April 28, 2010

Nostalgic Musings



Original in Telugu by:
D. Sujatha Devi




Smt. D Sujatha Devi is a well-known short story writer in Telugu. Reading her stories is like “a journey through pain, sorrow, loss and deprivation,” said Munipalle Raju, a noted writer in Telugu. She has published her stories in three compilations: Vekuva Rekulu (1981), Gelupu (1986) and Chepalu (2005).
Her contribution to children’s literature is much acclaimed—fetching her, at the national level, an award from NCERT, New Delhi. Her verses written in Telugu for children have also been translated into English. 

Translator: 
 GRK Murty

Getting down from the train enthusiastically, Usha looks around to see if anyone has come for her. If not anyone, thinking that certainly, Sangeetam cannot stay away from coming, and looking all around the station for him, she did not notice Sivannarayana till he enquired standing by her side, “How come, you came alone?”     
“Oh! You have come annayya! Thinking Sangeetam might come, I was looking for him”. Perhaps sensing more displeasure in her tone at Sangeetam’s not coming than pleasure at his coming, there appeared a streak of irritation in his face, but it disappeared as soon as it came.
Taking the box from Usha’s hand and inching forward, Sivannarayana says, “Haven’t brought even the children, why so?” “Can’t afford to forego school for that many days annayya, can they! Asked children and him too to apply for leave up to Monday. By Saturday he will come with the children.”
Saying, “So, a warning to me that you all would leave on Monday”, Sivannarayana laughed stridently.
That laugh sounding like that of the rocking of shells, appeared rather unnatural. Usha looked at him critically.
“How is it, you haven’t come with a bullock cart!” As Sivannarayana hires a rickshaw,  Usha, standing by his side, utters in surprise, “What, rickshaw!”  Saying, “still craving for bullock cart ride, come, get in”, Sivannarayana sits in the rickshaw with the top.
She sat silently by his side in the Rickshaw, but her mind was not silent. Though the forgotten past was rocking her mind silently with its humming, Usha, as long as the Rickshaw was traversing through the roads of Eluru, peeped out to see if any known person would be visible. She intensely examined every face walking behind the Rickshaw. Felt like asking the Rickshaw to take a turn towards Sarswati girls’ school where she had done her schooling and take a look.
Anticipating  that Sangeetam would come with a bullock cart, she had planned to go around the school; then, washing her feet in the canal flowing by the side of Anjaneyaswamy temple, pay a visit to god; then, peep into the house of Pedasubbaraomastaru, and then go home. As the bullocks would take to the village road, they would start running … their bells making a jingling sound … she craved for that sound. The very realization that she hadn’t visited the village for this long made Usha wonderstruck. Peddamma passed away. That’s it; she hasn’t come to the village again. Eight years have elapsed since. She had often wondered as a child, if she could ever live without peddamma. But … Ha, time! Effacing even mighty affections, it rolls on. In those days, if anyone said, “Once married, and with the arrival of husband and children, will you remember us?” she used to be overwhelmed by a mighty sorrow.
Crossed Eluru. Rickshaw has taken the route to Mahadevapalli. Traffic has eased on the gravel road. Usha’s eyes, mind, and her very thoughts were fully occupied by her peddamma. In her childhood, peddamma, while churning buttermilk early morning used to make her sit by her side and study. As she was reading past with no mistakes, she used to look at her with tons of affection, eyes dilated. Particularly, after her marriage, whenever she visited her, she would see her off by coming up to the temple. While going back, she used to fondly caress her body, her searching eyes fondly looking at her whole body again and again, and in those  eyes, Usha used to see a fluttering pain that made her tremble with a ‘feeling’ that is beyond description. Even to date, peddamma means … those eyes, those fond glances …   for a minute, her mind would go numb. Although her mother passed away when she was a child, peddamma brought her up without letting her ever feel the absence of her mother. As long as peddamma was alive, Usha never told anyone that her mother was no more. Perhaps, it might have been out of her love for her sister, or her luck! She had two sons. They too looked after her well. Of course, it’s needless to say about Pedananna. But at her wedding, when peddamma gave her gold jewelry weighing 100 grams, their faces turned pale. That aside, two years prior to her death, when peddamma transferred five acres that she got from her parents as stridhan to her, even pedananna objected to it. But since then till date, he had been sending the income from the land on the dot along with accounts. After so many years, a necessity has now come to sell that property. Having written about it in a few disjointed words, she boarded the train. But in her heart of hearts, she was worried how her sisters-in-law would talk, whether brothers would be affectionate, or not. Felt alright about annayya coming to the station. But she was a little disappointed at Sangeetam’s not coming.   Sangeetam might have got married. Sometime back, pedananna had said, “Got married, and why, he is alright.” As Sivannarayana said something, Usha, stopping her thinking, turned to him. As they are talking about their share of pains and pleasures in life, the rickshaw had come to the village.
As she got down from the rickshaw, her sister-in-law put her hand affectionately around her shoulder. Although, there was not much intimacy and friendship between her and her elder sister-in-law, those smeared pyols, turmeric dabbed thresholds, paddy ear heads hanged to the eaves for sparrows, have all dugout the past, bringing forth old memories; the fact that peddamma, who left this world sometime back, had not made her presence felt yet and the new realization that she would never appear at all … all these thoughts, like a flood in a fury forced Usha to lean on her shoulder and cry.
Saying, “Cha… what’s this…come on, lets go inside”, Sivannarayana’s wife, Ramana, took her inside, affectionately. After a while, Chinnanna, Ramchandrudu came. All of them recalled their childhood deeds.
It’s not known whether the thought of her – the girl who had grown in this house – not coming home for this long ever struck them or not; it had certainly disturbed Usha’s mind repeatedly. Pedananna sat by her side for sometime and keeping his hand on her head, shed tears. Despite the presence of so many people, Usha wondered now and then why Sangeetham was not visible. Finally, she asked about him. “Why the hell are you ignoring all the inmates of the house, and repeatedly asking about that arrogant fellow?” said Sivannarayana irritatingly. “That fellow has gone long back” said Ramu. Gone… means… Usha could not understand, what it meant. “He is no more that Sangeetham, who ate our leftovers… he became a big leader”, said Ramu tauntingly. She then kept quiet without making further enquiries. However, she could not but wonder how Sangeetham could be an arrogant fellow. 
Usha could sense the displeasure of the whole house about her selling the farm. The house, brothers, growing children, the estimate of the income … somehow she could not see that pomp which she saw in her childhood. Thinking all that, Usha went into the room in which a bed was laid for her and reclined herself on it. She again remembered Sangeetham. He might have counter-questioned. Therefore, she felt, he might have been kicked out. Never knew why, but whenever peddamma comes to memory, Sangeetham too walks into her memory. He used to attend to her needs with more affection than the respect that an ordinary annual laborer might have exhibited towards the Master. Whenever she remembers the incident that made his existence alive in her memory, her heart quails even today. Her mind, tired from the journey and longing for sleep, suddenly became active. It went back to ten years. In those days, life was full of colorful dolls, flower bouquets and singing birds.
Pebbles in the river water of ankle depth and peddamma’s love and affection. For all these things, Sangeetham was the background music. Usha was then twelve years old, like a doll she used to roam around and play. The buddy of peddamma, means darling for the whole village. Sangeetham who was older by four years to Usha, was working as an annual labor in their home, ever since the age Usha could remember. For him, Usha meant everything. If Usha adorned herself with good clothes, vermillion and collyrium dabbed eyes, he would look at her as though he was staring at the idol of a goddess. If a thorn pricked her foot, he used to flutter as though a speck of dust had fallen in his eye. She appeared so tender to him that if she laughs, he thought that her body might blush and if she walks she might wither away. Taking undue advantage of his sensitivity, she used to tease him a lot. She used to make wild demands on him: Ask him to fetch her water lilies from the middle of the tank; tamarind fruits hanging from the tender branches high above in the sky. Insisted that he carry water without holding kavadi with hands; drive the bullock cart without holding reins in the hand. Once, when Sangeetam was suffering from stomach ache, Peddamma gave him mint flower to swallow. As he was about to swallow it, she suggested that he chew it for it would relieve him from the pain quickly. Heeding to her advice, he did chew it. As he started crying and jumping due to the burning sensation in his mouth, she laughed at him, clapping mischievously. He too joined her with a laugh. Peddamma, of course, scolded Usha. When Peddamma questioned how she could laugh while he was crying in pain, those words did prick her mind like a thorn.
One day, she sat on the cradle applying henna to her palm. Sitting there, leaning against the post, Sangeetham implored her to tell a story. Saying in bits and pieces … Usha lures him.  A boy came, and saying post master had instructed him to give it, threw a card towards Usha and disappeared.   Usha asked him to put it in the niche in the wall. No sooner he had seen it than his face lit like a thousand watt bulb. Those small and big letters, erasings, corrections, was what the card was made of.  He knew that the message it has brought was from his mother. “Ammayagaru, Ammayagaru … please read and tell me, it has come from my mother”, he implored.
“Oh great … you say it is from your amma, why me then to read it?” quipped Usha. Questioning, “How do you know it is your mother’s letter”, she teased him.
Saying, “I know it, it has come from my village”, he looked at the letter fondly turning it this way and that. But she could not sense the nip in his tone.
“With henna on my hands, how am I to now, shall read it after washing my hands”, said Usha mischievously. Holding the card close to Usha’s face, Sangeetham said, “I shall hold it like this, please read for me. Meanwhile, as Kamala of the opposite house came calling Usha and ran away, Usha, without caring for Sangeetham’s imploring looks or his pleadings even, she at once jumped and ran out. Sangeetham’s eyes welled up as he looked at the card in the hand turning it this side and that. Hoping to get it read by Peddammagaru, he peeped inside the house. Working till then, she had just reclined. He sat there holding amma’s letter in his hand. He could see all those letters. They appeared to be the muggulu that peddamma drew in the front yard, like the circles on Usha’s skirt, like the horns of the ox, like the share of the plough – they appeared in so many ways. But he could not decipher what his mother said. He felt sorrow at his plight. In the meanwhile, the Master came in hurriedly. Sangeetham felt as though ‘life’ revisited him. As he was about to open his mouth, his Master commanded him, “Orey! Quick, go and fetch Venkai, hurry, run. Emey! Get up, long-horned buffalo is about to deliver…” he hurried up his wife. Sangeetham could not open his mouth. Throwing the card into the niche in the wall, he ran out. It was late night by the time the buffalo delivered and all that is associated with it was well taken care of. Sangeetham was doing everything ordered by them, yet his mind remained squarely glued to the card his mother had written.
As he entered the house, he started searching for the card. It was not there. Holding back his tears, he said, “Ammagaru, it’s the card my mother wrote… I kept it there”. “Oh! That, Usha might have taken ... shall ask her… have your food, come!”
“Not feeling hungry, search and give the card amma”, said he. He sat there holding his breath till she came out of the room.
“Could not locate where she kept it, she is sleeping… shall give it tomorrow”, saying, she went inside.
Sangeetham could not hold back his sorrow. Nor was there anyone who cared for his crying. Went inside the cattle shed and lay down curling into himself. He felt no difference between himself and the cattle around him. He could not sleep that night. It was dawn. Attending to his work, he kept an anxious watch for Usha to get up. She got up. He uttered, “ammaigaru, letter.”
“Letter? Gave it to brother in the night. Hasn’t he given you?” said Usha.
“Don’t tease me amma”, he said crying.
Staring at his face she felt sorry for him.
“True… by the time I returned you weren’t around. Peddamma said I should not go into the cattle shed. So, I gave it to brother…” said Usha consolingly.
Enquiring the whereabouts of Peddabbaigaru, he started searching for him. At dawn, he had gone to Eluru for fertilizers.  Indeed, Sangeetham had seen him go out. But how is Sangeetham to know that his mother’s letter is in his pocket?
This time round Sangeetham didn’t cry. He knew if Peddabbai goes to town, he will return only by midnight after watching two or three movies. Searching everywhere in the house, Usha concluded that the letter is in her brother’s shirt pocket.
Peddabbai didn’t return that day. But by the next morning, news came that Sangeetham’s mother had passed away. The man who came with the news said, “Didn’t send him even when we wrote about his mother’s imminent death … what kind of people are you?” Sangeetham stood with his face drooping. Usha was however, about to cry. If only she had read the letter yesterday, he would have had the last sight of his mother. Going nearer to him, she laid her hand on his shoulder. He at once cried in waves. Suddenly it dawned on him that his mother is no more and she will never come back. Putting his hand on Usha’s hand that was on his shoulder and placing his head on her shoulder, he cried inconsolably. Everyone around were shell shocked by this unexpected event. Just then Sivannarayana came. Saying “How dare you”, pulling Sangeetham by his hair, he spanked him left and right. He kicked him out saying, “Get out you bastard”. Wiping his tears and blood, Sangeetham went away.
Later, as she grew, even if he came before her, she avoided him. She felt, it would be nice if Sangeetham could make it to her marriage. But he didn’t. She had, of course, seen him when Peddamma died. The heat of her reminisces made the past pretty hot. Cooling them off with tears, she could, after long, fall asleep.              
With the conversations she had with her brother for the last two days, Usha had decided … to leave that land for them and to take whatever money they might give whenever. After that decision, Usha had peace. They are the progeny of peddamma. Happily, she considered them as her brothers. By Saturday evening, her husband Shankar came to the village with the two children. The brothers-in-law treated him affectionately. Her pedananna, his eyes welling up, said, "If your peddamma had been alive, seeing you both and children like this, she would have felt very happy.”
Usha, saying she was going for a stroll, started with her husband. They could locate Sangeetam’s house in the hamlet without much difficulty. It is a shed covered with grass. Right before it, is a neem tree. Just then, Sangeetam came out of the house and stared at them in wonder.
Sangeetam could not utter a word. He felt choked – could not even say please come in. Eyes were filled with wonder, pleasure and disbelief.
Asking him affectionately, “Are you alright?” Usha, telling her husband, “please sit”, sat on the cot.
After a while, Sangeetam could regain his composure. He was cultivating two acres of land on lease. Got married. And has a girl child.
He called, “Papa”.  Along with papa his wife came out and saluted Usha.                         
Drawing papa affectionately to her, Usha asked, “What’s your name?” Papa said: My name is Usha.  
***
 


April 22, 2010

Rendu kavalandi (Both wanted)





Original in Telugu By: Ampasayya Naveen






Dr. ‘Ampasayya’ Naveen is a well-known Telugu novelist and short story writer. His first novel, Ampasayya (Bed of Arrows), which depicts the life of university students and stresses on the psycho-economic factors, is said to be one of the best-sellers in Telugu literary field.  

Anthasravanthi (Inner Stream), Mullapodalu (Thorn Bushes), Cheekati Rojulu (Dark Days), Mouna Ragalu (Silent Tunes), Vichelitha (The Disturbed), and Kalarekhalu (Imprints of Time) are some of Dr. Naveen’s famous novels. 

Kalarekhalu, which won him the Sahitya Academy Award in 2004, depicts the social, political and cultural history of Telangana region from 1956 to 1994. Ampasayya, Mullapodalu and Anthasravanthi are known as the ‘Ravi Trilogy’.

Dr. Naveen won many awards and was honored with Doctorate by Kakatiya University in 2004. Many of his stories have also been translated into Hindi, English, Tamil, Kannada and Marathi.
Translator: GRK Murty
“Hello … Hello… Who is it?”
“It’s me…Kamalarani from Gudeppadu.”
“Not audible   … could you speak a little louder.”
“Me… Kamalarani from Gudeppadu.”
“Will you please reduce the TV volume?”
“Ok.”
“Yes, now tell me.... where are you talking from?”
“Gudeppadandi…”
“What padu is that?”
“Gudeppadandi…”
“Ok! Gudeppada? Fine … your name please?”
“I am Kamalarani nandi
“Oho! Kamalaranaa-andi[1] …..Sweet name… what are you doing?”
“Me… right now I am talking to you andi.”
“Oh! No.. That’s not what I mean… your profession… what profession are you in?”
“Well, as such I don’t have any profession.”
“That means… you don’t do anything.”
“Why not… I am doing degree.”
“Why haven’t you said it right in the beginning … so you are a degree student … which degree you are doing?”
“Doing B.A.!”
“Oh! Doing B.A.?”
“Why… you asked in such a way… don’t like B.A.?”
“Nothing  like that… nowadays nobody is doing B.A… mostly, either electronics or information technology… that’s why I said so… sorry... offended?”
“Not at all. I don’t know how to get offended.”
“That means you are such a nice person… ‘cause of people like you this society could still remain truthful.”
“Oh! What an affection you have for me! … What a great anchor you are… really, I love you.”
“Thanks a lot! By the way, what are your hobbies?”
“Hobbies! Oh so many.”
“Tell me one or two.”
“Talking to anchors like you in TV programs for hours together is my first hobby.”
“Thanks a lot!  ‘Cause of people like you we could have enough work on hand, keep it up!”
“What’s your second hobby?”
“Watching movies.”
“So bunking classes, you go for movies … bunking Botany classes you go to matinees.”
“I do not have Botany classes, do l I! Told you I am doing B.A….”
“Sorry! Very, very sorry! Forgot that you are doing B.A. Whose movies do you like the most?”
“Everybody’s  movies.”
“You like everybody’s? How come! Don’t you have a favorite hero!”
“All heroes are my favorite heroes.”
“Really… fantastic! So, you love all the heroes… Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How many?”
“So many…”
“What a big heart you have… so many heroes, so many boyfriends, how are you maintaining!”
“What do you mean by asking how am I maintaining? What do you think of me?”
“Oh! Nothing… sounds again offended you … said in a lighter vein. Are you taking it seriously?”
“I too said it in a lighter vein.”
“Fine…what do you want? Want maata[1]?... pata[2]?”
“Want both.”
“Oh! No… how can you?... not possible… can’t have both… not possible.”
“Not possible! Why?”
“Any one… tell your preference.”
“…”
“…”
                                                                …and it goes on.

 ____________________
 [i] andi – suffixed to a name for showing respect to that person, like adding “Sir” after the name of an Aristocrat to show respect.
[1] maata - speech

[2] paata - song

April 15, 2010

Women’s Reservation Bill: Will It Empower Them?



Ever since its first appearance in 1996, the women’s reservation bill—proposed legislation to reserve 33.3% seats in the Parliament and state legislatures for women—has become a cause for heated debate, both in and outside the Parliament. 
The proponents of the bill argue that historically, women in India have been marginalized and unless they are given ample scope to actively participate in the political process of the nation, they cannot come out of their current state of deprivation. It is their strong belief that the reservation bill would not only result in gender equality in the Parliament, but also empower women to fight against the atrocities inflicted on them by the society. 

 

As usual, some parties opposed the bill fearing that the proposed reservation of 33.3% seats for women, along with the already existing 22.5% of reservation for scheduled castes andtribes, would severely constrain the opportunity of male leaders to participate in the elections.



The MPs from the socially and economically backward classes argued that such reservation would only aid the women leaders from elitist classes to get elected, which, according tothem, is sure to result in under-representation of the poor and backward classes, widening the discrimination further. 

The net result is: when the bill was moved for consideration in the Rajya Sabha, unprecedented scenes of pandemonium were enacted. Some honorable members had torn the bill and thrown the pieces at the Chair, some had rushed to the Chair raising slogans against the bill, while yet others had tried to uproot the mike on the table of the Chairman. The Chair was subjected to a near assault by the opposing MPs, whereupon they were suspended for the rest of the session. And, all this— ‘shame on the nation’, as the national press described it—happened as the nation watched aghast the live proceedings on the TV channels. The Lok Sabha was no exception to these scenes. 

Amidst the bedlam, the Rajya Sabha has, however, passed the bill. It has been described as a “historic step, a giant step” for womankind. But in the din of it all, a very fundamental question has missed the nation’s attention: Will mere reservation of seats in the Parliament and state legislatures really empower women? Interestingly, we once had one of the strongest women as our Prime Minister for more than a decade, yet history does not testify that it had in any way improved the lot of women. A specified number of seats for women in the Parliament or legislature may not automatically mean that the interests of women will be taken care of. 

Even in today’s India, which is often described as a ‘world player’, women, bereft of a voice, remain invisible even to their modern compatriots working in corporate offices. They are, in practice, even denied many of the rights granted by the constitution. They have no say even in matters of family decisions, nor have they come out of the hold of the traditional mores having negative connotation; else no woman would have agreed to abort an unborn girl child based on mere ultrasound scan. 

Which is why one tends to wonder if the reservation bill will in any way alter the plight of Indian women. For, empowerment is not something given; it is something that has to come from within. It is only then that ‘empowerment’ becomes functional: a woman can say no to what she does not agree to. On the other hand, a ‘given’ empowerment remains a mere ornament for exhibition. To better appreciate this argument, let us look at the hooliganism exhibited by the MPs in the Parliament: Which law empowered them? Indeed, every law of the land prohibits it. Yet, they did it. Which means, law or no law, it is the individual’s sensitivity or no-sensitivity to a ‘given’ that determines the behavior. 

More importantly, no one can deny the role of ‘dynasty’ in Indian politics. Similarly, money plays a great role in Indian elections— a recent National Election Study revealed that 68% of existing women MPs are crorepatis, as against 57% of male MPs. This being the reality, no wonder if, after passing of the bill, today’s male leaders, of course, irrespective of their party affiliations, put up their women relatives from these reserved constituencies, which means there would be little or no scope for women from subaltern strata to step into the Parliament. That aside, as the constituencies keep changing from election to election, no elected representative finds any incentive to work for the good of the constituency— leave aside the question of addressing the problems of women. 

All this, indeed, calls for far-reaching changes in the areas of economic, social, and legal policies. Gaps between men and women, in terms of health, adult literacy, and economic participation must be bridged. Women must have the same inheritance rights as that of men, so that possession of assets in their hand would enable them to voice their views with confidence both within and outside the home. Such financial independence alone would empower them to fight against the ongoing ‘killing, aborting, and neglecting of girls’. It would embolden them to insist on good education, nutrition and health for their daughters. 

There is yet another reason why the nation should think beyond the reservation bill: the latest Asia Pacific Human Development Report estimates that increasing the proportion of women in the workforce to 70%, equivalent to the rate of many developed countries, would boost the annual GDP in India by 4.2%. It is in the interests of the national economy too that India needs to do more—more than merely passing a reservation bill. 

Or, is the reservation bill the easiest solution that the nation can offer, to gloss over the centuries-old deprivation of Indian women?

- GRK Murty

April 02, 2010

Wow, April has come!



There is a certain something about April: its mornings are different from the rest of the seasons. They are wholesome and serene. The sky looks clear and pure blue, the earth smiles, and all nature rejoices as that eternal rider of the day emerges from the bowl of darkness on the eastern horizon. Welcoming him are the chirping birds and the peepul’s giggling leaves. April mornings are surreal beauty: breeze blowing from the south laden with the mist through the fluttering and dancing young lush green mango leaves, 'incensed' by the wandering kuhoo kuhoo songs of koyel sways the mankind, clears the cobwebs of yesterdays, and makes one’s mind so sharp and clear that snatches of poetry memorized in childhood come flooding.

Blowing through the unkempt hair of the young, it juggles mischievous new ideas in their minds. Indeed, April is the month of youth: being freed from the grind of classes, lessons, teachers, homework, examinations, and having thrown the books onto the attic, children are at their boisterous best in their restless search for fun and frolicking. They crave for outings to dance in wild glee—to run amok in gay abandon. They even pester parents to take them out on a ride across the country.

Hi! Executives. Heed them. Get out of your whirl and muddle of business, at least, for a while. Take them out, let them ramble around free of parental pressure, all in the fresh air of the countryside, for ‘they have their own thoughts’. Let them experience the warmth of vasant. Assist them in knowing their country, to relate with it and shape their ideas in sync with it, for that is where they have to live for the rest of their lives.

Even otherwise, you too need a break! Get off from your daily chores and what better way could you think of than taking the family on a ride across the country. Despite being grown-ups, don’t most of us want to do crazy things; want to be on our own fancy rides; to take a bet at our disillusionment, the hope, and the dream to live a life of our choice, at least for a while, even if it means being a ‘catcher in the rye’?

Why not join the young and run ecstatically in the wilderness, enjoying the multitude of colors of nature at the best of times. Who knows, amidst it, you may reinvent your own youthfully innocent ‘self’ that is hidden all along under the burden of whatever you are doing, and just like that poet who, encountering a glimpse of rangeen nazara of a college lass went around humming in the April breeze—Doondtha huo tujhe har raah, har mehifil mein/Mere mehboob tujhe, meri mohabat ki kasam/Phir mujhe nargisi aankhon ka sahara de de...  —you may, flipping into that old life, also muse. Who knows, you may reinvent yourself—all those hidden beauties of your imagined life may sprout jinglingly, an unknown Raag may entwine you as a tender creeper taking you “on the viewless wings of poesy” to Elysium. And don’t you think that it breathes fresh breeze into your whole family?

What are you then, waiting for? Incredible India is inviting you! Go out of the garish and obtuse cities/towns, deep into the country, out of the high rising buildings that are blocking the stars in the quiet sky from you, and watch moonlight in the night when it sleeps upon the motionless trees, listen to the music of night’s stillness and ‘become the touches of harmony’ with the country folk by donning the robe of ‘invisible hand’, which is sure to help those standing at the periphery earn their living. It’s, after all, in spending that one realizes the meaning of earning. And, as long as this money-cycle keeps wheeling across the length and breadth of the country, the whole of India can rejoice dancing ‘all inclusively’.

- GRK Murty
 

Nanna, Nadi (Daddy, River)


Original in Telugu:

Satyam Sankaramanchi

Translator: GRK Murty

Seethayyas nanna1 passed away.

     It is not that Seethayya is a kid. Yet, Seethayya, though in his thirties and having fathered four children, is overwhelmed by sorrow with the passing away of his nanna. Like a kid, he cried terribly in fits. The minute it dawned that his father is no more with him to share his agonies and ecstasies, he felt alone in the worldfelt a void in his heart, an emptiness in life.  

Nanna is no more. Nanna, who was there yesterday, is not there today. Nannawho, bathing at dawn, wrapping himself in a neatly washed dhoti, used to sit everyday in the verandah leaning against the pillar and meditate on godis no more. There is no nanna for him to say, I shall return soon from the market, while going out. Today, the pillar in the verandah is standing alone, all in sadness.   

Nanna, of what time? 

Nannawho, during childhood, when Seethayya was three years old, lying flat on the floor, keeping him standing on his bosom by holding his tiny hands, making him recite,   Tharangam, tharangam, thandavakrishna tharangam2, while he was merrily pounding him on his bosom with his feet, and rejoicing at it, encouraged him to stamp on his bosom again and again, hugging him fondly and kissing him longinglyis no more. Nanna, who, as Seethayya had grown a little farther, took him to the Krishna river and placing him on its bank bathed him, scrubbing all over his body, is no more. Nanna, who, when he insisted on swimming, put him in the water and as he splashed his hands in water held his belt in the hand, and taught him swimming, is not there today. As his nanna then swam across the river holding a wooden plank, he, lying on the plank, used to go to the middle of the river. It was his nanna who taught him how to navigate through whirlpools, how to stroke in strong currents, how to avoid gushing water, and how to swim with his hands while lying on his back in the Krishna. 

Nanna got new knickers and shirt stitched for him, distributed sweets to fellow students, at the time of his admission to school, and then handed him over to the teacher. By noon worrying, Kid has not come home yet, nanna, without even having his lunch, would come forward to meet him and fearing his feet might burn in sun, lifting him on to his shoulders, used to get him back home. In the nights, placing him along his side in the bed, nanna, making him tell everything that had been taught in the school, making him recite the poems again, used to put him to sleep by patting. As he grew up, nanna showing him their fields, taught him ploughing, transplanting crops; and thereafter handing over the farming to him, went around the village telling everyone proudly, Nothing to worry, my son can take care of everything. Despite nanna passing on the lordship over everything to him, Seethayya was still a kid before him. Every trivial event he used to tell his nanna—“Today, we shall put labor for weeding in the farm nanna! Isnt there too much of chilly in the coconut chutney, today, nanna? Saying, Dhobi is of late applying more indigo to clothes, and setting right nannas dhoti, massaging his feet, pulling his fingers gently and fondly massaging all over his nannas body, Seethayya, like a child used to clasp nanna. Nanna listened to his every word. Hummed smilingly. As nanna thus hummed, he felt as though he was hugged close to his bosom and blessed by him

Who would now hum? 

Who would now caress his head? 

Someone from the relatives is saying, Why, he had everything, he is the blessed one! Brought a Lakshmidevi-like3 daughter-in-law into his family. Seen three grandsons. Caressed a granddaughter. Handing over the lordship of the house to his Sri Ramudu-like4 son, passed away worriless. Maharaju!

These words could not console Seethayya. He has become fatherless, he wants his nanna! In the backyard, crying inconsolably, Seethayyas mother faints. Regaining her consciousness, she walks to the Tulasamma5 and swoons on Tulasammas pot saying, Amma6! painting you yellow everyday with turmeric paste and pasting saffron over it, I prayed to you! You snatched away my pasupu, kumkum7 amma! Wasnt there a bottu8 on my face ever since I was born? Can I see my face that has now become, sans bottu, an epitome of sadness in the mirror? How then can I show it to others?
 
Seethayya stares naively. He searches for his father all around the house. Someone else is comforting his four children. With the passing away of Nanna, he feels at once aged and old. Someone among the relatives hurries everyone uttering, Lucky are those who passed away. Come on! Get up! A lot is on hand to do. After performing nannas funeral rites, Seethayya comes to the Krishna for a bath. Its the same Krishna! The Krishna in which his father bathed him! The Krishna in which his nanna made him swim, made him somersault. Saying, drinking your water all through his life nanna passed away, I am also living by drinking your water, I need nanna, Seethayya cries. Seethayyas body is the Krishna. Seethayyas breath is the Krishna. Seethayyas blood is the Krishna. Seethayyas life is the Krishna. Seethayyas tears are the Krishna, Krishna is mingling in the Krishna. Krishna is asking the Krishna for nanna.

The Krishna is flowing fully. Listening to Seethayyas words, it is flowing gently. Consolingly moving forward. Flowing away as a sigh. Flowing caressingly. Flowing away speedily as though time will not stop.

The great stream, stretching and stretching, is flowing away.

Humming, Na Na the stream is rushing away fast.

Seethayya is saying, Nanna! Nanna!

Listening to him, Krishna is rushing away saying, Na Na …”

Saying, Na Na …” fresh water is flowing in. 

Whispering, Na Na it is moving away.

Again fresh water, Na Na …” Again and again fresh water, Na Na …”

The incoming and outgoing water is saying something to Seethayya.


Heard, Nanna! Nanna. Thats not Seethayyas call. Nor is it his tone. Whose tone? Whose call is it? 

Seethayya listens attentively. It is the call of his sons. 

Whispering, Na Na, the water that flows down before him says to Seethayya: Poor father, passed away. Natural! Youre pining for the nanna, who is no more. Remember, you are the nanna of your sons.

Na Na …” the Krishna gushes in and gushes out.



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