HOSPITABLE HOSTS

    My husband’s family was and is still known for their hospitality (not bordering on hostility!). Irrespective of whether going through lean times or otherwise, a caller would never be allowed to leave without some repast offered__lunch/dinner at lunch time/dinner time and coffee and snacks at all other times. They were and are the epitome of the famed Indian hospitality. “A guest is verily God”. He should be fed well and looked after well.  When I came into the family, I slowly got used to the culture of hospitalilty of  the family and learnt to become a good hostess, but with reservations.

  I never believed in over -feeding a person. I would take their refusals and demurring to be genuine. While serving food, if a person were to stretch his hand to say ‘stop’ I would stop serving immediately, dead stop like an automatic bottling plant. Once a member of the family asked me, “Why do you stop serving as soon as I say ‘enough’?” I was puzzled.  “Because once you say ‘enough,’ it means you do not want any more, right?”. The person explained, “See, whenever we say ‘stop’, our mother dishes out one or two more servings. So, we are always conditioned to saying ‘stop’ earlier knowing full well that our quota will be served with those two extra servings in any case. But with you we go hungry with two helpings less”. I on my part explained  the theory and the conviction behind my blunt, matter-of-fact way of serving, which by now has got others used to it.

    As for the looking after the guest part, my husband believes that the guest, however familiar or close related he be, whenever he/she expresses a wish to visit the loo should be escorted to the sacred shrine and brought back (as if he/she goes to ascend a victory podium to receive a medal),. All my pleadings that people, particularly those who are frequent visitors and thus  are familiar with the box like topography of the 60’X 40’house are not likely to get lost, falls on deaf ears. No, the moment the visitor stands up with an idea of visiting the loo, Ramu expects me to get up too, with alacrity and escort the visitor (male or female) to the right place, wait outside for them to finish the work and bring them back to the drawing room. His private argument to me is that an unescorted guest might mistake some other room for the loo! Huh! Or could it be a reflection on my housekeeping?!

      When my son built his house upstairs, visitors to our house would be interested in seeing the modern construction in his house. Once one of them went up, saw the house, came down to the stairwell and promptly lost his bearings. He could not find his way to our drawing room.

     As usual, my husband sent me to help him out. Conditioned to the husband’s training, I assumed that the gentleman wanted to visit the loo. I even explained to my totally uncomprehending guest that the half bathroom under the stairs was an Indian one and that if he wanted the western type, he should follow me. I led the acquiescing gentleman to the western bath room  and waited for him outside. Our guest was totally at a loss. He just stood there. He did not make any preparation to use the loo, not even closing the bathroom door. Finally he managed to blurt out, “I …wanted to go.. out, back.. to your.. drawing room.”  Controlling my imploding laughter with a great effort, I managed to take him back to my husband in the drawing room like a gracious hostess.

Old memories

VIMALA RAMU’S BOOKS

VIMALA RAMU’S BOOKS (COLLECTIONS OF HUMOROUS BLOGS)

      WIND CHIMES                                                               DEW DROPS

Wind Chimes

Dew Drops

         

     

 

 

 

 

 

           COLORS                                                                     RAINSONG

Colors

Rainsong

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-Available at  a) writersworkshopindia.com 

                                b) pothi.com 

                                     c) vimalarm@gmail.com

                                          d) flipkart.com

                                                 e) indiaplaza.com

                                                        f) infibeam.com

                                                            g) printsasia.com

                                                                  h)  Gangaram’s Book Bureau, Bangalore-1

 

COLORS not available with a) and g) 

Vimala Ramu is a Science and Mathematics graduate and a trained teacher who took to writing blogs in her late sixties. She is the 7th child of her parents. She is married to Wg.Cdr. B.S. Ramu (retd) and has three children and five grandchildren. She has travelled widely within India and without. She has also been an amateur stage, radio and TV artist. She has been trained in music and is a voracious reader. Swimming was one of her pastimes.

All these experiences have been grist to the mill that churned out her blogs. Nothing has been sacrosanct for her puckish pen. ‘Economy of words’, ‘subtle humour’ and ‘crisp narration’ have been her hallmarks.

Her blogs have appeared in print and electronic media. Her books have been converted to audio CDs for the visually impaired.

The range of her blogs is wide though mostly featuring her and her family.

For reviews and other details, visit: 

1) pothi.com/pothi/book/vimala-ramu-rainsong

2) pothi.com/pothi/book/vimala-ramu-wind-chimes

3) pothi.com/pothi/book/vimala-ramu-dew-drops

4) pothi.com/pothi/book/vimala-ramu-colors

5)  reviews@Induswomanwriting.com

 

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JOB CRITERIA

Readingabout a girl getting a job in a cement factory because she was a good ‘mixer’, set me thinking about probable criteria for the various jobs.

Should a  worker in rubber factory be ‘bouncy’?

 Should a worker in electric shop be ‘wiry’?

 Should one in a Champagne store be ‘effervescent’?

 Should one in Solar cells be ‘sunny’?

 Should one in tourist department be ‘out going’?

Should one in elastic fasteners be ‘flexible’?

Should one in security be ‘outstanding’?

 Should one in road construction ‘level headed’?

 Should one in Oil wells ‘slick’?

 Should one in silverware be ‘polished’?

 Should one working off shore be ‘calm’?

 Should one in refrigerators be ‘cool’?

 Should one  in boilers be ‘hot’?

 One in gum factory ‘sticky’?

 One in spring factory ‘resilient’?

 One in telephones ‘communicative’?

 One in automobiles ‘self motivated’?

 One in suitcases ‘accommodative’?

 The list is endless.

GRANNY GOES ON AIR!

The latent actor in me had always been hankering for an opportunity to express the minimal histrionic talent I had been endowed with. But the roving life of a Defense Service officer’s wife would hardly let me develop roots enough to make my mark on the local art scene. So, when my husband got posted to Bangalore prior to his early retirement, first thing I did was to apply for an audition to All India Radio (AIR) Bangalore in the drama section.

In due course, I was called for an audition test. I was asked to read a dramatic piece, a tongue twisting bit of classic prose, a play script with an unseen voice providing the cue and finally to sing a song.

After some days, I got a letter saying that I had been selected and placed in the B category (A second rate actor, no less!) However, I had no complex about it because, even as an also-ran I would be hobnobbing with all the top artists of Kannada theatre.

Unfortunately, by the time I got my first contract, I had already enrolled myself in B.Ed course as a full time day scholar. In the hectic academic schedule, it was impossible to think of absenting myself from College for 3 days’ rehearsal and a day’s recording every time. So, I had to request AIR to defer the offer.

Later, when I had little more time at my disposal, I informed them of my willingness to accept roles.

This time, the contract they sent me was for a long, classy play which would be broadcast in the one and half hour slot on Thursday night. But, this time, I was pat in the middle of a baby sitting pact with my daughter! She and her husband had planned to go to Srinagar for 3 weeks for my niece’s wedding cum sight seeing trip, leaving baby Shriram with me. I had least expected that I would be getting a plum contract from AIR during the same period.

Since asking AIR to defer a second time would mean ringing the death knell to my radio career, I requested my sister-in law Rekha to babysit for a couple of hours on the rehearsal days at her place.
On the second day of the rehearsal, there was an annual death ceremony in the family which was being conducted in one of the mutts which she had to attend. I was expected to go there after my rehearsal.

So, when baby Shriram’s other set of grandparents, who were missing their grandchild badly, came to my place to see their grandson, they found the house locked! Puzzled, they proceeded to Rekha’s place which was close by, but found it also locked!! On being told that the whole family was at the ‘shraddh’ they came to the mutt and found their precious ‘prince’ lying on a dirty mat on the floor and the caretaker granny nowhere in sight !!! I just cannot imagine what their thoughts must have been when they were told that the grandmother was at the radio station rehearsing.

Anyway, after three days of rehearsal, came the day of recording. We had been told that it would take a whole day. To leave the baby with just Rekha the whole day was not fair on my part. But, I could not think up any other way to manage. Luckily Rekha sportingly offered to come to AIR with the baby. So, we packed the baby’s bottles and our lunches and left for the radio station by an auto rickshaw.

The All India Radio station, unlike the single roomed studios of the FM stations of today, was (and still is) housed in a spacious, imposing colonial type of bungalow with a huge lawn in front with a thick canopy of tall, old trees.

Rekha spent the whole day on the lawn and the baby too enjoyed the outdoor freedom. By evening the recording was duly completed.

It was a time when Doordarshan had just made its advent in Bangalore. Though people were disappointed that I asked them to listen to a play on the radio and not to see me on TV, I had a thrilling moment when the names of the actors were announced at the end of the play.

The play, an adaptation from a Malayalam one was quite a successful one. To this day, it remains in their archives and is brought out once in a while to be re-broadcast.

Thus thanks to Rekha’s co operation and generosity, I had my debut in AIR. But, my radio career , like other things, tapered off after a couple of years when my profession of teaching took precedence over my hobbies.

I CREATED A BOOK!

‘Creating’ a book? ‘Write’ ‘Print’ ‘Publish’ were the words I was familiar with, but ‘Creating’ a book? Well, anyway that’s how my new publishers referred to the process.

I would write blogs to newspapers, magazines (print as well as ‘e’). People would read them and give their comments. When I had enough bulk, I would compile them into books. Thus my first three books were published by a publisher in Kolkata who was known for encouraging beginners. He was justifiably proud that most of the work in the books was hand made__ the hand-operated press, the hard binding with a South Indian handloom saree, the calligraphy etc. Each book would be sent for proof reading only twice by speed post (in amateur and quixotic cases like mine, three times). Though he took his own time over it, the final product would be a classic one worthy of any library or coffee table.

Unfortunately, by the time my 4th book was ready for printing, the old gentleman had left this world and I had to look for a different one. Though his family was continuing the business, their marketing was a niche affair, whereas I was keen to test my mettle in the open market. I knew that none of the ‘top drawer’ publishers would accept my work, it being an already published material .But still, I was on the look out for one at the risk of being told off as a ‘vanity publishing author’.

At that time, one of my friends (the editor of an e-mag to which I had been contributing) published her first novel through a self publishing forum. This was an IT organization with a very well designed website where in every detail about publishing was given and all the FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions) had been answered very well. I thought I would try my luck with them. Since it was a ‘Do it yourself’ type of job, the question of approving or not approving my script did not arise.

There was an option between doing all the things myself (according to their specifications) and of giving them the contract to do the job on a piecemeal basis. As for the editing of the script, I took the whole responsibility on myself. But, for interior formatting and designing the cover, I gave them the contract, the latter being developed on my own idea. Every bit of the business was carried through e mail. Telephone transaction was totally discouraged.

First, I was asked to install a drop box. Being a total ignoramus in the field of computer jargon, it took quite sometime for me to master the technique and install one in my computer. In the middle I had even given up in frustration and had asked them to send me the material for correction by way of old fashioned attachments. (But, I am glad that they did not listen to my request). After installing, I found that nothing was dropping into the drop box. Next day, I learnt that it was because the lesson was only for installing it. The uploading was done the next day and then on the job was so easy that even a child could manage it.

As for the proof reading, one did not need to be a professional proof reader, like the one who leaves the mysterious coded signals all over the manuscript. The file they had sent me could not be tampered with. But there was a pro- forma in my drop box where in I would mention the page no., line no. and the correction in a table. Hey presto, by evening, the required corrections would be done in the script and sent for my approval. What a contrast to my previous books! For this book I had the script and the cover sent to me 6 times patiently for all the corrections. After doing the editing to my satisfaction, I dropped it in the drop box thinking that my job was over. That’s where I was wrong.

They asked me to upload the file. Before that, I was asked that if it were ‘pdf’, not to send any corrected file but otherwise to send the corrected file. Oh, God! The jargon again. What was pdf? How should I know which one to upload? The names of the files appearing on ticker tape were all new to me. In the meantime, my technical expert, grand daughter Aparna dropped in. I asked her what pdf was. She told me that those are the files, which unlike those of ‘word’ could not be edited on the spot. I surmised then that the files I was getting were pdf ones and hence I didn’t need to correct the last file again. (Probably it was meant for people who did their own formatting). Then I clicked on some file and switched on ‘upload’. Something was getting uploaded. For all you know it was perhaps my first unedited manuscript! But, as luck would have it, the uploading which was going on very, very slowly packed up once for all. I was so desperate. First of all, I did not know whether I was uploading the right file (In between, I had got a message saying the name of my file had been changed ! Changed from what to what? Heaven knows). Secondly, the speed of my broadband was not enough for the high tech job.

So, at one point, everything stood still. No one to advise me as to what was happening. When I rang up my friend for advice, she said she did not remember doing any such thing as uploading. Oh, God, oh, God, these modern high tech improvements.

In sheer helplessness, I just sat and recited the 100 and odd shlokas (verses) of Vishnu sahasranamam. By the end of it my mind calmed down. I said why not write to the publishers and ask for their help. Even if it were to be paid for, I was prepared for it, rather, I was ready to dip into Ramu’s bottomless pocket.

So, I wrote a pathetic e mail to them saying that I was an old, arthritic woman of 74 years, with no technical help at home and that I was feeling absolutely helpless to do what they asked me to do. Very sweetly, they e mailed back saying that they would do it for me from their end and within 2 hours, my book was ready to go for printing! (They did not charge me extra)

When the printing was over, I asked them to send me one copy first (hangover of the traditional method). I found it good and passed it. Then only I ordered for the first bulk consignment of 52 books (Why 52? More than 50 meant discount). Incredibly enough, the whole thing from A to Z had not taken more than three months!

To my luck, this consignment which was to come from Mumbai, got stuck in an accident/traffic jam and arrived only 24 anxious hours later. As it is, our antiquated method of sending money through checks was causing quite a bit of delay and now this.

Anyway, once the consignment reached me, I started selling my ‘creations’. Since the publishing company was doing only ONLINE marketing, I was left to do all the OFFLINE marketing, a totally new field for me –one who did not know the difference between In-voice, Inner voice or Active voice or Passive voice. I am still learning.

THE LAND OF KANCHENJUNGA

The visuals shown on TV after the recent devastating earthquake in Sikkim took me back to 1964 when I visited it and the pleasant memories I had of the place.
We were then in New Delhi. My sister’s husband was working in Border Roads Organisation (BRO) and had been posted to Gangtok, Sikkim at that time. My sister was also staying with him with their son as it was a family station. ‘Gang Talk’ is the anglicized pronunciation. The locals_ Lepchas, Nepalis and Bhutias pronounce it as GGUNN- ThThok.
Till then I had not seen the Himalayas and so had nourished a deep desire to visit the same. So, I took this opportunity to visit my sister for the Dussera holidays. Since Ramu had expressed his inability to accompany me, I decided to go alone with my three kids- one not yet six, the other not yet four and the last one not yet one year.
I was to go by Grand Trunk Express up to Siliguri where my brother –in law was to meet us and take us to Gangtok by a minibus. Since I was travelling without the husband and that too to a non-native place, I was not entitled for first class fare. So, I began my journey with the three kids in a two tiered second class compartment accompanied by lot of bedrolls and blankets to face the October winter in the Himalayas.
During the journey, I had put my sleeping baby on the upper berth and the other two were asleep on the lower berths and I was sitting on a bedroll between the two lower berths talking to a fellow passenger. Suddenly she asked me, “Who is this sitting behind you?” I turned back and saw that it was my baby sitting cross – legged stoically like a rishi! I don’t know how he happened to come down from the upper berth and ensconce himself so comfortably down on the luggage! Probably he knew that he was heading to the land of lamas.
At Siliguri, I got down from the train like Santhana Lakshmi, a baby in my arms and two more holding my hands. My brother- in -law took charge of the luggage and we all got into the minibus.
The journey from Siliguri to Gangtok was a scenic one where the trees on the slopes were so tall that I could not see their top or the bottom. But, due to the landslides (a common occurrence in that part of the country), a journey which should have taken much lesser time took whole day and it was dark when we reached the outpost in Gangtok (In any case, it gets dark very early in the hills). From there, we went by a jeep and reached home. Home? We still had to negotiate a steep flight of steps carved into the hill slope to reach home.
Once we reached home, we had very hot water baths, ate very hot food and retired under the heavy comforters in a room where a metallic wood burner (like a boiler) on stand provided us the warmth in the night. While we all slept for 12 hours, my not-yet-four son slept non stop for 36 hours!
Next morning, as I came out, I saw the divine spectacle of the glorious Kanchenjunga peak bathed in the golden morning light in the distance. One gets to see this sight only for a couple of hours of the day, after which it gets hidden in the cloudy cover.
Infested with leeches Sikkim is a quaint land. The water supply to the house was in relay by a series of split bamboos tied to each other. The town was permeated with a smell which I was told came from the natives chewing on the dry raw yak meat just as our people chew paan.
We saw all the touristy places including Tashi-ling, the seat of government, the palace of the king Thondup Namgyal who had an American wife Hope Cook, the Buddhist monastery sonorous with the chanting of Lamas, the Himalayan handicrafts Centre, the orchid garden and of course the market place.
My brother- in- law took us by jeep to Darjeeling and Kalimpong. I got to see the gorgeous Teesta river which I had missed on our Siliguri-Gangtok journey due to its being dark.The pleasure of drinking pure,cool water directly from a mountain spring is just incomparable.
As for my sister’s social circle, I did not get to meet many of them. When my beautiful sister told them that her younger sister was visiting them, the expectations of the bachelor officers of BRO went soaring up, I believe. But when she told them that I was visiting with my three kids, none of them showed much interest in meeting me!!!
After a glorious 12-day Himalayan holiday, we.went back to Delhi.