🤕 Boo-Boos 🤕

Do you know when you start to feel your age? 

An innocuous question popped up on my browsing sites. Really, sometimes I wish these systems weren’t omniscient. I might’ve searched up the best way to dress a flesh wound, but did that mean you use my demographics, cross-reference it with my potentially weak hips thanks to my age, and wrangle up half-baked questions and answers on when you actually start to feel your age?!

Preposterous.

If only someone would sue the internet for this nonsense. 

I feel fine. 

So what if I am slightly wobbly while descending the stairs after a fall two days afterward? It is perfectly normal isn’t it? I mean I am not a teenager anymore or in my twenties or in the decade after that for that matter. But so what?

A children’s book I’d picked up a few days ago from the library beamed up at me. Books: Ever the saviors I tell you.

The Boo-Boos That Changed the World: A True Story About an Accidental Invention (Really!) by Barry Wittenstein and Chris Hsu 

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The book is about a man, Earle Dickson, whose wife gets a lot of boo-boos. While a competent enough person with dressing of wounds and such, she is also aware of how hard it is to take care of wrapping the bandages and cutting the reels of cotton etc by herself, especially if one of the hands are injured. 

Thus was born the handy Band-Aid. Husband and wife worked on the design together and pitched the idea.

Luckily Dickson also works for Johnson & Johnson – the business that could take up an idea for boo-boo betterment. 

Despite the brilliance of the idea, it did not take off as easily. People still seemed to prefer the old-fashioned way of tending to their injuries. That’s when they hit upon the idea of Boy Scouts of America – a place where folks regularly hurt themselves, and wanted to get back to having a marvelous time as quickly as they could. (Children! The best boo-boo handlers in the whole world. I remember glorious years in which scraped knees and elbows meant nothing, other than a dusting off before running that next race to the eucalyptus tree down by the road. )

That did it. As Boy Scouts embraced Band-Aid, so did the rest of the nation. I beamed up at the son, who is a proud Boy Scout and had helped me with immediate first-aid with the boo-boo.

He then ordered some first-aid supplies off Amazon, and the site flashed that it would be available at my doorstep in a couple of hours time. We looked at each other, and said, “Wow! We are spoiled brats huh?! We just wait for it at home and peel-and-stick.”

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/557760/the-boo-boos-that-changed-the-world-by-barry-wittenstein-author-chris-hsu-illustrator/

I stared back at the browsing link being recommended to me: So, when do you start to feel your age?

👻 Maybe when you realize that getting a boo-boo and taking off soon after is harder. 

🤕 Maybe it is when you groan your way downstairs from a simple boo-boo from days earlier. 

😈 Maybe it is when you yearn for that beautiful moment just before the boo-boo.

👻🎃 I Am Hopeful Because 👻🎃

I sat on All Hallows Eve bathed in an orange glow, marking and judging entries for a literature contest. If ever there was a content pumpkin contest, there I was, readymade. It was quite an enjoyable task, and I sat quietly reading stories, poems and essays on the topic, “I Am Hopeful Because”. 

Throughout the evening, I waddled out of my desk to open the door and bellowed, “Who dared to ring the bell? Ho ho ho!”. I thought I was doing pretty well till the son asked me why Santa was ho-ho-ho-ing on Halloween. Oh well!

Halloween is one of my favorite American festivals.  The house was reasonably well decorated. Pretty soon, penguins, vampires, mermaids, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all come knocking on the door despite the ominous sign by the door that read, “Knock if you dare!”.

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 The son and his friends had a roaring Candy Exchange Business going on the side I understood later. He came into the house looking flushed from the cold, and bursting with news. Apparently, he’d been able to auction a Kit-Kat for 2 Twix, a Ghirardelli white chocolate piece, and an M&M packet. He also had instituted a monopoly on all the Sour Patch Candy, and found himself bartering and trading like the fellows on the stock exchange. I smiled. 

“How was your evening?” he asked. It had been one of those rare Halloween evenings when I had stayed put inside the home instead of gallivanting with the revelers. I love the atmosphere of Halloween as regular readers know, but this time a minor biking accident had me sitting inside, while the Halloween revelers roamed the candy laden streets. They mapped best routes, best homes to hit for the best candies resulting in rounds of discussion. It was all marvelous.

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I did miss the magic of the halloween streets with moonlight filtering through the clouds, black cats slinking through the streets, raccoons wondering what all the fuss was about, and chattering children racing towards lit up porches for some Halloween candy. But it was also a surreal, beautiful evening. A reminder of the joys of winter evenings, of warmth drawing in as the evenings became colder. That first feeling of Hygge. 

I told him that I was hopeful because the evening was full of well-behaved children. The children all seemed to be so happy to receive a piece of candy, even though they all live in an economy and a community where far too much sugar is available for consumption. One or two of them even returned a couple of pieces of candy when they’d had a few more than they thought they wanted. 

The sweet honesty of these children in times when we are constantly reminded of our flaws and failures was refreshing, and the gentle interactions through the evening with adults and children alike, was very pleasant indeed.

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“We’re all mad here.”

– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

25 years on?

On a whim one week-end night we watched the Kung Fu Panda – 3 movie. This movie, in my mind, was a stroke of genius with respect to the storyline. All three Kung Fu Panda movies are brilliant when it comes to storyline, characters and humour. But this one was sublime in the way it helped us understand why Oogway stood by his decision of choosing Po – the panda, to be the Dragon Warrior, when he accidentally fell out of the sky as the choice for Dragon Warrior was being made. 

  • The first movie: Po destined to be the Dragon Warrior
  • The second movie: Po, the Dragon Warrior’s, background – where he came from, what happened?
  • The third movie: explains why Oogway the turtle stood by his decision to choose Po as the Dragon Warrior.

In the third movie, a villain, Kai, is wrecking the spirit realm so he can come back and drink the Chi (life force) from the major characters. He manages to come back to the physical realm and is shocked to see that nobody remembers him, but many seem to remember his arch nemesis, Oogway the Turtle. Well, Kai had died 500 years ago – so it was quite obvious that people had forgotten him, but what we were discussing is not that people had forgotten Kai, but how Kai managed to find his way around at all. 

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If someone were to fall asleep and wake up 25 years later, it would be hugely disconcerting. Think of all the things that have changed just in the past 25 years:

  • People now walk around with cell-phones – the equivalent of magic wands in fantasy stories these days. 25 years from now, people will wonder how folks in our generation ever got anything done without aid from these devices. We can’t seem to navigate to our destinations, talk to our dear ones,  or create images and thereby memories without our precious devices. 
  • The usage of the internet in the past 25 years. In many ways, our generation of software engineers crested the wave with the rising innovations in this space – search engines, email, chat, video conferencing, news channels, social media, streaming entertainment. If somebody went to sleep in 1990 and got up in 2025, it would be hugely disconcerting.
  • Rising economic fortunes mean that travel has become more achievable and adventures await more of us at every turn.
  • Reading has evolved – After maybe 500 years of only having the physical book, the Kindle paved the way for e-reading. The Internet opened doors for all types of reading: short bursts, medium posts, long articles. 
  • Entertainment – the kinds of entertainment itself has evolved so drastically. Streaming channels, live TV, YouTube videos, Twitch, online gaming
  • Payment methods: Where previously we needed access to banknotes as cash, we have gone to increasingly easier and secure methods of payment transactions. From high-end stores in New York to street vendors in rural India, the money language has evolved too.  

“Maybe human-beings are like frogs in water with respect to technology – slowly exposed to increasingly higher levels of complexity and we just adapted. Babies and children are truly amazing- imagine their learning curve!”, I said and we laughed.

Maybe Kai was going about it all wrong, we said after discussing some of this. Kai should’ve come back to Earth 500 years after Oogway had died and then, he’d have realized that nobody remembered Oogway either. More importantly, how did it matter whether anyone remembered you or not 500 years from now? You wouldn’t be here to know – you’d be partying in the spirit realm, wouldn’t you?

What are your guesses on how life would look 25 years from now?

Successful Transitions

Reminders of time passing are all around us. It is there in the first drizzle of October nights, in the nippy mists of November mornings, and the frigid temperatures of the freezing winter months, as much as it is in the growth of hope and new leaves in spring.

IMG_7697-COLLAGEYet, even after a few years of these cycles, we still do not comprehend the effects of time as effectively as when we see those around us age, or loved ones lose their vigor. It has been a hard lesson and one everyone goes through in life. But the past few trips to India have really brought this to us with increasing clarity and sadness. Sadness, not for the coming of the inevitable, but for our own reluctance in accepting it.

It is hard seeing once vibrant aunts and uncle lose their vigor and charm. Precious few hold on to their good graces as they age. Many lapse into complaining about their lot. Still others, refuse to accept their diminishing physical prowess, and insist on being in-charge even in situations where they are clearly past it.

What will our folly be?

The more I saw of the aging and the elderly, the more I wonder whether there is an easy way for us to move towards acceptance. I understand first-hand the shock of it. I remember thinking with shock when my daughter’s friends called me ‘Aunty’ for the first time all those years ago. When had I become an ‘aunty’? But now, I love it when the friends of my children call me ‘Aunty’ – it is a word that fills me with joy.

This is also a reason I find myself attracted to books by authors like Miss Read. (Jacqueline Winspear was recommended to me recently and I like the style and wisdom in her writings as well). Fictional and functional characters such as Miss Clare and Mma Ramotswe of the No 1 Detective Agency come to mind. They bring to life the kind of people we admired through our childhoods: normal people living life with grace, common sense and love for those around them. It is comforting to read that practicing these apparently simple tenets lead to a good life.

As I read the essay on psychosocial intelligence in the book: Putting the Science in Fiction – Collated by Dan Koboldt , I could not help nodding along at the bits of writing related to our lifespans as outlined by the essayist Maria Grace. Maria Grace is a psychologist and a curious observer of the human condition. In it, she says that

🍀”Psychosocial development encompasses the changes in an individual as they manage various societal expectations across the lifespan.”

While there are many books that guide us through adolescence (now more than before) , I am constantly looking for good books that guide us through the middle and later stages of our lives. There are always philosophical works – the wisdom of humankind through the ages distilled in our myths, fairy-tales, vedas, religious texts, fables and epics. Philosophers such as Seneca, Aristotle and Buddha who have given us a peek. 

When we are children, we rarely understand what adults mean when they say childhood is far easier. I don’t think I ascribe to that theory. Those of us lucky enough to have people looking after us certainly have things to be grateful for, but adolescence is also a period of great uncertainty and angst.

However, I understand now what teachers and parental figures meant when  they said childhood was easier, for adulthood brings with it a whole host of different challenges. The expectations of our roles in society, the ability to care for different generations – older parents, our siblings, colleagues and peers, and younger children ( our own, niblings, friends children, those in our care).

🍀”In addition to the tasks of preparing older progeny for launch into the world and managing the increasing needs of older parents, individuals at this stage of the lifespan are also expected to step into social leadership roles. A commitment to lifelong learning and growth marks a positive resolution to this stage, whereas Ebenezer Scrooge-like preoccupation with self and comfort mark an unsuccessful one.”

As I read on to the late adulthood sections of the essay, specifically, navigating the travails of old age and its associated ailments. She goes onto say:

🍀“Those who manage this transition (late adulthood) successfully do so by recognizing the worth of their previous and continued contributions to their society and future generations. Depression, despair and giving up mark unsuccessful transitions.”

I have yet to read any books by Maria Grace, but her essay on psychosocial development in the Putting Science in Fiction book is an excellent one. (Essay: Character Development Beyond Personality Quirks)

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Our Invisible World Made Visible

I pulled Atlas of the Invisible from the library shelves looking pleased. Here was another book straight from the dream shelf. As I thumbed through the pages, I felt a familiar flutter of anticipation. I could already visualize the happy hours spent looking into the different maps and visualizations to help understand the world around us better. 

Many of us have heard of the map Dr John Snow drew up of the cholera epidemic in London as he went about his duties as a doctor. With the aid of his map, he was able to isolate and identify the contaminated water pump from which the water-borne disease was spreading. 127 people died in 3 days and over 600 people died within a month. Here was a groundbreaking example of multiple skill sets coming together to identify and problem solve. 

Of course, data and its importance has only increased in the intervening century and a half since. In Dr Hans Rosling, Anna Rosling & Ola Rosling’s book, Factfulness: Ten Reasons We’re Wrong About the World–and Why Things Are Better Than You Think , examples of data collection, sampling, analysis and visualizations help us think of the world in eye-opening ways. The progression of populations from under-developed to developing to developing is fascinating and gives hope for a future that has solved many of mankind’s problems. 

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<Infographic from Factfulness book mentioned above.>

Now, several leading newspapers such as the New York Times commission data analysts to present their findings and even have visualization teams to help with the most succinct presentation of data. 

Atlas of the Invisible – By James Cheshire and Oliver Uberti is a treat for those who enjoy analytics. 

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Example charts – to see if you like the book:

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We are all data points in this world. I chuckled as I read about the folks who revealed a high security defense location in the middle of the desert simply by turning on Strava to keep track of their daily activities. A good reminder that like many of our inventions, this penchant for data tracking and analysis too will bite us in unexpected ways.

I hope you enjoy the books as much as I did.

Recommended Reading on this subject:

The Storms of Vincent

Regular readers know that I am a pluviophile (one who loves the rain). On my recent visit to India, I was out walking around the apartment complex our family lived in one night, and found myself caught in the most brilliant and relentless rain they’d had in months apparently. 

I was delighted. 

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I was on a late night phone call to the family back in the US, and I rushed to the building in the center taking refuge there and looking stupendously happy for someone who had no idea how to get back home in the rain, or if the door would be open for me when I did get back. None of that mattered just then. Living in the present and all that. I poked my tongue out to catch a few raindrops.

“Hello!” said a neighbor, and I gulped feeling foolish. She smiled and I smiled back sheepishly, hoping she hadn’t seen. 

“I don’t think this is going to stop just yet. I am just going to run for it. “ she said and gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and plopped off through the rain. 

I stood transfixed by the pouring sheets of rain. It would have definitely been classified as ‘a storm’ in California.  Lightning lit up the skies, and thunder rumbled. It was beautiful.

I don’t know how long I stood there gawking like that, but soon I realized that the downpour was not stopping any time soon, And it was close to midnight. Unless I wanted to spend the whole night outside, I would have to run through the rain. So I did. I splashed into the house – luckily the daughter was still awake, chatting with her friends on the phone and she opened the door. She gave me a disapproving cluck and said “Oh my gosh – let me get you a towel.”

As I watched the rain pour itself out, the little rivulets of water sliding down the building walls, and the flashes of lightning illuminating the cityscape every now and then, I found I could not sleep and picked up the Vincent and Theo book by my bedside, and flipped to the part where Vincent likes painting storms.

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Excerpt:

It’s been stormy and stormily beautiful to Vincent in Scheveningen lately, and into the squalls he goes. He is just starting to paint with oil and is not used to them yet, but he takes oil paints into the storm to paint the beach, the waves crashing one after the other, the wind blowing, the sea the color of dirty dishwater. He makes one of his first oil paintings, View of the Sea at Scheveningen, with a fishing boat and several figures on the beach. The wind is fierce, kicking up the sand. Sand sticks to the thick, wet paint.

Vincent loves capturing the turbulence of a storm. “There’s something infinite about painting”, he tells his brother. “I can’t quite explain – but especially for expressing a mood, it’s a joy.”

A few days later, on a quieter day, he sketches the beach. Sending the sketch to Theo, he describes a “Blond, soft effect and in the woods a more somber, serious mood. I’m glad that both of these exist in life.”

Wild and somber. Room for both. Room for all.

https://ontrafel.vangogh.nl/en/story/167/traces-of-a-nasty-little-storm

Please check out the View of the Sea painting and further details here

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Vincent’s life was a stormy one too. He was not an easy person to live with and this caused many rows with his family, though he was intensely dedicated to all of them: his parents, siblings (especially Theo), uncles etc.

I looked out of the window again. We all live through the storms in our lives. But, the good thing is that no storm lasts forever. Not all living beings would have the luxury of drifting off to sleep like that, and that made me very grateful for a warm bed and dry clothes.

“There is peace even in the storm”

― Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

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The Joy of Effort – A Sense of the Infinite?

I was reading the book, Vincent and Theo – the Van Gogh Brothers by Deborah Heiligman. There are many aspects of the book that appeal to me. The narrative style, short chapters, clear language, not withstanding, it also touches upon difficult temperaments and the strain on relationships, Vincent van Gogh’s mental health, and his subsequent descent that led to the accident of cutting his ear off. 

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To Vincent van Gogh, portrait painting became an almost urgent need to master – just before his spiral towards insanity started. Uncle Cent, after whom he was named, was the closest uncle to him, though he was disappointed in Vincent, and left him with no legacy or inheritance. He left it all to his brother, Theo, instead. Still it moved Vincent at the time. He was in the process of prolific creation, and thoughts of mortality made him think of portrait painting with a sense of urgency.

This is a self portrait of Vincent van Gogh made in 1887. This portrait is on display in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.

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“Uncle Cents death makes him think more than ever about mortality – and immortality. Maybe there is an afterlife, maybe not. But if he paints someone well, that person is alive forever.

In the time he will spend in Arles – 444 days- he’ll make two hundred paintings and one hundred drawings, a huge number for an artist. He’ll paint landscapes, still lifes, scenes of cafes at night, furniture, rooms, flowering trees, flowers-he is about to begin painting his favorite again, sunflowers. But painting portraits is the thing that moves him most deeply, that gives him “a sense of the infinite”.”

I put the book down and thought about the meaning of effort in our existence. For many artists art gives a sense of meaning. To capture the infinite as Vincent van Gogh says. 

What has happened to portrait painting as a venue since photography came in? Maybe, photographers tend to capture the infinite. 

I thought of all the different mediums slowly replaced by a quicker technology. 

  • Writing  & Editing – ChatGPT, Grammarly and ProWritingaid are all quickly gaining traction for this hobby. 
  • Painting – there are tools available to take any picture and make it look like a painting. You can even choose the style you’d like your photograph transformed into
  • Knitting & Embroidery – almost lost to mechanization and mass production 

While newer and quicker mediums are welcome, I wonder about the appeal of the slow and steady. After all, half the joy is in the effort. I know I enjoy mulling and aching over my words – whether it is a short article, a children’s book, a novella, short story, or larger book. But I do also enjoy using my laptop – the ease and speed far enhanced from the days of penning my thoughts in notebooks as I used to do. 

I am sure all of our tools will lead to different hobbies and pursuits – after all, human imagination can rarely remain idle. I only hope the newer ones provide as much satisfaction in the effort.

The Boiler of Milk

I was on a visit to the old homeland. After the fond welcomes, and affectionate enquiries about all our friends, I was tasked with boiling the milk packets. I took to the task with enthusiasm and surprised myself.

How many of you have boiled milk? I realize that this bit of cooking is something that I do not miss living in the United States. The vessels are always a nightmare to scrub afterwards, and the milk itself has a cruel sense of humor. It would sizzle, and nuggle and miggle without actually boiling over, for ages. The entire time you are there alone pondering on the n-different things you could be spending your time on, nothing happens. Images from the poignant movie, The Great Indian Kitchen juggle with the forced quiet and calm of the post-dinner boiling milk time. The house is finally quiet. The milk is quiet too. Like a volcano. Dormant and slumbering. Rumbles from time-to-time, but slumbers all the same.

Then, the moment you decided to flick an eyelash out of your eye, the whole thing would come pouring out, making a mess. It is also curious that it seems every adult in the vicinity is peculiarly attuned to the sound of the hissing milk gushing out of the vessel. No sooner than this happens that the hitherto empty kitchen gathers distinguished guests. 

  • The old grandmother, who minutes ago complained of knee aches and the inability to stand for a few minutes, comes prancing into the kitchen to offer advice. 
  • The older grandfather hears this sound when one has to otherwise yell into his hearing aid to eat his tablets. He hobbles out of bed to see what the fuss is about. 
  • The children – oh the children. You can spend entire evenings calling their names to come and finish their tasks, but this. They jaunt in to get in on the action with no invitations!
  • The man of the house looks amused at all the fuss, and wonders why the woman of the house looks petulant. It is just a packet of milk!

The boiler of milk, in the meanwhile, has nowhere to go – the results of her ineptitude spooling out helpfully for all to see and revel in.

Just a packet of milk. 

Really, adulthood is very trying!

Still, it just goes to prove that time is a great healer and all that. All milk-related trauma seemed laughable just then, and I headed into the kitchen to boil a packet, looking like an angel in a night-suit. Patience oozing from my every pore, I smiled back as if to tell everyone present that I have it handled. My guardian angel or gatekeeper os whoever else keeps score, had better be jotting this down, I thought to myself as I stepped into the kitchen.

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I had no idea it was a task of such a technical nature. 

India launched Chandrayaan-3 and managed to safely land the space vehicle on the less explored side of the moon with less instructions.

  • Don’t use the aluminum vessel. No, no, not that one. We need that to boil milk in the morning.
  • Take the packets to the left of the tomatoes in the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Not the tomatoes in the middle shelf. 
  • Keep the flame between sim and high. Not that low. No no…not that high. It could have been instructions for my blood pressure. 
  • Don’t use that ladle – use the milk ladle
  • Why do you need a ladle?
  • No need to stir – are you making theratti-paal (milk peda) 
  • Better to stir it every now and then, so you know what to expect.

I took a deep breath, and shot back that I knew how to boil milk – thank you very much, and would everybody turn away from the kitchen please? 

I felt my guardian angel scowl. 

I stood there, meditatively stirring every now and then, watching the bubbles form and gather as the milk began to boil. Just as I stood watching, and switched off the gas, the milk hissed over anyway. 

“Forgot to tell you that this is a thick copper bottomed vessel that conducts heat. You need to switch off a few seconds prior to it actually boiling over.” said a gleeful voice. “I was going to tell you but you seemed to be so impatient for no reason.”

The Magic of Malgudi

Maybe it was the fact that we visited the home of R K Narayan after the opulence of the Mysore Palace, or the fact that while all of rural Karnataka seemed to have decided on Mysore Palace, nobody had thought of R K Narayan’s abode, but the author’s bungalow on a quiet residential street was like a little cocoon of quiet and peace. A lovely setting in which to imagine the most magical tales of small-town Malgudi.

It isn’t a humble abode – it is a beautiful house set in an upper middle class neighborhood. White and two-storeyed, it is a lovely home and while inside, I couldn’t help remembering his own notes on how he had acquired the piece of land on which it was built. 

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Book: The Grandmother’s Tale – By R K Narayan.

Far away from the town center as it was then, the realtor had promised him that it would be the bustling center of town one day. He left his noisy abode in Vinayak Street, and moved to this one – with the railway tracks to one side, the lilting hills and the then empty lands stretching between the home and the Mysore Palace.

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With his characteristic wit, he wrote of his gardener, Annamalai, who helped maintain the land around his house. Annamalai, like most men of the soil, intuitively knew how to clean and maintain lands.

I stooped to look at the plants for a brief moment before entering the home and remembered Annamalai’s classification: “This is a poon-chedi” (flowering plant) and chuckled to myself. 

“If he liked a plant, he called it poon-chedi and allowed it to flourish. The ones he did not like, he called “poondu” (weed), and threw over the fence.”

  • R K Narayan –  The Grandmother’s Tale (Story: Annamalai)

Annamalai was no horticulturist but seems to have taken care of the great man’s lands well enough.

Inside the house, it was largely quiet and the lady who stood at the entrance was happy enough to receive us. She was diminutive, and oddly neither welcoming nor dismissive. She surveyed us as if mildly annoyed with herself for being interested in us. She sometimes followed us as we entered the household and read the quotes off the walls. When it was obvious that we were in awe, and really happy to be in the place where R K Narayan wrote his gentle tales of Malgudi, she turned into a hesitant hostess and urged us to explore the rest of the house too. “Go upstairs and see the bedrooms. That’s where he slept.” she said, and I had to resist chuckling. 

I wondered what the master literary giant would have to say about her. It would be an insightful description no doubt and one tinged with the gentility and charm that he saw humanity with. That much was certain. 

The thing is: going to this quiet house tucked away in a residential locality in Mysore was comforting, and I thanked the brother profusely for showing me this gentle giant’s house. 

“Do you realise how few ever really understand how fortunate they are in their circumstances?”

– R K Narayan

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Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Narayanaswami, the author and Rasipuram Krishnaswami Iyer Laxman, the cartoonist together enthralled the world with the spontaneity, humor and joy of Indian life. 

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Also read: 

Mysore Palace

In what was a whirlwind trip to India, I was fortunate to fit in a day to visit Mysore, or Mysuru as it is now known. The Mysore Palace was bursting at its seams. I don’t know whether the Wadiyar family was that popular even at the peak of its glory, but that Sunday morning, we had the distinct feeling that the entire populace around Mysuru had woken up with the singular thought of having a nice picnic day out at the palace. Crowds bustled, feet shifted, and more importantly, the sun rose in the skies above Mysuru. 

Image source: Wikimedia Commons: Photographer: (Muhammad Mahdi Karim/www.micro2macro.net)

We shuffled our way through the palace taking in the art work and the opulence. Every palace designer and acquirer of artifacts has this to contend with: in opulence lies plenty, and in plenty, even the rare loses its lustre. How often have we been to art galleries and been too awed by the hundreds or thousands of art pieces, to notice the subtlety that would otherwise be studied with awe?

For instance, I am quite sure that if I’d seen any one of those doors by itself, I’d have been bowled over. After all, how often does one see ivory inlays in teak doors, and entire pictures carved out in the ivory?

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How often do we see the portraits of South Indian royal princesses from 100 years ago? But when one passes through 50 stately doors, and 500 paintings, surrounded by 5000 people, it suddenly becomes overwhelming. 

Even so, we couldn’t help admiring the artwork, the beautiful portraits, the marvelous turquoise green and blue themes, and the beautiful cultural themes of South India. 

I remember visiting Mysore Palace as a young girl – maybe around the age the daughter is now, and while I remember the night lights at the palace with awe, the rest of it seems to have mushed in with plenty of other palaces – I may have confused the Buckingham Palace,the Jaipur Ajmer Fort Palace, and Fatepur Sikri in one grand ballroom in the head.  

The Mysore Royal Family

Like every royal family across the globe, the Mysore Royal Family also has seen its share of news mongers, myth propellers and the like. Apparently, the Mysore Royal Family was cursed so that naturally born heirs could not beget their own heirs and would have to be adopted. They were also rumoured to be the descendants of Lord Krishna. If that is not pressure, I don’t know what is.

It must be exhausting to live in the public eye for generations. 

Royalty is completely different than celebrity. Royalty has a magic all its own.

Philip Treacy

As we bustled out of the palace, I found myself grateful for our quiet, ordinary  lives, but also appreciative of the art that the rich had a taste for. Thank goodness for patrons of art over the years. 

Imagine what our lives would be without Art?