A crazy trip to Nagerholay

The game of Cricket had brought me to the Nikams who owned a Handicrafts Shop.  It was in the very heart of one of Mysore's popular streets renown for shopping.  Girish had become a team mate in 1979.  Frequent visits to his shop to spend leisure time revealed our common interests.  One of them, besides Cricket, was Trekking.

Girish at "Mysore Curios".

Their little shop attracted many people in the form of customers or 'casual chatters'.  The Nikam brothers were so fond of 'meeting people'.  One such casual visitor was a certain Deve Gowda [we later shortened it as DG].  He was always clad in a full shirt, a towel on the left shoulder and a loincloth [panchay] up to the ankle, all in white cloth. It was a typical appearance of a neat villager.  His expression was blank and whatever he spoke seemed to carry no water.  His craziness stood out on various occasions.  It was 1981 and this post is dedicated to Mr.Deve Gowda because it was he who started it all! Read on.

DG seemed to have all the time in the world and he was visiting the shop one day.  A casual chat about wild animals and forests had somehow begun and turned serious.  Because it had drifted to the subject of tigers.  DG began boasting about his brevity and justifying it by showing some old injury marks on his person, relating stories to them about how he fought with a tiger in his village!!  He said he would take us to the forests and show us tigers.  We believed him.  A certain Dr.Gopinath, Girish's friend, who was also there, said he too would join the trip. A date and time was agreed and fixed by the four of us. Girish had two film cameras and he also saw an opportunity to take a few shots with them during the trip. He asked me to use the 'black and white' while he used the one loaded with colour film.  Both had 12 exposures each.

  Myself, Girish and Gopinath assembled at the Bus Stand as scheduled, at 7 AM, prepared with a light luggage for a couple of nights stay.  Deve Gowda arrived as casually as he had sounded and his arrival reflected it too, but he came.  All his luggage was on his person, which was the usual whites he was wearing!  When asked about his luggage, 'I can manage.' was his response.  The towel on the left shoulder serves many purposes!  Long later, when his older namesake, who also wears the same costume became the Chief Minister of our state, I recalled this 'tiger-DG'.

Our exact 'tiger-destination' was still a suspense because we had left it to our Mr.Deve Gowda.  He made us sit in some bus that was ready, saying it would go to Bandipur [Bandipur is a Tiger Reserve].  This bus was set to go to some place in the neighbouring state of Kerala, but certainly in another route!  He did not appear to have any knowledge of topography at all. The driver was ready to get the signal from the conductor who was already issuing tickets to the passengers.

This was the short exchange between DG and the bus conductor [BC] when he came to issue tickets:

DG: 4 tickets to Bandipur. 

BC: Bandipur?  This bus is not going to Bandipur. [We looked at each other.]

DG: Then where is it going?  "...." /some village name he uttered/

BC: It will pass through Nagerhole. [It is 100 km from here]

DG presented that famous look again.  

All of us agreed and decided to go to Nagerhole [pronounced - 'Naagarholay'] as we had no choice.  Four tickets were bought and we landed in Nagerhole before noon.  Nagerhole National Park has been renamed as Rajiv Gandhi National Park since.  As we approached, we saw a herd of deer.

Let us not forget that DG has brought us here to show us tigers.

The three of us had already decided that this DG character should stay separately.  Park's official lodging facility was soon allotted. Lunch was taken followed by a brief rest and imagining what our DG will do next. All our jokes by now revolved around DG and his antics. It was great fun anyhow.  In the meantime, we had booked for a short safari in the Forest Vehicle for the evening.  In the one hour safari into the jungle we came across many deer, bisons, wild dogs, elephants, langurs, monkeys, peahens and peacocks and wild hens.

Bisons - mother and calf, in fading light of the evening.

Peahens and Peacocks were abundant around the lodge and we spent the next morning watching them for some time and then came across during our loitering, some tamed elephants belonging to the forest department, eating the fed grass. 

Photo by Girish - Peahen.

 We already had our breakfast. We had come to a firm conclusion that Deve Gowda, the great 'tiger fighter' must be packed off by bus at the earliest. He 'unhesitantly' agreed to go by the next bus, as if he knew our plan!  We had enough of him already.  He never seemed to make any attempt to show us any tiger!!  He had given the  impression that tigers could be spotted like street dogs near our houses!  We came to know that in about 500 square kilometres of that forest reserve, there were only a handful of them living in that territory. 

In the meantime, Girish was interested in some adventure since this DG-tiger element was a total flop.  We discussed about how safe it is to risk walking along the road towards Hunsur.  There was total agreement.  

We saw an old tribal couple cutting firewood and went up to ask for their inputs about our plan. 

The man was Chella, a native having lived all his life there and he guessed his own age as 80. 

He took us to his hut also.

DG, Gopi, Girish, Chella and relatives at his hutment.  Chella filled us with courage that tigers, if at all we were lucky to spot, will not attack us.  Tigers were not the only fear.

Skipping lunch, we decided to leave, after settling the lodge bills by noon.  It was risky to walk without arms protection in a forest reserve, even if it is on the road leading to Hunsur 60 kilometres away. Our only weapons were a long stick and luck.  We also discussed our plan with some forest official and he left the decision to us.  Our plan was to hitch hike some vehicle that passes towards Hunsur after some miles.  The sky was overcast and there was a light intermittent drizzle.  I also had a slight cold as well. So Girish lent me his jerkin.

Finally we slowly and silently got the feet moving, single file by the side of the road.  At times, we stopped to enjoy the tranquility of the forest at its best.  Jungle sounds are amazing.  Even when a busy city sleeps, it will not be as 'tranquil' as a forest.  In the jungles, we can 'listen to tranquility'!  Distant sounds of some elephant breaking a branch or trumpeting far away, invisible little birds making their melodious calls high up on the trees, monkeys and langurs chattering and jumping the branches and the insects making their sounds, are all heard so clearly. No other sound mixes with that. It was such a soothing, calming feeling.  That was the lovely music of the forest.

Tranquility of the forest.

We were aware that even a little sound by us may alert some wild animal lurking behind the bush.  So whatever words we exchanged were with soft voice, almost a whisper.  One of us had to keep vigil at the bushes on the left, the other on the right and the lead man looked ahead.  Since it was the rainy season, the shrubbery was green and lush.  And that increased the chances of animals easily being 'unspotted'. Their 'camouflagiblity' was high.  

We came across our path a large pug mark of some cat in the soggy, puddled earth.  It looked fresh. We got frightened.  It was in the direction perpendicular to the road which meant that it had crossed the road.  Since it was overcast, the bushes appeared darker and the jungle silence added to our fright.  We trod even softer, all our senses in top alert.  After some time, the fear waned.

We had started at noon.  After just over three hours of non stop walk we reached a certain point where there was a curve in the road and a culvert.  The road ahead was obscured by the bushes.  We decided to have a short rest on the culvert and have a slice of bread which Girish had salvaged in his bag.  We were tired and hungry.    

There was no breeze. The sound of dry twigs on the forest floor crackling and the soft ruffle of leaves seemed to come from just a few metres away.   We looked in that direction for any clue, but there was nothing.  We feared that they were being created by an elephant nearby.  We had also noticed close to our path a few trees with slim trunks being freshly broken. The leaves were still green and 'unwilted'.  We also had crossed a heap of fresh elephant dung which had increased our heartbeats!

Girish posing at the culvert and curve before we continued.

Me in Girish's jerkin and my cricket cap on.  Photo by Gopi.

Now, we were really afraid to move further as the way ahead was obscured by the tall shrubbery. It does not look dark in the above photos. What if a tiger or panther [leopard] pounces on us from behind one of those bushes, we imagined. The bushes were so close to the road!

Gathering all the courage which Chella had given us, we resumed our trek extra cautiously now.  After about 10 minutes or so, we sighted a couple of cows with neck harness.  It was such a reassuring sighting!  That meant we were near some village and we felt somewhat safe from tigers but not pachyderms. And we were right.  Just at that time, we heard the sound of an approaching vehicle behind us.  Till now, not a single vehicle had passed from either side for all the three plus hours.  This was the first, going in the direction we were going.  It was a lorry.

We waved our hands and the driver kindly stopped.  "Hunsur?".  "Yes, he said."  He asked us to climb into the empty space meant for carrying materials. Our excitement knew no bounds.  We felt as if we were rescued from the jaws of great danger.  And it appeared it was so!  The lorry driver asked us if we were crazy to be walking like that!  He had seen a wild tusker uprooting small trees near that very curve and culvert .  We realized that it had come out of 'hiding' after we had moved ahead after the bread-break!   It was very angry and that we were extremely lucky, he added.   He said we were extremely lucky.  We then realized that those twig-cracking sounds that we had heard were made by that same tusker he was referring. What if it had spotted us?  What if we saw some animal ahead of us?  How do we react?   All this we had planned before we started the trek. We would have panicked had it literally appeared in front of us!

We might have been on foot for roughly 10-15 kilometres which we had covered in about 3 1/2 hours.  Another hour or so in the lorry took us to Hunsur. We thanked the lorry driver in such a manner that he had saved our lives.  

We did a couple of photography experiments also. A big spider web was spotted on our way.  The jerkin was used as background.  

We wanted to have a blur background but did not achieve, since it was only a box camera!  I took this picture in the moving lorry.

After reaching Hunsur, we returned to Mysore that evening in a bus.

We neither spotted any tiger in the forest, nor do I recall having spotted our DG thereafter in his shop. Reminiscing it after 30 years about how our 'carefreeness' and daring resulted in such a thrill, thanks to this mysterious DG.  I doubt if well planned trips give that much thrill!

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Not to be totally disappointed with tiger sighting DG promised, let us have some consolation to see this tiger caged at the Darjeeling zoo:

ooOoOoOoOoOoo

Vintage Sunbeam Bicycle

Bicycles were an integral part in our house.  My uncle's Robin Hood, my father's Raleigh and my grandfather's "Royal Sunbeam" decorated the veranda.  Let me share something about the oldest of them all, the Sunbeam. I will save stories about the other two for another post.

My grandfather Subba Rao was very fond and proud to show visitors his prized machine [the bicycle was also referred as 'machine'] and mention "1914 Royal Sunbeam".  It was a present from his father Mylar Rao in September 1914 for his marriage that year, when he was 18.  I can precisely say 'September 1914', because his father has recorded a total payment of Rupees 232 towards purchase of that bicycle, in two installments in his account book.  See his entries shown below.  

[See red-marked lines]

Sunbeam was a very famous English company. Click on Sunbeam.

Subba Rao rode his Sunbeam every morning to his office.  He disliked keeping it idle.  He never let it to be ridden by others, except when he went out of town for a few days. In that event, he would ask my father to take it for work or ask me when I was old enough to ride some distance and keep it back.  He gave such fine attention to his machine that it was always in top condition.  He knew his machine so well and had such a sensitivity to its feel that if I stealthily rode it, he would come to know that it had been ridden by 'someone'!

I can vouch that Sunbeam was the smoothest of the three bicycles at home.  All the bikes were fitted with Dunlop-'Rickshaw' tyres. They were expensive, durable and 'heavy duty'.

[Sunbeam taken out of second retirement, 2012]

Sunbeam was the tallest of the three at 24 inches.  The other two were of 22 inches.  Searching the web for some stuff for this post, about this particular model machine, I found this. [click]. The model has the most similarity with ours.

I really know not about the lamp used on it because no old bicycle lamps were found in our attic, junked.

Only once Subba Rao met with an accident while riding one morning on the way to his office.  It was not his fault.  Some scooterist [rare one in the late 60s!] had hit his bike.  He had fallen and sustained minor injuries. Fortunately, his head had not hit the road side curb stone. The Sunbeam also had been hurt and required some repair.  Perhaps that was the only time Subba Rao rested at home for a week!  Subba Rao rode his machine almost till the day he died in 1976 in his 81st year.

Soon after his death, it had to be retired to the attic for the main reason that its funny gear mechanism [2-speed] had been almost completely worn out to the extent that it was neither usable nor repairable.  Mechanics dreaded opening the complicated looking system.

I was now using the Robin Hood, which had become 'mine'.  The bicycle mechanic Shivaram whose shop was just 200 metres away used to do all the repair and maintenance of all our bicycles for many years. He was often pestering me "Why don't you sell your grandfather's bicycle?".  Since we had the lucky advantage of storage space in the attic, I never paid any heed to his pestering.  I knew it would be handy some day, besides having sentimental attachment.  

In the meantime, my father who was using his Raleigh bicycle died in 1981.  Around 1984-85, my maternal uncle once borrowed this Raleigh for some short errand and returned on foot with the bad news that it was stolen. I was also using the Raleigh in between. So I was now left with only the Robin Hood.  I thought, since the place in the veranda was now vacant, why not take out the Sunbeam and use.  I was also now in a job.

Never had this Sunbeam been kept idle and that too in an attic!  Despite good maintenance, rust had begun to attack its wheel rims even before it was put away 5 years before.  Now when I took it out in 1982, it had worsened.  Its 'mud guards' were rickety, "oil bath chain casing" was shaky and rusting, tyres and tubes needed to be replaced and its original leather 'Brooks' saddle had become brittle.  On the whole, this machine had started crying for serious service!

This machine is a unique model.  The width of the handlebar is a wee bit short, having its front brake lever on the left while the right was for the rear wheel and a special 2-speed gear mechanism at the sprocket.  Only now I came to know about 'oil bath', looking for some information for this post!  See image below.  It was probably dry for many years, hence worn out.

The tiny steel balls had rolled out out of it.  Both replacement and repair were out of question.  So a new idea was required to make it work, without the gears.  The two separate plates needed to be attached permanently.  So I got 4 holes drilled and put nuts and bolts to fasten them.  The mechanic at the workshop was amazed at the quality of that steel!  It was so hard to drill!  After this, it worked again without the original mechanism.

The 'oil bath chain casing' was replaced with a new one, but this is just a simple open system.  The mud guards were replaced with the ones from Robin Hood and Robin Hood was fitted with the new pair.  Brake shoes had worn out and I found 4 pieces of hard rubber for replacement.  Its pedals were good and so it remains.  I had to change the rusted rims and spokes.  The original hubs stayed.  A new saddle was fixed, handle bar holds which were wooden were replaced with plastic ones.  It was once again in riding condition.  Shivaram, did all the work.

This is the worn out gear.

One of the four nuts can be seen on the left side.  These pictures were taken before I cleaned the machine, hence very dusty. 

I had not looked at this head badge closely before.  So I was under the impression that "Royal Sunbeam" was printed, because Subba Rao was always mentioning 'Sunbeam'.  But for posting here, after I wiped it clean to take a photo, bafflingly, it showed "The Empire.. Extra Special Model"!  

Printed Head Badge.  

What is this? I thought.  He was saying it is Sunbeam and now it is Empire.  Since my web-searches took me nowhere, I contacted one Jim Langley in the US, a bicycle collector of 25 years standing, through his website.  He promptly responded guessing that this could be a model name by Sunbeam.  I tried to match the frame number also, but to no avail. But I'll keep looking.

Some pictures now....

Frame Number 119776 below the saddle.

Remnant of the rusted front mudguard.  See original 'gold lines'. 

Two 'Sunbeam' tools that have survived.  Screw driver and spanner.

Chain Lock.

Two-speed gear lever on the bar. High and low.

Rear brake at the rims.

Pedal and crank.

Rear and front hubs.

See the replaced mud guard and dynamo I have fitted.  Lamp clamp is missing because it broke off due to severe shaking of the lamp, in my time. Now I have again taken it out of its long retirement.  

__o

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(  )/   (  )

A wee bit off 'Sunbeam' before I close, let me tell a bit about Mylar Rao's bike, which I wildly guess was also a Sunbeam.  Let me show a few letters and his diary entries.  Keep a close eye on the dates in them.  There were no bicycle mechanics on the streets a hundred years ago. The machines had to be sent to the 'authorized centre' for any attention.  They would send the quotation for the work.  The following reproduction of the quotation letter from The Indian Cycle and General Engineering Co., Bangalore shows how much repair it required! The machine must have been in 'unrideable' condition!  Read the description.

Mylar Rao was posted at Kadur at that time and it appears that a certain T.A.V.Iswaram at Bangalore [most likely an acquaintance] coordinated in this job. 

After repair, it was sent back to Kadur from Bangalore, by train [see the R/R of Southern Mahratta Railway bill from 1906].

The following is the letter to the above. Very prompt.

This is Iswaram's letter to my great grandfather, written beautifully. Read and appreciate.  It is simple and legible. Click on all the images to enlarge.

My ancestor had also fallen from his machine once and he records it in his diary that day in 1899. What he writes is amusing.
"Beware of borrowing things from others. Had a fall from Cheluva Iyengar's machine.  The brake was a little bent."

Another mention of the bicycle.

'Bicycle out of order.  Repaired as nicely as I could.'

Read the next one!  He was on 'census leave'... miles of riding.. blisters...fever ....

This is the pump I have taken out of retirement.  Made of brass and in England by Dunlop. 

Hope you enjoyed the read-ride!

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(  )/   (  )

Oh poop!

Let me make it clear at the outset that all images in this post are borrowed from the web. Don't 'yuck' at them... they are not real or mine!

I sometimes ponder why people say 'Oh shit!' instead of 'Oh dung!' or 'Oh excreta!' or 'Oh faeces!' or 'Oh stool!' or 'Oh poop!'?  There is even 'Holy shit'! 

Shit has deservedly earned a rightful place in the list of seven most vulgar English words even though is is just to express annoyance, anger or even surprise!  'Googling' will open new vistas on this and you just can't say it is 'bullshit'!  Not for nothing it is one of the most interesting subjects of laughter and fun, even though it is generally unpleasant, like its own smell.

The picture above reminded me of a funny sight which my friend saw and shared with us.  Some years ago he had gone to New Delhi's Pragati Maidan where an agricultural fair was held.  Thousands of farmers and participants attended from different parts of the country. When he once went to the urinals, a sight he will never forget in his life was waiting for him.  Remember it was only the male urinal and one of the urinal pans was full of 'unflushed' fresh shit!  May be it was some villager's work of art in dire emergency, may be he was unable to locate the toilet 'on time', only he will have known.  He may also have had no time to inquire and search for one either, going by the result which left my friend so puzzled that he wonders about it even today:  "How can such a thing be done there, of all places?"  Let us stop wondering its aftermath!  Scavenger coming to clean on his routine... more people visiting the urinal inbetween...and so on!

Many years ago, I was at the Pathologist Lab with my 'sample stool' for test, under advice from my doctor who had clearly told me how much to take and go.  As I was waiting, a villager entered with an old tin jar in hand.  He was also there for the same purpose, but with the entire lot, much to the astonishment of the lab people and a few of us there.  It was a very funny sight of him opening the lid of the box and showing them his 'sample'!  "Can't you bring a small quantity?" asked the lady who was at the reception. "I did not know, so 'this'!" replied the villager, looking at the box in hand.

A decade ago, I saw lots of  neatly arranged human shit on a pavement in Kolkata.  The vendor was selling fake models. The shit was so beautifully molded and so natural in colour and appearance that I almost bought one out of severe temptation.  Just ten rupees.  Even knowing that it was fake, people were closing their nostrils and walking away, laughing at this lovely prank toy which was very similar to this image below!

This is better compared to the work of someone who had made a fantastic cake to resemble an Indian style closet as in this picture below!

Someone would have relished it after it was pictured!

Why should people nauseate so much when they see human fecal matter?  After all it was the same 'raw materials' which had gone in from the upper end of the alimentary canal!  We compare toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube with 'this'. They say "One's own shit doesn't smell."  How right that quote is!

In fact, one's stool is a great indicator of health or lack of it.  So, we must keep an eye on it, not literally. Observe. Dr.N.Krishnamurthy, a renown naturopath and retired Scientist has published a very insightful paper which can be found in this link - [click here]. Oh shit!  How I wish I had known these before!

In our beautiful country, a pile of poop is common sight. Cattle, dog, human, pig, donkey, horse and even elephant sometimes, even now.  Trained [but not toilet-trained!] elephants that are taken for routine walks across the streets for exercise. We were told that stamping on fresh elephant dung has medicinal effects and we did that in our younger days when we found to our luck, some dropping from the pachyderms.

See many uses of the word 'shit' in this link:

http://www.viperalley.com/forum/anything-goes/2945-many-uses-word-shit.html

"Shit floats to the top."  This is a highly meaningful quote. 

Childhood injury memories

There is no child that has not bled from injuries, esp from falling while running.   It can be from jumping also.    Certain childhood injuries linger in memory for a long while esp. the deeper and bigger ones even though there are no scars to remind.  Let me try to remember some of the injuries I sustained in my childhood. 

These days, people rush to the doctor and take an ATS shot whenever they get injured, afraid of consequences from it.  In those days - I'm talking of the 1960s and 70s - we used to just wash off the blood and do some home dressing.  I don't think ATS was spoken about with such seriousness in my younger days. May be they were used in hospitals for surgical wounds.

We children would do 'first aid' ourselves from what was found 'at the injury site'.  We looked for some thrown matchbox - the phosphorus strip would be torn and applied to the wound as it was believed to disinfect.  We did not use the word 'disinfect', but it was believed it sped up healing!  Even thrown cigarette pack paper/carton would come in handy to remove blood from the wound as much as possible and often they would be pressed on the wound until we went home.  Some boys used to borrow a small amount of coffee powder which was applied on the wound!  If there was a tap [water was available 24x7 in taps!!] close to the place of injury, we would rush and wash the wound and then go home.  If the injury was small, we just continued to play.  

We often tripped and fell on rough tar roads in the process of  quick running!  If I imagine that now, it gives me goosebumps. We cared nothing.  You know, we played various games on the mud pavement or on the tar roads, from cricket to hide and seek to marbles to gulli danda to 'police-catch-thief' and whatnot.  All barefoot. Wearing our hawaii rubber slippers for play was unthinkable even on hot summer afternoon play!  

Running the bicycle tire

When I was about 8-9, I was playing with an old bicycle tire. This was a very popular pastime.  We just ran around the street. When we wanted to go to a friends's house, or on some small shopping errand we ran fast 'drove' the tire with a stick.  It was a thrill to run after and control  it when it went down a gradient. 

Once I was going my friend Srinivas' house, driving my tire fast, so fast that I must have tripped something and fell flat on my stomach.  I still cannot recollect why I was running so fast!  There was a deep cut on the right wrist on the spot where doctors feel the pulse!  It took a long time for the blood to clot.  I returned home , tire in my left hand. I cannot remember crying for it as I mostly didn't.  The scar mark is still visible, although faintly. But I remember the fall near Srinivas' house clearly.

I used to be sent to my paternal aunt's rented [out] house in Basavanagudi, Bangalore during summer holidays. The main house had a wooden staircase that led to the open terrace.  There used to be a clothesline made of stiff zinc wire that was hung across, between the staircase and the door of my aunt's house.  One evening, the children of the owner's house had gone out and so I alone to play.  It was getting dark.  I climbed to the terrace, looked at the panoramic view as I had nothing to do.  I was careful not to go near the low parapet. On the way down, I decided to jump on the cement floor without stepping on the last 4-5 steps of that wooden staircase. When I did that, I felt something hitting and scraping my throat.  I landed, shocked.  It was that zinc wire!  I could neither remember its presence nor could notice it because of poor light.  I realized that the wire had injured me.  Very fortunately, because the wire was loosely strung, it had absorbed much of the impact while it 'played'. The portion below the jaw was red and burning.  It bothered me for a few days, but I never revealed it to my aunt lest she got tense as I was placed under her custody during the holidays. Nobody got to learn about this.

Fall from the bicycle

When I was in 7th or so, I was using my late uncle's Robin Hood bicycle [I still use it] that was available.  I was still too short for it.  My legs would not reach the pedals or ground sitting on the saddle. I could not either. So we shorter kids had learnt the art of riding the bicycle standing on the pedal on left foot and using the right foot for the other pedal, through the centre triangle of bars.  This required a different kind of balancing and control with the hands. At times, we had our left hand holding the handle and brake and the right hand was gripped on the saddle!  So only one brake, the rear one was in use!  When I imagine this now, with me riding like this down the gradient and quite fast, I get a chill or two! Of course traffic was not an issue at all but the element of risk was, of falling down.

My father was very fond of Masalay Dosay.  So on Sundays he would bring the parcel of Masalay Dosay for all of us for breakfast.  That home-hotel in neighbouring Krishnamurthypuram was famous for breakfast items Idli and Dosay.   Sometimes I would be sent to bring the dosays each costing 25 paise.  I used to take that opportunity because it was a time when I could go away from our street on the bicycle alone!  

I had bought the parcel and was returning home with the bag hung on the handlebar. When I was just 50 feet away from our gate, I had a fall because I recall that I had sped the last few feet and I do not know why I did that nor can I recall exactly how it happened.  It was a nasty fall. The bag of dosays was on the ground.  I had scraped my left knee on the rough tar road.  It was a wide scraped wound that made my life difficult for many days, so was the scar.  It disappeared over the years, like many such ones did.  But one scar remains. It was not from a fall, but from a flying splinter.  I was about 5 years young then.  The neighbour's house was being constructed and I was watching along with Buddi [same age] how they were cutting steel rods with a hammer and chisel.  Suddenly I felt something flowing down my left shin.  I had not felt the splinter hitting there at all. May be I was too engrossed in watching.  At the sight of blood, I started crying and I did not know to run home. My friend ran away.  A passerby on his bicycle, who was incidentally staying in a hostel on the same street recognized me and carried home.  He also took me to Mysore Pharmacy in KM Puram where Dr. VR Krishnaswamy Rao treated me - a few stitches and bandage!  The scar, as wide as a British Pound coin, remains!  

Splinter in the thumb

There is an old Carrom Board on which we used to play quite frequently.  I was unbeatable on it.....because it had unusually large 'pockets'!  :)  The frame of this board, probably from the 1940s, had got worn out and at places where the striker hit very often it had developed splinters.  During a game I had got a long one pierced by it between the left thumb skin and nail so deep that it required a little operation at a clinic.  That part is the most painful as it contains nerve-endings.  I 'did it' again after a few years in the same spot, less deeper.  The colour of the thumbnail has since slightly discoloured.  

Ear lobe torn

We used to play cricket in the open yard of my neighbour.  One evening, we were playing with a hard cork ball. I had a sudden impulse to stand very very close to the batsman to catch him 'off the bat'!  It was a very risky proposition. I was lucky only to be got torn in the ear [pinna] that required one stitch.  Once again, it was the same doctor to whom my neighbour Narendra had taken me on his bicycle.  My grandmother never came to know of this injury. I was always facing her with the injury opposite side to her!  I managed this for many days until the stitch was removed.

We were afraid if we fell in school.  We dreaded Tincture of Iodine for its burning sensation.  At home also, antiseptic lotion Dettol was kept handy with some cotton.  The most I suffered from an injury was in the throat. Read about it here. 

That is all for this post.  May be some day, I will try to gather a list of injuries post-childhood and post!  

Cobblers, Tyre Sandals

'Cobbler' has more than one meaning.  One: A sweetened ice drink, usually made from fruit and wine. Two: One who makes or mends boots and shoes.  This post is related to the second one.

Cobblers are an integral part of our society, along with barbers, tailors, doctors and so on.  Some prefer to be called as 'shoemakers' instead of 'cobblers', the same way, barbers like to be called 'hair dressers' or tailors like to be called as 'dress makers', etc.  Why, even the 'housewife' is now wanting to be called a 'homemaker'! Fancy terms, but their jobs remains the same old one! 

He used to sit on Sayyaji Rao Road pavement [photo taken 5 years ago]

In many cities, including Mysore, some cobblers are found sitting on the pavement to earn their livelihood by repairing footwear.  They are a godsend for passers by who may snap a strap or sole on their way.  He will say, 'poor sole' instead of 'poor soul'!   They choose shady trees. Tree trunks are their back rests.  They make it their work place, for which even they have to lubricate the cop's palm, if you see what I mean.  There was a certain street cobbler who had even grown a few plants around 'his workplace tree'!

These pavement cobblers are usually poverty-striken, but some that are enterprising and have enough financial resources, open a shop and sell the products employing a few cobblers.

The way cobblers on the pavement look at the marching feet of pedestrians on busy pavements  in anticipation of some business is fun to watch.  Feet dragging with a snapped slipper is a pleasant sight for the cobbler.  The delight is mutual!  The waiting cobbler knows he will be spotted and that 'business' will find its way to him!

People who have suddenly snapped a strap while on an outing, know how annoying it is!  Many of us have this experience at least once.  When we have been caught in places where they are not found, we have even hand-carried the [repairable] footwear and reached our destinations barefoot!  Or, sometimes, when the snapped sandal was very old and beyond repair, we have even gone straight to the shoe shop and bought a new pair and happily discarded the 'gone pair' then and there!

He was on the pavement near Town Hall

Unlike now, I emphasize 'unlike now', in the olden days, people used many things until they were stretched to the maximum limits possible.  It could be a pen, pencil, clothes, umbrellas, watches, shirt buttons, bicycle tires, sandals, shoes, or whatever.  A thing was discarded only when its value and service was squeezed out to the fullest.  There were/are repairers also for all things.  A thing was replaced only after the old one was discarded.  No extra thing was unnecessarily bought.  It was not about 'scrooging', but being judicious.  A new pair of footwear was bought only when the old one was beyond repair or had become too 'small' for comfort.

Tyre Sandals
My father used to get his sandals hand-stitched at a shop on Vinobha Road, Shivarampet from the shoe-maker who had a good reputation for his workmanship.  He specialized in making very good sandals using good leather and discarded car tires from which soles were cut.   The measurement of the feet were taken by the cobbler himself.  I forget his name.  He would usually deliver the finished item late, as is probably their 'professional wont'!

[The tire sole chappals were like this, but thicker]

My father would use the same pair for many years as they were so durable and a testimony for the cobbler's workmanship.  For the same reason he made me such custom made ones also when I was in high school [class 8-10 as there was no code for footwear].  Because of their had hard soles I was reluctant to wear them.  New ones could not be worn continuously because the stiffness of new leather would scrape off the skin and cause wounds.  So it had to be softened down by applying castor oil and keeping away for a few days.  The tire sole also had to be 'seasoned' by walking as it had to be made to take the natural curve at places where the feet bent as we took walking steps.  We felt comfortable only after it got flexible!  Footwear has to be flexible.

The neatly hand-stitched tire chappals of Shivarampet gave a lot of 'mileage'.  In those days, we walked quite a lot, again, unlike now.   My favourite alternative was the Hawaii Slippers made of rubber.  They remain my favourite even today, for many good reasons.

My favourite 'padukas'!  Lunar's brand Size 10. 
[click on link to know what a 'paduka' is]

Web-surfing about tire chappals showed me interesting results.  There are innovative people around, eh!  Look at this!  Here is a video demo [1m:46s] how to make them.  

     I remember a few cobblers who walked the streets calling loudly 'chapli repairy' (repairing footwear) to be heard inside the houses.  When someone had some job for him, he would be called.  If his quotation was agreeable, the job was got done on the spot.

Cricketers used to wear Buckskin boots in old times.  They were in vogue until as recently as the 1990s after which time shoe-making technology rapidly got improvized and mechanized what with good synthetic material became available and also popular, almost matching that of leather, if not better. I also used to wear these boots when I began playing cricket in the late 1970s and I used a few pairs for nearly 20 years.  My last one was stitched by one Sitaram in Bangalore.  I had gone there to give measurement when our team was there for league matches.  

Sitaram had earned a good reputation and expertise as a shoe maker.  His shop was near the old Bangalore Jail. Sitaram was especially famous among cricketers who were using traditional cricket boots.  They were before the 'sponsorship era'.  As such, the players would get them stitched by Sitaram.  Famous names included B.S.Chandrasekhar, Roger Binny, G.R.Viswanath, etc.  Vijayprakash, who also played for Karnataka and who was in our team, introduced me to Sitaram.  He made a pair for me beautifully.  It was very comfortable, better than the ready made ones I had previously bought, but since they were a trifle heavy, I grew reluctant to use them.  Later, I exchanged the pair with my team mate Ajay, whose shoe-size and mine were similar.  He felt comfortable with them.  I started using his shoes. For replacing the worn out studs, I used to borrow from my friend Subramaniam, an anvil belonging to his grandfather who was known to make his own shoes at home  I liked doing the small repairs myself.   

[Image of the Cobbler's anvil, web-grabbed]

Mahatma Gandhi was an expert cobbler and has stitched many pairs himself.  There is much information on the web about it. Here is just one. Click here.  This is an interesting link!

Here is is wearing simple leather chappals, which he probably made himself.  He is standing in front of 10, Downing Street, London in 1931. 

[The last pair of buckskin cricket boots I used - it was Ajay's]

Ready-made, 'Firefly' brand, leather sole, buckskin uppers.  I had to use good insoles for cushioning and also to prevent the sharp studs from piercing through the leather sole into the feet!  Ajay later left cricket and moved out of Mysore for greener pastures.  I used that pair for many matches and was very comfortable with them because they were lighter.  By then, I had begun to find the new rubber-studded shoes to be even lighter, more flexible and hence more comfortable and no hassles with stud-maintenance or getting stitched to order.  They were durable as well.  New technology had already pushed the traditional buckskin boots into oblivion.

Whatever, cobblers on the pavement will continue to be available till such time the administration prohibits and chases them away.

Adjacent to Curzon Park, on the pavement.