCTfbUOT7Rrn/s1600/2018-05-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="1215" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUD9-bewOT5BSAAFUK28PG13fGMTREpaDOCmSJUs5D3xcAKgz2ILCJAgIsjyd2eR0FkxnWi5tbhpyhNNTGNOnbQC7Spz769nQVieyGlsgw7zM4Iajac-yFzOsv4PTHpVLBCTfbUOT7Rrn/s320/2018-05-05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This small cane table was a gift to a one-year-old me from the family. My carpentry and painting skills were useful to make a large chessboard from the available pieces of hard board at home. Nailed it to the table-top so that it also protected the cane surface.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipItzCxjA3G3TIW23gBmjRS-RJZe8IhN2JLIrJpZr07luyzFlx3rk_JsjD8qP9YyaFQzAxyf49dPh78tXkc2wq2eWzy9iiKCoueaWG4iVA2Q7n6HxtqbD8TiHkl6jX3gaACe4-m6OhbGmZ/s1600/P1520004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="586" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipItzCxjA3G3TIW23gBmjRS-RJZe8IhN2JLIrJpZr07luyzFlx3rk_JsjD8qP9YyaFQzAxyf49dPh78tXkc2wq2eWzy9iiKCoueaWG4iVA2Q7n6HxtqbD8TiHkl6jX3gaACe4-m6OhbGmZ/s320/P1520004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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1978 it was. Endless number of games were played on it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqomIa4Wo6jbXUVY4Yb0QWXE9cnNDWeTa0TOZrp8sOGgoxKUB8zvgPAHSFSIzcm2n4A5ZBi04iUEwqZFnopJoemJcd0LF38aVEszekKxo3biw6ULEK59L0fXHfaoMG4QdtggKGGwexWP_O/s1600/P1520007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="768" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqomIa4Wo6jbXUVY4Yb0QWXE9cnNDWeTa0TOZrp8sOGgoxKUB8zvgPAHSFSIzcm2n4A5ZBi04iUEwqZFnopJoemJcd0LF38aVEszekKxo3biw6ULEK59L0fXHfaoMG4QdtggKGGwexWP_O/s320/P1520007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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If my memory serves right, it was Bappu who also suggested me the shop where these wooden chess pieces were sold - DVG Road, Gandhi Bazar, Bangalore, luckily it was close to the place where my relative/s were. On my next visit to Bangalore - must be 1980, league cricket had taken me there - I was in utter glee when the shopkeeper <b>showed me what I was looking for! </b>It was a small shop that sold board games and other small items. I used the pocket money plus a small sum borrowed from father to purchase. The neat wooden box has a sliding lid. Later I pasted gift paper on it for a colourful look.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJlbRrYK3gPJJ1znAqM9PVSiaMb-A-VnmBUaZs2oEQKhJdJzS2WnpMpx9lgnpIk4pOZ9Nd5ugRc6FA_OR0V8tqgecKv3FE3iarnApr8CgLHZvPBLi9UvCGRDmiJ-n7u8oPWxnBeJQaW0b/s1600/P1520012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJlbRrYK3gPJJ1znAqM9PVSiaMb-A-VnmBUaZs2oEQKhJdJzS2WnpMpx9lgnpIk4pOZ9Nd5ugRc6FA_OR0V8tqgecKv3FE3iarnApr8CgLHZvPBLi9UvCGRDmiJ-n7u8oPWxnBeJQaW0b/s320/P1520012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYnKgC8pH297o90OSZWQMVfathSG5KocphHGzWVfFxm7_ZxwwrjyOhcEsbjRLEsqNZWLDggI6iDNACqxn-Ijk3XrbSQUMjn8S2WXnYCMIm55IZBl_ctJHVQndJWcQzBGySpIFOJ41V9Xd/s1600/P1520010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="860" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYnKgC8pH297o90OSZWQMVfathSG5KocphHGzWVfFxm7_ZxwwrjyOhcEsbjRLEsqNZWLDggI6iDNACqxn-Ijk3XrbSQUMjn8S2WXnYCMIm55IZBl_ctJHVQndJWcQzBGySpIFOJ41V9Xd/s320/P1520010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Beautifully crafted wooden pieces. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2pbWWGtyxwC6Cxv8cyDjvNdaOofY2jharCY3l0E9zaxA20-DF4aRjuwraHIwyrn7r6wStaHx7XNJS8oxsI7aX1e6NhVwAAQlQUSdtjHdprgraWazoV7iSxSGqkMX0xY4rVfL3M4-Ohob/s1600/P1520011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1181" data-original-width="1417" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2pbWWGtyxwC6Cxv8cyDjvNdaOofY2jharCY3l0E9zaxA20-DF4aRjuwraHIwyrn7r6wStaHx7XNJS8oxsI7aX1e6NhVwAAQlQUSdtjHdprgraWazoV7iSxSGqkMX0xY4rVfL3M4-Ohob/s320/P1520011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Not so beautiful!</i></div>
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Some family friend was visiting one day when I and brother were engaged in chess. There was a little boy who had accompanied them. After they were gone, we found one pawn missing. I felt very angry and bad. Using my carpentry skills, I made the replacement using balsa wood, pieces of which I had from my aeroplane making [a little story in another blog].</div>
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Aside from Bappu, I used to play with one Masood. He was the brother of my good friend Zakir whom I used to visit every now and then [sons of Dr.B.Sheik Ali, VC of two Varsities]. Masood [no more now] was also a very good player and I am proud to have beat him once, trapping the castled rook and king - he had failed to spot my simple plan!</div>
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The last I played frequently was in the mid 80s, with Sanjay [Geeta Book House family], much younger to me. He was playing well and I used to beat him more often. He remembers those enjoyable games even now. It was a lot of fun. One Sandeep, who was also from our friends group used to join. </div>
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This Sandeep played good chess. He and his friend Sid[dharth] Mookerji [who now owns SPI] played chess 'in the mail' as Sid was in another city. In each letter they would write a chess move and thus one game would extend several months! And when computers came to workplaces, I tried to play chess 'with the computer' but never found it interesting. It was 'more intelligent' than me! Perhaps it contributed a little bit in diluting my enthusiasm to play, what with not finding interested people. But not for nothing the game of Chess is so popular worldwide. </div>
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It is unfortunate that the <i>electronic-gadgets-distracted younger generation</i> is completely unaware of the beauty of this great game.</div>
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Do you know chess? How proudly we used to say 'YES'!</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-18750907367571704642018-03-05T10:19:00.001-08:002018-03-05T22:33:28.963-08:00Meeting a disconnected relative<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Kitta was one of first cousins of my grandfather's. He was married to Sumitra in the early 1960s. His elder brother was Shankara, married Girija and both couples were childless. The youngest brother Chandu had never married. They were all living together in Bangalore. Probably owing to their lazy nature or lack of a degree Kitta and Shankara were in small jobs that brought small salaries. Chandu was a lawyer and it was from his earnings they were able to somehow sustain life reasonably for many years.</div>
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A time came when age was catching up on all of them. Health issues were slowly making their lives difficult, economically also. But for the considerate support from two of their nephews and their doctor-father, their condition would have turned pathetic, much sooner. Eventually, sustenance became impossible. Shankara departed first. Then Kitta, many months later. Chandu's health was also deteriorating. So it became too difficult for the two widowed ladies to take care of Chandu. Girija who had her own knee issues left and went to live with her brother in Mysore. Sumitra followed suit, going to her native Chickmagalur, leaving an ailing Chandu. Chandu also did not live long thereafter, having been under the care of his kind nephew's family towards the end. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXMxfmkPWbT37gdMm-X5Bj2c2I52Vje9X8AvcrH4v5JNlyl61Kkl27k9H2UmsID-uALIJTzcHYq0J_jRIVCeldOyGtHu9eEtRfcvXYghqPjqQquv1D718_6fYthIqoNZgcJ7ctCbBZBiO/s1600/P1050962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="1156" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXMxfmkPWbT37gdMm-X5Bj2c2I52Vje9X8AvcrH4v5JNlyl61Kkl27k9H2UmsID-uALIJTzcHYq0J_jRIVCeldOyGtHu9eEtRfcvXYghqPjqQquv1D718_6fYthIqoNZgcJ7ctCbBZBiO/s200/P1050962.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>Shankara and Girija during their marriage. No photo of Kitta is available. My aunt was fond of collecting photos of relatives and particularly children. That is how this came to be part of our 'family albums'.</i></div>
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They were all very friendly, kind and warm-hearted people and the way they had maintained a harmonious environment consistently was adored. Sumitra and Girija cooked together and very well. Being more efficient and active than Girija, it was Sumitra who did the outside chores. On nearly every cricket trip to Bangalore I had made it a point to visit "Chandu's house" [we called like this] and sometimes even stayed with them because their affection was genuine. At times Sumitra's brother Mohan also came there for short stays. </div>
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Several years went by. My co-employee Ravi asked me if I knew of one Mohan who was a tenant in one of his relative's house in Mysore. At first I could not place him, but when the connection was revealed, I was glad. Mohan had known me from "Chandu's house" and that was all I knew of him. Mohan had been aware where I worked. So when he learnt that Ravi was also working there, he had inquired about me. </div>
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So I got Mohan's contact from Ravi and on calling. The last I had seen Sumitra [or Mohan] was several years ago. The mental image of her as a short and small build, active, cheerful and always wearing a smile was all that had remained.</div>
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A visit to Chickmagalur, in connection with our daughter's marriage provided me the opportunity to meet Sumitra. My co-brother-in-law Satish took me on his scooter to her address [provided by Mohan] which was not far from Satish's house. It took Sumitra a couple of seconds to place me with <i>"Oh, Dinu!"</i> when she answered the doorbell. That same friendly smile was in tact, now welcoming me and Satish. Pleasantries and family updates were exchanged.</div>
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Age and minor health issues had made her appearance rounder but said she had been generally well, living alone and often visited by her very fond brother Mohan.</div>
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Our visit was taking another happy and unexpected turn. Now Satish seemed to remember Sumitra, both 'Chickmagalur natives'. They discovered they were neighbours on the same street for several years 35-40 years ago and their families were close too. What a coincidence! It was a bonus for Satish, finding and renewing contact with an old acquaintance in such a manner!</div>
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Sumitra could not make it to the marriage for whatever reason but the short visit to her provided me an exhilarating moment nevertheless, thanks to the unique chain of circumstances that formed itself. </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-9777165667961056332017-09-30T10:20:00.000-07:002017-09-30T10:20:00.110-07:00Pagade Game memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The Law Courts and our house were just 200 metres apart. My grandfather would return from his court work for lunch. If there was a case or hearing he would go back and attend, at the most, for an hour. Otherwise, he would take a short nap, post lunch. Around half past three or four, it was time for a couple of games of <b>Pagade ( ಪಗಡೆ ).</b> A straw mat would be rolled out in the room in readiness. The first game [match] would be played between my grandfather and grandmother. For the second, my aunt replaced my grandmother. Some games would end up in nail-biters providing great thrill for all. The one who rolled the right numbers on the dice and moved the right pawns at the right time would win while tactics contributed, with occasional ideas coming from onlookers. The game of Pagade involves skillful strategies. </div>
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Those were the halcyon days - these memories are from the 60s till my grandfather's death in 1976. The two games would together last for about three quarters of an hour, during which time, my grandfather would also mention an old anecdote or two in between.</div>
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On school holidays I got a chance to witness the games which I did with great excitement. Sometimes I found pleasure to make the pawn moves on their behalf. They would even allow an occasion roll of dice by me also. I played with my aunt or brother after those two main games occasionally. I used to try and imitate my grandfather's unique style of rolling the dices, but instead they either slid without rolling much or went totally awry. Utter failure. At times the players would pray for a required number to be rolled to suit the situation and often it was flop. They were not 'Shakuni's dices', but they were on a stray occasion now and then, much to the excitement! It was great fun. </div>
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After the games, my grandfather would return to his desk to study a case or sit outside on the built-benches to read some book. The shadows of the opposite house coconut trees fell on our west-facing front yard thus favouring the place for relaxing or reading. My grandmother after her game would return to the kitchen to prepare coffee [tea was rarely prepared in those days at home] and the evening snack, after which my grandfather would ready himself to leave for his office at Gandhi Square at sharp 5 pm every day [by bus]. Even half a century later people who have seen this routine of his - keeping up time - recall it today! </div>
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In Kannada it is <i>Pagade</i> ( ಪಗಡೆ ) and in Hindi it is <i>'Pachisi', </i>known to have been invented around 4th century. If our National Sport is Hockey, Pagade is a National Board Game. </div>
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How the game is played, see this link: <a href="http://kreedaakaushalya.blogspot.in/2009/06/how-to-play-pagade.html">Pagade Game</a>. </div>
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<i>In short:</i> Each player has a set of pawns that start in his or her corner of the board. The goal is to move the pawns around the board to the "home" section. Movement is controlled by dice. All players move around the same board, so they may capture each others pawns. Captured pawns are returned to their player's corner and must start their journey all over again. The winner is the first player to move all pawns "home".</div>
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Mysore is home to a host of traditional board games. It may not be out of place to mention that it was Mysore's 22nd Ruler, Krishna Raja Wadiyar III [Mummadi Krishna Raja Wadiyar, reign - 1799-1868] who was a master of board games and a great connoisseur. This great King even has the credit of inventing a few board games also.</div>
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With time, the enthusiasm for playing this beautiful game of Pagade waned for lack of will more than anything. For a few years after my grandfather died, we continued to play it among other games esp. during the Summer Vacations to school. The game set of cloth board, pawns and dice hardly got to see the light out of its box except adding more antiquity. </div>
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<i>The Pagade 'board' made of cloth - crochet work - which must be more than 60 years old. I know not who made this. Very durable! <br />Arranged above is the position of the pawns for the start. </i></div>
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<i>Wooden pawns and Ivory dices. Already antiqued from the time of my memory. The reds are replacements of lost ones!</i></div>
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<i>Ivory dices, clearly at least about 80 years vintage. </i></div>
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<i>The etched markings had to be re-marked at least twice after re-etching and filling with some colour [by me]. They wore out from being rolled on the straw mat hundreds of times over the years! Even the beautifully woven mat [thin reeds] used for this wore out to the hilt at the two places - actually holes - where opponents rolled them. It had to be replaced!! </i></div>
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Will there be an enthusiastic revival in this so called 'fast moving times'? </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-17660894627810287972017-09-12T10:17:00.000-07:002017-09-12T10:17:18.213-07:00Diaries of my great grandfather<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My great grandfather Mylar Rao was born in 1868. In all probabilities his schooling would have been in Mysore itself going by one pencil rough draft he had made in the 1890s for an application for a govt. job where he introduces himself saying that his father was 'in Mysore Council Service'.<br />
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It was the British era when the standard of education was high class. The positive British influence reflected at jobs people held. Thanks also to our Mysore Maharajas several dedicated teachers from Britain were employed. Discipline, good habits, sincerity and hard work were inculcated in schools but they also came from within the families, almost naturally. Among the many 'good habits' was 'diary writing'. Mylar Rao had fairly regularly kept up this practice almost right through, but was inconsistent towards his end in 1936. <br />
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This post is about just some of the entries he had made in them. <br />
Where did I find these 18-20 diaries?<br />
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My grandfather, renting the ancestral house, moved to another in 1950. Among the several old pieces of furniture was one wooden almirah, said to be full of 'unwanted' stuff. It had been kept in a passage that was the staircase room which led to the space [rented] upstairs. My curiosity in the late 70s led me to open and investigate the contents of this almirah. The black-painted doors were stuck with dust. I force-opened, alert to the chance of cockroaches flying out! Luckily none, but only dead specimens, as if trapped in. Books, papers, diaries, account books and letter correspondence - this was my actual interest for the old postage stamps - lay there! Most of them were from Mylar Rao's lifetime. <br />
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[I used it for many years and this is how it looked upon painting.]</div>
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After a thorough dusting and screening, I segregated the items that were interesting and worth further preservation. It was only in more recent years that I found Mylar Rao's diaries had some beautiful [copied] quotes, some incidents, his activities at work, his brief daily routine and some amusing self-instructions and admonishments. The oldest diary is from 1898 when he was 30 years old. The little diaries and his handwriting are beauties in their own right. <br />
Let me pick up a few pages that I found interesting.<br />
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Mylar Rao was working in various positions like Munsiff, Asst. Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner in the towns in and around Mysore between 1898 and 1926 [retirement].</div>
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<i>"My conduct on the bench was rather regretable, caused partly by the unpreparedness of the lawyers and partly by my anxiety to turn out more work than it seems possible for me. Story of miracles we should not possess a gift of which we do not know the right use."</i> </div>
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Left page of next day: <i>"Conduct satisfactory. Strength of will can work miracles. Cultivate it. Many people discontinue reading after they enter in to life. I am one of them. I should hereafter make it a point to devote at least a few hours every day in reading something."</i></div>
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Left page: <i>"Mr. Shama Rao's arrival. So far as manners, I am becoming a little rude. I should not be so. I must mend them and be more hospitable. Supper at Mr. Krishna Rao's. Work hard. Do not waste time."</i><br />
Right page: <i>"My boy is very delicate. A blow yesterday made him make water. I feel troubled nowadays at slight circumstances. Do not know the reason why. Have not finished arrears of work. Must be more sharp in writing out judgments."</i></div>
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<i>"Sorry that my behaviour in court was not as it ought to have been. I was rather narrow-minded. There is no use of losing one's temper for the wickedness of others. An opportunity must be waited and the lesson taught. Why should there be any more pa.... "</i></div>
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<i>"Beware of borrowing things from others. Had a fall from Cheluva Iyengar's machine. The brake was a little bent." </i>[Machine = Bicycle]</div>
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<i>"5.30 am. Was very slow in my work. After a record is read, it is always necessary to take some time to consider the points to be prominently set forth in the judgment and arrange them. My hurry has to some extent been the cause of my slackness. Obligations make one a slave."</i></div>
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<i>"Be slow to place yourself under the obligations of another person. If possible, never place yourself in that position."</i></div>
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Death of his servant Puttappa is felt. <i> ".... faithful and an obedient servant, never failing in his duty, character found wanting in many a so called educated man."</i></div>
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<i>May 1899.</i></div>
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<i>"Rode on the bicycle from here to Bankipur and back again. Owing to my rashness, I let the machine run into a pit, fell off it, and damaged two of the spokes. Beware of running headlong." </i></div>
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[They were all mud 'tracks' back then!]</div>
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Right page:<i> "Entertained a new servant Nagappa by name. Sudden illness and harshness of the throat, commencing at about 10 a.m." </i></div>
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September, Nagappa dies. He writes: <i>"I am rather unfortunate in my cooks. Both of them were good people and both died. God bless their souls."</i></div>
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This was printed at Krishna Vilas Press here.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoy8dW7soP7mZJgPp2xGyIq74xLSn5UHMuij7FSdrClaoRRUmC0jtjK-1CBtuJMoOzNq7bRCwyNuIkbdF7X-PLkSygZ4WHGdbpuJb_I4nwWV7C8spJub2qYLdj-uWrpBHlnHw6LDhHNPv3/s1600/DSC07634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoy8dW7soP7mZJgPp2xGyIq74xLSn5UHMuij7FSdrClaoRRUmC0jtjK-1CBtuJMoOzNq7bRCwyNuIkbdF7X-PLkSygZ4WHGdbpuJb_I4nwWV7C8spJub2qYLdj-uWrpBHlnHw6LDhHNPv3/s320/DSC07634.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>
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May 1900... he writes "<i>Must have a time-table and must work according to it. Every night half an hour for Kanarese reading and another half an hour general reading. Morning one hour for professional studies and the remainder for writing judgment. This seems to be a fair regulation of work. May I be helped to continue this kind of work." </i></div>
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He probably could not, as there are many blank pages! </div>
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On the left page he regrets having left the 'shed' [may be he was renting it during his job outside Mysore] and on the right, he realzes...<i>"My conduct in leaving the sheds where I was so comfortable and had such excellent company seems inexplicable. The whole of this day my mind was disturbed. Many a time did it strike me why I should not go back to the sheds and be as happy as ever. Blessed be the Dr."</i></div>
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<i>Left page: "Morning spent in cycling. Afternoon wasted in idle work. Wrote to brother regarding the Upanayana of the boy. Mother's wish must be respected. A man can have only one person who can be called by that name."</i></div>
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<i>Left page: "Went out shooting in the morning. Crocodile in the river. Duck - Bagged nothing after all. Felt exhausted in the afternoon. Had a good nap."<br />Right page: It is the last page - December 31, 1900: ".... The apparent natural inclination of all people seems to be to utter a falsehood in all cases in which they think that the speaking of truth is against their interest in some way or other. <b>Good bye to the 19th century.</b>"</i></div>
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Shooting? I did not know that! And what a fuss the world made with "Y2K" - Year 2000! The end of the 19th century passed just like any other day!</div>
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1917 diary. </div>
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In his official capacity Mylar Rao was accompanying the 'guests' to the "Kheddas" - a method they used to trap wild elephants in the forests for taming them - and shooting trips.</div>
Left page: <i>"The Gaekwar went bison shooting today and bagged a good one in no time. Very lucky."</i><br />
Right page: <i>"In the evening, we walked up to the Chirakulli Hill from where we were able to have a good view of the surrounding country. It was one of the signal stations and by means of the telescope kept there, the temple and the bungalow on the Chamundi [hill] were clearly visible. Excitement on account of a wild baby elephant coming away to camp." </i><br />
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[There are some pictures of the Kheddas of those times in our album.]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7EIRPWGIhocXjF0TrXp5NZbi7ydak7gyatBVdZCXIV8pO9pR-ZdvFtMmxq6YnA3FlbWytw5f9j8FpZFtCFBaOYyLcectlI3M9RQTi3C7HrixI6buptV-Ogpor2q5UjfZpguFZeSjitGqk/s1600/DSC07665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1023" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7EIRPWGIhocXjF0TrXp5NZbi7ydak7gyatBVdZCXIV8pO9pR-ZdvFtMmxq6YnA3FlbWytw5f9j8FpZFtCFBaOYyLcectlI3M9RQTi3C7HrixI6buptV-Ogpor2q5UjfZpguFZeSjitGqk/s320/DSC07665.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Left page: "<i>Traveled from Budipadaga back to Mysore. Excitement in camp owing to a wild tusker having come to the crawl. Yesterday the Maharaja shot a tusker and today the Maharani who was unsuccessful in the jungle where she had gone shot in the crawl the tusker which was giving a lot of trouble. Piety among the educated is at a low point."</i></div>
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Right page: <i>"H.H.'s guest Mr. Oomabhai was shewn the Sandal Oil Factory, the Jagan Mohan Palace and the Garage in the morning. In the afternoon, he was taken to Seringapatam and Krishnaraja Sagara. H.H. returned from Budipadaga this day." </i></div>
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[Garage = the Palace Garage where the fleet of Royal Cars were kept.]</div>
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His diary writing had become irregular at times and there were a few blank ones pages of which he used for copying small portions of articles esp. from newspapers [The Hindu] that interested him. This he did after he retired in 1926, but never failed to write his family account, which will be in a separate post.<br /><br />In fact, I did try to imitate this type of diary and account writing for a few years. </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-81901523442516892992017-08-31T08:16:00.001-07:002017-09-01T09:59:35.833-07:00Great Banyan Tree of Kolkata - my chance visit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKf-oW_sXCuQwv2-_YbfXjzqjuZZloUZUcMbg4vukFFoOEU_qOhKGvkSfKKSxRRzIRgFBCwqJHLSyPw9O5ZWbFiyYyprGwMF4geWD2uN1ebhL98ymMWRZZdiHi8DvkG32BcQcygy_WaTii/s1600/DSC02290+%2528Large%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1024" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKf-oW_sXCuQwv2-_YbfXjzqjuZZloUZUcMbg4vukFFoOEU_qOhKGvkSfKKSxRRzIRgFBCwqJHLSyPw9O5ZWbFiyYyprGwMF4geWD2uN1ebhL98ymMWRZZdiHi8DvkG32BcQcygy_WaTii/s320/DSC02290+%2528Large%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>[Click to enlarge and read the description]</i></div>
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It was a large and heavy pictorial book, "Glimpses of India" published in 1895 [J.H.Furneaux] that served as the 'attraction' in my very young days when mother used to push little morsels of food into a fussy me. Some of the partly torn and food-stained pages stand testimony to this memory. During spare time when I grew up also, I used to turn the pages of this beautiful historical, illustrated book containing invaluable information and rare scenes of India. One particular photograph, out of many, was to induce great wonderment, that of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Banyan">'Great Banyan Tree, Calcutta'</a>. [Read statistics and history here] See picture from that book above. It was too huge to be believed because the banyans I had seen here were nothing compared to its sheer volume. </div>
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<i>This Banyan Tree was on Jhansi Lakshmi Bai Road. The dangling aerial roots close to the footpath was a beautiful and popular play thing for the children and I used to swing a few times while our family passed by on foot. It was great fun. In 2014, it was sad to see it had fallen down due to high winds.</i></div>
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The Great Banyan at the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acharya_Jagadish_Chandra_Bose_Indian_Botanic_Garden">Botanical Gardens</a> was in distant Calcutta [now Kolkata]. Would I ever see it? There was no such thing as a 'bucket list' for me way back then. My employment and being a member of the official cricket team brightened the chances of various tours to different parts of India Kolkata was a possibility, even if remote. For my desire to reach fruition, the tournament had to be in Kolkata or in one of the venues to which we had to pass onward through this big city, which was the capital of India till 1911. </div>
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In 1990, the tournament was in Kolkata, but no time. Again, passing through to Dhanbad [Bihar] via Kolkata, no time. In 1999, it was in Durgapur [also in West Bengal], on 'knock-out' format. Undeservedly, our team got knocked out on the first day itself. It was the most awful feeling for all of us after our arduous journey that took four days, instead of two!! Floods in the east coast had damaged railway lines and a linking bridge. We had to reach Vijayawada by road - a long and energy sapping journey - to catch the train rescheduled to start from that point onward. Losing the first match was like adding salt to the wound! As if it was not enough, the arrangement for team stay was pathetic to make matters worse. It was difficult to imagine living there for 3 more days with no further purpose at all. We could not alter our railway booking in those days as easily as now. So, me and my team mate Ram Sharma thought of escaping to Kolkata, three and half hours away, which was from where our train back home was to start. By then the rail track was ready for traffic. Ram Sharma wanted to see his cousin in Kolkata and agreed to tag me along to the historic city. We got the tickets from the organizers and the next day we were away from the dreadful place, leaving the others [most of them card-players] behind. </div>
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Ram Sharma's cousin after hosting us overnight, arranged a taxi for us to visit places which we wished. Both of us found out that we desired to go to the Botanical Gardens particularly to see the Great Banyan! Similar likes, what luck! Those were still the film camera days. I had not taken mine along, also Ram. Would I regret?</div>
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Walking through some of the vast spaces in this beautiful 1797- founded, 109 - hectare gardens housing 12,000 perennial species of plants was a great thrill with a sense of fulfillment! The size of this Great Banyan had been reduced compared to the book image above. I learnt that a good part of it had been damaged by great cyclones in the past. If you have read the description shown in the old pre-1895 picture, its volume can be vizualized when the tree's coverage was at its maximum before being hit by cyclones. The authorities have protected it by supporting the hundreds of branches, many precariously weak, appropriately. </div>
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Ram Sharma was as delighted and stunned as I was being dwarfed by the sheer vastness. Satisfied, we went about the day and the next, visiting a few other places also, including Dakshineshwar, Victoria Memorial, Rabindra Setu and doing a bit of shopping, before joining the team at the railway compartment on our return journey.</div>
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<i>[One portion of the 1.89 hectare, 330-metre circumference Great Banyan, image from Wikipedia]</i></div>
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I was lucky to have Ram Sharma along for this unexpected little tour, putting the forgettable loss in the game and preceding journey tensions and troubles behind, to fulfill this little dream of getting under the branches of this Great Banyan Tree. Superstitions about the Banyan Tree [associated with Yama, the Lord of Death] apart, thousands throng to see this imposing 250+ year old [its exact age has not been clearly known] living object. <br />
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In 2010, we played a match in the ground attached to "The Banyan Tree School"! Wondered why the name as there was no Banyan Tree in the area.<br />
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Long later, when digital cameras invaded the world, I was to collect several images of the Banyans in and around our own city. </div>
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See the album here:<a href="https://get.google.com/albumarchive/115428932121432376795/album/AF1QipNCaju7V4PP6u-GDHyhoULozfdmsN_QOJrH-r7t"> [Click]</a> </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-62497777673462618802017-06-12T21:52:00.000-07:002017-06-12T21:59:04.372-07:00My friend Venkataramana<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtjNe5Hn9fhGc_yVoU2tCnErm85_dq4K4h8EJBrqaGCtUvGEOYeJfl2XodjY557Zd_tjS_vvEC4HpNElZTLjieKQrnuTf6YyE4sW072zt2CswHfbaalYncrfXh0e8_oUSTjbLjKZuGOPF/s1600/IMG_20151204_143919385+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtjNe5Hn9fhGc_yVoU2tCnErm85_dq4K4h8EJBrqaGCtUvGEOYeJfl2XodjY557Zd_tjS_vvEC4HpNElZTLjieKQrnuTf6YyE4sW072zt2CswHfbaalYncrfXh0e8_oUSTjbLjKZuGOPF/s200/IMG_20151204_143919385+-+Copy.jpg" width="150" /></a>Early to mid seventies scenario, old locality of Chamarajapuram. After school in the evening, all the children would be on the street, playing various games on or across it. Opposite our house was Capt. Srikantaiah's. With him was a teen aged boy who answered to the name of Venkatesh. His actual name was Venkataramana. He had been summoned from his town of Sringeri to help in various chores for the elderly Captain, his wife [with chronic back problem] and her old parents [who were 'founders' of what was the "Liver House"]. They also had engaged an elderly lady, Sarojamma to do the cooking. Venkatesh was from a humble family, probably known to the Capt. It is likely that his parents had removed him from school unable to meet expenses for his schooling. Both Venkatesh and Sarojamma were 'part of that family' and both resided with them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifh_-dtV5T4M7mPxqwsufWVmsBgRFyDAJZALEZiyi6YRXuOIyp4Qw7uEr0MzOSUrfFMdSwHBcTKw-GMS9if-PcFKvvJ2DYAmq1nK4aemQwmz9BBA8eeLrkcoDtR-NDJ9A9bW0B0snoLzV9/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+6132017+101026+AM.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="271" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifh_-dtV5T4M7mPxqwsufWVmsBgRFyDAJZALEZiyi6YRXuOIyp4Qw7uEr0MzOSUrfFMdSwHBcTKw-GMS9if-PcFKvvJ2DYAmq1nK4aemQwmz9BBA8eeLrkcoDtR-NDJ9A9bW0B0snoLzV9/s200/Fullscreen+capture+6132017+101026+AM.bmp.jpg" width="92" /></a>Wearing a white dhoti is typical for boys from Sringeri, a very orthodox temple town. Venkatesh wore it too. He would fold the dhoti at the knee and tuck it at the waist to facilitate running when a ball came towards him and sometimes when the ball came the dhoti would loosen at the waist and unfold at the wrong time. It was a funny sight to see him attend to the priority of tying it up at the same time he had to run to the ball! All other local boys wore knickers. The boys teased him for it without hurting him.<br />
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The Captain was the son-in-law of one Dr. Rama Shastry who had his own formula to treat young children for 'liver issues' and hence "Liver House" was a landmark for the street for several years which even the tongawallas and autorickshaws knew. They are our distant relatives too. The doors were open in those days and we were free to enter other houses for any trivial thing almost at any time. Very homely and social atmosphere prevailed in the neighbourhood, a typical Mysore thing of those days. <br />
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When I was free I went looking for Venkatesh asking him if he too was free for play. If not, I would just be there watching him do his work or if there was nothing, we just chit-chatted. He was also being helped by the Captain's family to study school books. He later passed his 10th in private examinations. <br />
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There came a time that ended his stay, may be 2-3 years with the Captain. He was to go back to his parents. By this time, our friendship had developed, as he was my age, or so I had believed. Before he left, I had given my address so that we could exchange postcards. <br />
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A few years passed and one fine day, there came his postcard, from Bangalore, updating his progress. About the same time, I had our club's league match there and I had written back about this. The day after the match I went in search of his new place, which was close to the Race Course. <br />
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I reached the location, a big house, which was of a 'big lawyer'. The Race Course area is considered a porsche locality. Venkatesh had been allotted a small outhouse to live. His expression of pure joy when he saw me stand in front of his door really defies words! I still recall this vividly. I was also very happy to know he was being helped by the kind lawyer to make a career. He had been brought there for possible help from Venkatesh's family friend, one Iyer who visited Sringeri [also his parents]. He revealed this on my request recently. He said he was also attending typing classes at that time. Thereafter we kept exchanging letters once in a while.<br />
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His typewriting skills had found him a job in the state govt. and still continues to work there. I had visited his rented house once from where he had also taken me to the small plot which he bought from his earnings. When the invitation for his house warming ceremony came a couple of years later, it was honoured. He is an example of how people can rise from humble beginnings to reach a stage where one can live life in a very contented manner, through simplicity, hard work and honesty. It heartens to note he is doing comfortably in life being able to give good education to his two children, now grown up and I learn that Venkatesh is one year older than me! It is so heartening to see him live a contented, busy and good life. His generous attitude, simplicity, honesty, hard working nature, sociability and friendliness would have helped in what he is today.<br />
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Last year Venkatesh visited Mysore for some wedding and called that he cannot come home for want of time. I went across to where he was to meet him for two minutes. Photo at the top taken during that little occasion. <br />
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From postcard to cell phone,<br />
our contact<br />
is in tact.<br />
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<i>"A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth." ~ Charles Darwin</i></div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-72816549730716333182017-03-31T23:35:00.002-07:002017-04-01T22:09:59.598-07:00Family Priests through four generations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0ZJgw6Ca1WQ1qgBJLKkAKg084MEKVC7H35H2_CRQ6LdWJczjl3WzySnM3oXlps69Mefl2V0bz29zUCxGFSSNVg_kKBnRVONlqaHcabwisGD9CoMvfEKuQICnY4tKQP7702s90FBSYCDm/s1600/Shaligram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0ZJgw6Ca1WQ1qgBJLKkAKg084MEKVC7H35H2_CRQ6LdWJczjl3WzySnM3oXlps69Mefl2V0bz29zUCxGFSSNVg_kKBnRVONlqaHcabwisGD9CoMvfEKuQICnY4tKQP7702s90FBSYCDm/s200/Shaligram.jpg" width="170" /></a>Most Hindu families, like ours, have grown through religious traditions and customs followed over generations. Worship of the family deity etc. was part of the daily activities besides the festival days, which are also many in the calendar. The specially allotted worship room is maintained with great sacredness. It is a strong rule that if the family had a 'Saligrama stone' it had to be worshiped with a water ritual [ಅಭಿಷೇಕ] regularly. If male members of the family, in spite of knowing the rituals cannot do it due to their study or work routines, a priest was employed to carry out these on behalf, for a monthly fee.</div>
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When I was young, it was priest <b>Puttaramaiah</b> who was coming on a regular basis. A tall, lean man whose house was more than a mile away in Jayanagar from where he used to walk barefoot every morning, in clean loin cloth [a second one to cover his chest], holy ash on his forehead and usually white-hair stubs. The first to wake up at home was my grandmother, at five a.m. She would quickly finish the ablutions and make ready the worship room and then prepare for cooking as my father used to have his first meal early at quarter to eight before he left for work. Puttaramaiah used to come around quarter past eight or half past. </div>
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Puttaramaiah was not extraordinarily equipped with the knowledge of the Vedas. But he could smoothly do simple ಶೋಡಷೋಪಚಾರ ಪೂಜೆ. His mantra chantings, ringing the bell, the smell of camphor and incense burning were part of the morning air. My mother or aunt would pluck flowers [Barleria - ಸ್ಪಟಿಕ, Jasmine - ಮಲ್ಲಿಗೆ, Night Jasmine - ಪಾರಿಜಾತ, Crape Jasmine - ನಂದಿ ಬಟ್ಟಲು, Hibiscus - ದಾಸವಾಳ] from the garden for worship. A lady seller brought betel leaves, required for the rituals, from ಎಲೆ ತೋಟ.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOG1Jm3yFftEVJx5k5ntZ0_TzzLT4fqVGqdbOyOvZZLsgurxzOMP5MK_MhX_mbX7VJA2C9_ZN-SwzYAHzECysvpdHCvmnZXxloNfWCdXlkdcXsZjvBWBXfWaoXWVfnrVSvePYfALF8lsW/s1600/P1230412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOG1Jm3yFftEVJx5k5ntZ0_TzzLT4fqVGqdbOyOvZZLsgurxzOMP5MK_MhX_mbX7VJA2C9_ZN-SwzYAHzECysvpdHCvmnZXxloNfWCdXlkdcXsZjvBWBXfWaoXWVfnrVSvePYfALF8lsW/s200/P1230412.JPG" width="130" /></a>Puttaramaiah would do the ಅಭಿಷೇಕ to the 'Saligrama stone' and this 'charged water' [ತೀರ್ಥ] would be served at the end of the ಪೂಜೆ [worship routine] along with camphor flame [ಮಂಗಳಾರತಿ] to the members available. In between he would have extracted paste from sandal wood pieces, both yellow and black varieties. The male members were to apply the black paste on their forehead. My grandfather would return from his morning office work and have his meal at quarter past ten before he went to the Court at eleven. Before the meal, it was a must that he took ತೀರ್ಥ and apply that paste [see photo] as a dot on the forehead. Every meal is viewed as God's gift [ಪ್ರಸಾದ] and that dot also indicated that he has had his meal. That is the custom. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr07nIUCeG9XRAbVJPAtjpJGMZ4ZqYFYpdMzh1D_i6tCNtlFaCi0dBF-6hwmxmQyJ2gFmsEqNrvVnYdWHOS0z2_wgfAWnnuFtZ1GvnY7r-5Om-AQMRoH7RIN02TVfYpM-P4Y6hr0CYKzib/s1600/God+Room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr07nIUCeG9XRAbVJPAtjpJGMZ4ZqYFYpdMzh1D_i6tCNtlFaCi0dBF-6hwmxmQyJ2gFmsEqNrvVnYdWHOS0z2_wgfAWnnuFtZ1GvnY7r-5Om-AQMRoH7RIN02TVfYpM-P4Y6hr0CYKzib/s320/God+Room.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>The 'worship room' we had in our house at Devaparthiva Road where Puttaramaiah used to come. See the large piece of vintage sandalwood under the Mantapa. It serves decades!</i></div>
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The photo below is during the 60th birthday of my grandfather in 1956. You can see him along with other 'lesser priests' assisting the main priest [seen extreme left] in the ritual of pouring water. To his left is the priest whom he had succeeded.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQiTTTq9r2SKkArOn9Q6-lwRhpeCSUThPLteNv-LzLX5NOjp64Sf85eMtzFFxYUTYj_ii9QBJPt0hkD2VXX7w5ENnx0pMBNItDK-ykqQAMjM5bRxGmDfSMOSYcmSoy5lBwdzYxZS0ZpdX/s1600/DSC07544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQiTTTq9r2SKkArOn9Q6-lwRhpeCSUThPLteNv-LzLX5NOjp64Sf85eMtzFFxYUTYj_ii9QBJPt0hkD2VXX7w5ENnx0pMBNItDK-ykqQAMjM5bRxGmDfSMOSYcmSoy5lBwdzYxZS0ZpdX/s320/DSC07544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Closer view.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxUAa0rO45VtaUSz8ZcQidgwpmzBn_ic1gcomN8C1Zew64NjAdQ-hn4c7fH8oewuDeu2NsCsSVptqrYrO15fck1jdbNeF8Q-XME6WVi6cYDq3Af8UWS4HNU1O0R9MA-nn0nwqxoI4B8GV/s1600/DSC07545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxUAa0rO45VtaUSz8ZcQidgwpmzBn_ic1gcomN8C1Zew64NjAdQ-hn4c7fH8oewuDeu2NsCsSVptqrYrO15fck1jdbNeF8Q-XME6WVi6cYDq3Af8UWS4HNU1O0R9MA-nn0nwqxoI4B8GV/s320/DSC07545.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Puttaramaiah became old and could no longer continue his priesthood from late 70s. He went to Bangalore to live under the care of his son till his end. So someone had to do the rituals here. At this time, another priest, <b>Ramaswamy Shastri</b>, who had also been coming for other special occasions even before Puttaramaiah's time had met with an accident. He was well versed in the Vedas, so was too busy to come daily. He had nominated his young son who was still a novice to help us. He came for some months managing his school time for a few days a week until he too felt difficult. Brother took this up for some time. </div>
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Puttaramaiah's predecessor was <b>Narayana Shastri [N]</b>. He had been coming since my father's young days in the late 1920s. Photo below is of the same 1956 occasion as above. See 'N' facing the camera. Young Ramaswamy Shastri [R] is seated next to a renown Sanskrit and Veda Pundit Gundavadhani [G] whose house was a stone's throw away from ours. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RM_sNjY1yfbgrMZzykZ1DXkpYaYJbDCo4-ybE4fZSf5xSl1cRS3AFliQAi57WlI-Q1EOVfXEvYrKOozn1_JTFUx47iRUFu4K4DYDGZ5g26cZJJ5MM_35GGmtNWt-iyoRX_VUuudkLDYM/s1600/DSC07543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RM_sNjY1yfbgrMZzykZ1DXkpYaYJbDCo4-ybE4fZSf5xSl1cRS3AFliQAi57WlI-Q1EOVfXEvYrKOozn1_JTFUx47iRUFu4K4DYDGZ5g26cZJJ5MM_35GGmtNWt-iyoRX_VUuudkLDYM/s320/DSC07543.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Narayana Shastri sported a thin tuft at the back of his head. It was tied into a knot. He must have been connected to one of the temples of Mysore Palace. He lived in a very small humble house near the Palace, behind where the present JSS building is. He was a widower and lived with his daughter, separated by her husband. Her brother was an electrician and lived on his own earnings. It was not a secret that they fought on trivialities and lived separately.</div>
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His voice was not pleasing but distinct with a little crackle and a bit hoarse. He was a short-tempered and impatient character which might have had a negative impact on his humble profession. Making ends meet was tough for him and that had probably made him a little greedy to expect more and he was not shy to ask straight. He was employed for the post death ceremonies of my grandfather in 1976 and I remember the occasion when an umbrella was donated to him had passed a comment that it was not good, much to the displeasure of my grandmother! Knowing him for decades it did not surprise her.<br />
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A couple of years after my father died in 1981, Narayana Shastri was engaged to do the annual ceremonies which I did. Age had been catching upon him. Then Ramaswamy Shastri used to be engaged after he had recovered from that accident but he was not the same. He was also getting weaker. Gradually, he 'retired' from such work as his son had also grown up and his family was reasonably comfortable.</div>
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Narayana Shastri became old and frail. But he managed to come as long as he could, occasionally, to our house asking for financial help as even a meal was difficult for him and his daughter. Priesthood of those days were different and difficult, unless one was qualified in the Vedas. One day we heard the bad news that he had died. His daughter was alone and she continued to visit certain brahmin houses she knew and we would give her a small sum to keep her going. She had managed a small room somewhere to live and slowly she too vanished. </div>
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Ramaswamy Shastri used to come on his green Raleigh bicycle from his house near Anathalaya [Devamba Agrahara]. He was much above the level of ordinary priests in several aspects. So he was called for special occasions. He also had a busy schedule. Any call from "Subba Rao family" [grandfather], he never hesitated to agree to come, unless he had very important engagements. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYt2ht-R_x9ZIbnd_i6aMfyMRKxLAVY4Ze8fZjEYybA4jrdEmrRvR-ucBWhmi8FsEbBEqvZP1zTh4zQmRqPhjaOZLOeaICzseS2hs3YhaTLQv_iAJ7aNj2C4dDIG2JkPjY46me_RouNbm4/s1600/DSC07550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYt2ht-R_x9ZIbnd_i6aMfyMRKxLAVY4Ze8fZjEYybA4jrdEmrRvR-ucBWhmi8FsEbBEqvZP1zTh4zQmRqPhjaOZLOeaICzseS2hs3YhaTLQv_iAJ7aNj2C4dDIG2JkPjY46me_RouNbm4/s200/DSC07550.JPG" width="159" /></a>Ramaswamy Shastri was another tall, bespectacled man possessing a personality one had to respect just by a look. And his voice was a very special one, deep, loud and resonant, which surely must have been trained by his long experience in chanting the Vedas. His pronunciation of mantras was crystal clear, a true joy to listen. It still reverberates in my mind. For the Sacred Thread Ceremony [ಉಪಾಕರ್ಮ] annually, he was the main priest who conducted this - it was a mass event as people from the street also came - fine days that people cherish even now! He was also the one who conducted the 70th year birthday celebration of my grandfather in 1966. Picture below. The rhythm in which he shook the bell was something wonderful. </div>
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On that occasion, I find in this photo, all the 4 priests who succeeded one another are in this single frame! N, P, R and S.</div>
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<b>Shankaranarayana Bhat </b>[S] was the son of the priest at Sri Prasanna Vishweshwara Temple at Gita Road since 1940s and lived in the out house provided behind the temple. He had been coming for many of our family events from his younger age also and so had good acquaintance. I will shorten his name to 'Shankar', but we referred him as ಭಟ್ಟ್ರು. He was another great priest of high repute, had attained fine knowledge of the Vedas and knew the traditions and customs very well. </div>
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Shankar's forte was his knowledge of Sanskrit, the Vedas, the traditions. He was also a Yoga exponent, sported a finely shaped body, large lungs and sinewy biceps. As a young boy I used to see him in awe. His conducting the activities was par excellence, despite his temper which people knew was due to workload stress in his later years. So he was never mistaken. His voice again was special, pronunciation proper and clear to the sound the mantras meant. He got angry if someone mispronounced some word and corrected it then and there and warned that the meaning would change, with an explanation.</div>
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In the 1970s the onus of the temple rituals fell on Shankar after his father died of old age.</div>
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Shankar had yielded to our slight compulsion to do the daily ritual in our house despite his busy morning engagements at the temple. But when managing time became too tricky he substituted his son Prasad. He too felt tight on time as he was also working. </div>
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In 1998 I had moved to our ancestral house in Lakshmipuram. Shankar was the one who did the customary rituals before we moved in. </div>
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<i>Worship room at the Lakshmipuram house. This portion of the house is also history now. </i></div>
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Shankar's 'enlarged heart condition' had become worse and felt too weak to honour all requests, but by then, he had his son Prasad trained, up to a level. Shankar's end had created a big void esp. in the temple. </div>
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He was my favourite after Ramaswamy Shastri and was the last one whom we engaged, also to do my father's death ceremonies annually until he was fit.</div>
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Gradually, situations changed in the family and observing father's death ceremony was also taking a different shape. In the meantime, the Saligrama stones also could not be attended to by any. It is believed that if it is kept at home, it has to be taken care of by rituals. So it was given away to his temple in his lifetime itself. </div>
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Priesthood demands honesty in their lives too. They are supposed to and not to do certain things. It is with great pleasure to have known that all the priests mentioned above were sincere and lived up to the expectations in that regard.</div>
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<b>This post is a tribute to their honesty, wholehearted and invaluable service they have rendered to our family at various times honouring our requests during occasions both auspicious and otherwise. We were fortunate to have had such ones.</b><br />
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Recorded mantras started to become available in cassette tapes [now CDs] to assist. "E-priest!" But nothing can surpass the physical resonance of a priest's chants. I silently miss these great humble men. </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-10736348298157894692017-03-13T21:16:00.000-07:002017-03-14T21:58:19.244-07:00Audio Cassette tapes - now only memories!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjynFEZ3o3onDEUdtmuO6Zt3qodH3kC2cDQAz7SUBX6M2_cPYMYnLpFAgp3mROK9eWL1DBCdHakuqrge6yM0Z8oh4fOsiIgKwjORS-b07rkOBgJFLQSBL_XJxgPNd9FgvbH5-qdf7SrnFy/s1600/P1430008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjynFEZ3o3onDEUdtmuO6Zt3qodH3kC2cDQAz7SUBX6M2_cPYMYnLpFAgp3mROK9eWL1DBCdHakuqrge6yM0Z8oh4fOsiIgKwjORS-b07rkOBgJFLQSBL_XJxgPNd9FgvbH5-qdf7SrnFy/s1600/P1430008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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In the 1980s and 90s when we so dearly recorded, collected, protected and stored cassette tapes, we did not imagine them being forced to extinction only 20-30 years later. Millions have done that globally and built cassette libraries in their homes containing rare audios, music and whatnot. <i>Computers are doing everything now.</i> So what did the geeks do to soothe the worries and save those audios trapped in cassettes for 'eternity'? They found out ways of converting those golden possessions into digital formats like MP3, etc. In other words, 'digitizing', using computers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxuiqsvNNyFl7bBblUPu4EazYaXkgDMJuQud3E4aJLir2sI1fNDgqiCa-9CGdCyIAQrErVMgltCocGCvTwe_nzyjhYdGT-l-ipOgLdmEOPFPLoly52tYgJJ0wrfs5KD93blQotypKVSFy/s1600/P1370700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxuiqsvNNyFl7bBblUPu4EazYaXkgDMJuQud3E4aJLir2sI1fNDgqiCa-9CGdCyIAQrErVMgltCocGCvTwe_nzyjhYdGT-l-ipOgLdmEOPFPLoly52tYgJJ0wrfs5KD93blQotypKVSFy/s320/P1370700.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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My music collection - mainly of old Hindi and Kannada movie songs. All of them were selected and got recorded, paying a fee of Rupees twenty for each cassette, almost the same as the cost of the cassette. </div>
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Music and song clips from movies are available on the Web but none can recreate the original golden memories of relatives and kids whose voices in speech or song were recorded on 'magnetic tapes' housed in cassettes. The main danger is of the record players going into oblivion faster than the tapes themselves. Manufacture of cassette players and spare parts have stopped already.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7qH106v7B3iQlYIn4HYEiK8zMcHD27_3u9eamOqv5BZjhxAhNGH9ieLwWIBUNZjNLb79HIAdRa36OVVcgJvtganVMSXerrfEdcrJZsbKuYAs1kMQoBlbTnZa-5MF2tLUJVF_XRsOrDFL/s1600/P1500517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7qH106v7B3iQlYIn4HYEiK8zMcHD27_3u9eamOqv5BZjhxAhNGH9ieLwWIBUNZjNLb79HIAdRa36OVVcgJvtganVMSXerrfEdcrJZsbKuYAs1kMQoBlbTnZa-5MF2tLUJVF_XRsOrDFL/s320/P1500517.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now the only option left for those who want to preserve their beloved audios is to 'digitize', sooner than later. If the cassette player/recorder stops working, it is the end of it due to danger of non-availability of spares.</div>
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Even a decade ago people had started to digitize tapes, but due to software cumbersomeness many could not do it easily. Magnetic tapes have a life and if we keep them beyond their time, we may not be able to reproduce the sound at all. Luckily, I have my dear cassette player whose 'playing head' is still in order. I replaced the rubber belt of the motor myself. It had gone brittle over time and being idled. I was able to digitize some of my rare tapes. How did this start off? </div>
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One day I was having an informal chat with my friend Krishna Rao who was heading the computer section [at the workplace]. A computer geek - because he was the first one in the early 80s to get trained in 'computers'. Having known my interests he raised the subject of digitizing old audios. He was in delight telling me how he had digitized his mother's songs in her own voice from two very rare and <i>special wax-coated gramophone plates,</i> which have been saved by him with great effort. They were recorded in 1953.<br />
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Rao then introduced me to a user-friendly software called 'Audacity' <a href="http://audacity.sourceforge.net/">[click]</a>, a downloadable freeware to digitize audio to MP3, etc. On first look, it looks complicated, but with a bit of guidance which is also available on the web, one can do it quite easily. For me, Krishna Rao provided that initially. In fact, he digitized one cassette tape containing the only recording of my late aunt playing on the Veena [stringed musical instrument]. She was a good artiste. Later, I was able to digitize using 'Audacity' a few rarest sounds of my tiny tots from cassette tapes. </div>
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So let's get going! <br />
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-75389826309577941322016-12-24T10:29:00.001-08:002022-09-30T07:51:26.686-07:00Aahkshhooo! The Sneeze<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My father was a rather loud sneezer. And he has passed it on. When he sneezed sometimes, my grandmother would get rattled and there was a comment from my mother or aunt. So he used to demonstrate [with an unreal sneeze] how his colleague Mr. Dastur's sneezed... just an almost unheard funny sound near his vocal chord! That was another extreme.</div>
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In my workplace room we were three. My colleague Manju was my competitor which rattled the lady colleague who sometimes got angry but did not show it. She would tell us <i>"Why don't you tell me just before it was coming, cannot you control it?"</i> We always told her <i>"I'd love to, but there was no time for that, Madam."</i> When my sneeze happened loudly most of the time, it would get the appreciation from Manju and when he performed better, I would praise him profusely and wait for the reaction of the lady. At times she would not be there. <i> "She would have got really angry at that one!" </i>we would look at each other and imagine. </div>
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Yes, sometimes we know it is coming. It develops slowly, but we are busy enjoying the beautiful work going inside the nostril - the moment cannot be missed. Our eyes are half closed and the mouth half open - someone who is nearby can make out from the face that a sneeze is brewing up! "A...aa.a.aaaa....." But then, all of a sudden, it explodes ".... Kshooeee! </div>
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I am on my scooter, when the <b>'Ahckshoo'</b> happens. People look in my direction with what-was-that-sound look. There is that something that tickles that one tiny part in the nostrils. There are mischievous youngsters who have troubled their room-mates in the hostel tickling with a piece of thinly rolled paper or thread in the nostrils while they are asleep! </div>
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My other colleague Murthy used to present his sneeze whenever we wanted, free. We would ask for one esp. when we went out of the building into the sun on our way to the canteen, a furlong away. Murthy used to say <i>"Okay, wait, take this?"</i> He would look towards the sun blinking in a funny way, his facial muscles contracting weirdly, then <b>"Aksheeee",</b> not loud, but a normal one. Then a smile. He had this knack of getting the Sun to tickle that something in his nostril. I think we can do it too, it is somewhat psychosomatic! They say the sun can trigger a sneeze. But nothing can beat Soapnut powder. Just open a box of it and take the nose close! ...Or snuff for that matter. </div>
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At home I also get comments on the loud sneeze. What to do, it is my nature, I argue! <i>"Can't you control yourself and let it out softly?"</i> There we go, same request! I try to be musical dividing the sneeze into two sounds with different pitch and even end up with a long drag, but still they are not impressed!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYr5BX-voTtpv359CNH3XkO_TfRtj-Lp823bcV5zEz5vvQwTT6SQdQQJuz8x8IYzfyiPGd-xF0_0jV4V1_m10OhNu51TZOXxZl7HI3OTrYFnO5umb1F5o5lq0dSx-L0d5s-fUCUaT8h9C/s1600/Bus.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYr5BX-voTtpv359CNH3XkO_TfRtj-Lp823bcV5zEz5vvQwTT6SQdQQJuz8x8IYzfyiPGd-xF0_0jV4V1_m10OhNu51TZOXxZl7HI3OTrYFnO5umb1F5o5lq0dSx-L0d5s-fUCUaT8h9C/s200/Bus.jpg" width="200" /></a>The best and my most effective sneeze happened in 1995. Our cricket team was traveling in a bus from Trichy to Kumbakonam. Most of us, including me were in the back seat where the door was. All was well until there was a great explosion. I still do not know myself from where it came and how it came, in such suddenness! <b>It was my sneeze!! </b> Our eyes always close the moment the sneeze happens and the moment my eyes opened, I saw people in front of me turning in the direction of explosion asking <i>"Yenna, yenna adu?"</i> in Tamil [What, what was that?] My team mates who were near me were also aghast with a "What-happened-look." The explosion had even shocked the driver who pushed the brake and almost stopped. Everyone soon realized it was just a loud sneeze and not a bomb. They told the driver <i>"Vannu ille, vannu ille, po, po"</i> [Nothing, nothing, go on, go on.]. My team mates started laughing but it was no laughing matter for me. It was the first sneeze of tens that signaled the onset of a bad cold!! Luckily, I played in all the matches [all six days of half day each] and even contributing well to the team's fine performance, despite the tiredness [being young] and the hot weather there. The cold ran its normal duration. My sneeze did not break the Guinness record for the loudest! May be some other time!</div>
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At home when someone sneezed once, my grandmother immediately told <i>"Shathayushi"</i> [Live a hundred years] and then waited for the second one to follow. If it did, then she would tell <i>"PoorNaayushi"</i> [Full life]. Somewhat the equivalent of <b>"Bless you." </b> One must bless the other with long life when the other sneezes! <i>`Dheergaayushmaan bhava'</i> [Sanskrit]. The sneezer would say 'Excuse me.' as a show of 'good manners', a western tradition. I do not know if the one who farts also asks for an excuse!</div>
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There are several superstitions the sneeze is tagged with. One sneeze is 'bad omen', two is good and so on. They say that a sneeze must not be prevented, but it can be controlled... if there is time! The funny feeling is when we know a sneeze is brewing slowly and is about to come but just wanes away! Then we give the nose a good rub! </div>
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<i>Wikipedia says: A sneeze, or sternutation, is a semi-autonomous, convulsive expulsion of air from the lungs through the nose and mouth, usually caused by foreign particles irritating the nasal mucosa. The function of sneezing is to expel mucus containing foreign particles or irritants and cleanse the nasal cavity.</i></div>
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<i>The air from a human sneeze can travel at speeds of 100 miles per hour or more -- another good reason to cover your nose and mouth when you sneeze -- or duck when you hear one coming your way. </i></div>
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Cartoons show dentures flying away on the sneeze! Seriously, those who wear should be careful.</div>
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Enjoy this short video clip of my favourite comedians: </div>
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AAAAH.........CCHHOOOOOO!!!</div>
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Bless you!</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-75959980685713982212016-12-24T06:25:00.002-08:002017-01-02T09:12:55.810-08:00A tribute to Pillai, the Boss. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Hot-tempered, hard working, workaholic bosses are always a pain in the neck esp. for his subordinates in workplaces. More so when the boss himself is a 'Yes Master' and a favourite to his superior! One such, Pillai, headed our department for 15 years till he retired in 2001 much to the relief of many in our department. But then the tiger in him had meowed, nay, mellowed a lot in his last three years in service, thanking and showing 'crocodile appreciation' even for simple tasks completed, gestures never seen from him before! I was one of his targets to show off his official power, but this target was created by the cunning tale-carriers that lurked around! We knew he was good at heart but was disliked for his 'tale-listening ears', tempers and showing 'seat powers'. His ego was high that had prompted one colleague to nickname him as 'Stiffneck', which also went with his 'chin drawn back' postures. </div>
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<i>A pencil cartoon I had made of Pillai. My work is good if the 'stiffneck' is noticed!</i></div>
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"You take retirement and go." said Pillai to one senior colleague Srinivasa Rao during a tiff. This aroused Rao who replied shouting "I will retire you from this world!" This happened in front of the many of us. Pillai then had 20 years of service, Rao had a few left and I was just a few years new. Rao was very happy that he 'gave back' to him something, he being a 'blue eyed boy' in the dept.! Many things like this used to go on. In some years, he was to occupy the 'boss chair'.</div>
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But work went on as usual and these kind of incidents was fun gossip for coffee breaks. He was a jovial person at times, when he was not at work.</div>
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There was a period of tense years where he had made me a target for trivial allegations - the background and something that followed when I felt being at a 'dead end' finds a separate story - in another post: <a href="http://mysoreanmusings.blogspot.in/2009/09/very-bad-english.html">Click here</a>. Freedom and some peace resulted, that changed my ways at the workplace.</div>
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Pillai settled in his Kerala home town immediately after he retired in 2001.</div>
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I had prepared a poem and had presented to him as a 'scroll' for that occasion. The poem lists many of his qualities and was read out by my colleague. Here it is:</div>
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<b><u>THE PILLAI WE KNEW</u></b></div>
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Our Sri Pillai lays down office at the end of March,</div>
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To Sri Prabhu he will pass on the torch.</div>
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As spearhead of TT and B Development,</div>
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He brought laurels for the Institute's betterment.</div>
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His great virtue has been the art of conversation,</div>
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Which fully deserves our appreciation.</div>
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When there was no question of an agreement,</div>
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He outwitted the other in the argument.</div>
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His forte was his courage and wisdom in decision making,</div>
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The speed with which he did so was truly amazing.</div>
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Working with him had been mostly a pleasure,</div>
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The rest of the time it was pure pressure.</div>
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With the pen he was ever ready to sign,</div>
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Many a time, he had to 'draw a line'.</div>
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The bell switch will no longer feel his fretful finger,</div>
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But those typical "ting-ting ting-tings" will always linger.</div>
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The engaged telephone at the other end drew him nuts,</div>
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And his own, suffered from bruises and cuts.</div>
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When situations made us feel his presence,</div>
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We wished for his temporary absence.</div>
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Up until the time he crossed well over fifty,</div>
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He was the Chairman of <i>Doorvas</i> Committee.</div>
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<i>Saviour faire</i> had become one of his top attributes,</div>
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Also to all his other good ones, we pay tributes.</div>
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What we all usually saw was Pillai the taskmonger,</div>
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But the real Pillai happens to be a humdinger.</div>
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Le'im settle at Cochin, Calicut or wherever,</div>
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Let health and happiness be with him and family forever.</div>
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"Colleagues", 29th March, 2001</div>
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* * * * * * </div>
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In May 2016 or dept. got the information that Pillai had passed away. He was 75. <br />
May his soul rest in peace.<br />
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-49167856420481733692016-05-18T03:23:00.002-07:002018-03-13T21:35:44.664-07:00N.S. Sitaram - tribute to a teacher<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On Saturday 14th May, 2016, I passed very close to the house of my high school teacher NSS [N.S.Sitaram] on the way to the market. There were thoughts of stopping by for a minute to say a respectful hello to him. But I did not. I had been longing to meet, pay respects and take his photo, but kept procrastinating. Our houses are not very far apart, may be one kilometre.</div>
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The evening paper of 16th May had this to shock me:</div>
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It was terrible news considering what I failed to do just two days ago. He had died on Sunday.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Sarada Vilas High School [for boys] is an old institution with a very fine reputation through its </span><span style="text-align: left;">dedicated teachers</span><span style="text-align: left;"> who had moulded characters and imparted great knowledge and culture to its pupils, some of whom becoming famous nationally and internationally. </span><br />
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<i>2009 photo of our school. [Click to enlarge]</i></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">NSS was one among the great teachers who had served there for a long period of time and retired as Head Master. </span>My father and uncle were also students in that school around the mid 1940s, but it may be before the time NSS joined. When I joined in 1970, NSS was the Asst. Head Master. When I passed out from 10th, he had succeeded Sri M.N.Lakshminarasimhaiah as Head Master. His signatures are on my Admission Ticket as well as Marks Card. </div>
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NSS came on his bicycle clad in a simple mull-cloth ಕಚ್ಚೆ ಪಂಚೆ [white dhoti], leather sandals, light gray 'close-collared' coat, old but neat, worn on a white, long tailed, full-sleeved shirt, the same length of the coat. His headgear was a black ಟೋಪಿ [stiff cap] and he wore a wrist watch. His fair-face had features one had to appreciate. His eyes required a pair of spectacles for short-sight. The costume was typical of the older generation Mysorean 'school masters'. We were fortunate to have been students of this 'last batch' of them. </div>
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I try to roughly show how NSS appeared. <br />
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<i>[Or did he wear an open collared coat that exposed the two shirt buttons?]</i></div>
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The cardboard headgear used to be like this<i> [without the dark band shown here]:</i><br />
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<i>Click on the image for larger view.</i><br />
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It was a delight to see his writing on the blackboard, the letters forming neatly, equal in size and uniformly white. He held his chalk softly and never seemed to apply any pressure as he wrote sum after sum. It was also something as much appreciated as his teaching.</div>
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NSS' forte was Mathematics, but used to fill in with some English or Science subject occasionally when that teacher was on leave. He used to take Algebra which most students remember for his fine method of making the difficult subject to be understood easily [I admit I was an exception!].<br />
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He was a very lovable and approachable teacher, mild mannered but strict. When NSS walked in there would be silence. He was never armed with a stick for lashing [like MRK], or needed to slap any boy [like KRK] if the homework was not completed or some sum was wrongly answered or someone was not attentive in the class. He would correct it so that the pupil learnt. NSS was never one to get teased or his dhoti pulled by mischievous boys, [we heard they did it to one VSS who also came in a dhoti] but was one who had commanded respect through his dignity and quality as a teacher. Yet, on the lighter side, he had been nicknamed in Kannada for fun, like other teachers' initials also, as <b>ನೊಣ ಸಾಯಿಸೊ ಶೂರ </b>[Fly killing expert] to expand his initials of NSS.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">The last I met NSS was about 5-6 years ago. H</span>e had said "86" when I asked his age. He had been on his walk on Krishnaraja Boulevard when I was on my bicycle on my way home. I had the opportunity to walk with him pushing my bicycle along for a long way, while we talked on a few subjects, also of moral values, teaching standards and the teachers of my time. I had told him I would take him on the scooter to his contemporary PV's house one day. This never happened and PV also passed away last year. He was our history teacher.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">"Wow, our NSS", I used to mentally exclaim on seeing him walk leisurely in front of our house and along the calmer streets in the area, </span>clad in his simple white dhoti and white shirt. At times I went closer to be seen and bowed the head to greet. He had mentioned why he had chosen the time for his walk which was an hour before noon - low density of traffic. I remember him having mentioned of his normal health and kept himself active with a long walk daily. He used to be in my thoughts often, because of some unexplainable, special admiration and impression. He had known my grandfather also. About 10 years ago we wanted to put our daughter for maths tution with him, but it did not work out. I had gone to his house for this and had taken the opportunity to get his blessing by prostrating at his feet as an old student. <br />
Another great old timer now joins light, aged 91.<br />
May his soul rest in peace.<br />
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More school memories are in this separate post: <a href="http://ckcdays.blogspot.in/2007/06/at-sarada-vilas-high-school.html">[Click here]</a>.</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-71921824267539948362016-03-08T22:54:00.001-08:002016-03-08T22:54:48.245-08:00Doing a 'Krishna'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Brothers Krishna and Venkatesh lived [until recently] in their old house that faced the lovely Manuvana Park in Chamarajapuram. It was across the road a hundred feet from 'Chandra Cafe', a popular landmark hotel which served tasty Masala Dosa and flavourful coffee. Our connection since the early 70s was Tennis ball cricket. We played for the same team later. Our house was a hundred yards away, in the parallel road. All of us are around the same age and so we had a good rapport that made us meet often. </div>
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Venky is more fun loving than his elder brother. The short temper of Krishna was well known. He has stopped tennis-ball-cricket matches a few times when he used to get angry in the midst of a game due to disagreement with the umpire's decisions and would walk out frowning, sometimes kicking the stumps in disgust and spoiling the spirit of others that led to abandoning games! Hot blood days!</div>
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In our college days there was lot of time outside of 'study time'. In fact, I cannot say if we had allotted a set hour for 'studies'. In daylight it was some play or other and when it was dark, it was time for chatting, with friends. This has given many enjoyable moments and memories. It used to be in their house premises or ours. <br />
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<i>Venky is in the forefront in 'bell bottom pants', a fad in that era. Photo taken by me during our bicycle trip to Sommathpur in 1981. Krishna had not come.</i></div>
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<i>Facebook grab of Krishna, a smiling one at that - after all, we mellow down with years! I must never forget to mention that he was with me when the first scooter came home. Two decades later he drove our first car home from the showroom, not to mention he was our wedding photographer as well. </i></div>
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<i>He used to meddle things, break, repair and learn. I was fascinated by this because I am of this type! He used to tear apart his bicycle to overhaul it. When he had his scooter, he did the same and later his car. So much was his interest in mechanics that he had a job related to it and continues to be in the same line, with distinction, in a reputed car showroom.</i> </div>
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<i>So do not judge him just because he kicked the stumps and ran home! </i></div>
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It was an evening, post dusk, in the early 80s. Myself and Venky were sitting on the compound wall by the gate of his house, for a chatting session, which was very common in those days. Inside, we had seen Krishna doing some work involving the strongest adhesive known to us, <i>"Araldite"</i>. <br />
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After a long time, Krishna was done with his project. It also meant we had spent that long there! The gate and their main door were separated by a 30-feet walkway. Krishna walks along here, holding a sheet of paper that was used for mixing the adhesive. He was in a bid to dispose it off outside the gate. He approached the left side of the gate to the low compound wall. We were sitting on the other side. Krishna stretches out his hand well away from the compound, flicks his hand to get rid of the thing. Since his fingers were also a little sticky, the paper did not properly detach instantly at the force of the flick. It stuck that little bit longer, wobbled back and fell inside the compound, near his own feet!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiNwBvNbXpqxpypaRjUbkjx-fekqf-gz3h5l2jXYkfOGRNOuTT14xIVXU65lZWX0b0K-JUmSGaLPKQgTGtpg9VTHP0Kmok8BmhmaCh0BM1wHR1bRwfFcJxLt6HLD6rm3XS8JZI3rcAwe-/s1600/Krish.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiNwBvNbXpqxpypaRjUbkjx-fekqf-gz3h5l2jXYkfOGRNOuTT14xIVXU65lZWX0b0K-JUmSGaLPKQgTGtpg9VTHP0Kmok8BmhmaCh0BM1wHR1bRwfFcJxLt6HLD6rm3XS8JZI3rcAwe-/s400/Krish.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinB-vQyPSTbAFJ57U9hJIo18IzyrAxaabMc7gHIeuCg7fagIE7w2_Iie1TlfCCDwrNQ22N8uED0Bvk2V2Mrf4t8qGa5dRAjoJqLZDC4cVinYiXRAfKifQysbzAzJ0z3VkVfdOpqHY_9fXC/s1600/ROFL+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinB-vQyPSTbAFJ57U9hJIo18IzyrAxaabMc7gHIeuCg7fagIE7w2_Iie1TlfCCDwrNQ22N8uED0Bvk2V2Mrf4t8qGa5dRAjoJqLZDC4cVinYiXRAfKifQysbzAzJ0z3VkVfdOpqHY_9fXC/s200/ROFL+%25283%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a>Venky and I were watching this. It was one absolutely funny scene, more because it was involving a character like Krishna. The scene of him feeling annoyed and him having to re-do the act was a very hilarious sight to me and Venky! Krishna achieved his goal, in slow motion as we started to laugh loudly almost instantly! This caused even more irritation to him. Krishna turned towards us and sprayed a few angry words and went back in to wash his hands! <br />
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We laughed and laughed so long that our sides cramped out and we gasped for breath! <br />
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Even now, after about 35 years, myself and Venky recall this scene and still laugh. I have to check with Krishna if he remembers it.</div>
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<i>"Doing a Krishna"</i>: You throw away an object but it boomerangs only to fall back in, all in one action! <br />
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It has happened to me also many times esp. in my garden and I laugh at myself telling "I did a Krishna". It is something like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Run_out">'Doing a Mankad'</a> [wiki link] in cricket. It has become a mode of dismissing a batsman!<br />
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The Krishna scene is so strongly impressed that it seems impossible for it to fade from my memory!</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-1500764785905392302015-11-01T06:59:00.001-08:002015-11-01T07:00:44.359-08:00The 'Black Scissors'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Till the 1980s, my main mode of transportation was my Robin Hood, my late uncle's, an English bicycle which he had bought second hand in 1958. Even now I use it occasionally. It has a Lucifer headlamp [Swiss] and a Miller dynamo.<br />
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One evening in the mid 1980s I was to watch some cultural programme in the workplace auditorium. Before leaving, there was a loose connection at the dynamo terminal to be rectified. I had stripped the wire, rectified the connection and pedaled off happily whistling a song, unmindful of what I had done before leaving home in a hurry.<br />
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<i>The dynamo ['bottle generator'!], lamp at work and my Robin Hood.</i> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilnIgnKH2ap4MYYq7_fp9Fmyr71Dce-SegbAaGV0pGlecP4f86VqM7qzjEMAiJVm25kBUvhHj6BZa_HawT-iwdluh-X2csvW6he5EDqBIOX2wPtALr7E2Ht0o33bOsjI-MvqoweL5DZxj/s1600/P1020703+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgilnIgnKH2ap4MYYq7_fp9Fmyr71Dce-SegbAaGV0pGlecP4f86VqM7qzjEMAiJVm25kBUvhHj6BZa_HawT-iwdluh-X2csvW6he5EDqBIOX2wPtALr7E2Ht0o33bOsjI-MvqoweL5DZxj/s320/P1020703+-+Copy.JPG" width="304" /></a>I was about to enter the campus gate when I heard a very familiar metallic sound behind me as the bicycle wheel passed over a small dent. Familiar, because it makes a noise when it is handled or dropped esp. on hard surfaces. Sound of my favourite 'black scissors' on the road, there? Certainly baffled, I stopped immediately. The thing had fallen to the ground from the 'carrier' behind the saddle. Very miraculously, it had stayed put all the way up to this point, two kilometres, despite the several vibrations our roads offer cyclists! To my great luck, it had got itself tangled firmly on the 'carrier' behind the saddle. That was where I remember to have kept it after stripping the wire sitting near the hind wheel. The little thing 'knew' how much I loved it and never wanted to leave me, so it seemed to call my attention by falling with a tinkle! It was quite unusual of me to have not kept it back its place on my desk after finishing the job. </div>
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The overwhelming relief I got on finding it and that too in such a manner defies description. But I must admit making some funny actions [no one was watching] before keeping it safe in my shirt pocket, in front of my heart, which I kept touching every now and then to reaffirm its presence while watching the cultural programme that ended at 9 pm. I returned home and heaved a sigh of big relief! And a lesson reminded!</div>
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It has always been identified as <b>'Black Scissors" [ಕರಿ ಕತ್ರಿ]. </b>Its colour, size and unappealing appearance is contrary to its performance and utility. Earlier my father used to keep it safe in his drawer. I have seen it all my life and been using for most part of it. Since about 40 years it has been an invaluable tool on my desk and in my rough guesstimate it is with us for another 40, previously! That is how old this heirloom must be! It must always be handy near my desk. Always. My furious side surfaces when I do not find it in its place when I require. It HAS to return to its allotted spot. Others at home know my furious side if they were careless, misplacing, searching and finding it back. The last thing they want to hear from me is "Who has taken my <b>ಕರಿ ಕತ್ರಿ?</b>" </div>
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My <b>ಕರಿ ಕತ್ರಿ </b>can cut a thread, cloth, paper, cardboard, plastic and whatnot. All my hundreds of paper clippings of photos of cricketers to make albums were done with it decades ago. <i>Only I can use this to strip electric wires.</i> I have even used it to cut thin metal sheets for various home projects, before a proper cutter came to me.<br />
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Only twice, in half a century, I have seen it being sharpened, by knife-smiths that came by the street. It seems to retain its sharpness for ever. Such is the quality of steel. I could verify this from the little sparks that flew and the sound it made when the smith held the cutting edges against the grinding wheel.<br />
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It is manufactured by the "Diamond Scissors Co", imprinted on one side.....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbycMWAF45cCR-dEWz0ZeI6sDMmGB6leA-1Fh_hQyLtTXVUOXDj9EYM0XO4G0SfvAizrigxGjX6F0tMxDrcC_RBXsknZ4t_5f-E9pwiTbxUR4jFxzJ0cCPa2wwJXSBChGkTXD7JlY76jOG/s1600/P1020701+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbycMWAF45cCR-dEWz0ZeI6sDMmGB6leA-1Fh_hQyLtTXVUOXDj9EYM0XO4G0SfvAizrigxGjX6F0tMxDrcC_RBXsknZ4t_5f-E9pwiTbxUR4jFxzJ0cCPa2wwJXSBChGkTXD7JlY76jOG/s320/P1020701+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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......Meerut City on the other.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9eqNP5gQGRwlbfa6KnVyi6hogPfu1bCKG0SMvEv0wVwFr7TuCMfIh1TbfQH1_9DAaWBYAjXI8giYPMMx2N6m8klvsZmEZrR1xEZR98K_wqV0JJ_xV0MwIOhK7-U-LHcnKSEfWUzM7hh_/s1600/P1020702+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV9eqNP5gQGRwlbfa6KnVyi6hogPfu1bCKG0SMvEv0wVwFr7TuCMfIh1TbfQH1_9DAaWBYAjXI8giYPMMx2N6m8klvsZmEZrR1xEZR98K_wqV0JJ_xV0MwIOhK7-U-LHcnKSEfWUzM7hh_/s320/P1020702+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Meerut, I understand is a renown place for making knives and scissors, highly durable, with a 360-year old history! I also learn now that Meerut Scissors have recently earned a GI mark! Geographical Indication. <br />
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This marvel scissors is a cut above the rest. <br />
It will and shall never leave me!<br />
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Having just learnt about Meerut's fame, I now gather a few tailoring scissors at home to check. Indeed, they have the Meerut imprint! Three of them, clearly.<br />
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-56686667727890885632015-10-21T22:02:00.000-07:002015-10-21T22:20:42.321-07:00Model T Ford Car of Mylar Rao<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Many decades ago, owners of cars were recognized by their wheeled possessions! "Is it the one who has a car?" The bicycle was a common mode of transport. A car at home reflected the elite status. Even before that, it was the bullock cart or horse cart.</div>
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<i><u>(Do not forget to click on images to get a magnified view)</u></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuEb9_Cslt4jH23nLoZwknqo11zgCYjon1xjec4dZ9wdZSZXhYgoTY_Bd0PiFveWQLrQAm_3pgeAiAf80DoxDhMLqCyzD3bxiyG8AIAcsfGIYVfaEIGtDS5Q6Moyyz7pL5a6qpyaff4PUy/s1600/Cart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuEb9_Cslt4jH23nLoZwknqo11zgCYjon1xjec4dZ9wdZSZXhYgoTY_Bd0PiFveWQLrQAm_3pgeAiAf80DoxDhMLqCyzD3bxiyG8AIAcsfGIYVfaEIGtDS5Q6Moyyz7pL5a6qpyaff4PUy/s640/Cart.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Going by the presence of my grand uncle's teacher peeping in the window of the bullock cart and my grand uncle himself [boy, left] in the horse carriage, I must strongly assume that these belonged to my great grandfather. The same bullock cart's window shutters were later fixed to a storage shelf which sits by my side!</i></div>
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Way back in the 1920s into the 1930s, my great grandfather, Mylar Rao who had risen to be an elite citizen had a car, a "Model T Ford". He could afford a Ford! Those were good days when a rupee could buy a lot and large joint families could run comfortably on a hundred rupee income, which was considered high. Mylar Rao died in 1936 and I learn from uncle Sathya [his memories and hearsay from his young days] that later my grandfather Subba Rao continued to use the Ford for some time before disposing it off, for its frequent trouble and repairs. Sathya recalls that Subba Rao had bought a dark green Morris - with a 'hand brake'. He had to dispose it off as he could no longer afford to sustain. A few things related to the Ford Model T and probably the Morris, still hang around. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMa1o0xdJth0mGu_Bo8iKFKIt32zWyew8lBxIPekg-iG42TbbQBWF6Gv_5staXgxaJW6aTdtUlxZUbdl2QTvJQ_aXBMwNS0AdSJMHbQ5a8mRVghERReJeWJwH0U86hOclM22LTPRcU4-A/s1600-h/P1170371+%28Large%29.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449236982154948594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMa1o0xdJth0mGu_Bo8iKFKIt32zWyew8lBxIPekg-iG42TbbQBWF6Gv_5staXgxaJW6aTdtUlxZUbdl2QTvJQ_aXBMwNS0AdSJMHbQ5a8mRVghERReJeWJwH0U86hOclM22LTPRcU4-A/s200/P1170371+(Large).JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px;" width="161" /></a></div>
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<i>Operation Manual, with full details of parts!</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnuXCw0ygIPC0jNLL_9eMy9DxcCsnkOOpQIMoRwWzbrwXXeOZBb0XLkyvphFLGyhbvBgoJ5o5dMkvwGC_p3MhHqyBe7IizpIUr4AMtYB1UWeK3FSNqHxNnbq1CXAs6ibqZ-5fA4ntKFc/s1600-h/P1170372+%28Large%29.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="146" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449236988639170258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnuXCw0ygIPC0jNLL_9eMy9DxcCsnkOOpQIMoRwWzbrwXXeOZBb0XLkyvphFLGyhbvBgoJ5o5dMkvwGC_p3MhHqyBe7IizpIUr4AMtYB1UWeK3FSNqHxNnbq1CXAs6ibqZ-5fA4ntKFc/s200/P1170372+(Large).JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px;" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>In all probability, it would have been the model shown on top.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0b3ZwnO0Cv99ViG4aZNVhYIe1cTh_oBXFCP4QAW6i4U8PX46Xg1kzU0z8cpS6mChqM_t1_zVNYujuIehERwOuexd09MFWgihuUwGCc-vvGTnMOBKmq4ibNkKUkRR5mQX0h40JXZYuLtk/s1600-h/P1170374+%28Large%29.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="149" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449237008927508722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0b3ZwnO0Cv99ViG4aZNVhYIe1cTh_oBXFCP4QAW6i4U8PX46Xg1kzU0z8cpS6mChqM_t1_zVNYujuIehERwOuexd09MFWgihuUwGCc-vvGTnMOBKmq4ibNkKUkRR5mQX0h40JXZYuLtk/s200/P1170374+(Large).JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px;" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxbjcVJ3Z_I9oud0Vi8NMBkY6V3GA1edvSWJn9lCbmZasxAMhJGdh5RhIAHOIqog8wp2dNYiyXJr0xIZDbvld6w7cigM3OeYXyqzTSFCaYQZTG91PKCytyGaUNeN18Mr4-lAugG6DSuM/s1600-h/P1170373+%28Large%29.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div>
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<i>Parts description.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxbjcVJ3Z_I9oud0Vi8NMBkY6V3GA1edvSWJn9lCbmZasxAMhJGdh5RhIAHOIqog8wp2dNYiyXJr0xIZDbvld6w7cigM3OeYXyqzTSFCaYQZTG91PKCytyGaUNeN18Mr4-lAugG6DSuM/s1600-h/P1170373+%28Large%29.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449236997626746546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxbjcVJ3Z_I9oud0Vi8NMBkY6V3GA1edvSWJn9lCbmZasxAMhJGdh5RhIAHOIqog8wp2dNYiyXJr0xIZDbvld6w7cigM3OeYXyqzTSFCaYQZTG91PKCytyGaUNeN18Mr4-lAugG6DSuM/s200/P1170373+(Large).JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px;" width="125" /></a></div>
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<i>About the book, signature is of some Wajid, may be the mechanic, known to Mylar Rao.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1_qWdfQsLhhHi305MFDoTg-mTJRlAMwiWwS3cqoOxkN2w0nNpqgOSdQu4c_iwvmlKdtnR5n1q4Ya6QARy-21Xc_HpEg614sLNYhxbQfQO_58nF0fcSnwxioxE_jLJGBd9gl3EP7nK0xG/s1600/Desktop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1_qWdfQsLhhHi305MFDoTg-mTJRlAMwiWwS3cqoOxkN2w0nNpqgOSdQu4c_iwvmlKdtnR5n1q4Ya6QARy-21Xc_HpEg614sLNYhxbQfQO_58nF0fcSnwxioxE_jLJGBd9gl3EP7nK0xG/s320/Desktop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>The Shell can (right) was, repurposed for something else. The Mobiloil BB can had unused gear oil </i><i>that had the most awful smell, having stored for decades! I can show how bad it smells! Such cans are listed as antiques and are sold online! </i></div>
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In my great grandfather's diaries, I found these separate accounting entries for petrol purchases. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKo5wvfjd1yNnJW7pR1NzrWDAcHJ9b_VkrCD0sx3K2oCHD90MO7WG2-hAZT0g7k9RpyEP-eUNLOaJKM68eyqPXyYVxtofLh4plSgr0LGOJldawpwWzrFwV74-dHNWccG9hw41w_zCgLO91/s1600/DSC07078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKo5wvfjd1yNnJW7pR1NzrWDAcHJ9b_VkrCD0sx3K2oCHD90MO7WG2-hAZT0g7k9RpyEP-eUNLOaJKM68eyqPXyYVxtofLh4plSgr0LGOJldawpwWzrFwV74-dHNWccG9hw41w_zCgLO91/s320/DSC07078.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Gallon measures. 1929. Page starts with 3 rupees and 15 annas, for 3 gallons. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzkzNxzvQQ07JepGagCDgNWCR-PgFvbr9cTV_jrTDXOj5N5uOqNiEDT1BqWUe6rULtwhd4V61e1ryAVhqUeaytJffeEPGuyA0tGEcDbAiX_OY3Pzig1xFibk-aUhb4qLzrvZAyn526Okk/s1600/DSC07079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzkzNxzvQQ07JepGagCDgNWCR-PgFvbr9cTV_jrTDXOj5N5uOqNiEDT1BqWUe6rULtwhd4V61e1ryAVhqUeaytJffeEPGuyA0tGEcDbAiX_OY3Pzig1xFibk-aUhb4qLzrvZAyn526Okk/s320/DSC07079.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Agent/Supplier's seal for receiving the money. 1930. I learn that S.Vittal Rao & Son, Agents Messrs BEST & Co. Ltd. were the first petrol pump owners in the city. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8upkFbki1DWkWs9Ru-ZKWJdfiGsuHgY5aaAaDpEVdK-kLxpA7QDF6SfwTsA3V6CSGztSc2roE7SHBeF6Ojnbyg5_xvktMkoAcXRsRzbS2CDGTq_Jx-XT_xdPwG81ie-As1gFfaDCgUcld/s1600/DSC07080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8upkFbki1DWkWs9Ru-ZKWJdfiGsuHgY5aaAaDpEVdK-kLxpA7QDF6SfwTsA3V6CSGztSc2roE7SHBeF6Ojnbyg5_xvktMkoAcXRsRzbS2CDGTq_Jx-XT_xdPwG81ie-As1gFfaDCgUcld/s320/DSC07080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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See that every 3-4 days petrol was bought. 1934.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tpxX4jOZw2Owc0kU5Xr3F79tDerLDKBwZ6MjJh4DgMERzvoImuPwcI9-giWZqDW2tBIR0-o35grgIIDvkC5hrHYX9CZny3kBij_6tIwATVsRqtpjj06qlQHP_KK8cVTN4HRCycPdlECB/s1600/DSC07081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tpxX4jOZw2Owc0kU5Xr3F79tDerLDKBwZ6MjJh4DgMERzvoImuPwcI9-giWZqDW2tBIR0-o35grgIIDvkC5hrHYX9CZny3kBij_6tIwATVsRqtpjj06qlQHP_KK8cVTN4HRCycPdlECB/s320/DSC07081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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More accounts, granduncle's signature for having paid. He would have driven the car!? 1934.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuaeUxn3P7zOKGDaw2q6BensEfLfUCg1g2dZ0GvlanbRbJx2GzsJNIzXeXPCSoN4HxaaBilu8XkfiYVaNio7fpFVbA1GNwDBHbFNGo57FxvKvkPaGFouiM4x6OmlNegOn4hPc1Kjxr1o0/s1600/DSC07082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRuaeUxn3P7zOKGDaw2q6BensEfLfUCg1g2dZ0GvlanbRbJx2GzsJNIzXeXPCSoN4HxaaBilu8XkfiYVaNio7fpFVbA1GNwDBHbFNGo57FxvKvkPaGFouiM4x6OmlNegOn4hPc1Kjxr1o0/s320/DSC07082.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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1936, February. Another supplier, A.Gopalaratnam? December that year, my great grandfather died.</div>
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Photo of my time.... look for the house in the background, which was originally the stables and motor shed. Uncle Sathya recalls the motor shed had GI doors actually where the door and window is and had a pit in the centre for cleaning. </div>
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Later that portion which was at the back of the main house was sold off in the 60s. The stables housed the bullocks, cows and horses. What life!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQjgl1ONB-xdrkf1yKVlMXlsQ3iDCmiLCF19VTvse7QtwAWZsWWmSbhtqMVk_G3d3vAtXoG5FWvLbMCHdTwwFcFD-KARuTR1AxY-0HN-4BqCmQFAA9S5Bi9RnNZ9Om21_yx8E8sZnzkQ/s1600-h/BoxCollection1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div>
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Old time cars were petrol guzzlers. That was the best technology available then.<br />
Maintaining cars have always been an expensive proposition.<br />
Earlier models required much maintenance for wear and tear.<br />
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There is no record available as to where. when, how or for how much the Ford was bought.<br />
My uncle Sathya says my grandfather did not drive much but had engaged a driver by name Thammaiah who in fact continued from Mylar Rao's time, driving the Ford. When the family moved to another house in 1950, the Morris used to be parked in one Prof. Srikantaiah's house. Sathya says, from here, my other uncle, young Kitti used to stealthily take it out to enjoy rides. This worried Kitti's mother. Sathya also recalls that selling off the car was a problem because there were no buyers. No one now can tell how he got rid of it finally. </div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567368472934030352.post-90033924173941017942015-10-20T22:46:00.001-07:002015-10-20T22:46:33.237-07:00Lighthouse at Surathkal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KKAYUZFPPa-JnKeg84w3ObKlLXdl6x1PvBLspH_pebU1RyGSzZ-Z8qdgxNRihGnB84B2jhGVoCpEu51GdXez_jOXrsSzcLJzr-xWctHlhmajImN6Q7415CPkkjOJfK9sm9BARpnLbETB/s1600/L8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2KKAYUZFPPa-JnKeg84w3ObKlLXdl6x1PvBLspH_pebU1RyGSzZ-Z8qdgxNRihGnB84B2jhGVoCpEu51GdXez_jOXrsSzcLJzr-xWctHlhmajImN6Q7415CPkkjOJfK9sm9BARpnLbETB/s200/L8.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCh2FPF0Y6XoxTZn3a9lqOuZbKH9m3bCv0CN8pvG7JxyoYHGg0cubmNoV1uwSN-qCD1FFC8CpluI8W6Sag5jXj0aY6FZ-OkkyjgA4NhNLAxJ9S52k8Gj12BfW4BXNgcn6rxME2GSVP8_S/s1600/Lighthouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCh2FPF0Y6XoxTZn3a9lqOuZbKH9m3bCv0CN8pvG7JxyoYHGg0cubmNoV1uwSN-qCD1FFC8CpluI8W6Sag5jXj0aY6FZ-OkkyjgA4NhNLAxJ9S52k8Gj12BfW4BXNgcn6rxME2GSVP8_S/s200/Lighthouse.jpg" width="200" /></a>Port Cities and lighthouses go hand in hand. Lighthouses are vital guides that facilitate night time navigation. The lighthouse towers in themselves have a beauty of their own, besides history, so much so that they have even become icons and graphics, not to speak of its own charm that has attracted people to them. Many countries have even featured lighthouses on postage stamps, including India. The lighthouse on North Bay Island in Andaman Islands is featured on the backside of a twenty rupee banknote. (Click on all images to enlarge)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1S5HueoZD2o6ZNr3y9wVVRN2NrbOo02G3agXO5nwtovGC7mbWh_PXDvRAd3mGvqoMZpPcTZjo60HNto_6Mp2lNF4F92_hwCycPnhK0PUtGaSDNKihQ59Nhp0wKcQ9oVTdHkHQvIddXJDK/s1600/20RNoteRev.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1S5HueoZD2o6ZNr3y9wVVRN2NrbOo02G3agXO5nwtovGC7mbWh_PXDvRAd3mGvqoMZpPcTZjo60HNto_6Mp2lNF4F92_hwCycPnhK0PUtGaSDNKihQ59Nhp0wKcQ9oVTdHkHQvIddXJDK/s320/20RNoteRev.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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We cruised past this, from a distance, last year. The fixed window of our cruise boat was tinted blue. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls_dOXmsoaolN0gRF6oYanUzjgcpdpdS-7Pg_DgmWMaTR_eA-Hp_nSjIZzIOYUnYI2e5Pezja4AY8i7pwoBNpahqNtJR5k-DCbBn8MPKgi8q_8A8eQsQB6eSH2ACNJ23hZAZ4GT3YKJn3/s1600/P1420077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhls_dOXmsoaolN0gRF6oYanUzjgcpdpdS-7Pg_DgmWMaTR_eA-Hp_nSjIZzIOYUnYI2e5Pezja4AY8i7pwoBNpahqNtJR5k-DCbBn8MPKgi8q_8A8eQsQB6eSH2ACNJ23hZAZ4GT3YKJn3/s320/P1420077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of the most thrilling subjects captured by photographers and painters is of the rough waves in the seas splashing hard at the lonely lighthouses, standing on solid rock.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjns2IBh5h9lYhAFXRuJYu_dNd8HDzG79n-bMobcgcs6D6UeDbnClRCBxOWt1-2xEAc0cxmEKRJEcdC6kFFQ0jK5-EPJxfflRPV5lf774VUxlaB9YHqtYwR-EsUBZXASi_E2GheZqW4Cwae/s1600/L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjns2IBh5h9lYhAFXRuJYu_dNd8HDzG79n-bMobcgcs6D6UeDbnClRCBxOWt1-2xEAc0cxmEKRJEcdC6kFFQ0jK5-EPJxfflRPV5lf774VUxlaB9YHqtYwR-EsUBZXASi_E2GheZqW4Cwae/s320/L.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Web-grab image</i></div>
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Navigation itself is hundreds of years old! Oldest existing lighthouse in the world is in Spain, The Tower of Hercules, dating back to the late 1st century! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLn2zFm1nRNEpNfTIxdofN-KkOtlgZpO_zXImmRJyEvljieZaDFKrnN8dItgyAIq_rW7s9EVOqaIHDvKffysgMdBvFvNuh3axajS05jzE1hKREhFTm27CAsqMn6F-N_Uy9cp8Uq7s-Gf6/s1600/Lp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLn2zFm1nRNEpNfTIxdofN-KkOtlgZpO_zXImmRJyEvljieZaDFKrnN8dItgyAIq_rW7s9EVOqaIHDvKffysgMdBvFvNuh3axajS05jzE1hKREhFTm27CAsqMn6F-N_Uy9cp8Uq7s-Gf6/s200/Lp.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
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<i>Oldest Lighthouse, Spain.</i></div>
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Then there is a tallest lighthouse in the world, the tallest brick lighthouse, the tallest natural lighthouse and so on. The Navigation Lighthouse is a great subject of interest in itself, ranging from its shape, location, robustness, optics, antiquity etc. As such, it has always been visited by tourists. <br />
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I read that our Indian govt. plans to tap the huge tourism potential and make them <i>full-fledged</i> tourist destinations! The Ministry of Shipping plans to draw tourists to the romance of lighthouses by developing 78 lighthouses and generate revenue from their adjacent open areas also. A portion of the screenshot of press release:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePibL4jBT7QPotMJJRGc4kwEf87xSZxfR_1KUOgXx0o4MnWSjWelWpGLWINVOlrdMBNicZsx12sCPNIi4zoML5qELIqn_5mdu5Gb7Gu_DJnblYg81pHOW6QZYqsdO0QN4rnzjexYchyphenhyphens9/s1600/LH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePibL4jBT7QPotMJJRGc4kwEf87xSZxfR_1KUOgXx0o4MnWSjWelWpGLWINVOlrdMBNicZsx12sCPNIi4zoML5qELIqn_5mdu5Gb7Gu_DJnblYg81pHOW6QZYqsdO0QN4rnzjexYchyphenhyphens9/s320/LH.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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From the first time I had climbed to the top of the Marina Lighthouse in Madras [now Chennai] in 1966, I've always loved it mainly for the panoramic view from that vantage point. My memory of that lighthouse is rather jumbled, but I can still picture the scene that is impressed in my mind. If I had the ability of 'Mandrake the Magician', [a famous comic series], who hypnotized the suspect and 'projected' his memory on a wall to 'see' the truth, you would see this - I was on top of the tower: There was the vast sea, the sandy beach and a road. It was Sri Murari Rao [grandfather's client] who had taken us to Madras in his car.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaGBL1vRirQ4jeksv3Lsb107SenTqgo645GV6D1Kclmbx9fvcXIqZsaNHPejdn0uZhXtbs-tzYTXlPPZfPyc2IZbOmc9b-mtFg-_85AJoF56lYHzU3vDQ6hrF_vf-pQD8Zi4AKUL4olld/s1600/marina1g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaGBL1vRirQ4jeksv3Lsb107SenTqgo645GV6D1Kclmbx9fvcXIqZsaNHPejdn0uZhXtbs-tzYTXlPPZfPyc2IZbOmc9b-mtFg-_85AJoF56lYHzU3vDQ6hrF_vf-pQD8Zi4AKUL4olld/s640/marina1g.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Recent image from The Hindu, of that place.</i></div>
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My next visit to a lighthouse came in Februray 1980 at Surathkal, close to the port city of Mangalore. I was with my college cricket team [for my first tour] to play the Inter-collegiate tournament hosted by KREC [Karnataka Regional Engg. College, now National Inst. of Technology]. One late evening, most of us made a visit to the Surathkal Beach. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtwMAc5nky9Y-2BS5VijQeo65kLHHDURxfgFuuVP7GTSgWTOqOZe6dRiin0zeCssgHE5c27gNwuCZfM0LQIpua5z7nFwcMKNaeUlTRxsEVz5SWR2CUDgtTa3rSAYHOn_b0ZEGtQ8PQz8A/s1600/Surathkal-beach7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="419" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtwMAc5nky9Y-2BS5VijQeo65kLHHDURxfgFuuVP7GTSgWTOqOZe6dRiin0zeCssgHE5c27gNwuCZfM0LQIpua5z7nFwcMKNaeUlTRxsEVz5SWR2CUDgtTa3rSAYHOn_b0ZEGtQ8PQz8A/s640/Surathkal-beach7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Surathkal beach and lighthouse [web-grab]</i></div>
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It was a clean beach presenting a very peaceful ambiance. Clean, probably because it was not yet frequented by too many visitors at that time. My impression was that lighthouses were old. But this appeared simple and humble but not old. I learn now, that this was actually built as recently as in 1972. Entry ticket to the top, reached by a flight of winding stairs, was fifty paisa, if memory serves me correct. I vividly remember the beautiful optics of the beacon lighting system. A special powerful bulb was fixed in the centre, around which a large lens revolved 360 degrees at a set speed. It was a very interesting mechanism. The beacon beam flashing for a long distance at night was a thrilling sight from the town as well. I was never tired of watching it. I used to wonder how a neat beam was possible. Here, I found how the beacon light beam worked:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlLbirRgVCA3fzUWaVCwyHicZ0qTkbGBtCc2BI3UAyKx2W1ftjeMrBUOr_Ru9Filf8B62HKw7ePGnq5fz2nWzHydHJrJn3Cxdiebo-L8udk9zZqpXYHmZU31QIcl1o-jA04RRDKwCUdOn/s1600/L7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZlLbirRgVCA3fzUWaVCwyHicZ0qTkbGBtCc2BI3UAyKx2W1ftjeMrBUOr_Ru9Filf8B62HKw7ePGnq5fz2nWzHydHJrJn3Cxdiebo-L8udk9zZqpXYHmZU31QIcl1o-jA04RRDKwCUdOn/s320/L7.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
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Am yearning to see another lighthouse, no one knows when that will come to fruition.</div>
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Dinakar KRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10148152470155668711noreply@blogger.com1