The Churning of the Ocean of My
Life - Third Part Foundation for Future and Count Down for Disasters
The Churning of Ocean
of Life - Third Part Foundation for Future and Count Down for Disasters
“SOME DAYS I FEEL I SHOULD GO
BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD. NOT TO CHANGE ANYTHING BUT TO ENJOY A FEW THINGS TWICE”
The Churning of Ocean of Life
- Third Part Foundation for Future and Count Down for Disasters
The Churning of Ocean
of Life - Third Part Foundation for Future and Count Down for Disasters
“SOME DAYS I FEEL I SHOULD GO
BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD. NOT TO CHANGE ANYTHING BUT TO ENJOY A FEW THINGS TWICE”
How sweet are the days on two
special festivals, mothers used to wake up their children at 4.00 am. After the
early morning chores like brushing and washing face with cool water are
finished, mothers used to mix the overnight rice in a big steel plate with the
most delicious chutney made of tur dal with a special recipe that remained in
our culture for ages, adding lots of ghee and a pinch of tamarind chutney with
famous tangy taste and feed the six of us with her hand, followed by curd rice.
Then, children from all places used to gather near the large ShivaTemple and
play in groups. Mad ball game, kabaddi, running after one another with girls
and boys having fun and frolic till around 8.00 am. All of us used to go back
to get ready to attend school. The aura of the happy mornings twice a year used
to surround us for at least a week. As usual, my third brother used to pick a quarrel
with one or the other, thus ending the fun and frolic in a state of melancholy.
But a child is always a child, as Reader’s Digest used to have a page specially
for children. What shall I not give away for a return to my childhood,
including my life and be reborn?
Villages are places where most
people used to rest with meagre work after the harvest season, and groups of
villagers used to gather and chat near the Shiva Temple or in the cool shelter
in the middle of the village. Lots of loose talk used to sprout in there and
spread like wildfire, some enjoying the sadistic pleasure and some suffering
the ignominy of being victims of slander. Women were confined to their
kitchens, tending to children and sending their spouses to the fields or
gatherings. Farm workers used to start work by 8 am, eating the night rice
mixed with pickles and carrying boxes filled with rice made afresh and a
chutney or pickle. How many of these could afford a vegetable, an egg or a
chicken piece unless donated by a landlady? Poverty was not a curse for them.
They were born in poverty, raised in poverty, pulled out of school due to
poverty, and used to start working in fields from age ten or even earlier.
Wither economic equality and social justice?
I used to entertain thoughts about these poor people from a very young
age, and this developed into a kind of melancholy that never left me. Sharing
what I had started at a very tender age, and even today, I share the little I
have, and I enjoy the pleasure on their faces when I give them items of food
they would never have dreamed they would eat.
Palatial buildings of the very
rich, owning at least twenty acres of irrigated, black soil built on acres of
land, with strong wooden doors and very tall boundary walls, so that no one
walking on the road can have even a glimpse of the inside, herd of buffaloes and cows in thatched sheds
a little away from these buildings, number of workers both male and female
working in shifts twenty four hours a day, provided with tin sheds inside the
sprawling compound, represented the richness of the village. I saw many houses
from the inside, except one. There was a rumour in the village that the owner
of the house owned about 400 acres of irrigated land and many other movable and
immovable assets. At no point in time did I see the main door open. It was said that a male and a female worker
worked as full-time servants in these households. These workers were receiving
annual wages, a place to stay, food three times a day, non-vegetarian food once
a week and a pair of new clothes each year. The men were very strong, like the bouncers in
pubs and clubs nowadays.
There was a middle class, like
ours, who were living in rented portions in these houses,, There were no
toilets either for owners or tenants. Since childhood, I developed an
unerasable affection for my mother as she went to the fields for morning chores
along with other women. I did not develop sympathy for her until I grew up and
I knew about her childhood. She was born and brought up in towns, in her ancestors’
own houses until she was married, with all facilities, including kitchens and
toilets. My affection for her grew when
I learned about her resilience in adjusting to village life at a very young
age. Her respect towards my father, his wisdom, his great stature and his
honesty was boundless. Her mother, my grandmother, was talking to him, hiding
behind a door. What was his grandeur when he was serving people, and what kind
of words he had to hear from his eldest son during his retirement years? What a
fall from grace! The first time I got exposed to the level at which people
could degrade themselves when they think that what they were earning was theirs
and not the sweat and blood of their parents? I used to spend sleepless nights,
I dreamt about ghosts and burial grounds. I was so afraid of my father and his
health that ( if I think now, I feel distressed) I used to wake up and sleep on
his bed many times. It was not fear, but I felt his breath and made sure he was
still there for us. I am crying now writing this. He always used to repeat
“Chandra, Chandra”, his hope. But alas ! Chandra was a sinner. He could not
feed him a morsel of food from his own earnings. The churning went on. It never
stopped.
“Start doing what's necessary;
then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”
My father seems to practice
this. Perhaps, I am the only son who inherited this quality from him, I can
proudly say. I lost count of bright students, who studied and settled into
their lives thanks to my help. My uncle used to tell this frequently about my
father. To my mother’s family members, our father was like a father figure. My
uncle completed his Matriculation in Hyderabad. My grandfather refused to send
him to Indore, the only place where the entrance for the Intermediate course
was being held. My grandfather wanted him to work in a Press at a monthly
salary of Re.7/-. He joined the Press, but one Sunday, he slipped and reached
my father’s village, Nambur in Guntur District. That night, he started crying,
explaining his plight to my mother. Our
father overheard the conversation, it seems. The next morning, without speaking
a word, he asked my uncle to accompany him. In my uncle’s words verbatim, he
led him to one very rich Reddy landlord. And my uncle used to tell us, “Your
father went there. He took a glass of water and offered one to me and said,
‘Reddy! Give me a hundred rupees. I will repay when I have money. And that
Reddy, without enquiring why he needed so much money early in the morning, gave
ten notes of very big te rupee notes. Your father gave me the money and asked
me to go to Indore and complete the test.
And I passed the test. I
completed Intermediate and joined SBH. Later, I completed a BA. Later, I joined
RBI and retired as Grade B officer. Your father never asked me to return the
money. I did not think of returning it as the money saved our family. Finally,
I returned the money to meet his funeral expenses. Saying this, he used to cry.
How many times did I hear this, and how many times did I cry and blame myself
for not being by his side when he left the mortal world, God alone knows.
Recalling my father’s
memories, I wrote this Telugu poem. English translatiomn follows.
The father:
జనమ నిచ్చిన తండ్రి జగమెరిగిన తండ్రి
త్యాగ నిరతుడాత
త్యాగి యోగి
జ్ఙానియె తండిరి జనయిత జనకుడు
తనయు యున్నతి చూసి తనరు తండ్రి
కంటి రెప్పల వోలె కాచిన యా తండ్రి
సుతుని సుతుల గాచు సమయు తనక
తనయుల ప్రేమకై తపియించు యాతండ్రి
నింద బడగ యెంత నలత చెందొ
తరము మారె తండ్రి తలరాత మారెగ
కొడుకు మారి పెండ్లి కుమరు డాయె
తండ్రి మంచి యెల్ల తప్పుగ యగుపించె
వాణి పలుకు మాత నాదు నోట! 258
English:
Father is the one who gave
birth to the son. He is the one who knows the ways of the world. He is the wise
one, the father. He is the one who enjoys. He feels proud of the growth of his
son. The father who looked after the son as his eyelids protect the eyes,
protects the sons of the sons till his last breath. How much that father who
starves to be fed by the love of his sons gets depressed, disheartened when he
has to be maltreated by the same sons?
Generations changed, genres
changed, and the writing on foreheads of fathers changed. Son turned out to be
a husband. Whatever good the fathers have done is now looking like a
bummer.
This has become my strength
and my weakness. Some people used to
take advantage of my charity, and those around me were advising me against
going beyond myself. But, I could not get rid of the habit. The habits that
came with birth will not leave us till death, it is said. But, most of the
people who benefited from my charity remained loyal for many years and some
forever.
Summers used to be pleasant
days despite the intense heat in our area. Travelling was never a forte for us because
of the costs involved. We were a family of eight, including parents, with the
eldest already studying AMIE in Madras (Chennai now). That made us nine. We
used to play most of the time in the sprawling house of Sarma, who remained my
bosom friend for many decades. Unfortunately, he died of kidney failure. Farm workers used to bring palm fruits, cut
them in front of our house, and feed them to us. The delicious taste and the
coolness the palm fruit provided a lot of relief and happiness to us. A Bangle
vendor used to visit each village on a particular weekday. A Muslim vendor of
scents never failed to sell scents for my mother and sisters. By evening, at five
o’clock, ladies used to sit in their porches waiting for Soda Kotaiah. Tired of
household work from morning till evening and unable to bear the summer heat,
these ladies used to enjoy the gas-filled sodas, Kotaiah was bringing. He used
to make them specially. All these people are shadows of my childhood days.
Luckily, our village, being rich, full of educated landlords, has no ghosts of
the past. Elections used to provide us with a festive atmosphere. The five-day
festival near the Shiva Temple of the Chola Era, with its beautiful
architecture, a large Nandi, and painted idols and figures on the Gopuram,
remained as the sweetest of memories in my life. Our father was giving us an
anna each for four days and twenty-five paisa on the last day when the Chariot
Festival used to take place. Famous theatrical artists used to play mythological
and socialdramas. They used to start at
9 or 10 pm and continue till 4 am. We used to sleep on mud or sand, and our
hospital attendant used to carry us home. Those were the days and nights I
enjoyed most in my life, and the nostalgia remained with me
forever.
“If you carry your childhood
with you, you never become older.”
“Start by doing what's
necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.”
There is not much to speak
about in the eighth class, except that I continued to score first mark
consistently and I developed a total aversion to the Social Studies subject.
One incident strikes me, though. Our Social Studies teacher was Mr. Venkata
Rao. His daughter, too, was in our class, Leela Kumari. In one test, he awarded
the first mark to her. I did not even notice. But he gave an explanation that,
I wrote a Telugu word in two lines like Telu gu. As I divided the word, he cut
down one mark. Now, I feel the explanation was unnecessary. In Social Studies, grammar errors are not
taken into account. Another example of human weakness is this. In the SSLC
examination, she failed in two subjects, one of them was Social Studies. This
is just a passing reference to how even teachers fall prey to jealousy.
In the ninth class, I got the
best friend in my life, a friend that few ever get. Except for the past four or
five years in life, we never parted from one another. (The past five years, we
have also been away from each other due to my own grave errors of judgment. .).
Our co-students used to mock him with many an invective like " Blind
Fellow, Bondam (Obese) and stammerer etc. Most probably, I was the only one in
his life who never mocked him (including teachers, his own kith and kin, except
parents). He is a very intelligent guy. He competed with me for the first mark .
It was a friendly fight. He is very tall, very fat and was unable to pronounce
a few letters "ra". If he called me, it sounded like
"chandla".(It is what we give or do not give to people. By mocking,
we are only making children rebel. But for me, he would have become a recluse
and a rebel. It is true. He never let go of my hand for my sake and his sake
too. He used to wear thick glasses. He developed eyesight as a child, and it increased
with age. He used to be so big (6.2 ft. and 110 kgs.) and me so small (5.2 ft
and 40 kgs.) that when we once went to a Bata Shop in Hyderabad to purchase
footwear, the Manager humorously remarked, "Bata has not grown as big as
the Creator, Sirs! I bow to the Creator who made you both friends. We were
looking exactly like Hardy and Laurel. He completed his CA on his first attempt
in those days when it was the toughest to pass. But he was an abject failure in
life as he, too, fought with a rotten system, come what may. When I was a boy his mother once called me.
She said, "Don't leave my son. Come to our house, and you can study
jointly. We have electricity too." Throughout the arduous journey of my
life, this entire family played a major positive role. It will come at the
appropriate place.
These days, we discuss the
caste system a lot. I was born to a mother who was a very orthodox Brahmin, so
that she would not touch any food given by other caste landlords. They are
Choudaries (basically, they are not averse to eating non-vegetarian, though my
friend's mother did not eat). Most days I used to eat in their house. His
mother used to cook food for me without garlic. Even now, I avoid garlic. I
started my fight with the system by first opposing my family’s orthodox ways.
This too had a great effect on the psyche of my kith and kin, as they believed
in tokenism. I believed in firmness in thoughts. (good or bad)
One incident in the ninth
class is worth mentioning. Our Social Studies teacher (and Class Teacher too)
asked a question that no one in the class could answer. He asked all
students, including girls, to stand on the benches. He said, " I will give
you all one more chance. If anyone can recollect the answer, he can raise his
hand." My friend and I raised our hands. Here, he played a small trick.
" If one of you or both can not answer, I will make you only stand and ask
others to sit. " My friend immediately backtracked. I answered the
question and sat down while others stood on benches at the end of the class.
After coming out, my friend asked, " I also knew the answer exactly as you
answered. But I had no courage. Teach me how I should develop the courage to
face people," I told him. And the friendship was further cemented.
Like that, I became a part of
his life. Friend, philosopher, guide (teacher), doctor, and finally the visible
God! After we fought the rotten system and suffered the same humiliation, we
both suffered from the same psychological disorder, which is fatal in a few
cases. He could not withstand. I recovered. This is an example of the role a
wife plays in a man's life. His wife is by nature, a very good, honest lady.
She was intelligent. She worked in a high position. But she could not grasp his
real issue with life and his psychology. They lived together, but their lives
got derailed. I crossed all speed breakers because my wife was extremely
patient and understood me as a person with my own plus points and
idiosyncrasies. God bless her!
In the tenth class, one
incident that defined the path of my life happened. On the 15th August that
year, as a student who scored the highest marks in the school, I was called to
hoist the National Flag, which was the rarest honour those days, which was only
conferred on leaders or Head Masters of schools. That day I bunked school most on
fake pain. I lost a golden chance. The next day, our Head Master called me and
bombarded me. He felt worse than I did that day, because one of his favourite students
lost a chance that no one gets. The seed for losing out on the opportunities
that came searching for me was sown in my life. That continued till 50-55 years
of age.
In the tenth class , our lives
got totally derailed. They did not come back on track till 55 years of age, at
least for me. (Then and now, I keep track of each word spoken in the house when
I was there. That is a habit that came naturally to me. Even things spoken
secretly came to my notice. For this, I developed the art of making others
speak out. I already wrote that there would be a kind of intoxication in what I
talk about, that none can escape my sharp vision of life. I have to see what
happens with my grandchildren, if love overtakes my judgment.) That year, my
eldest brother got married. Like all other marriages in those days, it ended in
utter chaos. It was the first marriage in the house. My father invited the
whole village. He informed the -would-be father-in-law of my brother that there
would be a huge crowd that would attend the marriage and advised him to make
suitable arrangements. A miser to the core, the gentleman arranged the marriage
in the small verandah of one of the twin houses he owned. People came in large
numbers. Most stood on the streets, unable to view the function. Lunch was made
for a few. Then, the foxy family, seeing that the food prepared was not enough,
separated the children and the unimportant people and served them rice, chutney
and curd. We were not served the marriage lunch. I still remember, as there was
no place for the invites to sit inside, many of them climbed the parapet wall,
the staircase, and the roof of the building. The chaos ended as most people
went back without food. My father was very furious. But that gentleman, crooked
and cunning, vanished. My mother, usually the woman who never compromises,
started harassing my sister-in-law in all ways possible. Only words, no
violence. This distanced the couple from the family almost permanently.
My mother, hearing the neighbour’s
words, made a hell of a commotion during and after marriage. She had always
been a powerful personality. None could stand opposite her and argue against
her viewpoints. I inherited some of the traits. Most of the time during my
childhood, I studied in the kitchen, helping her with work. That was one of the
reasons she treated me specially, much to envy of others. My brothers used to
enjoy calling me gay. But mother's love can not be judged by quantum. That is
why, after my father's death, she stayed with me most of the days, though we
were fighting each other verbally and still living under the same roof.
Ultimately, she came back to me from a brother's house who bothered her beyond
her capacity to withstand, came to Hyderabad to attend a marriage in my sister’s
house, refused to go back, got return reservation cancelled, pleaded with me
not to send her anywhere as she was not being fed properly, practically fell on
the feet of my wife (I should not say this. If I am lying here, I will have no
salvation for hundred births. But that was what happened between four walls),
asked for her apology for all the bad things done by her to both of us, the
sinister propaganda she encouraged on our couple and pleaded with her to
convince me that she be allowed to die in my hands. My mother-in-law, too,
breathed her last in my hands; my uncle was standing outside, unable to see his
mother dying. She, too was always telling that she would die either in his
hands or in my hands. I wept copiously that day. My wife consoled both of us.
She stayed with us and died soon after. (My third brother called this openly on
Facebook as murder by me. May God bless his children in future because the present
does not determine our fate but the future will.
So, coming back, the effect of
our mother's tantrums had an irreversible effect on our lives throughout. Even
now, the stigma remains, whatever the masked faces say on the issue. Added to
this, the "Raakshsa Chanakyam" (The devilish politics) played by one
of our relations left an indelible mark on the already sinking ship of our
family.
That year was 1968. My father
fell fatally sick. His abdominal ulcers relapsed severely. It was so severe
that my mother decided that he would not survive. So, she called my elder
brother from Madras for discussions. She told him that there were six more
children to be fed and educated if he died suddenly and he unequivocally
refused to take any responsibility. This led to heartburn in the natural
course. In the meantime, the scheming relation, his father-in-law, sensing that
her daughter would have to sacrifice, came to our village to enquire about the
health of my father, heard about the issue and started inquiring in the village
whether they knew anything about whether my eldest brother was my mother's own
son or the son of my father's first wife, Smt. Rajyalalkshmi, who died very
early after their marriage. (My father, looking extremely black and with spores
of smallpox, married my mother, who was younger in age by 14 years. My mother
was looking yellow like freshly made sweets those days). Some people nodded
their heads in affirmation. The age gap
between my mother and her first son was only 15-16 years. They started
suspecting. A seed was sown that grew into a banyan tree by the time my mother
died. But her money in fixed deposits, her silver, her costly new silk sarees,
her books, diaries etc. were all sweet. The others in the village denied any such
possibility. As the relation had the first answer only in his mind, he murmured
in my brother's ears that she was not his mother and hence he had no
responsibility towards the remaining morons. My brother, who wanted this, the
miser he was, immediately and intentionally fell into the trap.He refused to
take any responsibility for the family that did not belong to him and left. My
mother, who made a lot of commotion during his marriage, had to reap an
unreasonable revenge from him. All this happened when my father was still
recovering from his severe illness. My father survived. Our sinking ship too
survived. Later in his life, my elder brother used to throw dog biscuits to
all, after they were well settled, like sarees, gifts etc. These dogs
remained faithful to him. I am not a dog. Let it be, I am not faithful to
Moriarties in life. But when his wife died I was the first to reach out, along
with my wife, there in a flight. The other dogs strayed onto the highway
barking about politics and delayed the cremation by at least four hours. The
issue of the parentage of my elder brother was a topic of discussion in the
village. Some here and there denting my
family image. And the effect remains.
I could write on this so
confidently, as this is still a topic of discussion in our circle. My mother’s
relations hated his stand. Those who helped her give birth to the first child
knew better than anybody. They are still alive. Today, one can not try to wash
these sins saying that he performed a pooja. He spent a huge amount of money (my mother's
savings) or donated to Temples. If we sincerely accept our faults and donate to
God, it will help. Or it will bounce back one day. I too, donated to Temples
after repenting of my mistakes. I am not publicising. More than temples, I fed
many people and am still doing it. It is not all about going to Heaven, but to
bring at least a few out of living hell. Never allow your blunders rust. Clean
them as far as possible. Do not repeat them. That is Dharma. Vemana in Telugu
wrote, "Why do you pray to Lord Shiva when your mind is not pure?"
To the same eldest brother,
when he pestered for continuing studies, my father sold the most valuable
agricultural land of an acre for Rs.7,200/- and sent him to Madras. My father
was against it, but my mother pestered him and sent him to Madras to study AMIE,
hoping that higher education for the eldest son would benefit the other
children as he would get a good job and a handsome salary. Will any God, who is
really a God, if he exists, pardon his sin of calling such a mother not his
own? Did he complete his studies? No. He formed a Union there with some other
vagabonds, and one fine evening, my father got a telegram to present himself at
the Principal’s office. After he went there, he handed over my brother’s Transfer
Certificate. As my brother got a plum Central Government job , with a
recommendation, he survived. We sank further. If earning crores of rupees is
the measure of one's honesty, I will tell you an episode. One lady, who earned
lakhs through the oldest profession in the world, bought a posh bungalow for
Rs.30 lakhs during those days. She became a respectable lady in high society.
One fine morning, what prompted her no one knows, she called the press and
asked them if they knew her background. And then she told her story. This made a
sensation in the public. Nobody asks how an ordinary clerk/officer earned
crores. If some one gets punished for even a small error in the course of duty,
he is dubbed as taboo, dishonest, untouchable, etc., Some people who enjoy the
crores earned by their father even on dead bodies in cyclones, today teach me
about honesty. Unfortunate but true! All this will come later. You are the
judges. Who else is an example but my brother-in-law?
A few months later, my father
extracted a promise from our Adharma Raju, that he would send Rs.50/- per month
with no incremental value over time. He was sending some months and skipping a few
others. My father reminded him with a postcard. I knew this as I was mailing
this, given the love my father had for me. This is the reply verbatim, that he
was getting. " I am married. I also got children. My expenses are
increasing. (Salaries too were increasing) . Who asked you to give birth to so
many children? Would you have died if you had no girl children? (My parents
were to have a girl child, so they went on to have children every other year). Moreover,
what is my responsibility towards children not born of the same mother?"
Seeing these letters, my father wept. By evening, he used to get totally
depressed. He got accustomed to "Morphia" injections. After some
months, he taught me how to inject the medicine. He went into total
hopelessness and got depressed. Alas! What a fall from grace? After going to
the town, post-retirement, he totally got into full scale depression.
Added to this, our second
brother did not get a job immediately after graduation as he scored consistently
poor scores and his general knowledge was very poor. He failed his PUC
examination. He was forcibly admitted into M.Com. of course, without any
scholarship. Additionally, our third brother did not get a job for 2 to 2.5
years after graduation. This added to the financial troubles. During this
period, the scholarship amount of Rs.1200/- I was getting per annum. The return
of around Rs.500/-p.a. on the three acres of almost non-irrigated land left
after the best land was sold out (this too was irregular), the 100/- p.m. my
father was getting as a partner in practice from a local doctor, father-in-law
of my brother, saved us from total collapse. In addition, by mortgaging my
scholarship amount and my own intelligence I shall get a job immediately after
graduation) My father and I used to sign joint pro-notes and raise hand loans
from our head master, the daughter-in-law of an ex-MLA, the mother of my close
friend and the wife of Sri Venkataramaiah garu among others..
You can imagine. The amount of
Rs.25/- my eldest brother was sending, Rs.100/- my father's practice fee,
Rs.100/- my scholarship amount and Rs.45/- income from agriculture (app.) (the
last two used to come at the end of the year) totaled to Rs.270/-. The last
drawn salary of my father when he retired on 29th of June, 1969 was Rs.498-20.
As we were living in a village and my father was the village doctor, we used to
get grains, dals, ghee, milk, curd etc., freely many a time. Added, whenever
there was a function in any house in the village we used to get abundant
quantity of sweets and other items. We used to get mangoes etc., free. In the
town, we were paying Rs.45/- as rent and electricity charges too. We were
having an open air lavatory that was stinking if it rained or the scavenger did
not come a day to clean. (What a life they were leading? alas!) How could we
have run the show without depending on borrowings? (It is easy to say my father
led a very dignified life and never borrowed. But that is deceiving self like
Brutus, saying that he killed Caesar for the honor of Rome. I can not be so.
Nor am I Antony, that roused the rabble to instigate them to kill the
conspirators, by speaking out of the box to get fame. I wanted to come out clean
of my good and bad and naturally, other players enter the sordid drama.) If I
re think those days, I have to cry daily. But life goes on for every one and
for me too! Many a time, when I was hungry, I was going to my friend's house,
ask his mother to feed me and eat. I was not knowing what others did. We spent
four horrible years like that. Copies of the pro-notes that I jointly executed
with my father are intact with me. I will publish them at the opportune time.
My father had an insurance
policy of Rs.1,000/- by the time he retired. He got some amount on that and we
lived almost six months on that. ( In his famous treatise “The Pickwick Papers”
Charles Dickens writes that one debtor lived on his shoes for a month, meaning he
sold the shoes for feeding self for a month). My father's pension and PF got a
lot of time to get settled. (7 years). For that I had to move earth and
heaven at age 22. None of my elder brothers ever thought of helping out. My
angst against the rotten system doubled then.
(I had to harp upon the
irrelevant and boring details of our income and expenditure in the town, as my
third brother started reacting wildly (I already told of his timid anger
earlier) with irrelevant photos. I did not want to pollute my revelations with
his blabber. My intention is to accept my own blunders in life and explaining
in detail how the attitudes of others either helped me or ruined me in life.
The purpose is not criticism. Each chapter tells a story, how I reached where I
am now able to tell about myself. Only way to know is to wait till I complete
this. From now on, I will only grow beyond the comprehension of others till I
die, and there will be no fall. I do not wish any other person/persons that
contributed to my life to fall. Sarvey Janaha Sukhino Bhavantu!
The eldest should have been
Dharma Raju, but
he turned out to be the exact opposite. The
second one Savya Saaci (I already explained switch of roles) used to get help
from both hands and drown the others with both. Bheemasena was a timidity
personified, angry man with enough of jealousy to add fuel. I am like Nakula
whose horse used to run very fast either in doing good or bad. I never winked
to think if what I was doing was right or not. My fifth bother was Saha Devudu,
truly, an angel devoted totally to his wife post marriage that he insulted me
many a time in front of all after I suffered a jolt in life. But this is
excusable. I am not so great as not to be insulted by a brother. If I say
anything bad about him, I will lose everything in my body. He did so much to
our family before marriage that it changed the course of my life during those
days. Despite doing so much, he never heard a kind word from people who got
help from him. He is like a water drop on a Lotus leaf. Nothing touches him. I
developed, inimitable affection and attachment to the family that I became too
sensitive to forget anything. It was a major flaw in life.
Savya Saaci was always weak in
studies. He passed out SSLC with ordinary marks. Once, my father asked him,
" When Chandrudu is getting so many marks, why are you not getting?"
He replied, " Because he is Doctor's son, he got better marks" My
parents had a hearty laugh at his answer and my father shared this anecdote
with the teachers, who told him that marks are given on performance and that
both of us were Doctor's sons only.
He was sent to Hyderabad to my
maternal uncle's home for pursuing PUC. He failed the examination and passed
out in the supplementary. (The only failure in our family for three
generations). But later he recouped all his energy and became the first post graduate
in our family. (The second is me who got double Post Graduation recently). One
reason he studied post graduation was he did not get good break in job search
after graduation. The present job that he retired from was on the
recommendation of my elder brother in Madras. But his envy and jealousy of me
was never on the wane, even when I was eating rotten rice and dal at age 40.
The most reprehensible behavior of the eldest two, the timid courage of
my third brother, added to my own woes who took over the responsibility of my
whole family within a year of my father's death as the third one abdicated
them.
All this is later part, but I
thought I would incorporate it here.
##########################
Let us go back to my High
school days. In the eleventh class, my Head Master and Mathematics teacher gave
special coaching after school hours and Sundays in their homes, so much so that
I might have written each English grammar sentence and each maths problem.in
hundreds of books. Final Examination. First paper was English. My Head Master
asked me how much I could score. I said 80. He said, " Do not boast. No
one got 80 marks in English after this school was established." I said I
would get. Then he promised to start a new chapter in the school history that
if I got 80%, he would start writing the names of the students who come School
First on a board with golden letters. I got 81% and he kept up his promise.
It was time for Mathematics
examination. Soon after the question paper was given, I observed my mathematics
teacher running here and there in the corridor and the Head Master behind him
trying to stop him. There was a question in the Geometry Section of the paper.
It was drawing a Rhombus. It carried 20 marks. Our teacher did not teach that
in our class as it was a very difficult problem. And that question never came
in examinations in his career, he told later. I chose to answer the question
first. It took a lot of time. I got severe head ache too. The rest of questions
I answered fast but could not complete two questions due to paucity of time.
Soon after I came out, my
mathematics teacher, Head Master and some other teachers came running
anxiously. My mathematics teacher asked, "Did you attempt the
Rhombus?" I answered, I completed it successfully. Our head master
intervened and asked how I could do it even as my teacher was worried it was
very difficult and he did not teach it. He gave a paper and asked to re draw
it. I did. My mathematics teacher started crying like a child. Might be the
pent-up emotion of three hours burst out. I was perplexed. He lifted me like
his own son and hugged me tight. It took lot of effort for other teachers to
console him.
You could do what I did not
dare to, he said, Both congratulated me. Later I got only 95%. It is okay, they
said.
The teacher-student
relationships in those days, used to be on a different scale altogether. After
I left the school, for many years, they have been quoting me whenever a chance
came or in prayer meetings, the teachers told me, saying that a student should
be like Chandra. I also used to tell to my college mates and later office mates
for many years that teachers should be like both of them. During school days, I
lost total belief in the caste system. My head master was a Choudary, my mathematics
teacher was from some other caste, I, a Brahmin. They used to keep the hearts
of the students, clear like the blue waters of a stable ocean.
With the courtesy of both
teachers to date, I never looked back on English and Mathematics. Even now, I
can add 100 numbers without a pen in hand and tell the total. If anyone tells
me four-digit numbers, I can add and tell the total within seconds. I never recorded phone numbers. In my bank,
whenever anyone wanted a phone number, they were joking, "Go and ask the
computer"
My respected teachers! I grew
so big because of you. I will certainly grow bigger. When I reach the Higher
Lands, I will take your blessings!
I got first place in the
school and 35th rank in the state. I got selected for the National Merit
Scholarship. The second one got 23 less than me, the Rhombus effect. My close
friend for life got third mark with 32 marks less than me, again the Rhombus
effect. My scholarship contributed to almost 25% of our family expenses in later
years. I did not have fees in my college days. With torn pants and shirts
donated my elder brother and half-filled stomachs, my life of ladders and
snakes after snakes started then.
That we wished all things did
not happen, that we did not wish many things would not happen.
