Sinex Badri

Badrinarayanan: I was hopelessly jobless and nothing in sight in the post Bahrain years of 2004. Even the wine business on Sriperumbudur, despite astrological predictions, came a cropper.

            My neighbor, Murali at M90/6, took pity and circulated my resume to his company owner. That’s how I met Badri in an interview. His office was on Old Mahabalipuram near Halda. The roads were mud ones and hopelessly bumpy, a stagnating pool of water where buffaloes strayed, and Sinex factory was a one-storied bungalow and built to save costs. The walls were like starch paper and there was a fragileness about them; you felt a heavy shower could flatten the whole edifice down.

At the factory, a new world opened to me. People hammering rods or electric sparks flying out as they made “indoor creative display systems”. These are devices kept typically in a consumer good dealer to bombard brand messages to the customer; from a simple banner stand, a backdrop with life-images, or those flow images or even kiosk stands. Sinex was in the forehead in this business and this Perungudi was a SME unit.

There was always a lot of elegance about Badri. He is a handsome man, prominent mustache, long nose and a wheat complexion. His crop of hair was still healthy and full for a 50 year old man. He is a first-time entrepreneur and an awesome reputation in the trade. Badri was one of those super cool persons who don’t react to violent stimulus; instead seek solutions more prosaic but tranquil. I goofed up once big time; I was on work for a fortnight and my compensation was not fixed. Our work in preparation for Pop Asia 2005 put us very much together and we became chummy. I politely reminded him the issue a couple of times but no answer was forthcoming. Once he said,” Rs.17,500” as the figure, I gave him half-an-hour lecture on “aspiration salary”, “competence salary” etc. Any other man would have fired me on the spot and Badri almost did but destiny was on my side. My cell was switched off otherwise my trip to Mumbai the next day would have been cancelled.  

After this incident, I moved to the Marketing office in Nandanam and having to report to SDP. Badri never quite forgave that “lecture” incident and maintained a safe distance in his interactions with me. Badri would come in a chauffeured Qualis and engage in long discussions with SDP on the progress. At work, Badri held all the answers; he decided the pricing, he knew the material costs and labour and there was not one among the 120 odd employees with that kind of expertise. He frequented China a lot and signed up some truly innovative products; the digital scroller for one. Badri never got into ticklish situations or out-shouted someone or played dirty in his interactions. He was the boss, the supreme owner and he comported himself like royalty; a nod and a smile from far before reaching his car. The word is “savoir faire” from French and “sangfroid” from German; one meaning “act appropriately” and another “calmness or composure under trying situation” that defines Badri in two words.

Badri stays in Besantnagar and I get a see quite a lot of him in the morning walks at Eliot’s. He would be walking in a frenetic pace with 4 other friends in tow. Badri was once afflicted with an exhaustive syndrome that inflicted one with tiredness right from waking up. A state where no amount of sleeping or lying in bed sufficed! He found a lot of relief from “Art of Living” breathing schedules and now a daily practitioner.  

Badri is a rich man. He is a passionate member of Rotary club, the famed “3230” district. They are in the forefront of organizing Chennai runs or bring musicians from Pakistan or take up rural villages projects. Badri does not smoke but enjoys his drink. He is a regular family man devoted to his wife and two sons.

I worked for him for over a year and a half in 2005-06, and he always spelt class to me.  

Post Script (2017): Occasionally I go for Swamiji’s weekend lectures at Vidyamandir and my eyes spots Badri in the audience. We share a smile and at the end of the class, he’s one of the volunteers to roll the straw mattresses. That grace, slow and deliberate movement and speech and little wonder, he is a flourishing businessman. He is the kind of person I would like to be in my next birth if the Lord were to assign me for drawing my own chart.

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: That patience and calm exterior is exemplary. Badri is one of the finest example of how a “calm” mind is superior to an “impressionable” one. 

Lucas D'Silva

Lucas D’Silva: He was the most flamboyant of our school years. He was in his mid- 30s with a walrus mustache, square-faced, and a short man. He taught Hindi to a convent school crowd that had a phobia for any language other than English and god, he was superb!! Even South Indian Tamilians like me owe our better accents to him.

It is strange as to how a pious Catholic would take up Hindi. That language was a bugbear for this English speaking man and he determined himself to teach that very subject. He reasoned: it is the language of the land and his Jesuit upbringing might have always aspired for teaching.  

Since we were weak in the language, Lucas used to write tons and tons of sentences filling up blackboards after another in his neat handwriting and exhausting chalk pieces and creating clouds of white smoke as he rubbed the board to make space for further hard labour. These typical questions at the back of the lesson and we were daft on pen these on our own. Not for Lucas was this easy route of bracketing sentences from the text and present it as an answer. He demanded more creativity there. I distinctively remember sitting on the floor (those days A section boys would go to B section for the Hindi class and a few of us would squat on the floor as all the desks would be occupied) and racing to keep up with him as he wrote on the board. We learnt of all the intricacies with masterful annotates of Tulsidas, Rahim, Kabirdas, and Surdas.  Then Hindi grammar – the sandhis, and samas, then explored the stories of Premchand and other literary giants of Hindi.

He was truly a prim donna; nobody ever crossed him without getting hurt as the cane used to furiously come down. Always impeccably dressed in full hand sleeves and preferring those boots that came halfway up to the knees and he was not averse to boot errant boys. Despite the violence, he would put his hands around the shoulders and become unusual friendly after the class. He was undoubtedly the hero of our growing years. He was a kind of a man you saw in movies much like Clint Easthood in his westerns; rugged, placid exterior, spoke little, and guns boomed more (in this case “canes” and “boots”).  

For the Annual function, he would pen a drama alongwith Raghupathy, who was the Telugu teacher. Raghupathy used to sing the Patrick’s Anthem and “Maa Telugu thali ki” on Monday Assembly.  Raghupathy was also a much loved teacher; he tragically died in a road accident in the 90s and after that Lucas stopped writing plays altogether in memory of his friend and colleague.

A devout Christian, Lucas went to Sabarimala undergoing all the rituals prior to the trip. Not for him are the narrow self-imposed constraints of religion but a big heart to learn and explore. At school none of our Jesuit teachers ever poked fun on Hinduism rather they quoted Bhagwat Gita liberally and always in reverence.  

He was very active writing plays for the annual functions. He was married to an Anglo-Indian who was teaching in the primary classes in the same school. His son is married and settled in Britain while the daughter on a software assignment. I met him after 20 years and age had not withered the lion in any manner. He still joked heartily, smoked incessantly, and showed his family album. He is now the senior-most teacher on roll as he said,” I joined here when I was 32 and now close to retirement. I am the only one allowed to use a cane at school”. When queried whether he had any goals, he quietly said,” I always wanted a basketball court for my kids and a tennis court. Those dreams have come true and now all I want is a swimming pool.”  This is a kind of commitment in these Jesuits.  

            We were too young to appreciate the class and stature of Lucas and Fr. Kadavel. It is only when we grew up and got our tails burned in this rough world that we realized the worth of these individuals. Hats off, Lucas…may you and your family be always happy.

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: An extraordinaire teacher who commanded tremendous respect and left indelible imprints on young minds. It is possible to be idealistic even in this crazy world. 

Rajamani

Rajamani Chittappa: He is father’s 4^th brother and the most problematic. Rajamani cannot open his mouth without a “lie”: he would lie on just about everything like a curse (or was it thrill)? If he calls to inform that he is visiting you in the next 30 minutes, you can safely lock the house on the fib! He wouldn’t come till the next week or even next month or year. Anything he says you can safely write on water with a 100% certainty.  

Rajamani now in his early 60s has a bald plate (he calls its acres of fallow land) has an egg face. Though short at 5’4”, his face was rather huge; bright dark eyes, long nose, and a loud booming mouth. What really sagged Rajamani down is his stubborn refusal to learn from mistakes?

            He started his career in the freight business and lorries are in his bloodline to an obsession. He would work for 6 months and with whatever little savings “buy” a decrepit lorry and spend on it to a running condition. You can be sure that within the next 6 months either the lorry would meet an accident or the driver abscond with money or the cleaner caught by the cops for a huge damage. He must have purchased a lorry every year for the last 25 years and has never shown a profit to even sustain.  

Rajamani would frequently run out of money and had no qualms borrowing money from relations or friends or colleagues or just about anyone on the road. He was a glib talker and his powers of persuasion would get him off the noose. He never bothered to return money and it took a loaner 3 or 4 incidents to become chagrined and cut further losses.  

Rajamani lived on the edge; always optimistic despite the near penurious condition of the family. His wife did not interfere in his errant ways once she realized that none can impact him even a degree. Rajamani has seen many hungry days; depending on temple’s prasads to feed the family; or visit his in-laws during meal times. But such desperate situations don’t last and within 6 months he would be running a new lorry and once again be chirpy and a new optimism. But I do recollect one horrible summer when he was on the edge and had even procured poison for the entire family.   

I always felt that of Paati’s 6 sons, he was the smartest. He had that adventurous streak that is alien to Brahmin community. He had a gift for languages – Hindi, English, Tamil, Telugu – and blessed with a skill to impress. When he smeared his forehead with vibhuti in thick 3 horizontal lines and a vermillion at the centre, he looked radiant. In his funny moments, he is a good mimic, brilliant in singing Bhajan songs, or frantic in pujas for divine aid in moments of adversity. Despite his fluctuating fortunes, relations welcomed him with open arms. He knew how to connect to people at a base level though we all saw him as a family “Narada”.

            I would often joke about his “lying” mouth and he would recoil in hurt pride. But he was not the kind to carry bad blood to the next day. If Rajamani were to ever pen his life, it will make for great reading. No life has seen such despair or humiliation; children pulled out of school and relatives shutting doors on sight fearful of another loan request.  

Now his son is married and makes an agreeable living in a call Centre in Mumbai. Both the sons revere him despite his constant gambles. He is mellowed a lot after the sons have started going to work and his lorry dreams are finally buried. Instead he thinks that there is a market for catering “dabba meals”! The dark days are at last over and that has given him a new swagger and a more pompous mouth.

Post Script (2017): He died in August, 2010. He was the guarantor to my State Bank of Mysore loan when I ventured into wine business in 2004. Each time I remember Rajamani Chittapa, the mind goes to this image in 1989 – he dropped me off at Central Station as I took a train to Hyderabad after performing my father’s obsequies. As the Chennai-Hyderabad glided off the platform, tears trickle down in both our faces as we waved hands. That was one moment of bondage and a true human connection.  He had a tender heart, he cared for others; nothing else matters. 

Verdict: Rajas

Lesson to be learnt: Be friendly from far but don’t ever get intimate. 

Navneet Oberoi

Navneet Oberoi: I only have a few washed memories of Navneet, OB as we used to call him during the IMT days in early 90s. OB was a cut Sardar and temperamentally diametrically opposite to that of his community; he spoke hesitantly and softly that he resembled more a cautious cat and Manmohan Singh.  

He was fair of complexion typical of a northie, over 5’8’ on his toes, a slim body, muscular shoulders, a long and elegant nose, trim eyebrows, and a shampooed hair parted upwards fluttered with every stride. The eyes seemed larger beneath gold-rimmed spectacles.  

In my very first week at Ghaziabad, I came down with a bad viral and shaking all over. It was OB – then a total stranger – who massaged feet vigorously rubbing the soft exterior with his bare hands. Even in my agony, I was totally floored by the act. He took me to the doctors and that started our friendship. His subtle sense of humour – almost self-deprecatory -put others at ease without effort.  

Navneet has a brain of a quizzer; and our quizzing team won all the prizes in the country. His modesty was very real; he never talked much about himself and certainly not with superlatives. After our insipid dinner at the IMT mess, we walked to a daily treat of “rasagulla” or “ Gulab Jamun” in the nearby Hawaii dukhan. Those walks were full of animated talk of books or his American passion or even rock music. When Rodney King was bashed up by the LA police and smacked 57 times on the body in a famous video, OB observed,” I would go through more if it can get me a US green card”. After quizzing, he was a highly regarded “Table Tennis” player. There was a TT table in the mess hall and a long queue to get in a knock. OB could smash with such force as to damage the plastic ball or engage in a rapid fire tit-tat-tit like an automaton.  

I really was a fish out of water during the IMT days and OB went out of his way to make me comfortable. He resided in Vasant Kunj and went home each week to at least for the laundry or get better food at home. We had a long break of 2 weeks and he stayed with me in the hostels just to give company. Again an overwhelming feeling like the feet massage!

I have been to his home half a dozen times and it is typical Punjabi family; his father a picture of hospitality and grace in a long, white beard and maroon turbans. His mother was forever busy in the kitchen but vociferous in her welcomes to a stranger, and his super cool married brother in Indian Oil. I enjoyed the freedom the Oberois enjoyed; both he and his brother would sit in the veranda and take in the sun while sipping beer cans. Both the sons had cars for themselves and it was a thriving middle-class family.  

With OB around you feel a benign peace that springs from trust. We would argue just about everything but without an ounce of malice and SDP is only another I have found in a similar league. I would often say: OB, if you were a woman I would have married you. He retorted,” If I were a woman, you would never have interacted”. After our passing out, we met on a couple of occasions but the magic of those years had clearly dissipated. He got married to an air-hostess and achieved his life-long ambition of migrating to the United States.  

The clock has turned more than 15 years and he is now in a new country, a wife, and couple of children. I did manage to locate his email id but it fizzled out after a couple of mails. OB is the lone Punjabi I doff my head; he was royal and generous in every way.

Verdict: Sattvic 

Lesson to be learnt: How to be hospitable to strangers, unassuming, and speak with restraint? 

Visalam Chitti

Visalam Chitti: She is my aunt by way of marriage to my paternal uncle, S K Moorthy. They squatted in our house for the first 5 years and so persecuted by their presence that my father took a transfer to Hyderabad and get rid of this nuisance monkey. In the 70s the families were still cohesive but my father – the eldest brother – found that the younger brother had no inclination to neither move out on marriage nor contribute to the kitty.  

Visalam was always viewed with suspicion in the family; she was from Kumbakonam and we were from North Arcot. People of that region are perceived as too smart in taking care of themselves and when in a fight, they can hold their own with the most virulent!! But in these years not once did she rock the boat but patiently swallowed the humiliations heaped on by my mother almost without demur.  

But once they went on their own, she started to assert herself. Her husband was just a meager earning factory worker and they saved each penny in buying a house on the outskirts of the city. The only child, a daughter was put through Veena and Carnatic music classes besides graduating from Presidency college, one of the most prestigious colleges in the city. If anyone could build a home from such scarcity, the credit is wholly Visalam’s.  

Visalam is short at 5 feet or even lower but though dark-skinned, her face was a bright spark in any gathering. She had a lean face, luminous eyes that shines through in the room, a long nose to complement the lean face, and lot of gravitas. She speaks in a commanding tone; a loud booming voice but distinct in its enunciations making for a very strong personality even in a crowd of strangers.

            She is extremely pious and the couple is devoted to “Gnanananda Bhajan” group that meet on the first Sunday of each month at the famed Narada Gnana Sabha and presided by the mercurial Swami Haridas Giri. His bhajans were intense outpourings of Bhakti and he rose to a cult status. Both the husband and wife were regulars and even part of his inner circle. One might not phantom this; belonging to this group is almost a fulltime occupation.  

Since we the “North Arcot” deserted her, she too served us back in the same coin. Visalam on moving out of their own mid-70s kept as far from her mother-in-law – my venerable paati – as possible. There was little mingling except a token presence for weddings and funerals in the family. Visalam had constructed her own world excluding us; she was forever busy on pilgrim trips and Bhajan concerts. When my father lay dying in the hospital, he effected reconciliation. It turned out to be a farsighted gesture; even as he was on to his last few breaths, Visalam started chanting “Skanda Sashti Kavacham” (the armour of protection of Muruga) and “Vishnu Sahasranam” and others joined in. He died to the sounds of Vedic chants.

Visalam has that knack of occasion and fearlessness to take charge. She could very argumentative and I have not known anyone ever winning a discussion with her. Whether you like or not, each time I see her after ages I can’t help notice certain auspiciousness about her.  

Post Script (2017): The couple reside in Pozhichalur; Gayathri the daughter is perhaps the smartest of Paati’s grandchildren. Her son and daughter are in the US. This is good instance of family progress over 3 generations: from a factory hand to graduate and now Ph.D in the land of milk and honey. The whole credit should go to Visalam.  

Verdict: Rajas

Lesson to be learnt: Be friendly and appreciative from far and never get caught in her mouth. 

Vijay Krish

Vijay Ratnam: I got acquainted with the Krisratnam family after my heart surgery; after the first taste of theosophical society for long walks as advised by the surgeon. A new world opened and I made a lot of new friends there.  

Krisratnam Mama was 80+, almost totally blind, an ex-Colonel in the army and a third generation theosophists. Since I was totally idle, I would take him for walks holding his hand in the society premises and enjoy his take on philosophical issues. Vijay, the son on the other hand was more prone to be quiet but a commanding air and strangers kept afar. In his mid-50s, he had a balding plate on an egg shaped face and stuck a close resemble to Mahatma Gandhi. He was a bachelor and takes a black, old dog for walks and very much in peace with himself dabbling in trading shares during the day. He does not look like the kinds who made windfalls.

Slowly we got acquainted and he would inquire about my welfare in that strong nasal voice and a stifled laugh. Vijay speaks each word clear and long and there is no rush for the next. He is not one of those aimless drifters wasting vocal energy but a skilled mariner. Such people are carpenters with words!!!   

Vijay is not one of those who would talk about his past; even a point question would get a vague reply. I learnt that he was a product of IIT and worked in Mumbai at Vikram Sarabhai Atomic centre. He never got into Theosophical Society duties and semi-retired from any activity. He has tidy savings for his old age and a bachelor with a simple lifestyle does not demand any much cash-inflows.

Vijay knew how to holiday like no other person I have seen. He would frequently freight his motorcycle to Delhi and from there explore Ladakh, whole of Punjab. He would bicycle from Madras to Sikkim. Last heard, he went to Europe and cycled to 6 countries. He has that spirit of adventure; a backpack, two sets of clothes, a cycle or bike and his holidays are made. He takes pictures on the way and tries selling them to National Geographic. He is very good in his English, Tamil, Hindi, German, Italian, French and Swedish and as a traveler in a league of Marco Polo. If he ever pens a book about his travels, it will make for an amazing reading. But Vijay wouldn’t bother less on such literary excursions as long as he takes his next annual travel.  

Vijay is well informed as he reads Economic Times with care. He has an intellect that sees trends and he conceptualizes them for amazing clarity. It is a treat to hear him speak on working women, breaking families, recession and he is never overtly strong in his expressions. His was more of a paternal concern; dry and almost as if it did not affect him.   

He stays with his mother in the TS and she is already 84 and so he has to make alternate arrangements. She is a prominent member of the society and has a bungalow allotted in the most sylvan surroundings imaginable. Vijay tired buying some land to construct a cottage in Kodaikanal mountain range. He found an apartment and rented it to test for convenience. In the meantime, his younger brother (another bachelor) has acres of land in Chenglepet and Vijay is moving in there.

I see him in his bike or cycle or even his latest buy, a secondhand Santro. He would stop to enquire and his mere concern would make my day. He is a quiet person who never demanded much from the environment and lives a life of tremendous grace.

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: Just be in regular touch and there is a lot of learn here: that unhurriedness, economy of words, and a dash of adventure. 

Ranga Rao

Ranga: I first met Ranga Rao in 1994 while working for Counterpoint, a small and non-descript advertising shop. I was too raw even while pushing 24 but that it did not come in the way of recognizing merit. Ranga was the accountant there and inside of a fortnight, I said,” Sir, if I die with half your values and skills, I would have indeed lived a fruitful life”. Ranga cast such an influence on me.  

Ranga must 5’ 5”, a wheat complexion or even fairer, grizzled hair neatly combed with a sprinkle of coconut oil, the forehead had the tiniest black dot for a religious mark, a long nose, and rather large spectacles in front of a glistening pair of eyes with a tinge of green. The eyes can look stern and intimidating at times and narrow jaws. And when he spoke it was a Rolls Royce mouth: so smooth, so polished, so firm, and always so right. I have known him for 15 years and he has not aged in inch.

I used to wonder as to what this 45 year old man did in his pothole of an office. He explained as our acquaintance got some steam,” I was with the State Bank of India for over a decade and was one of the regional managers there”. He quit that stable job because he did not like the corruption and the political influence!!!! So idealistic,” How can I ever explain to my daughters when grown up and they question me on my living?” Ranga had a degree of idealism that can annoy others or baffle others to incomprehension. If one finds SBI is corrupt then there are no places to work in India!!!

I have not seen another human being who had such passions for his hobbies. He is the first and last word on P G Wodehouse, Martin Luther King, James Thurber, Mark Twain, Hemingway and many more. He has read all their works and even their unpublished ones and knows just about every titbit on them. His ear for music is extraordinary; he loves Western Classical music and he can rattle 5 different version of a Beethoven Symphony 9 or Mozart compositions. I sometimes wonder as to what he does in Madras when he can relish the Venice air. Whether you talk of Renaissance artists or British revolutions or any major events in History, Ranga can serve as an encyclopedia. He is fond of those BBC documentaries – he adores Darwin, Newton, Galileo, Michael Angelo – that he said one day,” That DVD costs Rs.5,000. I shall work for a fortnight and order it from London”. 
I can never repay my gratitude to him for his influence on me. Even my talking style is a deliberate effort to follow Ranga’s where the words are “curved” and there “zero abruptness”.

Ranga speaks almost in monosyllabic but when a thought captures him it is a treat to watch him extol. Most times I would rush to pen them down in a notebook for there was so much subtlety. He can talk extempore for an hour on Sydney Poitier or Martin Luther King of Nelson Mandela, I would search for those on Google a day later.  Ranga had a mind that soared far above his immediate surroundings; his was a fertile garden of knowledge and wisdom. Once he told me, "I sometimes play Bethoven fifth Symphony in my mind for relaxation." 
          He is perfect in his thoughts and even at the mental level not allow a corrupt thought to enter his mind. He is very responsible family man to his wife and two daughters and even the aunts and uncles. His grandmother died in his household at 94 and he would often say,” She was not literate at all nor gave any long sermons. She taught others by a living a life of example in a quiet and unobtrusive way”. Often he says even after 15 years of her death: More than my faith in Shiva or Rama, I have faith in my grandmother. She is my 100% inspiration. 
               As a father, he never expected his daughters to get those 80% or 90% except that they understood what was taught. He would buy those small booklets on Science and biographies of stalwarts and hope to expand their minds beyond the text books.  

        He has high regards for Mahaperiyava: My grandmother would insist that I go to Sanskrit college each time the Acharya was in the city and do a “dandam” (prostration in Telugu). Ranga mentions this often: The Kanchi sage once glared at me, I was a seven year old then and it felt he was looking right into my soul and knew all about my past births. I felt he would have known what I had taken for breakfast. He sports a tiniest of black dot at the forehead saying: I am a Hindu and this is a remembrance to my father who raised me in this culture and land. 

Ranga married his maternal uncle’s daughter, the famous Bapu, who produced and directed over 50 films. We have known each other for over 15 years and not once did I mention this.  He had a free ticket for me to watch “Rama Rajyam” and only then this relation was unobtrusively thrown in. Ranga does not live on anyone’s glory; he is more a saint.

Ranga is the sole person I invite him home for a drink. Both of us prefer whiskey – usually I get the stuff from Tasmac and the sodas while Ranga gets the side dishes. These are occasions when he talks freely on music, books, and movies. He says: the thumb rule of drinking is not to talk on personal things. It is only after concluding a drink with a gold flake, I speed rush to tell him the happenings of my life.

If there is one person I will call in trouble, it will be Ranga. To see him come in his bike and carry the helmet, and a bag strung across the chest, a cellphone encased on his jeans buckles is an image I cherish. Ranga is so perfect that one common friend said,” He is like a Zen master and I don’t know why he is in our midst. Maybe, to teach people like us!” Ranga too is like his grandmother, “Live life so truthfully that others may absorb some lessons without any high pitched sermons or display of subtle philosophy”. Ranga is 24 carat gold, no question

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: The kind of brutal honesty and never over the top. Live quietly and pamper your hobbies to no end. 

Ranga posts: In Conversations with Zarathustra,  
                          Advice on curbing a big mouth, 
                          Ranga's sessions
                       Ranga's appreciation for mothers

Meena Barot

Meena: I met Meena on “tickle dot com” and almost immediately after the Madhulika disaster. Almost intuitively we settled to a “clean friendship minus romance” as early as in the first month of virtual friendship. She was then new to China and initial months of correspondence had us more getting our sides of the story and in search for an empathetic reader. We also resolved: that this nascent virtual relation was beginning to give so much solace that it would be wise to remain that way; no telephone calls or face-to-face meetings on her express wishes.  

She would write all about her office hassles; a tyrant boss, a country so different that even a vegetarian food was impossible, managing a Chinese team with abysmal English or even workings of a corporate. Meena was heading the Chinese branch of an Indian pharma and the initial days had her in knots. But such is her perseverance, Meena has made that place a home and three years later prefers “Guangzhou” more than hometown Mumbai. It was a pleasure and a privilege to see the transformation. Even the medical facilities don’t resemble anything like at home; she was afflicted with thyroid and battle increasing weight issues. She never panicked and had the same grit; consulted doctors in Mumbai, paid through online, and had medicines couriered through her office. Soon enough the branch started to generate new businesses, new suppliers were sourced that resulted in huge cost savings and she grew in stature in the company.

Her mails are always in near flawless English, lots of good cheer, friendly, and concerned. When she learned that I searching for a job, she called up her consultant-friends in Mumbai and pushed my case. The first time we spoke, she said,” My flat in Mumbai is vacant at the moment and you can use it if once you find a job there”.  That is something even my own 2 bloated sisters would never even contemplate.   

She used to send me snaps of her sightseeing tours in China and she stands tall at 5’8”, typical Gujarati profile of a fair skin, plumb cheeks, light eyes, and a forlorn face that shows a lot of endurance. She left home early against a domineering father hell-bent on marrying his daughters even in their teen years. She did her graduation working as a part-time receptionist and support of a NGO. It is a hard grind to be cut off from one’s folks and still retain one’s sanity. She grew professionally and inside of a decade, heading a branch in China. Her monetary success got her parents back on fold though there was little affection left. She did see many prospective grooms but nothing seemed to materialize as if destined.

            Meena combines highest sense of morality and values. She is not the kind to date or promiscuous. She sleeps in a bedroom with glowing lamps in the adjoining room as a measure of self-assurance. As a friend, she is fabulous; she will jump to help on the merest information. She learnt of my arthritis and couriered medicated bandages from China. When PM went visiting China, the Chinese authorities paraded her for an audience and even then she did not forget to enquire for media openings from the press corps. BTW, she also won an online contest to carry the Olympic torch.

            Meena in her mid-30s is a kind of a soul the heart intuitively blesses with prosperity and happiness. She has got into piano classes, plays badminton for fitness, goes to sleep reading a Bhagawat Gita in bed. I have met so many wonderful people in my life but my best friend is this unknown person whom I have never met. What started as a casual virtual friendship brought so much of happiness.

Post Script: She gifted me a glass display piece and some Chinese currency with her signature which I still preserve. 

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: There is a lot of decency and grit that can be learnt from Meena. She looks a female version of Balakanth!!!!!

Parvathi Ratnam

Parvathi Mami: She is unquestionably the most superior human being I have seen in my life. She is 84 and her daily regimen includes yoga and pranayama for over 5 decades and she meditates at least for couple of hours a day. Each inch of that effort shows in the face: a long nose, sharp glowing eyes, small mouth, slight wrinkles around the cheeks, the face more gaunt than fatty but the eyes are most serene and placid. I have only seen her wear those flowing night gowns and there is nothing fancy about the person at least outwardly.

Mami is a third generation theosophists; her aunt was the famed Rukmini Devi Arundale and this is a family tree that has so many accomplishments. Their grandmother could have more likely been the first female jail warden or her uncle the first to fly a fighter plane for the Air force or someone in the family rehabilitating young widows. So for Mami having grown in the company of a Annie Besant or Jiddu Krishnamurthy is an everyday fare. These are superior genes and you can sense it from a distance.  

What makes Mami special for me is her sheer company. I am an old friend of the family and old couple – Mama passed away 4 years back close to 90- and they were interested in my tales; my frequent loss of jobs, my ambitions for overseas assignments or any passing fad at the moment. Mami was always reserved and never spoke a word out of context or even participated. She, by her very presence, exuded peace. I felt positive vibrations of peace in her presence as in a temple. Later she said: once the mind is rid of its agitations, it becomes very strong and a mere wish would come to fruition. Hers was such a mind.  

I used to have philosophical discussions with Mama and Vijay (their bachelor son) and Mami would just say a sentence and that would hit home. Yesterday, I was lamenting about how a Sindhi woman played with my emotions and how I may have to go through life without a companion, she said,” Sathya, we are always alone”. 

When a woman speaks so low and soft, so sensible, and so true; one feels a divinity in the air. After Mama’s demise, I have cut short my visits; my monthly visits have become an annual air. Mami would be either cooking or in her meditations and it would foolhardy to be an intruder. But each time, she would enquire,” How is your Mumbai sister? What about BPCL sister? How is your aunt’s husband faring after the amputation?” Her concern always sounds so inclusive and well-meant. 

The Gopalaratnams stays in the Theosophical Society Gardens. The house is huge bungalow with high ceiling and constructed before the First World War.  These are the kinds of structures that even governors don’t enjoy. The house is like an island with acres of trees and plants around it. The dogs would bark out of their skins at strangers. My last visit to “Besant Gardens” was Oct, 2009 when I went to gift my “Darling India” book.  That day the dogs had me for a meal and since then I don’t step inside the compound.  I have never been scared stiff -immbolized by fear - as when the dogs attacked me as a pack.

Mami has a much understated personality for a low profile; even at 84 she is the chief librarian of Adyar Library (one of the oldest and most esteemed in Theosophical communities). It is inconceivable to ever imagine Mami shouting or screaming or excited or trepidation. The mind has gone through all these phases and lives in its own solitude and peace. No face has reflected such divinity and peace and I pinch myself for my extraordinary stroke of good fortune to be talking to them or having coffee at their place.

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: Just listen more in the presence and even a stray sentence from them could hold so many lessons. 

Mark Torpy

Mark Torpy: Mark was my schoolmate at St. Patricks; same class but different sections. But languages classes were common as our batch would go to their class for “Hindi” and “Special English” classes and so we got to interact and become friends. In fact the classroom would be jam-packed to accommodate this new crowd and often many would squat on the floor as the desks would be filled.

              Mark and Luke, the twins would stand out in any crowd by their sheer Caucasian colour. The Torpys are Anglo-Indians and the last three generations have nothing to do with Ireland, their native country except for the skin colour. His father was a colonel in the Indian army and both the twins behaved just like any other school going boys growing up in the late 70s; their accents were Indian and so do the craze for Bollywood stars and huge supporters of Indian cricket team.

            Mark with that white complexion looked as much a Hollywood star. His face was long and features shouted “handsome” every which way. Mark had a maturity far beyond his years and never given showmanship or braggadocio. Rather he was more humble than his share. He was invariably the monitor of his class and he ruled most benignly without making enemies. The job of a monitor is to ensure the silence of the class when the teachers were away and one effective deterrent was to write the names of noise-makers on the board. The teacher would come and mete out a caning. Mark would rub the names at the sight of the teacher and spare some violence; a huge thing to do!!! Even his writing style was unique; a lefthander holding the pen at the tip of the fingers and twist the elbow as to write from the top of the page. He would take a break by blowing air to the palms to dry out the sweat twitching the fingers.

                He never spoke long but when he did it was always friendly and inclusive in sharp contrast to Luke. On the cricket field or even in any game, he was by far the best. Mark was so athletic that while fielding at cover he would move from point to mid-off like a gazelle. Given his white skin, it looked a white tiger patrolling the region or shriek of lightning. No exaggeration here. He was a good batsman but he promoted other batsman ahead of him and come in last and whack a couple of fours. Those square-cuts were a specialty. When it came to bowling, he could break a batsman’s legs – we played without pads- with fastish legbreaks or medium pace bowled from a just a few steps run up. We had high quality cricketers in our daily play and Mark Torpy was the best by universal consent. We assembled at 4:30 in the evenings for 2 hours of cricket from our 7^th standard to 10^th and these years gave us the greatest thrill of our lives.

              Those were excellent days; without hype and a lot of innocence. We would collect Gavasker’s columns in newspaper and pass to cutting to one another. Mark would keep a career scoresheet of Gavasker and update them almost each innings-wise. Luke admired Zaheer Abbas to no end and even mimicked his walk with a panama cap and bat tucked under his shoulder. Mark would bowl like Holding and Qadir for a rib-cracking laughter around.  

           All good things come to an end. After 10^th standard, we went to different colleges and slowly lost contact apart from chance encounters. Both the twins got into engineering colleges in the defense quota and last heard they are doing very well; Luke always couple of notches below at school fared far better in USA while Mark is somewhere in Australia.

           Even after the passage of 25 years I can’t help thinking that Mark was a class person and he can liven up any environment he is in; extremely bright, friendly, and adaptive, modest and classy. Truly one of nature’s great all-rounders!

Verdict: Sattwic

Lesson to be learnt: There are so many things to learn from such characters that I must become a willing follower. Thanks for the memories, Mark.