The Smile of Murugan

Is it cold there, S Maami asks?

The winters must have set in there, Iyengaar Maami adds knowingly.

I heard that there was a frost warning two weeks back, Alacrity Maami announced.

Amma has returned and the T Nagar Maamis seem to be under the belief that Amma is some kind of a weather satellite that they had sent out to monitor the global climate. The burning question in their minds is, did the investment on the thermal-wear from Naidu Hall pay off?

Amma looked overwhelmed and tired as a result of all the attention. Six months have aged her considerably. She is surprisingly quiet. She chooses her words carefully and all her movements seem to be deliberate and in slow-motion. The suitcase is yet to be unpacked and the boxes of Ziploc bags and assorted stuff manufactured in Asia and retailed in discount stores in America are yet to make an appearance. So, I remain unsure how successful the trip has been for Amma. Yet, I would like to hazard a guess, and say that, the American Dream doesn't seem to have worked for her.

Six months is a long time. Appa, who had been at the receiving end of my domestic experiments will vouch for that. But, it must have been longer for Amma. Six months of vacuuming a large and empty house must be tiring. Six months of doing cleaning and assorted household work must be boring. If the only outlet to unwind is a visit to the local library, six months must indeed be a long time. Six months of religiously playing the sport of fattening your children must be tiresome. Six months of waiting for weekends to meet them, must be pathos inducing. And most importantly, six months away from T Nagar must be heart-breaking.

How is M Manni, G Periamma asks Amma, in a gleeful tone. Everyone looks at Amma with some interest. Now, that should get her talking. There must be a dozen reasons at least, why M Manni is not good enough for the precious T Anna. Amma surprised G Periamma and me when she said, M Manni is an affectionate girl. Amma stresses on affectionate, the way she does when English words slip into whatever she says.

Did you know M Manni wears contact lenses, Amma asked me suddenly? Deceit, I think, I wonder how Amma would have reacted when she saw M Manni with glasses for the first time. I would have liked to have been there. But it seems, that is not enough reason to launch an attack against the daughter-in-law and Amma said, nowadays you get disposable lenses, they are very comfortable, you know. She adds further, it stablises the power. She is trying to convince T Anna to get one too. Amma sounds satisfied, like her son is now in good hands. I am just a little shocked. I am also happy and a little jealous. I don't get that kind of approval after twenty-five years.

Where all did you go, S Maami asks. Did you go to the Coca Cola factory in Atlanta, 106 Maami asks? What about Lake Tahoe, another Maami almost breathlessly asks, lest some other Maami beat her to it. What about the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, G Periamma asks, as she tries to remember some photographs that her brother had shown her some years ago. I hope you went to Boston and saw Harvard, Alacrity Maami said in an almost indignant tone. What about Las Vegas, S Maami suggested playfully.

I rolled my eyes as the Maami's questions traveled effortlessly across coasts and with scanty regard for distances and T Anna's financial ability to fund this wanderlust. All of this, just so that, they could show off their own knowledge. I decide that I couldn't take this anymore and got ready to leave the room. It was Amma's response that made me pause, as she said, we didn't go out very much. T Anna is having some tension at work.

N Chitappa who was watching the TV on mute (he believes that TV is merely a visual medium. Though the theory floating around in the family is, he is partially deaf and cannot listen in to the conversation among the women-folk, usually gossiping in the next room if the TV is also on.). Anyway, he perked up at Amma's statement and asked her, Recession aa, clucking his tongue like he was biting into a juicy and sweet jangri from Suriya Sweets.

Apdi ellam onnum illai, Amma said,just a tad too quickly. Some general tension only, she offered in manner of explanation of her earlier statement.

At least, he didn't shoot you and M Manni, G Periamma added, rather unkindly, as the colour drained out of Amma's face. The Maamis got into a discussion on how shocking it was that a Tamil Brahmin boy that too from IIT would be involved in something as macabre. Personally, I am glad. Not glad that people got killed or that people are moved to such desperation. But, at least, T Anna and his friends will not get into a match-the dormitory/hostel-game, Over the years, I have noticed, every occasion when some IIT alumni has achieved any success, there is an almost pathological need to match dormitories or hostels that they might have shared, even if it was twenty-five years apart. Notorious alumni, don't make you do that. Yes, I am somewhat pleased.

Too much pressure in IIT these days, 106 Maami says, as she thinks about her own son from the hallowed walls.

Yes yes, N Chitappa offers. You can't be that smart and not be a little insane, hanh. All boys and girls who go to IIT must be at least 10% insane.

I can't suppress the giggle and wonder about several things, like – how did N Chitappa arrive at this figure, what is the upper limit of this insanity percentage and what level does he peg T Anna and S at. N Chitappa suddenly notices me and asks me to come and talk to him. I know it is not going to be very pleasant, but with little choice, I go and sit next to him. So, what does the Indian media think about this global financial crisis, hanh, he wants me to tell him.

Ummm, I say. I hate it when my views are supposed to represent a group of individuals, more so when they don't know that they are being represented. And especially my views on a subject that I have very limited knowledge about.

All the Maamis now turn their attention to me and for the first time in the day seem to notice my presence in the room. I strain to think back about all the news reports that I might have read or the snatches of conversation thread that I might have heard but not really listened. But, I draw a blank and all I can recall is how M and I discussed about the Mangayar Malar's hundred Deepavali sweets. Hundred sweets made up with the ration shop sugar, Aaavin cooking butter and cheap cashews bought from Burma Bazaar in Trichy don't suggest a recession, do they?

It is terrible, I say finally. Rather stupidly. The Maamis look a little disappointed and mostly satisfied that they need not re-evalaute their opinion about me. Oblivious to my misery and not wanting to lose his captive audience, N Chitappa continues, it is worse than terrible, do you know Iceland has become bankrupt. The knowledge of an an entire country going bankrupt makes them feel horrified and strangely excited at the same time. So, what is this recession about, S Maami asked?

And so, N Chitappa launched into his idiot's guide to the sub-prime crisis. I am not sure if N Chitappa had ever had such large bunch of captive women audience. Madras Thatha, had come into the room by then and we couldn't help but exchange a smile as N Chitappa spoke about Ninja borrowers, Federal Reserve, Washington Mutual, confidence crisis, bankrupt investment banks, government bail-out and the works. The Maamis are agog with curiosity and questions tumble out. Some are logical. Aren't the banks legally bound to pay the investment banks even if their customers defaulted, Alacrity Maami demands to know. Some are merely trying to get their voice heard and will ask any kind of question. Who is a Ninja Warrior, S Maami wishes to know. The Japanese Kamal in Dasavatharam of course, 106 Maami says. After a minor digression that involved discussing each of the avataarams, it was concluded that Japanese Ninja Avataaram was clearly the worst. G Periamma had only one thing to ask, so why did Karthik kill himself and his family? That too a Fulbright scholar son, Amma said in an offended tone. All the Maamis agreed that it would be quite alright if stupid children were killed. Not liking the way the conversation was going, I decided to leave the room.

In my room, I Googled for stuff and found this, it was less dramatic and more informative than whatever N Chitappa was getting at. And most importantly it didn't establish a relationship between loan defaulters and inevitable death.

I wonder, why would any of this impact T Anna. He was not an investment banker or any other kind of banker. The only explanation I can think of is that, he is probably one of those debtors who didn't pay back the money and was in some way responsible for this crisis. He had bought a house recently, hadn't he?

Amma comes to my room and her blank expression is now replaced with the I-don't-like-what-I-see expression as she looks at my hair. I think, for six months you must not have applied any oil, she pronounces disgustedly. I want to protest and tell her that, I have been religiously following the oil and Meera herbal powder routine with poor results to show for. But, I hold back. After all, she has just traveled time-zones, have a dream shattered and a global worry in the back of her mind that refuses to go away.

We should go to the Vadaplani Kovil tomorrow. It is only Asthami but that is okay, she says peeping into the day ahead on the Rani Muthu calendar. Yes, I agree meekly. Also go and get that bottle of oil, let me see what you have done without me, she says in her assured tone. I can see that it is already working. And probably a god seated on a blue peacock, 10 ml of oil and few days of the T Nagar air is all that she needs to convince herself about her infallibility.

After which, she will forget about a global crisis and tell us the real story behind the horrific discovery of her daughter-in-law's glasses and the likely impact of this on the eye-sight of the grandchild who might someday be named after her.

Disease, Doctors, Drugs, Devils and Death

Seventy-five years is no age to stay up late and watch television, G Periamma scowled and let everyone know. She looks far from gruntled as she pureed the rice and paruppu concoction for Paati. She looks at me, S and Appa accusingly, as she is now the sole person in-charge of Paati’s well being. Of course, she is not, but we let her to these little delusions.

I have twenty-five percentage heart blockage, she says almost triumphantly, as Appa guiltily averts her gaze.

All of this is T Anna’s fault. No. Really.

Among the many things that Amma had to go through, as preparation before her USA trip, was a MHC (Master Health Check-Up) at the Apollo Hospitals in Chennai.

All of us were shocked. In my family, nobody went to hospitals without a cause. Of course, the sick children made the occasional trip to Child Trust and menopausal women folk went to Vijaya Hospital. For aches and pains, there is the alternative medicine believer Rama Krishna, who recommends Virbhadrasana as the cure for all problems.

Then there is Thatha, who goes to Dr Krishnan, the partly senile and mostly very funny doctor. His diagnosis includes suggestions such as:
1. Sit in temple and say Shiva, Shiva
2. Sit in temple and say Rama, Rama
3. Langanam Parama Aushadam, there are few ailments that can’t be cured by skipping a meal

So, we were naturally shocked at this blatant disregard for tradition, Dr Krishnan and his homeopathic doctor son. Not just this, but the same had to happen at the Apollo Hospitals – the largest money making and tourist attracting destination of the city.

However, three things convinced Amma that she indeed had to go in for an MHC:
1. M Manni’s Amma had got one done prior to her USA visit
2. Since T Anna suggested that the cost of medical facilities were very high in USA, she didn’t want to discover some sudden ailment and burden her son
3. Amma fancies herself as a trend setter of sorts and didn’t want to lose out on an opportunity to be the first in something

The MHC promised to test every known and unknown ailment to mankind. On an impulse G Periamma also decided to get one done too. After all, being a few years senior to Amma meant that she was at a higher risk. Also, she didn’t want Amma to beat her.

I took both Amma and G Periamma for the first round of tests. There was palpable excitement and both Amma and G Periamma decided to do a quick stopover at the Pilayar Kovil before we went to the hospital.

Amma and Periamma had a rather animated discussion on the several possible problems that they might have. Even Chettiar who was riding our auto, looked most amused.

I will definitely have BP, so much tension because of ATP and S, Amma said confidently.

G Periamma volunteered to be the brand ambassador for spondylitis and back problems. Only I know how much I suffer, she said mournfully.

Amma said with empathy, I know what you mean, I know I have arthritis but I can’t stop working because of that. Five years ago, I would run up the Malai Kotai, now I dread at the thought.

Periamma sighed tragically and in manner of her Brahmastram said, but you know, I am sure to have a serious heart problem. So many times I wake up in the middle of the night with such a bad chest pain and your Anna (Periapppa) says that, it is only gas and gives me a Digene. And before he goes back to sleep, he will suggest that I put less paruppu in the sambhar.

Amma thought hard for a retort to beat that, but thankfully for all of us, we reached Apollo just then.

Inside, several maamis and maamas who were possibly going to America were getting their MHCs done too. Amma and Periamma were quick to befriend a random maami. I caught snatches of the conversation, as they behaved like some long lost siblings:
T Nagar va? Yay ! Texas va! Yay. Tirunelveli va ? Yay. My daughter is a journalist but my son is an engineer. Yay! What! That is a polycotton sari va? Amma and G Periamma asked shockingly. Polycot Maami brightened and said conspirationally, there is a store called Shri Aishwarya Sarees at Arcot Street. Yay, Amma and G Periamma gushed and the fans of Shri Aishwarya Sarees had a happy reunion and wondered how they hadn’t run into each other until then.

Before things got more painful, the stern looking nurse came and whisked away Amma and Periamma for the basic tests. So, blood was drawn, urine and stool samples taken and some more blood was drawn.

After these, came the biggie, the tests to ascertain the well-being of the heart. The same happened at the specialty heart hospital close by. The ECG went fine and Periamma looked surprised, disappointed even. The Echo Cardiogram showed a little variation for both Amma and Periamma. Periamma had an I-told-you expression on her face and Amma looked rather anxious.

Will you do the treadmill, the assistant asked? Both Amma and Periamma looked horrified. Amma insisted on going back home and Periamma was ready to weep any moment. Suddenly, inspirationally almost, Periamma asked me to call N Akka, Madras Atthais’s daughter and the only doctor in our extended family.

Isn’t she an ENT doctor, Amma asked? But she is STILL a doctor, Periamma said firmly. Luckily for us, she was around and came to our rescue pronto.
She tried to convince Amma and Periamma to go ahead with the treadmill. Periamma was worried that her Mysore silk Saree was not conducive for huffing and puffing on the treadmill, besides as the eldest daughter-in-law, she thought that Amma should go first. Amma finally relented (and cotton sarees helped her cause) and was given a clean chit because she did admirably well. Between performance anxiety and desire to outdo her sister-in-law Periamma wanted a more humane way to check the condition of her heart. N Akka recommended the 64 Slice CT Scan, which immediately appealed to Periamma. She reasoned that, since eight was her lucky number, the square of it must be twice as lucky. The technicians said that Periamma had a mild problem, but nothing to worry about.

Not to take the opinion of someone who didn’t go through the rigour of five years of medical school, Periamma spent the next two days doing some cutting edge research on the matters of the heart.

Finally, when it was time to show the reports to the doctor, he recommended a minor lifestyle change and some blood thinning medication. Periamma looked less than convinced. Don’t I need a stent, she demanded to know. Not really, the young doctor said, you need to stop using Google though.

I have a twenty-five percent heart blockage, she tells everyone now. She says so with pathos, drama and triumph.

And so, Amma lost and Periamma won.

But Amma also won, as she crossed the last of the hurdles to visit the land of opportunity. And so in the auto drive back home, she went through her mental check-list all over again. Podis: Check. Manoharam: Check. Mug: Check. Sri Rama Jayam Notebook: Check. Lalita Sahasra Namam CD: Check. TM Krishna CD: Check. Grand Sweets Broken Thathai: Check. Special NRI packet of Appalam and pickles from Meena Stores: Check. Ashwini Hair Oil: Check. Multiple copies of ATP’s Jadagam: Check.

Contrary to what Amma thought, we were managing fine. At least until the day before yesterday, when a call came from Periamma. At 4am.

Who might have died, I wondered, as Appa went to pick up the phone. Paati has fainted, Periamma said excitedly, and asked us to come immediately. We rushed and dragged the bewildered S, who was in the middle of some complex Physics problems.

Thatha was asked to repeat the same story and answer the same questions. What did she eat last night? How did you discover that she had fainted? What did you do after that? Was she behaving any differently last evening?

Thatha looked broken, scared and lonely. Thankfully, the doctor came then and told us that all was well with Paati and that it was a minor stress and tiredness related ailment.

Has she been doing something that she ought not to have been doing, Dr Krishnan asked?

Well, yes. She is watching the late night movies on Sun TV. Old B&W movies that are being screened as part of the 75th year of Tamil Cinema, Thatha said.

Who watches late night movies, Periamma thunders? And before I can think of a sharp retort she dramatically clutches her heart.

S and cousin D insisted that we get Tamil movie VCDs, this so that Paati could watch movies sans advertising and during the day. I agreed to the plan and asked Paati what movies she wanted to see. She said, Server Sundaram and Vietnam Veedu.

Vietnam Veedu is our family favourite. Prestige Padmanabha Iyer, the patriarch played by Sivaji evoked much mirth and was Thatha’s role model of sorts.

Thatha cheered as Sivaji came up with yet another out of context English quotation, Disease, Doctors, Drugs, Devil and Death.

Paati snorts derisively, as by now, she has completely recovered.

Thatha instead of reacting, ignores her.

S, the astute one asks Paati if she and Thatha have had a fight?

Yes, she said.

Why, we all asked curiously, temporarily ignoring the movie.

Paati is silent, her lips pursed and looking somewhat guilty.

You won’t believe what Paati has done, Thatha blurted suddenly. She has asked the newspaper vendor to stop The Hindu and gives Times of India from Tamil New Year’s day, because she has got a bag.

What, I say.

How could you do that, I asked Paati accusingly.

Paati looks guilty and then says, you can keep the bag, it is very nice.

I then called the newspaper guy and tell him that we would subscribe to both the newspapers.

Thatha looks pacified and Paati relieved.

Periamma wished to know who would read two newspapers.

S volunteers to read TOI, most generously.

But Paati is now seriously worried that the Rs 300 has turned out to be a wasted investment.

In a bid to be nice her I say, don’t worry Paati we will make more money when we sell old papers. It will be heavy with advertisements.

Hmppfh, Periamma says and demands to know what we shall do with all that money?

Why, we will fund your heart surgery with it, what else, Thatha tells laughingly.

As if on cue, Sivaji laughs loudly, clutches his chest dramatically and dies.

Paati laughed too.

A Mail-Box and a Red Box

In between all of amma’s packing and our hunt for large suitcases, I am feeling a bit tired. Buying boxes to take to America is very expensive. T Anna very generously sent the tickets. It would have been nice if he would have also sent some money for the luggage and thermal-wear that amma needed to buy from Naidu Hall. Appa suggested that we borrow a suitcase from Nagam Akka, who had gone to Moscow during the 1980 Olympics (or sometime before I was born). In what was widely believed to be the most vulgar display of wealth by my extended family, a giant red box was procured. Later, the box accompanied the globe trotting Nagam Akka, along with her three-stoned diamond nose pin across several countries.

When I was younger, it fascinated me because, it was so large that perhaps, the dwarf sized Nagam Akka would herself fit into it. We used to hear so many Moscow stories from her, it was fascinating. And when T Anna told me that Nagam Akka was actually a cosmonaut, in my naiveté I believed him.

S and I dragged the box to our third-floor apartment. It looked as old and worn out as Nagam Akka did. Surprisingly, the number-lock still worked.

888, amma whispered, lest the household help were to hear us.

Podis are being packed. Will she get past with all those concoctions through security, we wonder. Will she get lost at some big American airport, S wants to know. Will T Anna not even come to pick her up, I wonder briefly.

What will you do there for the entire day, Indira Maami wants to know? You need to develop some hobby, she tells amma firmly.

Fifty five years and two cities later, Amma will set her feet out of Tamizh land for the very first time. That requires some help from the good Iyer gods.

Tomorrow we will go to the Vadapalani Kovil and break some coconuts, so that we can ward of any possibilities of the evil eye.

I have realized that going to a foreign land for the first time is like being a first time mother. Everyone has an opinion on it and suggestions on what you should do.

Amma says that while she is there, I should email T Anna everyday. I should tell them everything. What I cook, how quickly the rasam podi is getting over, if S is eating well, if Appa is going for his walks, if Paati is eating figs, if Thatha is going for a walk in the terrace, if G Periamma is feeding us anything, family gossip, neighbourhood gossip, Madras gossip and so on.

One can’t help but wonder why she is going at all?

I will write emails, I promise for the nth time. We fold several Garden saris that she is carrying. For the last few months she has been saving her Garden (that is a generic name for any sari that is made with polyester like substance) saris.

One can’t wear them in Madras, she announces.

Yeah, right.

Don’t forget the emails, amma reminds me again.

She also tells that S to email. Amma doesn’t trust me with emails. Apparently T Anna and M Manni both complain about the time-lag in my emails and the taciturn tone when I do write. I don’t like emailing very much, probably because I was a late bloomer when it came to the Internet.

T Anna was the first person to introduce the computer and the possibilities of the Internet to us. There was something mildly putting off about his Isaac-Newton-apple-just-fell-on-my-head tone, which left me a little cold.

G Periamma was the first relative in our family to have a PC with Internet. Every other day, I was sent to Periamma’s house to type out some email to T Anna, which had some hurried instructions written by Amma on a copy of Aval Vikatan or The Hindu.

I resented T Anna for the walk that I had to do from Boag Road to Tirumalai Road.

Finally, G Periamma got a new computer with a faster processor, and her old one, we inherited.

I opened my mail-box twice each day to read about T Anna’s tough yet happy life and also his alleged culinary prowess. Nobody else emailed me. And so, losing passwords was my favourite hobby.

Over years, I acquired some friends who were email worthy, but I am easily bored and quickly lose in touch with them. I am sure when they get married, they will find me. And that will do.

However, things are different now. And I do get mails from Blog readers. I am not sure if they are Bloggers. If they are, it is very likely that they email from an id that screams SPAM!

earful.giver@gmail.com says that, he/she loves me.
What joy?

putative17652karthiksiva@gmail.com says that, I need more sex in my life. Wait, he (I am certain actually) says that I need sex. The more prefix would suggest that there might be something already, which he confidently dismisses as an unlikely event. Glorious Tamil sex, he recommends.
Very useful.
I will be happy to give any of the ladies his contact details.

whining.srimurthy@gmail.com asks me as to why he doesn’t feature on my Blogroll. He (again I am sure) goes on to say that I am being anti Madras by featuring two Bloggers who have Bengloor included in their url.
Thank you for opening my eyes.

meenakshi.sundaresan0987@gmail.com wishes to let me know that, she is ashamed to share my gothram. If she knows of any single boys from some other Gothram, she should get in touch with amma.

kanimozhi.balaji098765@gmail.com also complains. She talks at length about some North Indian cricketer and compares him to me. And me to him. She proclaims that I am a bad advertisement for Tamizh Penns across the world.

Several other people wish to know if I am the sister of a certain Tamizh Penn blogger (who is my favourite), the daughter of a male blogger (whom many are obsessed with), a software programme written by a particularly clever blogger (whom everyone loves), and so on.

All of it is mildly amusing. Of course, I never reply to these emails. I mean, I am the biggest proponent of equal opportunity hate. And like she rightly points out, this is the only thing I ever have to say.

However, whether Bloggers email or not, what I do know is that, they talk. They talk to other bloggers. They talk to your colleagues. And some of them talk to amma.

Therefore, I find myself in a somewhat unhappy situation, that of being selectively anonymous.

I have chosen to be anonymous and would like it to stay that way. And now I am a little tired of people trying to out me. It is boring, silly, pointless and is mostly annoying.

And therefore, I can’t help but feel that -- between this, that and everything else, I am all Blogged out.