Memories of my maternal grandfather

One of the most important influences in my formative years was Appachan. The person I am today has been to a large extent been shaped by him. I was fortunate to spend a lot of my growing-up years in the company of my maternal grandparents and, since I was their first grandchild, they showered me with care and guidance.          

Appachan was an ideal mentor to me (and to many others) in more ways than one. As a teacher, he had the patience to guide me in the right path. He had a great thirst for knowledge and I imbibed that quality right from the day I learnt to make my own decisions. His intellectual curiosity was also astounding. He wanted to know about everything and anything in the world around him. But, among the many gifts that he gave me, the one I treasure most is the love for the English language and his sheer passion for reading.

In fact, the only real material possessions that he was enthusiastic about accumulating were books and reading matter.  I can still remember his joy every time when we used to go and pick up from the post office the latest books he had ordered from Reader’s Digest! These volumes cost a lot in those days, especially for middle-class earners, but he used to buy them without a second thought. There was also a small bookseller at Vazhudacad junction whom Appachan supported financially and otherwise for a few years.

Appachan was keen on a wide range of subjects – movies, sports, popular music, current affairs and so on. And I find now that I have developed virtually the same interests that he had. He was the one who bought me, for the first time, an issue of Sportstar, the popular sports magazine – this was probably in 1981 or 1982 (I can still remember the cover of that particular issue). A life-long love for sports was born in me at that moment.

Similarly with music – he used to enjoy listening to popular hits on the radio and on records and cassettes, whether it was Hindi, Malayalam or English (Mohammed Rafi was a particular favourite of his, as was Jim Reeves, ABBA, Nazia Hassan and many other artists).

Appachan loved movies of every kind too, though it was hardly as easy to see them then as it is now. His taste for movies ranged from entertainers like Sholay and Bruce Lee flicks to serious biopics like Gandhi. Wonder what he would have made of YouTube, smartphones, iPad and such technological marvels of the modern day … my guess is that he would have been fascinated by every one of them.

Appachan was a wonderful story-teller – many were the tales from fiction and history that he would relate. All his great heroes from history – Pandit Nehru, Gandhiji, Admiral Nelson, Abraham Lincoln, Shakespeare, PG Wodehouse, HG Wells, Jim Corbett (note the wide range of characters!)  – became mine too, to some extent.

One aspect of Appachan’s character I remember with fondness, other than his gentle and kind nature, was his great sense of humour. There were scores of anecdotes from his long life that he would chuckle over. These were never malicious – I cannot remember a single instance where he was mean-spirited or cruel towards others. Even in his last years, when he became an invalid confined to the house, his love for life remained strong.

His sense of time was another striking part of his character, especially in the final years. Every day was run like clockwork. He would check the time on his watch and then immediately look at the clock in the living room to make sure his watch was not wrong! And, he would only sit down for his meals at the exact time – not a minute before, and not a minute later.

As Lizamma Aunty has already written, Appachan’s empathy for the unfortunate and suffering was heartfelt. He simply could not understand why some people had to suffer the way they did. That was a part of his faith he could never reconcile himself to – how could God allow such disparities in the world He had created? A question for which Appachen could never find the answers to, till his dying day.

I saw Appachan last in late-1995. I had contracted chicken pox during the holidays and my parents were keen that I should not pass it on to Appachan, especially in his weakened state at that time. So I bade him a quick goodbye and left for Calicut. A few months later, Amma informed me at my Delhi hostel that my beloved grandfather was no more. There was no way in those days to get back in time for his funeral, sadly – and so I had to bid him farewell in my mind. But the memories of his remarkable personality shine on for all of those who knew him. It’s sad that Shameen could never meet Appachan, even though they both lived in the same city for years. She would have loved and admired him as much as all of us did.

This article was written on the occasion of my grandfather's 100th birth anniversary on April 19, 2013

The break-up of The Beatles – an alternate take

The Beatles had come to the end of their world-transforming run by 1969 and within a few months the "Fab Four" had gone their separate ways. Most of us who are fans of popular music surely have some vague idea of why the most popular band in history broke up.
Some of the usual theories, then, are these:
1. Yoko Ono was the primary reason for the break-up of the group. Not only did she turn John Lennon’s head away from his mates but she literally sat down with The Beatles (gasp!) in the recording studio (something which the other Beatles women before her had never dared to do).
2. The lads from Liverpool had grown apart and were no longer best friends with each other. Different business and artistic interests and myriad distractions now claimed their attention. George Harrison was into Eastern music and philosophy; Lennon was blindly following Yoko’s lead in her madcap artistic schemes; Ringo was, after all, Ringo – always the camp follower, never the leader. Paul McCartney was the only one valiantly attempting to keep the various factions together but, as the Let It Be documentary shows us, his dictatorial ways were irritating the hell out of his fellow bandmates.
3. Beatles manager Brian Epstein had died a couple of years before and with his passing one key factor that had held The Beatles together in the glory days was gone.
These, then, are the standard theories – even though McCartney rather unconvincingly has tried to argue over the years that Yoko did not break up the group on her own.
I was mulling over some of these matters the other day when the missus suddenly spoke up – according to her, it was Ringo’s hat that caused the final break-up of the legendary foursome! Now this was a stunning piece of news. I was so taken aback that I switched off the live cricket telecast on TV and gave her my full attention.
Me: “What did you say just now? Ringo’s hat caused the world’s most famous group to break up?”
The missus: “Yes.” (She is not much for small talk, if you know what I mean – one word is enough for her when two or three would have done for others).
Me: “Right – now, from where did you get this amazing bit of news from?”
The missus: “Oh, I read it in an inflight magazine the other day.”
Me: “Whew! For a moment I thought you were serious. But I think we can safely disregard this story since it is from some unknown magazine.”
The missus: “No, no – they were quite categorical about that. It seems Lennon sat down heavily on Ringo’s hat while they were touring some place in Africa in 1969 and that made the latter so furious that he immediately broke his drumsticks and said enough was enough. Ringo’s departure was such a shock that his mates decided that they had better call it a day. That’s the only reason they broke up.”
Me: “But The Beatles have never toured Africa, you know – and their last live performance was in 1966 at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, years before this reported incident ever happened. And you are telling me that the world’s greatest pop music group broke up over such a silly incident?”
The missus: “Yep – I read about it in this magazine and it seemed very sound to me. It was a glossy magazine with some nice photos of the band in their prime.”
Me: “Well, at last count I have read about 75 books and at least 1,200 articles on The Beatles and I have never heard of this story anywhere. So how can I believe this?”
The missus: “Well, you better start believing it. The whole story has the ring of truth around it. It sounds pretty ironclad to me – solid stuff, in fact.” (Although she normally hates to talk much, once she gets going she does manage to come up with some colourful terminology like the above).
Me: “If that is the case, then I have to alert the millions of Beatle maniacs around the world immediately. They have to quit hating poor Yoko and instead start hating Ringo right away. Is there any way we can verify this? I mean, do you remember the name of this magazine? Maybe I can do a Web search and find out the relevant article?”
The missus: “Oh, I am sorry but I cannot remember the name of the magazine now, but I remember it had a picture of a plane on the cover.” (As you can see, she is always rather fuzzy about names and dates and other essential details. She still thinks, for example, that Abraham Lincoln lived in the 16th century and that he was Shakespeare’s neighbour; she also believes that World War II happened just before the Battle of Waterloo).
Me: “Ok – how about the name of the airline? Maybe that will give us a clue.”
The missus: “Oh, it was some flight I took from Changi Airport the other day. But I cannot remember what flight it was or to where I was flying to.”
Me (I was starting to lose my patience a wee bit by this time, though I was still keeping things under control): “Oh I see – maybe it was all in your dreams?”
The missus: “No, no, no – I definitely remember reading it, you know.” (My sarcasm was evidently lost on her).
Me: “Ok, then maybe we should check WikiLeaks – maybe they might have some serious intel on this.”
We let it go at that for then but I now Google every inflight magazine on a regular basis and search keywords like “Beatles tour”, “Beatles break-up” and “Ringo’s hat” but, so far, not a single story has come up to prove the missus’ pet theory.
But she is totally convinced about it and I have the feeling that nothing in the world will ever make her think otherwise. Not even if Ringo himself came up and told her this hat story was not true … she would probably ask the poor fellow to go and read the (fictitious?) inflight magazine as soon as possible. It is enough to make anyone break his drumsticks and call it a day, you know.

Newspaper-reading - a dying activity

When I was updating my profile photos on Facebook recently (which I seldom bother to do for reasons that are not relevant here), I asked the missus to take some snaps of a few of my favourite activities that hardly anyone else is keen on these days - letter-writing (by hand), newspaper-reading etc. Of course, reading newspapers is still more popular than writing letters but the landscape for the former has changed considerably. Whereas once newspapers were the primary source of information, now they have become a different creature - people get their daily information fix through a large number of alternative media (TV, the Internet, FM radio, mobile phones, networking sites and so on). Nobody needs to wait for the arrival of the daily paper to know what is happening in the other parts of the globe - one click of the computer mouse will give you almost all breaking news from any of the thousands of news sources across the World Wide Web.

So why do I still love newspaper reading? I suppose part of the reason is that I am a journalist by profession and it is the printed word that excites me most. For me, the day does not start properly till I open the morning newspaper and go through the pages. It may be the world's best paper or the worst ever - still that early morning activity is a must. I remember how irritated I would become when the daily paper did not arrive on time during my growing-up days in Kerala - that often happened back home because the delivery boy was not well or because there was a transport strike. Or sometimes the paper would arrive only in the late mornings - that was almost as bad as the paper not arriving at all!

But now the whole concept behind newspaper news has changed - they no longer "break news" - most people already know what is happening by the time they open their daily papers. What they want is in-depth analysis of what has already happened. Views, commentaries and opinions have taken the place of plain bread-and-butter reporting. Of course, investigative reports are still there but they have become so cliched that very few of these sell newspapers by themselves, unlike, say in the days of Watergate.

It saddens me when I see the current generation hardly reading newspapers - many of today's youngsters are not even interested to know in what is happening in the world outside their circles. But that is fine because people have different tastes and one's preference is not another's. Part of the reason for the falling popularity of newspapers are TV news channels and the Internet. They disseminate information so fast that newspapers are left far behind when it comes to speed. So, naturally, many great papers have adapted to this changing scenario - they have beefed up their online content, for instance. There is no major paper in the world now that does not have an active online arm. Some stories are written specifically for the Internet readership.

More interesting is to see how the online papers add value - they offer links to other articles, blogs, podcasts and various other multimedia means to attract more eyeballs to their pages. The Guardian in the UK, for instance, has the best online site I have seen for any top broadsheet. News on the online scene is doing ok but manual newspaper readership is struggling in most places. Many top American newspapers have shut down over the last decade due to falling circulation and advertisement revenues. Even huge names like The New York Times are struggling to make a profit. There may come a time when you may not see a single person actually reading a paper in the Western world!

Paper owners have experimented with changing sizes and shapes to attract new audiences - these have had mixed results. Commuters prefer smaller newspapers because of their convenience and portability but, for a youngster who does not read papers anyway, this type of cosmetic change will not matter. He/she is not going to suddenly start reading a paper just because the paper is now delivered in a different shape and form!

Thankfully, in many developing countries (like India, for instance) newspaper reading is still more popular than in the West. This is probably because Internet access is not so easy in such places and broadband speeds are often slower. People are still used to the culture of taking a look at the daily headlines over their morning cups of coffee. And, in countries where the newspapers are generally regarded as being very closely linked to the government (like Singapore and the Gulf states), the print media is used to explain and debate public policy in detail. In such contexts, newspapers will always have a significant role to play.

Another way newspapers have been trying to stay relevant is by dumbing down their news content - many broadsheets stray now and then into tabloid territory, many deliberately. Titillating subjects like sex, celebrity and scandals interest almost everybody and so a clever newspaper publisher will maximise coverage of such topics to sell more copies. If it is a running story, with juicy revelations promised over many days, then even better! Yellow journalism has always been a potent weapon for boosting circulation, right from the days of Joseph Pulitzer - that is not something that will change soon. The Times of India is a master at this approach - not surprisingly the paper is loved and loathed in equal measures in modern-day India. Maybe such an approach may not be a bad idea to attract younger readers ...

Some older people, like my grand-aunt, read newspapers only because of the obituaries they carry. Others read them for the weather report or the comic strips or the TV listings or travel information. Whatever the reason, newspaper-reading is an activity that has a charm of its own and it will be an extraordinarily sad day for me if it disappears totally. Even though I have access to almost any news source in the world I have never once been tempted to stop reading the daily newspaper (as some of my friends have done) - and I know that I will be still reading newspapers till the day I die. Am I being a relic that way? Maybe, but that is my choice, isn't it?

An encounter with a pest exterminator

It all started when the missus was stung by a gang of hornets who had set up shop on the small balcony that doubles up as our garden. My wife, never the most talkative of women at the best of times, became completely silent after being stung. From then on, she started communicating only in sign language, which looking back, was not a bad thing. Anyway, since it was bad form to have a steadily-growing hornet hive next to the living room, I decided to call in a local pest exterminator to eliminate it.
A cheerful-sounding person answered the phone and promised to come as early as possible to see to the problem. The exterminator turned out to be a jolly, round chap who introduced himself as "Waran" (pronouncing it as "Warren"). "Rather a funny name for a Tamilian," I thought to myself. Then he told me that his actual name was Easwaran and that he had cut his name down to make it easier for the local Chinese to pronounce it.
Waran took one look at the hive and went into battle mode. "This one is huge," he pronounced, looking a bit like a hunter who had come across a lion when he was expecting only a squirrel. "We have to be very careful," he continued. "Only last month I was stung by hornets. My head became as swollen as a watermelon, you know. Very, very dangerous. How did your wife survive?"
I told Waran about the missus becoming dumb as a result of the stings and he admitted that this was a by-product that he had observed in some cases. But he added that he could speak better after he was stung - so there was no hard-and-fast correlation between hornet stings and speaking capabilities, he seriously noted.
Waran then swiftly took out a long stick from his small bag (how he hid it inside the bag, I have no idea) and attached a canister to the end of it. "This is a spray that only I am licensed to use in the whole of Singapore," he explained. "The next few moments are going to be crucial." He closed the balcony door till only a small slit was showing and then started to profusely spray the hive. A few surprised hornets charged out looking for the source of the unhealthy liquid drops and promptly discovered that it was the end of their earthly careers. The hive started to disintegrate and Waran, much encouraged by the proceedings, pumped in some more liquid into the hive.
Suddenly, in the middle of the massacre, Waran's mobile rang. "Yes, Ultimate Pest Control speaking," he answered. "Sorry, madam, you have a what in your sink? A snake? Rather a longish one, you say? Not to worry. Help is at hand. It must be a python. They love to squeeze their victims to death. Apart from that habit, they are pretty harmless. Or it could be a cobra, in which case I need to come there faster. Don't panic. Just close the kitchen and wait for my arrival. I am in the middle of an extermination here."
Nonchalantly, Waran sprayed some more liquid into our rapidly-disappearing hive and then issued a warning: "One hornet has escaped. He will be very aggressive. Wait for 55 hours before you open the balcony door." Why 55 hours, I wanted to ask him. Why not 60? Why not 50? Anyway, before I could ask him this crucial question, Waran was gone, off to his next rendezvous with irritating fauna.