Nagarjuna Sagar tales – Seven

An encounter with a cultured family

The first view of Dhamma Nagarjuna made an immediate appeal on the mind. I felt in my bones that the train journey exertions were worth.    

I saw others trickle in. For such a huge centre it accommodates only 30 meditators – attractive features were adding up. Within half an hour my Telugu that was frozen for decades started to flow again. Verbal skills are never lost in space or time; it needs an environment and you’ll surprise yourself. 

There was mid 30s electrician, an advocate couple, retired banker, and a young man even from Himachal Pradesh. But, by and large, it was a Hyderabad crowd. Since we are all senior students and daily meditators, it did not take long to slip into an easy banter.

Two tables were kept outside the office on either side of the main corridor for registration – segregation of genders is followed scrupulously. The registering process does not take more than 15 minutes for an applicant. It consists of entering your name and address in a monstrous register after filling up one-page application form.    

There was a dormitory where we dumped our luggage and a line of beds. I wasted no time lying down on a cot and covering myself with a blanket. The train and bus journey of the last 16 hours was something to compensate on.

I saw a young, tall man, bristles for mustache, neatly dressed who oversaw the lay of the room and storing a smile as new registrants came in. By now my Telugu sounded right even to my ears as I enquired. The teenager said,” I am a volunteer here. I have finished my twelfth standard and next month I’ll be allotted an engineering seat in the university.” This got me interested for I went the same road except did not have enough marks to get into the hallowed door. He said,” I’m in line for Mechanical at Osmania and maybe Civil in JNTU.” That impressed the hell out of me.

He introduced himself as “Abhiram” and next time I saw him was at the registering table. A quiet lad with a stuck nervous smile, his enthusiasm was perceptible. The sun was bright for 11:00 morning. I felt an improvement from my habitual diffidence. When a river like Krishna flows into the reservoir in front of your view you don’t ruminate on your troubles in life. The nippy winds, green vegetation, red soil of tarmac got me in a mood of quietude. 

At the registering table as we waited for our turns, I got to talk to others. Said a 60 year old Damodara Rao; Sir, talk with me for we’ll not get to open our mouths for a week. This got a few laughs and bonhomie.  

Abhiram at the registering table was either distributing laundry tags or putting the valuables that we deposited in a small cotton bag and putting a sellotape. He is a quiet lad with a gentle shy smile. His parents were there too – the entire family practiced Vipassana meditations and it showed in their relaxed manner and friendly cheer. Pause to reflect: when the mind is calm it makes for a lot of charm.

His father got talking to me. When he learnt I was from Chennai he exclaimed,” God, you have made a long trip to reach here. Usually it is the Hyderabad crowd that comes here.”

My Telugu was flowing by now. I speak very slowly pausing for each word; if the word is not from Tamil it’ll be found in Sanskrit but you must use a few distinctive words and idioms to approximate to Telugu. Language is much like car driving or playing guitar; those skills are never lost. I said,” I had a terrible time coming from Chennai. The waiting list did not get confirmed, bribed the TTE. Thanks to a stranger’s generosity I reached here.” I recounted Someshwara’s gesture. Mind you, all this in Telugu.

Abhiram’s father looked my age, maybe couple of years more. He is a prosperous cloth merchant and that showed in his languid grace. He said,” This programme gets over on 28^th evening. Do you have the return ticket?”

I shook my head. I said in a moaning tone,”  I tried the trains, they had closed the bookings by then. Weekends are packed two months in advance.”

The cloth merchant said with a smile,” You can take deluxe buses from Guntur.”

I asked,” Is there any internet centre nearby?”

He called his son and said,” Take this uncle to Hill colony market. Assist him in booking a ticket.” And turning to me he said,” Chennai is a long way and you need reservation. It is only now you have time; once the course starts you can't do a thing.”

Abhiram beamed at me and led me to a tree where his motorcycle was parked. Hill Colony market is over 4 kms and it made for a wonderful ride with the winds hitting the face and the skies turning cloudy.  There were a lot of trees, wild grasses on either side of the road and abundant vegetation. The slope of the road is steep, the roads were smooth. There is a Gautama Buddha park developed by AP tourism adjacent to Dhamma Nagarjuna. There were a few workers who were offloading granite slabs from a heavy truck. The Nagarjuna Sagar dam attracts a regular stream of party revelers - the family kinds - from Hyderabad given the beauty of the landscape. But today we saw a clear road and not much of human movement. Damodara Rao, the friendly meditator, opined,” I wouldn’t mind staying here; so peaceful for a 60 year old man.” I concurred,” Should find out whether they need a cook or gardener. The place looks tempting enough.”

Abhiram raced on the bike carrying a bulky fellow on the pillion. Hill Colony Market looks just like another place in the city – crowded and movement of people and a row of shops abutting one another. You see pavement vendors selling vegetables, throw in an odd dog and cattle and it would be any part in India. Abiram resides nearby and he just about knows everyone. At an internet café the owner said,” All my machines are full. But for you, I’ll lend you my laptop. How are your parents? What is your brother doing?”

I did not have my spectacles and so Abhiram took charge as we checked APSTRC site before settling on redbus.in. His father had advised as we left,” Try to take the last bus around midnight. The course gets over at 4:00 in the evening on Sunday and Guntur is at least five hours away.” We zeroed on an 11:30 bus to Chennai on the night of 28^th July. Abhiram opened my gmail for confirmatory link after registering in; entered my credit card details and so useful that I felt an affinity. I remember him saying,” Uncle, Keshivini Travels is good. They run Volvo AC buses. There are seats available. Do you prefer aisle or window?”

We made the booking and got the printout. I went to a grocery store and got two premium 5 star bar chocolates. We went back to the centre and I handed those over to his mother saying,” What a wonderful son you have. He was such a huge help”

His father joined us enquiring about the ticket. He said,” I don’t want you to have any anxiety on your return ticket when you sit in meditation.”

One look at the family and I realized,” When a woman is cultured it shows on the entire male folk.” Abhiram’s mother was a volunteer helping in women’s registration. It was a face full of smiles and instantly friendly. You find so few families that are cultured; without exception it needs a virtuous woman and that tribe either went into hibernation or ran out of supply after liberalization was let loose in 1991.

Not all good looking women are beautiful but cultured ones are always beautiful. I got carried away by the outward beauty of a woman once; this family showed a mirror of what good marriages and good families are about. A cultured family has shared values, understanding is almost intuitive, and brings a lot of comfort even to a stranger. Abhiram and his parents made a deep impact on my mind. Cultured families are so few and still a count of fingers of a single hand in my experience.

(These observations pertain to 20th July, 2013. That night we entered into a week of noble silence. The next post would account for what transpired on 28th July after the vow of silence was relaxed. Come of think of it, tales only accrue when the mouth yaps! This link vipassana-sati-pathana-nagarjuna-saga is a short abstract that I wrote almost immediately on return. I feel there is room for Nagarjuna Sagar- eight and hopefully I file in by Sunday).