Train journey travails

Lucknow was the place chosen for our annual cricket tournament in 2002, organized by the employer HQ. We had a good team, a mix of players from the 'branches' located at several places.  In the 16-member contingent, three of us were from our branch. Prior to the 3-day tournament, there was a 3-day practice. I chose to skip the practice part while my two younger team mates went ahead of me by 3 days. Traveling alone, I was to join the team just a day ahead of the match.

Mysore to Lucknow is more than 2000 kms. Lucknow is not connected by direct trains from Mysore. It takes two full days and a change of trains at Bangalore and Jhansi.  Long time gap during change overs is a difficult time esp. when alone.  Running with heavy luggage to reach the train, changing platforms, crossing footbridges and traveling itself is a tense and tiresome experience.  In the past, I have traveled alone and have faced many tense moments. But this particular journey had in store something very unexpected and freaky.

In Bangalore there was a two hour time gap for the next train I had even gone to my relative's house for a meal in Malleswaram, just ten minutes [by autorickshaw] from the Bangalore Railway Station.

Karnataka Express chugged off on time at 7.20pm.   I was to alight at Jhansi 32 hours [1700 kms] later for the second train-change over.  Half past three in the morning was the expected arrival time, a very odd time to be alighting.

I had the lower berth in the middle of the compartment where its night light was just like night! Most of the passengers had also switched off the lights. Dark.  All was well till I tried to sleep for the second night in the same place.  My luggage was chained to a ring underneath the seat.  I had to be awake when the train would arrive at Jhansi, well ahead as there would be no one to wake us up in case sleep got sound!

The mind was very restless.  What if I sleep through Jhansi, if sleep 'happened'?  When exactly will Jhansi be reached?  Was our train running on time? Whom to ask?  The TTE [Train Ticket Examiner] was unseen. These constant worries kept haunting.  Every few minutes I tried to see my black dial watch but could not see time as it was dark. I would wait for the train to pass through some station which had lights to catch that light on my watch to see time.

Half past mid night, then one, half past one, then two.  I had tried to see the watch a hundred times. How far was Jhansi?  I have known Jhansi to be a busy junction.

It was about 2 a.m when the train came to a halt.  It was some station I could not know.  Many people were shouting in such a way it told the short duration of this train-stoppage. I lay on my tummy, jacking up on my elbows to see through the glass window.  There was a huge sea of people in great hurry.

All of them were barging into all the 'reserved' compartment, including ours.  The number of seats/berths was 72/bogey, but within a few minutes there were 200 people including the sleeping 72. The TTE had vanished. These people occupied every available inch of space in the bogey. I am not exaggerating 'inch'. There were two people sitting on my berth and one had already occupied the leg space on the floor, sleeping.

The huge group appeared to be part of some political movement. I am sure they were all ticket-less. The train started to move again and I lay back to wait to see which station would come next. There was no halt for the next 40-50 minutes.

When the train slowed down and halted alongside another station that had a long platform, I got panicky.   The station appeared to be a large one, with lots of lights. If it was Jhansi, I had to get down now!!  I had to squeeze my way out through the people somehow. I asked someone if this was Jhansi. There was a 'Yes'. I panicked further.  I did not know how long the train was stopping here. I could not get a clue about the station name, anywhere.

In this state of mind, I unlocked my luggage chain, pushing the sleeping fellow on the floor and pulled up my suitcase. There was no space for my feet to land on the floor!  Since I was in the middle portion of the bogey, I had to reach the end for the exit. But the aisle was completely jam-packed. Many were highly drowsy in standing position.  The snorers were not one bit affected by this hullabaloo.

I had left my seat/berth pushing my suitcase in between jam-packed people and I was feeling for my foot to land.  Where the suitcase went, I had to follow.  My kit bag tugged across my shoulder followed me.   It was inevitable that I had to land on one or two sleeping people, with just a mental excuse.

Some people had switched on the main lights of the compartments now.  As soon as I left my berth, three people squeezed in to occupy it, crouching because of the middle berth. If the train moved now I'm a goner, I thought.

I had squeezed my way through these people and with just a short distance from the exit, someone asked me which station I was to get down.  "Jhansi" I said.  "But Jhansi is still one hour away, this is ...x.... station!" Someone had misled me, probably to occupy my berth!

Now there was no way I could return to my berth, just a few feet behind me!!  People in the bogey were like a box full of worms.  At that spot I could see two people fully awake in their berths.  One of them was a young lady watching all this commotion and my confusion. She was in the middle berth nearest to where I was 'trapped'.

On the lower berth, there were two each sitting on opposite seats as the original berth-holder was sleeping. There was one sleeping on the floor.  My left leg was between two people sitting in the aisle and my right had found a place.  If I had slippers, they would have been lost. But I had shoes. The suitcase had found a few inches on the edge of the seat. My left hand trying to get a hold, kit bag hung in front of me.  They pack sheep in trucks more loosely.  Imagine the scene!!  There was no way I could stand one hour here with my luggage.

The only space available was on that young lady's berth. She was leaning her back to the window-side 'wall' and so there was half berth luckily unoccupied by anyone from that group.  There were people near the exit, in front of the toilet door and even in the vestibule.

The young lady readily and understandingly agreed to my request to occupy the half berth.  I thanked her. I now had space for my suitcase and the long legs which had to be kept on the opposite middle berth!  I had to manage sitting in a curved position.  The young lady was reading the Holy Bible and also seemed to be praying in between pauses. She did this for a long time.

A few minutes seemed like an hour. There were no further halts or stations for quite a while as the train hurtled fast as if to gain lost time.  I managed to get a few winks of sleep in the posture I was. The kit bag served as a resting aid for my arms.

"Jhansi".  I heard someone call out when the train slowed down.  The train came to a halt.  Since I was higher than the window I could not see anything.  And IT WAS Jhansi.  Announcing "Jhansi aa gaya, uthro" a few passengers were preparing to alight squeezing their way through those people. I thanked the young lady profusely and got down from the berth.  People near the door had got down to free their lungs and arms!  Finally, some 'space'!  What a relief it was to get out of this compartment!  At last, I set foot on the platform, as if I was landing on the moon!  I learnt that the train was indeed late by about 40 minutes.  It was now past 4 am.

How I wished I was like the Friendly Ghost Casper to walk through doors and walls and people!

Lucknow was still 4 hours and 300 kms away from here.  The next train was at 8 am which meant four more hours - of waiting, alone.  So I went to the resting lounge where many such 'waiters' were snoring, some on chairs and some on the floor, with luggage secured by chains.  I too occupied a chair and tied my luggage like a dog.  Luggage thieving is rampant and so the passengers have to be on the vigil.

When the sun rose and a telephone booth opened near the resting lounge, I called the organizing secretary at Lucknow that I would be arriving at about 12.30 pm and requested for transport for my pick up to join my team at the quarters. All was fine.

We lost our first match in a nail biting finish in the last over.  My personal contribution of 76 in 66 balls in a low scoring match seemed to have turned the game in our favour but not to be. Pitambar Dutt's 70 took the game from us. Since it was a knock-out tie, our team had no further role.

The purpose of our 40+ hours journey had ended in a mere four hours.  It was ridiculous!  But some of us made use of the free time to see the historical city.

Return journey was smooth and we threesome now traveled together with an unhappy feeling of having lost our first match.

Here are some images that float around the web. This is outside the train.  Expect the same inside!

The same year 2002, Indian Railways was 150 years old!

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

Train boarding cliff-hanger

In 2007, our official biennial cricket tournament was in Chandigarh.  It was a long travel of 2 days from Mysore by train. Other team members had left a day before.  My team mate Shivu was to accompany me on the travel.  We were to board the train leaving at 9.10 pm to New Delhi at Yeshwanthpur, some way away from the main Bangalore Railway Station.  

Since there was no suitable train in the evening from here, we chose the road journey to reach Bangalore as buses were available every 5 minutes.  About three to three and half hours would be this journey. So we decided to start at 4 pm. If all went well, we would be there by 8 pm, more than one hour ahead of the departure.  

When I reached the bus station on time, Shivu was NOT around the spot we had agreed to meet.  Half past four, no Shivu.  Five, still no Shivu.  Now I started searching for him in all the moving bus windows as bus after bus were snailing out of the station.  Quarter past five, it was status quo.  My train tickets were also safely with him!!  

"I was here", waiting.  Buses were choc-a-bloc that evening and not as thin as it looks in this old Google image. [Click to enlarge].

Strange thoughts crossed the mind several times because this Shivu had a reputation of being careless. Suddenly there came the familiar voice from a bus window, Shivu calling my name in a tone of relief!  It had been almost 80 minutes since I stood there. He had a seat next to him.  I had to believe when he said he was searching for me all the while before he decided to board that bus!  

This was another instance where a mobile in my pocket would have solved the issue!  See my other blogpost where I have had to face yet another small confusion. [Click]. 

The bus was moving.  Half past five and now just three and half hours left for our train.  When the conductor came to issue us tickets we anxiously told our plight. He reassured us that we would reach by half past eight.

From Bangalore, Yeshwanthpur Rly.Stn was some distance away which meant some more precious minutes! Bangalore is notorious for its traffic jams.  It was half past eight and 'on time' and had "almost reached" the destination. 'Almost' because we had reached the deadliest, narrowest bottlenecks leading to the Bangalore Bus Station. 

Look for TCM Royan Rd. towards the left in this screen capture of the map. Look for 'Jam'.  This was about where we were jammed! 

Traffic in this dense jam was inching its way so slowly that it would have taken half an hour to get out past the traffic signal. We were at the half way point and we noticed that smaller vehicles were moving ahead more easily.  We now had 25 minutes left for the train departure.  Each second would count for us from now on.  Any delay meant we had to return home because it was a long distance travel and our team would have suffered a shortage of players. 

Just at that time, we saw an empty autorickshaw stop right next to the foot board.  Since traffic had stopped and there was some 'road space' to get down, we decided to hop on to the autorickshaw.  He had agreed to take us to Yeshwanthpur Rly. Station after we explained our urgency.  We soon agreed to his fare when he assured he would take us there in 15 minutes at the most, through a shortcut.  Luckily, the smaller vehicles were escaping quickly and more easily from the side and there were tens of them ahead of us.  Very soon, we were out of this jam.

I cannot count the number of times I looked at my watch that evening.  True to his words, he took us in 15 minutes flat.  Now, ten minutes left when he left us beside the station in a by lane. We thanked him profusely.  Every nano second would count now.  We had to cross the road and walk, nay run, some distance [with luggage] to get into the Station.  Eight minutes to go. We briskly crossed the road, already perspiring.  From where we crossed the road, we saw the tail of a train.  The station gate was many metres away to the left.

I tried to visualize that scene on paper now.  Remember it was 9 pm and dark. This is what we saw before we crossed the road:

There was a compound wall which was slightly taller than my shoulder that looked surmountable and the nearest route for us to be 'on some platform'!  Much younger Shivu climbed first after keeping the luggage on the wall.  We climbed the high wall like thieves escaping to safety.  I had to pull myself up, holding the edge of the wall, right leg first up, stomach scraping the top of the wall, sitting, jumping down, picking up luggage and running for the train.  Which train, where was our train?  Time, 3 minutes left.  

We dreaded the fact of searching and running to another platform or crossing tracks. But to our luck, the train we had seen was ours!   The board displayed on the bogey showed it!  This was about 40 feet from the compound wall we had just jump-crossed. To add to our luck, even our compartment was right there, in front of us, may be the third or fourth from the last!!  And we need not run anymore at all!  What a relief!  No sooner had we settled our luggage beneath our seats, we felt the jerk.  The train was moving. The time was 9.10.  We had made it!  Call what you may, cliff-hanger, filmy style. 

We had spilled all the 'cushion time' in Mysore itself.  This post need not have been written if I had a simple mobile phone and established contact with Shivu.  Ha, now suddenly I recall that I had attempted to contact him from the public booth nearby at half past four but "switched off" was the message.  What to do?

 The tournament from our team's perspective turned out to be one not to remember.

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

Let me tell another 1994 story in brief.  

Our club cricket team had gone to Kumbakonam.  I was to join the team 3 days later for further matches.  Mohan Ram was accompanying me in the bus journey which was about 12 hours total time.  We expected to be well ahead early morning for our match at 8 am. We had started at 4pm. On the last stretch, the next morning as we closed in to the destination, some farmers' agitation had blocked traffic for 2 hours.  I remember we brushed our teeth during the blockage, beside the road. When we landed at our hotel, it was quarter to 8 and when we rushed to the ground after dumping the luggage and quickly changing to our cricket gear, our captain had made the toss and we were to take the field.  I played almost right off the bus...the engine sound still ringing after the overnight journey by ordinary seat.  We won the match and eventually after two more matches in the next two days, we ended runner-up.

****

Passport Photos

"Passport size photos" [35mm x 45mm] are asked by every office.  This is a 'must' when we need to obtain or renew a Driving License, an identity card, for opening bank accounts, PAN card, Ration card, registering for some course, not to mention obtaining Passport and several others.  As such, we need to keep copies handy for any sudden requirement.

In the days of yore a typical studio had one fixed camera behind the wooden board.  The diffuser light was also part of this. The rotation of a crank exposed the film, which the expert would do after asking the subject to look 'here' pointing to the lens.  The size of the print and number of copies needed were to be let known to the person attending.  He would index the photo as per his film and gave us the 'due date' [delivery of prints] when he collected a token advance money.  This was because the studios exposed film rolls and developed them only after the roll was over!  Once I was sent back on the due date which was one or two days later, saying that the 'roll is yet to complete'!  Those days are now gone.  This is the digital era. Why, since the last few years itself.  Electronics has made several things easy and in many ways.

Last week I happened to visit Roy Studio [Estd.1954] close to our house for my requirement. The copies made a couple of years ago have been spent.

"Passport photos." I told the proprietor.  "For 8, it will cost forty rupees".  I said "I need 16."  "For 16, seventy rupees. Comb your hair there."  He showed a lovely vintage dressing table, probably as old as the studio.  I had gone prepared with my pocket comb.  The helmet displaces the arrangement of hairs.  So the crop has to be rearranged.  I prefer my own comb to the one kept there. 

A green curtain was behind me. I sat on the plastic stool for posing and saw this view [pictured] while the photographer was still attending to the previous customer at the desk.   

A young girl-photographer employed by the proprietor soon arrived and sat in front of me with her camera after rearranging the diffuser lights.  She wanted me to keep the head a bit straighter. Our necks tend to take their 'original positions' involuntarily!  

Wait, let me record what I see from this end! 

I chose this one for printing, out of two she 'clicked', because of an inkling of a deliberate grin.

Advantage of digital technology - we can see from the camera monitor how the photo will be.  If we do not like any shot, they can take a few more to choose from!  We now have the option to decide.  Imagine the days when we were waiting eagerly to see the prints two days later, from the ONE exposure!

Immediately, she uploaded it to the computer and played with the keyboard and mouse.  Lo, the tiny printer was spitting out two sheets of 8 photos each.  The way this girl trimmed and separated the copies in the manual trimmer spoke of her skill. 

I paid the proprietor the seventy rupees which he accounted in his register. I was walking out with the copies in barely ten minutes!  Before that, I had taken a few shots from my camera.  Do not miss the vintage bellow model he has proudly displayed here. 

In its sixtieth year this studio had recently shifted [just about 50 metres away] to a first floor building right opposite 'Gayathri Coffee' where we buy our coffee powder.  

 Last year when I reorganized the family albums I created an "Evolution" page in the new album.  One of the 16 was immediately added there, becoming the 22nd Passport Photo and only the 7th color photo taken over 40 years!  Let me see how long the other 15 copies will last. The smaller ones are known as 'stamp size'.

The first one was taken in 1973.

Flower thieves

The oscillating Plumeria branch over the tall compound wall drew my attention. The branch of Plumeria is too rigid to be moved by a breeze.It was a calm morning very recently.  The tailorbirds tweeted from the other greenery to add charm to my morning coffee, which was in my left hand.  The right hand was watering the garden plants with a small container.

We lovingly grow our favourite flowering plants with all care, attention and expense of money, but esp. when they are near the compound wall, they are exposed to easy thieving.

 The sun had emerged on the horizon, the the chosen time of  wretched flower thieves who walk the streets, armed with a small stiff wire hook and plastic carry bag.   Our plumeria  had 2-3 fresh flowers that had opened a couple of days before.  I had even photographed a long shot of it. See flowers circled red in this picture.

Ours is a corner plot.  I scurried to the front yard and looked over the wall just as that branch stopped oscillating.  There SHE was, walking along, with her hook and loot.  Of course, the flowers had disappeared when I checked.  They were now in her bag!

May be what also prompted me to come up with this post was a "Right in the Middle" piece the very next day in our newspaper.  But I had a seed in my mind to do this some day, anyhow.

http://www.deccanherald.com/content/349304/flower-thieves.html

Many have blogged and many have written on this subject which only tells how ubiquitous these inhuman buggers are.

 Since decent requests failed horribly, I frown, give a dirty look and even shout at their nasty habit.  Yet, they go about their business absolutely shamelessly. They teach us how to be 'thick-skinned'.  There was an old man who used to polish off flowers within his and his tool's reach that garden lovers grew so fondly.  He used to loot just before dawn and the street light was enough for him. I had watched his timing pattern as I used to get up early for my morning walks. One day, I caught him stealing our beautiful red hibiscus over the old compound wall which was not high.  "You are such an aged fellow and you are doing this.... are you not ashamed? Does your Lord ask for thieved flowers?" I shouted with an angry, unhappy tone, giving scant respect.  He continued to steal and he was not deaf.  He walked off with his tool and loot, as if nothing had happened. These old rascals are damn determined to loot. 

Similarly, another elderly lady was doing the same after the compound wall had been 'talled' by a couple of feet as the century-old structure was insufficient for privacy, taking into account the increase and type of 'life' outside. I used to shout from across the wall on seeing her tool pulling the tender branches visible.  "Aren't you ashamed to steal flowers like this for God?; Does God demand such flowers taken in this manner?" I knew she would pass in front of the house and I would wait to throw her another dirty look. They are so stubborn. Nothing affects them.  

So one morning I decided to teach her a small lesson as she was also stealing these pink flowers besides the hibiscus, from outside.  Picture below. Front gate. 

I knew her time pattern too as I used to be in the garden often early in the mornings.  I had kept my tool ready. It was a "counter-hook"!  I was waiting for the opportunity, under the Podranea Pink vine growing up the huge old gate pillar.  It was a nice corner for this plant.  As expected, I felt the top of the vine disturbed by the hook from the opposite side. I held her hook with mine!  I pulled tight!  She was totally unnerved by this unexpected catch! She could guess it was me having been the recipient of my frowns and shouts on more than half a dozen occasions.  "Ayyo, leave it.  Ayyo, leave it.  Flowers only for God, what happens if I pluck? Leave the hook, leave the hook."!  I gave a powerful jerk and then left it, passing my anger to the other hook in that manner and also shouting "Have not I told you not to touch our plants again?".  

In the coming weeks she would murmur abuses against me as she passed by, itching to pluck!  The new gates installed by the new owner of the plot was a hindrance to her hook's reach, not long after. 

Even now she walks by with her tools, looking sheepishly if I am around and hesitating if she should attempt to reach for the flowers there.  There, she is the one!  I have caught her on frame now.  The plastic cover full of thieved flowers are in her left hand - not seen, but the hook is visible.

Beware of these merciless and shameless thieves who care six hoots about who grows flowers or with how much love they were grown. 

"Sanga Two Piece" ... what is this?

Just in passing I happened to mention, in an e-mail "Sanga Tooo", which was a signal/gesture to end friendship and start 'enemyship'   My friend Kumar wrote back "Another subject for your blog."  I looked up at the ceiling, fingers of both hands interlocked behind my head and thought for a while. Why not?  

"Sanga Tooo Piece" was a common thing, unwanted, but part of childhood. It was gestured holding the the tips of index finger and middle finger tips, curving the fingers so that there was a gap through which we announced "Sanga Tooo Piece". It meant friendship cut into two pieces!  Enemyship.

Speaking or playing in the same playgroup suddenly became uncomfortable because of the presence of an enemy!  Touching an enemy was taboo!  So kids maintained a good distance!  

Oftentimes, enemyship were temporary lasting as short as one day!  When senior members of families came to know about this, the enemies were called together for a reunion, which was the most uncomfortable act, but we obeyed elders.  One of the kids would curve the two fingers the same way, but not in front of the mouth. The other kid passes one finger through the gap splitting the two fingers thus symbolically ending enemyship.  Friends again!  Feelings returning to normalcy took time and a tough period to endure!! 

Friend, unfriend and re-friend!  Thanks to facebook, we have such terms!  'Unfriending' is so easy now on facebook and not as embarrassing as our old-time reality.  

My classmate Rajagopal [Gopi] living in the nearby street was my regular companion to school, both ways, even from the early school days.  It continued till our seventh class.  We had some wonderful memories of our stroll back and forth school almost every day.  We used to go to each other's homes often mostly for playing various games like chess, carrom and whatnot.  

While in 7th we became enemies!  Neither of us cannot recall at all, the cause.  But luckily and strangely not long after, a gooseberry became instrumental in ending our enemyship.  

I now have to take you to the 'Gooseberry' story. But I'll tell in brief.  While playing, a gooseberry pickle was in my mouth, many waiting to be eaten from the pocket!  It got stuck in the gullet. Minor operation cleared the obstruction. Throat became septic after 2-3 days.   Sickness. No school. 7th Public Exams closing in.  Gopi comes with Zakir to see me lying on bed. End of enmity.  [Click] for the full story, if you wish to read. 

*****

Gopi and I were normal friends again.  Though we met as team mates in tennis ball cricket matches and also cricket in his neighbourhood, we were no longer going together to [high] school. We had our own friends by then.  He did his degree and moved to Madras [now Chennai] for greener pastures which became truly green for him.

  For as long as his parents continued to be in the same house I was abreast with his welfare.  His brothers and mother moved away some years later, thus information on Gopi was cut.

After many years one fine afternoon, Gopi turned up at my house with a  "Do you remember me?" look.  What a relief it was with his surprise visit!  Shyly we exchanged some old memories to begin another chapter of fresh friendship. We exchanged addresses and then letters once in a while to stay in touch.  We have met many times since then, with families, at each other's places.  When nostalgia gets the better of us, we never miss reminiscing our wonderful enemyship!!  "Sanga no piece"!  

Bitten by the blog bug

Through gardening, I had bumped into a website called Dave's Garden in 2001 when the internet had made its way down to my access at the workplace.  In fact, my quest for plant names had landed me there.  I could not tell the difference between a blog or a website or a portal.  Even now I stutter. I was curious about this word 'blog'.  Some of my American gardener-friends had their own blogs. I had made friends with one Kimberley.  She tried to explain me what it was.  'Web log' in short is 'blog'. Today, I found this link. [Click].   Ok, let it be. 

A few years on, in 2006, I was using 'Googling' something about 'Mysore'.  Now 'google' is admitted in the Oxford Dictionary, so are so many e-terms!  Google took me to a link where I found some group discussing various things.  I discovered it to be Mysore-based.  I soon found there was one GVK.  It was he who was the 'admin'.  It was using very basic features more like at Dave's Garden. It was a discussion forum.  The word blog still dogged me.  But I signed up.  

See my earliest post here. I was glad to have found some like-minded friends, locally.  There were some elderly 'contributors' whom I was to meet. 

This is how it looked, but now inactive. 

Interesting discussions took place.  It was the brainchild of one G.V.Krishnan.  Slowly we got acquainted with each other and we met.  He also visited my house in 2009 and made a short post [click] on the occasion.  He also linked me to many of his posts. [Click]  Do not miss his postings. Just one or two pictures in each post and one or two lines saying something related.  You can take a walk around Mysore with GVK's posts.  No kidding.  He continued to post till his last day in the city.   

It was GVK, 'a journalist who can't stop writing', who inspired many of us in Mysore to 'blog'.  He had come to Mysore to settle down.  He wanted to see Mysore as a better city than it was and tried to do what he could in his own way. But before anything crystallized, he chose Chennai for his home.  Before he left, some of us bloggers met to bid farewell to him and his wife. One could see why he called his first 'blog' as 'MyMysore'. It later led to Mysore Blog Park which is active even now, with wonderful contributors.  This is where I discovered that the same blog can be used by many to post articles. 

Picture from the GVK farewell below. 

In the picture are very senior and renown personalities of Mysore and I find myself here! 

E.R.Ramachandran, H.R.Bapu Sathyanarayana and Krishna Vattam. [Click on their names]. GVK himself wrote in that link how Vattam got into blogging!

Capt.Anup Murthy is another whom I reunited through GVK's MyMysore blog.  Our grandfathers were chuddy-buddies a century ago. Anup, who is an aviator and traveler has his blog too. [Click].  We met GVK in 2009 at his house. See picture above. 

This activity brought some gifted and prolific bloggers.  One was Raji [click on her free-flowing blog] and the other happened to be the grand daughter of Mr.Vattam [you saw him in that group picture above], the veteran journalist of Mysore.  She is Lakshmi. [Click - her blog]  Not even 25, but already authored two books!  When she came to Mysore from half way round the earth, we met.  In the meantime, that had led to her friendships with my children [Next picture].  One of them started blogging. [Click]. 

I have grown fond of referring 'blogging' as 'bragging'.  More than just because they rhyme!

Let the blog-bug bite itch! 

About our tall coconut trees

Recently when my friend Kumar did what we used to do decades back, it took me back in time. During my casual visit I was handed over half a dozen of their surplus coconuts from their only tree. We had six old and tall trees in the backyard where also a mango and jackfruit trees were.  Since there is no photograph, I have tried to recall on paper, a rough sktech for this purpose.

It was in the house we fondly recall as 1100, its door number.  My grandfather had bought the big house in 1950 which by then was, as per the deed, was already "more than forty years old".  Guesstimating by its height their age was between 70-80 years old in 1985, as old as the house itself and had reached a great height. They were the tallest in the area even from the time I could recall, having been in that house for the first 40 years of my life.  The 1100 completely left us in 2009, in a turn of events.

[Picture from 1991.  See '1100']

I took this picture [click all pictures to enlarge] of '1100' in 2001 from balcony of the opposite house.  Parts of three of those tall coconut trees at the back of the house are marked 'see'.  The other three had been chopped down just a few years before this picture was taken. The back of the house was a few feet lower.  About the young coconut tree seen in front of the house, I will brief later.

The six vintage trees were giving good fruit and yield, even with not much care.  During the storms the high speed winds they swayed dangerously.  The sight of the swaying trees used to make us extremely tense.  If there was a storm at night, it would be impossible to sleep until the wind calmed.  To be sure that no fronds or loose mature nuts fell on the tiled roof of the house [Iyengar's house] across the conservancy we would eagerly wait to get them removed as soon as whichever tree climber came asking.

Many times we used to pray nothing untoward should happen esp. during the storms. Nothing had happened before and nothing in their lives. It is said that the coconut tree, fronds or nuts will not fall on humans.  99% is true barring a few stray and extremely rare incidents of tree falling on people or a nut falling on someone's head.  There is one person Hari on whose head a nut had fallen when he was a young boy.  He is still around.

A few times, some loose fruit had accidentally fallen on Iyengar's house] but luckily no one had been hurt for decades. We used to replace the broken tiles when they came asking. We had an old stock of a few tens of them.  They were so understanding.

One coconut tree climber used to come periodically. I forgot his name of this 55 plus man who had a bald pate.  Climbing these tall trees needed skill and experience, more so dropping the nuts one by one patiently and fronds carefully inside the compound or at safe open space in the narrow conservancy.  He was the right man for this location and we were lucky as he was as patient as he was decent, though he would show occasional hints of arrogance. 

The dropped nuts would bounce and fly in all directions, if they fell on the compound or hit some hard object by chance. So we had to watch him pluck and drop from a safe distance.  If someone was passing through the conservancy, he would shout from his perch before dropping.  Two of the six trees were relatively safe as their 'heads' were in line with our open yard. Two were right above Iyengar's roof and the trees on either end leaned outward over the conservancy.  He also had to take care of the electric wires in the conservancy and the clothes lines in our yard!

When this man stopped coming, some other climber had to be engaged. We had no other choice but to trust and beg him to pluck carefully.  The fee was the same @Rupees ten per tree. Only those trees would be climbed where a good number of nuts were identified by him were mature. One such climber we got was young and rash and he started dropping the entire bunch that made our hearts pop to our mouths. He never heeded to our shouting from below to pluck one by one. Luckily nothing happened, when it fell on the compound and bounced in all directions and a frond he threw hit the power lines.  Luckily not long after, we found another good climber in one Murali.

Murali in his early 20s was from the neighbouring locality.  He was a timid fellow, slightly retarded in mental development and from a very poor family. But he was skillful. We would also give Murali also Rs.10/ tree and he would also help in dehusking the nuts @ ten paisa/ nut. During the mango season he would carefully pluck mangoes too. Each time he climbed a tree my mother and aunt would pray and before he did that, "Careful, Murali, be careful."  He was known to be epileptic. Another rare knack he had is here in a separate short post: [Click].

Gathering all the plucked nuts and storing them on the lumber room attic was a fun job for me. It was never a chore for me, somehow, including gathering dry fronds and other tree waste, which we would store and use for fueling the water boiler. Fruits that had less water in them went separately to make copra many weeks later while the 'right' ones were kept aside for deshelling.   All the parts of the tree are useful in some way or other.  It is known as 'Kalpavriksha' in Sanskrit.

Monkey menace was another headache we had.  They used to climb the tree, neatly 'drill' a hole, drink the water and dropped the nuts.  Once it gave us sleepless nights. It had left the empty nut in the groove of a horizontal frond which was above Iyengar's house. We could see it clearly from below. The moment we spotted, it created tension.  We prayed to find Murali or someone to arrive, but none came.  On the third day, Murali came, like godsend!  It had lain there for 3 days and had given us 3 sleepless nights!

Earlier my father used to deshell the nuts for urgent needs, using a thick sickle.  When I grew up, I had learnt to do the same. Later, I modified the method used by professionals.  I used a garden pickaxe instead of a short crowbar, driven into the ground with the sharp flattened end pointing upward to which the shell is pierced and torn using hand force. 

We came across someone who was selling a mechanical dehusker.  The man was walking the streets to sell.  This was a great boon because it reduced the drudgery to a great extent.  

With passing years the trees seemed to be still growing and reaching the sky, so was our tension.  Murali had prematurely died [sadly he had fallen from a tree by slipping, in someone's premise] and that there was no suitable climber available.

So to avert any possible mishap, one by one, the trees were felled by expert tree-choppers. We felt really sad but it was such a relief.  But we took solace in the fact that four trees had been planted in the front yard in 1985.  

When the logs were cut to size, my mother retained four pieces while the rest were used up for the boiler fuel which lasted for one year. I made stools from the neat pieces.  The inspiration was from similar stools made from taxidermied elephant legs, which I had seen decades ago in a movie theatre. 

Capt.Srikantaiah, from our opposite house had given us four sprouted coconut plants from a beautiful variety of his old tree at his house.  

[This is a picture I took holding the camera against the trunk]

Here is a view from 1991. The tree that I planted was very small at that time.  

It was still there in 2012 when the house I grew up was demolished. What happened to the property was hinted at the beginning. The same tree is seen in this picture grown much. The trees also continued to give good fruits and held its reputation. 

I moved to our other ancestral house in 1998.  It had two coconut trees.  One was very old and the other was only about 15-20 years old. The latter had been planted by the tenant. 

This is the newer tree which had developed some disease and had made the trunk soft.  So I decided to chop it down to avert danger.

I identified in our album picture, the older tree. [Pictured right]  It must be from 1941 when a marriage had taken place in the house. The tips of the fronds are seen at the right corner.  It had a reputation of not yielding fruits properly all its life.  I had briefly tried to do something to alleviate the problem with the help of the Horticultural Society but to no avail.  Things remained the same even after 4 years of being treated and well watered.  A relative who had been born here in 1927 when he visited after 50 years looked at the tree and asked "Does it bear fruit now?  It had not been earlier."! 

This is how tall it had grown in 2009 when it was chopped down when further alterations were taking place in the family/house.

This is the same view of the old picture. The couple were standing where the blue-short tree chopper is standing. The tree is party cut.

That was the last we had of coconut trees.  Coconut tree climbers too had reduced in number and even when someone came, they had hiked to Rs.50/- per tree while some charged 'per nuts plucked'.  It was becoming an unreasonable and expensive affair.  

From several angles it was realized that buying coconuts were cheaper and not having a coconut tree despite having space is advantageous in these days.

In fact, I will cherish the experience of caring and being with the eight Kalpavrikshas for a long time.