M90 Issues –finally make peace

The “MIG Flat owners” meeting was scheduled on 29^th July, at 4:00 pm. Arun Kailasam of Kaar had come in the morning and we had a wonderful lunch, it was his way of ensuring I had company. I rearranged the furniture in the house hoping at least 10-12 people would attend to my invite. I went to the local grocery for 1.5 L Fanta and Bovonto (it’s a local grape flavour which I fancy!!).

            At 4:00 pm just Santhanam of M102 turned up; Suloch joined from downstairs – I was expecting at least 5 families attendance of the 15 I had invited. We waited for a while, gossiped on flat matters and it was damp squid show as any – in fact I took pictures of Santhanam saying: at least there is one Madrasi left with a conscience on these “land grabbing” issues. And importantly, one person gracious enough to my invite

            Santhanam said: if we are sensible, we will form an association but we don’t have any social spirit even in protecting our own self-interests. That day I resolved: fuckin sell this flat and go. 28 years I have been in this area and one person responded to my plea. Later I realized; this is the sign of our times. Everyone frightfully busy doing nothing.

Suloch’s counsel:

Suloch’s one month vacation was drawing to a close and the family was busy with last minute purchases and visiting friends before they go back to Lagos, Nigeria for office duties. He advised, “Sathya, don’t lose heart. You have done all that is possible to drive these SYNAPSE pests out. Why not try God?”

             Suloch is an ex-preacher and a lot of evangelical spirit. He explained: Jesus Christ died on the cross for your sins and so you are already deemed. Just submit your problems to him and he will solve it for you. Give me a year and I am sure God will work his miracles; HE never lets down honest, hardworking people.  

            I had to agree; my one year efforts coming to nought. Faith or no faith, I shook hands saying: Thanks Brother. Your one month stay has given me lot of tonic and strength to take on these rascals.

            I still had two more leads: Dinamalar and Ramaniyam.

Dinamalar:  This is one of the largest Tamil dailies and T H Iyer mama said: Speak to the MD’s secretary, refer my name and they may send a reporter and publish your plight. I kept calling and Ms. Kala advised: Send me a draft of your complaint with pictures and I will talk to my editors. I complied but nothing came out of it. I fail to understand how a land grab in a posh Besant nagar has a zero reading interest value especially when an ex-MP’s daughter is involved. Maybe, the media is not independent as we assume

Ramaniyam: Bala, more a business contact than a friend, said: Sathya, I will help you sell your apartment for the best price. But you must pay me a commission of 1%. I nodded saying “I am looking at 1.4 crores” (realistically 1. 2 is the going rate).

            The Iyengar lady at M105 (this building is right behind mine) said: The SYNAPSE people brought this flat for 2. 0 crores. I whistled and realized 1.5 for my M90/4 is a just price. No idiot would buy this flat at that price for residential purposes but any smart businessman will – he can likewise have a separate 40 ft gate this side of the building, a private generator, signage signs and this apartment faces the main road. I made some enquiries and someone at M94 said: I get a lot offers in the 1.5 to 1.75 crore range but this price is ONLY for ground floors; they are no takers for first and second floors.

            I approached Suloch and suggested, “Why don’t we sell our apartments to one single buyer for 3.5 crores – you take 2.0 for being the ground floor and I take the rest.” These apartments have become PRIME COMMERCIAL PROPERTIES and we can’t fight a trend. With this money, we can buy new apartments in Besant nagar itself and nearer the sea minus this vehicular traffic and shops. Suloch said, “Give me some time; I intend to stay for now. But if there is a good offer, I will always consider.”  

            Then Bala said, “Sathya, I will introduce you one of the biggest builders in Chennai. He has over 100 properties in Chennai and you can make a trade-in; sell M90/4 to him and he’ll give an apartment of your choice and pay the differentials. You will have a new house and at least 30-40 lacs excess in cash.”

            So I went along and met Mr. Jagannathan, Managing Director, Ramaniyam (truly one of the most respected builders in the city). I told him my horror stories of SYNAPSE people and how this flat has suddenly lost its charms.

I said, “Sir, I did my best complaining to the Chennai Corporation and Thiruvanmiyir Police but nobody wants to help, so I am inclined to sell if I get a good price.”  

            Mr. J has a lot of charisma and a strong voice. He advised, “Don’t sell it now for it will be a distress sale. I will put you on my lawyers and this is fit case; you can get a stay order from the judge, this is a text book case for unauthorized constructions.”  

            I asked, “I am not rich that I can spend on courts and lawyers. But how much would the process cost?”

            He said: 15 -20 k and I assented: something I can dispense with.

            He promised to give his lawyer’s contacts the next day; I chased him for two weeks and kept hitting a brick wall before realizing that it was never his intent to help me.

Peace of mind finally:

Suloch went to Africa in the first week of August. I wrote to him saying: I am fed up and exhausted; I want to sell and go. Each time, I see the water logging at the foot of the staircase, I feel like murder.

            Not for nothing is Suloch a great leader in the church, he writes back: Sathya, no one is troubling you. These people came and put up this CLINIC because M90/3 and M90/5 allowed them. Why should you drive yourself nuts for water-logging? Learn to ignore and take care of your interests. You fought ALONE taking on powerful interests for a year and you are no coward. SELL the flat by all means but it should be for your purpose not because of corrupt, land-grabbing doctors.

            I sensed the wisdom of patience. I also saw this as an opportunity to practice MINDFULNESS. In any situation, I have ONLY three options – change the situation to my liking, or reconcile to changed status when it is beyond my ability, and lastly, just walk away. 

As Suloch advised, I finally reconcile to peace. I accept that I cannot force the authorities to act. This SYNAPSE issue no longer agitates me. My Mindfulness meditation finally works: I am able to grin and bear it. I am gaining in wisdom leaps and bounds.  I think, I wait, and I adjust. 

Post Script: At the beach, Mr Krishnamurthy, retired from Electricity board, furnished the concluding thought: Sathya, think that you have donated the FREE SPACE to SYNAPSE people. The good thing about a mind is you can always give any troubling thought a good spin. I saw the humour and shook his hands.  

M90 Issues – Inviting MIG owners

Mani’s idea made immediate and practical sense: Indian democracy does not always work as per the rule book but the corrupt system is amenable to mob pressure. I drafted a letter in ten minutes which essentially said: I am Sathyanarayanan, who has been staying in M90/4 since 1989.  Last year a greedy and corrupt doctor opened SYNAPSE clinic in my building without my permission with these violations for DAYLIGHT robbery:

- 40 ft private gate,

- Private industrial generator,

- 30 ft signage

All these building violations have resulted in stray dogs and strangers into the building, compromising safety and hygiene.

The invitation continued: As you might all know M93 went first and we are second at M90, tomorrow it will your turn when Apollo Hospital consultants with nexus to politicians will invade your building with evil intentions and profit motives. So please support me and we will put the corrupt people in their places. Please make yourself available at M90 on 29^th July at 4:00 pm for MIG flat owners meeting.

            I went to Student Xerox with a pen-drive and got 20 copies of this message in A4 in simple plain white paper – no fancy, no frills,

            I gave the first invitation to Suloch, at M90/2 and he felt the message was apt, crisp and persuasive.

Action @ M105:

            I went to M105 which is a MIG block right behind M90. I have not gone knocking on stranger’s doors since my summer training for MBA in 1991 and later John Kuruvilla made me run with questionnaires to the watch dealers in Bangalore in 1994 in the Contract advertising phase – so you could I see that I am not comfortable in this chore of accosting people. By nature I am recluse; if you are my neighbour for a decade I might just know your name and maybe throw in a smile once a month.

            The Iyengar lady is quite a vocal voice and she read my A4 and said: good, we will attend though I have a wedding to attend around the same time. Right above at M105/4, another lady said: Sure, you have a just cause. Please hand your A4 and I’ll read it when I am back from picking my daughter from the tuitions. I asked: Is there anyone I can approach in this building? She said: try M105/6.

            I rang the doorbell and when I said: I am your neighbour and not a pest salesman. You see, SYNAPSE people have come and despoiled my building. She immediately made me come inside and offered a sofa seat: I am so glad that you are organising a meeting. Unfortunately I am bound for Karaikal tonight. We must meet some other time and she offered her visiting card. It read: Anu Chandramouli, BJP state secretary. I couldn’t believe my good fortune – the third door I knock and I get the biggest fish in town.

Action @ M102:

This is a building where an iron pressing man has made it his office!  One house was locked over litigation for three years now. I saw visible signs of despoliation with broken windows. At M102/4, Mr. Santhanam heard my case patiently and advised: First, we must form an association and register it. I said: whatever it takes, but please come on Saturday. Santhanam directed me to M102/5 where I met a retired man from National Highways, Mr. Perumal. I made the now practised pitch: SYNAPSE by opening a clinic at M90 has robbed us for our peace. Please support me.  

Action @ M95:

So far I knocked on five doors and all of them were decent and gave patient ears. They made me sit on chairs and offered drinking water. But approaching strangers and enlist them on my cause felt like an Eureka Forbes salesman – I am a creative writer and salesmanship is not my cup of tea, in fact it gives me the jitters. But I was trying to save my house and that was motivation enough to go knocking.

            At M95/5, Mrs. Vishwanathan said: I know all about your building. I spoke to M90/3 lady Ms. Kalpagam (my neighbour who sold out to SYNAPSE and now their brand ambassador espousing the clinic’s cause. Had this stupid neighbour of mine saw eye-to-eye with me on this issue, we could have stopped “Quick Gun Murugan” in his tracks a long while back) and she said: it is our service to society.

            I almost laughed our aloud: Ma’am first this is not Kalpagam’s property to distribute it on dole. It is my COMMON AREA and if she is so inclined for charity, let her do so on her income. As to service to society, this is a private clinic with profit motive. This fellow has spent over 10 lacs on refurbishments and he will milk his patients to cover these expenses. Besides no honest doctor would be a land grabber. 

            Mrs. Vishwanathan said: there are only tenants in this building, so don’t waste your time knocking their doors. Just try  the immediate neighbour at M95/3.  On ringing the doorbell, an old woman opened the door. Seeing her weak and emaciated, I had no heart to give a sales pitch. I said: Ma’am, she this A4 sheet and please attend a meeting on Saturday at M90.

Action @ M94:

I made a similar appeal to Mr. Meenakshi who works at Accenture. Their mother knew my mother and common friends and so she offered me a tea. The young son at Accenture said: I appreciate your efforts but unfortunately I am on an office tour in the weekend. But I am so interested and curious – this is my visiting card.  Please drop in an email as to what transpired at the meeting.

            I met the downstairs people at M94 and a familiar face at the temple in Rudram chanting. We smiled and I thrust the A4 in his hands saying: You are invited for a MIG Flat owners meeting on Saturday.

Action @ M92:

I met a very interesting Vasudevan, retired from service. He said: This Nathan fellow’s generator used to rattle at high decibels and when I complained, those people threatened: if you keep complaining, we’’ll uproot all your ACs for they also mutter! Strange rationale thugs in DMK and AIADMK use to threaten retired men whose only need is a little tranquillity. He complained about his neighbour at M92/4: Raghu is cheap that they refuse to pay even for sewage blockage issues saying that it is the problem of the ground floor flats. Bloody hell, what obtuse logic, it is not as though the sewage from first and second floor evaporate into air! They even have separate maintenance for ground floor residents and those in the first and second floor. They contention is that they will not pay for sweeping the portico as it only benefits the ground floor residents. Vasudevan said to a classic that found immediate resonance in me: I resided in Delhi for decades and Punjabis are loud, gross and verily the devil but they are broadminded, Madrasis are chors (narrow minded). 

At M92/4 met Raghu’s wife and she said, “We are busy as my son is going to US on Sunday for Masters, so kindly excuse us.”

I came back to base at M90 and gave an invite to Jon Ranjit my overhead neighbour at M90/6.

Learning:

I was on the streets for an hour. Actually, I found most of the residents are not even on talking terms in their adjacent flat people, and often blow hot and cold. Queer thing was all of them wanted bonding and good neighbourly affections but none knew how. The daily strain of living for decades made for frozen hearts and bad blood. This came as a great relief to me: it is just not my sisters – Viji and Latha – who are selfish but the entire world.

            What transpired at the meeting on 29^th July on a Saturday evening is a tale I carry to the next post. Please click on the label M90 for all these juicy tales, it is recommended you start from the beginning. 

M90 Issues – friend’s advice

(This is a continuation from the previous post, so any reader is advised to go down for a browse and land here).

There are certain things you take for granted in life – no stray dogs inside the building compound, no trespassers, and certainly no signage boards. But with SYNAPSE PAIN & SPINE Clinic inside M90 premise, I lost all peace. Now the open gates were an invitation to stray dogs, strangers knocking for consultation and that terrible generator making a hell of a noise.

            I knew that chasing the Chennai Corporation people or Electricity Board was a futile exercise. They had sold their souls a long time back. You sadly hit upon this truth: Chennai is a fuckin corrupt city. Power and influence greases hands; this is daylight robbery and none made answerable. Why? Dr. Karthic Babu Natarajan, Quick Gun Murugan to us, had the ears of the state government. By which time, I lost all respect for him both as a medical practitioner and even a human being – no self-respecting person would build his empire grabbing lands from others. If his motive was money making, why take the trouble to go all over USA or Europe and get those fancy degrees? Or do medical students compromise on ethics, since they spent so much on medical education, prone to using patients as a revenue stream and a business model.

            This building M90 faces the main road and there are lot of commercial establishments eager to set up shop on the road.  M93 went first, usurped by Nathan Dental Clinic five years back, so SYNAPSE had a template and went about replicating it in M90. Of course, they would not have bargained for a nuisance like me to come in their way.

            Last month Suloch of M90/2 came for a monthly vacation and now I had one ally to complain and groan about this new invader. I wrote to Dinamalar and other newspapers besides writing to the Chennai Corporation Commissioner and marking a copy to the Synapse people. For the first time in 12 months I had the balls to mark a copy to them as I went to town complaining on the building violations – remember a 40 ft private gate, private generator, and lots of signage can test the patience of a saint.  But at the same time, I can’t be foolhardy. I stay alone, I am an easy target. These doctors – ex-MP’s daughter and access to top leadership in AIADMK - don’t look like they would serve in a Mother Theresa centre; rather they would slit my throat if I made too much noise and stood in the way.

            So I wrote to Radha Rajan, a famous Besant Nagar resident and animal activist, saying: If something happens to me, straightaway the needle of suspicion should go to these people. Don’t allow them to go scot-free. She advised me: Sathya, these people are garbage (Sakadai in Tamil makes it more compelling and served with a force), so why get caught needlessly: SELL and GO.

            I sought Bala’s advice; he is a street smart guy – he used me on copywriting assignments in a freelance capacity and not pay my bills. But he is a friendly chap and I turned to him in desperation. He echoed Radha’s suggestion – Sathya, sell and go. Buy peace of mind, this tangle is not worth it. It has you running from pillar to post and banging a dead wall feel to it.

            I was outraged, “Bala, this is my home. How can I allow dacoits to enter my front door, I do nothing about it. I will place my life on the line and save this?”

            Bala asked, “What do you have in mind? More petitions to MLA, or councillor or what?”

            I said,” Bala, I plan to have a signage board on my side of the building outer. I will hang a flexi-print banner reading: Save MIG flats from greedy doctor clinics or some such thing.”

            Bala asked, “What will you achieve by this?”

            “Maybe, some newspaper guy or a post on Facebook and given an initial thrust can become viral. If not for anything, this simple banner will earn SYNAPSE a bad image when patients come visiting.”

            I did not stop with this, “Bala, I plan to print 300 copies of a brochure and distribute to friends and strangers on Eliot’s beach and the Ratnagiriswarar temple. I know at least a hundred faces and so there is no trouble reaching out. If the civic authorities won’t take my complaint seriously, I will generate enough word-of-mouth publicity of my own. Let those SYNAPSE bastards know there is a battle on their hands. There will be no easy surrender.”

            Bala being the street-smart man said, “Sathya, I wish you all the best. But when you take on powerful interests, you are just a moment from being run over by a truck. These fellows are thugs, it is for you to decide whether you want to live the rest of your life with a broken spine or maimed hands.”

            Instantly I saw the merit in Bala’s assessment of risks. It sounded nearer home.  After this counsel, I stopped that “flexi-print banner idea” and “distributing brochures to Besant Nagar residents.”

            I sought Manikandan’s help but he also said the same thing: Sathya, one person can’t take on a system. If you get a good price, SELL and GO. Otherwise organize a meeting and involve others in the neighbourhood – Indian democracy does not work on brains or rules but it runs on the strength of the mob.

            So this got me started on this idea: there are 6 MIG buildings. Of the six, two buildings were ravaged by Apollo consultants for personal greed.  Apollo Hospitals already saddled with a dubious reputation for lousy treatment and now its consultant doctors specializing in land-grab in Besant Nagar. So I had at least 36 apartments to approach, make my case, and seek their support.  My rationale was: if two have gone down the drain and we did not wake to stop the intruders now, the rest of the owners too would be at high risk of their own building going to dogs.  So my pitch would be: today I suffer and tomorrow will your turn. So why not support me a little now.

            This idea appealed to me; this is still a Gandhian way of protest. There is no danger of SYNAPSE people hiring thugs to eliminate as I go canvassing; they know the system too well to worry about reputation or morality.  We shall see the “MIG Flat owners” campaign in the next blog post.  

M90 Issues – the problem

Without ado, let’s get straight away in this tale.

            Towards the end of 2015, an apartment in my building M90/1, was sold to a doctor. That fellow kept refurbishing, reconfiguring by smashing and shovelling the rooms. The other residents adding up to “we” were worried that the new entrant may dig so deep as to knock the building down; maybe he was in search of some hidden treasures. We were disturbed, rattled by this endless shovelling; but we kept quiet hoping it will go away.

For the next three months they kept despoiling the ground floor apartment – with all those noise and heaps of construction refuse – we held our nerves and patience. Hoping someday they will settle down.

            Then the new owner – Dr. Karthic Babu Natarajan – started to occupy the FREE COMMON SPACE by having new tiles laid; that’s when I woke up. Within a month, this rapacious doctor had installed a 40 ft private gate, 30 ft of signage, a private generator and by now I realized this fellow was no ordinary Apollo Hospital consultant but a veteran land grabber with access to political power. His partner in crime was Dr. Vanmathy Venkatapathy, daughter of an ex-MP in the 14^th Lok Sabha. It was almost like they could do anything they wished, the Chennai Corporation, Tamil Nadu Electricity Board and Thiruvanmiyur Police would turn the other way.

            I was livid. These rapacious, avaricious, and corrupt doctors just did not bother. It felt that in this building the rest of five residents don’t count at all. We have staying in this building since 1974 and suddenly it is sold to a rowdy who was robbing our lands and devaluating our properties. Drunk with absolute power, the goons violated all building violations with impunity – as though they were collectors and zamindars and we were serfs expected to wait outside with folded hands -despite our protests.

            They purchased M90/1  - M90/2 is in Africa, M90/3 and M90/5 were cajoled and persuaded so much so that these residents acted as SYNAPSE CLINIC”s personal assistants. I at M90/4 was livid while M90/6 did not bother. The Corporation people sensed my helplessness and they had an alibi for their inaction: We would have taken action had at least a couple of residents raised their voice.

            So the past 12 months this apartment lost its charm. The 10 ft open gate from 9:00 am to 9:00 pm is an open invitation to stray dogs, the private generator makes noises above the permissible decibel levels, that I thought: Better to sell this place if I find a right price.

            It appalled me to realize that no one rose in protest at the flagrant violations. The M105 lady who would be disturbed by the generator kept mum. She is some sort of a leader and nothing seem to stir anyone. As for me, I was a raving and ranting idiot: how could this happen in a posh colony like Besant Nagar?? How could a metropolis like Chennai be in the grips of thugs and goons?

            I went complaining to the local civic bodies – Corporation, Electricity Board, Thiruvanmiyur Police under whose jurisdiction our building falls – and not a whimper. The constable said after a scrutiny said: These are big fishes; no common person can violate with such gay abandon as though a private property.  I sent tweets to PMO but Modi was busy on overseas tours and demonization and so he gave this petition a miss. I wrote to Urban Affairs Minister Mr. Venkaiah Naidu but he was busy in Parliamentary Affairs duties. No response, as dead as a dodo from Delhi. Besides they can always say: this is a state subject.

            So I approached Adyar publications – Adyar Times and Adyar Talk with pictures and this blog post. One felt this was private matter angst (stupid fellow, how can an ex-MP’s daughter swallowing prime property in a posh colony be private? Had I been the editor, I would run this story for a week for this has lot of middle-class eyeballs potential written all over it) while the other felt that this is a “common interest” problem but for somehow reason did not pursue it. 

            In desperation I wrote to Mumbai Mirror editor Faye D’Souza who shouts on Urban Debate each night: This is shameful, despicable on the conditions of Mumbai roads and that damn Bellandur lake in Bangalore. I thought my case would appeal to her social conscience but she ignored it as they saw no story in my plight and no TRPs.  Only Mohandas Pai, a panellist on Arnab Goswami's debates, responded saying: this is a fit case for a police complaint after reading my blog post. But then he resides in Bangalore and not Chennai where DMK and AIADMK are a law unto themselves. 

            I told myself that I will take this case to United Nations Secretary General if need be. This is my home for the last 28 years and I am not going to allow corrupt doctors to come into my life uninvited and throw my life out of gear – I was anyway going along that rocky road walking with a noose in hand without this added nuisance. now I steeled myself: I will die protecting my house. I will not be a coward any more.    

A drama at last, this time real one

I went to a drama “Ethu Nizhal, Ethu Nijam” on a Friday evening, 11^th August at Mylapore Fine Arts. I enjoyed the play, my first in four decades!

            Before that let me digress briefly: my knees are improving with Dr. Ramnarayan’s prescription and it gives me confidence that I can go through life without TKR (Total Knee Replacement). Suloch, my neighbour, was here for an annual monthly vacation from his work in Africa and that got me a lot of positive energy especially in these times when this building M90 is being used as a private property by the unscrupulous SYNAPSE clinic people. I even went to the extent of selling this damn flat if it fetches a good price; but then I will never have the strength of mind to carry it through – who in their right mind would walk away from Besant Nagar?

            Now back to the play.

            T H Iyer mama suggested that I write to Bombay Chanakya, a famous playwright and close associate of K Balachander. I wanted an opinion on whether “Ex-PW club” will make a good movie script. I am a creative writer, plain and simple. I have never fancied myself as a scriptwriter for movies.  But this “ex-PW club” feels a good movie script that tumbled out accidentally. And it fetches me some money in these lean days of poor earnings then it is just what the doctor (rather than banker) ordered. I wrote to Mr. Bombay Chanakya who said: I have a play coming up and you are invited.

            I dressed myself for the occasion. I started at 5:30 in a 29C and got off at Luz. I went past Devaki Hospital (they have changed the name to Meenakshi or something) searching for Mylapore Fine Arts. It was beginning to rain sharply and I had my brolly up. Someone directed me to take the private lane to Isabella and lo, I found, Mylapore Fine Arts on Musiri Subramaniam Road.

            I was drenched despite the UAE snazzy umbrella (it opens like a fired bullet shot) and walked into an almost empty AC hall. The crowd slowly built up to a over a hundred; this is the best place to see tambrahms from higher income group whose natural moorings are Carnatic concerts, Bharatanatyam dance, and Tamil dramas.

            I took a seat in the second row for one of the best seats in the house. They ring the buzzer thrice in short intervals as a precursor to the opening. I love that tradition as it gets the audience to straighten up and take a break from gossip.

             “Ethu Nizhal, Ethu Nijam” means “what is shadow and what is real?” This is a story of a struggling Carnatic singer having to cope with a useless and headstrong husband who only gives her mental tortures with constant barbs. Gurumurthy, essayed by Bombay Kumar, was outstanding as a cruel and insensitive husband. Charu, his wife, aspires to be Carnatic singer having to cope with an always annoying Gurumurthy as she supports the family through giving private tuitions and singing light music. To an already burdened Charu, enters her now divorced sister-in-law from Jamshedpur to their modest home in Mylapore. Both Kavitha Suresh as Charu and Jayashree Pritam as the scheming sister-in-law were mind-blowing in their roles. I loved the homour spun around Manargudi – Sashikala’s place. Both the accompanists, Srini and Pattabhi, were competent in supporting roles. The creative genius of Bombay Chanakya – writer and director – was in making Pattabi speak in a high pitched falsetto for a screeching female voice! Each time he opened his mouth the fun was instantaneous.

            This was a script for two hours with breaks for changing the sets. What I discovered in the hour hours; from 7:00 to 9:00pm, was that a play is the best avenue to discover the power of the language. These stage artists spoke in a rich Brahmanical dialect; I loved the idioms that have disappeared from everyday vocabulary. A play exaggerates oddities; a play is always loud, a play is live and spontaneous and it is here the Tamil language comes aloud strong and vibrant. Definitely not in the newsroom where it is formal and stiff or in the movie screens.

            This is a labour of love of Bombay Chanakya and team. The production value itself would be more than 1 lac with sound effects and stage fabrications. The gate collection would have been less than a tenth of it. The artists perform out of sheer passion.

            The last play I saw was in my school days during Ramanavami celebrations in Keys High School in Secunderabad. Those annual Manohar productions were world class in production values. I still remember the play on Vishwamithra with those grandeur sets and lightning and thunder scenes.  Now after more than 3 decades, this play by Bombay Chanakya whetted my appetite for more. I have been to Carnatic concerts, I am a great admirer of Vishaka Hari and now what remain to be explored are dance performances and more dramas.

            Any day between a drama and a Rajnikanth movie; I will choose the former. There is something old and honest about dramas. It is like revisiting an old world; a time-wrap to the parents and grandparents generation when life was lot simple and plenty of caricatures around. Now it is only whatsup and dumb assholes in the digital age for a  frightening level of homogeneity. 

Unethical Doctors in Chennai

I am a confirmed case of osteoarthritis.  The problem is so acute that I limp visibly and attract public sympathy on the road. It is quite another matter that I hardly venture out.  I consulted Dr. Velayutham in May and June before getting fortunate to consult Dr. N Ramnarayan.

            Dr. V insisted on “Total Knee Replacement” and prescribed medication for a month. I went to the nearest pharmacy “CapZ N Tabzs” on Devanathan Street, Mandavelli and procured those; it is always better to buy the medicines at the clinic’s place for it is readily available unlike coming to Besant Nagar and searching them.  But within a week, I found an alternate way of treating my swollen, immobile knees and at once these tablets had no utility.

            I kept these old medicines for a while before junking them. There was Flavojoint 500mg and that’s priced at Rs. 394 for a sheet of ten. I had 2 sheets, nearly Rs. 800 worth and I took them to the pharmacies in Besant Nagar asking: Though I have not purchased them here, can you please exchange it for a Horlicks or anything? Couple of them said: this Flavojoint is not usually prescribed; better take it to the pharmacy where you purchased.

            The tablets lay on a shelf for a month before I exerted myself on this account.  Last week, I took a bus to Mandavelli and straight to “Capz N Tabnz”. 

            The assistant at the pharmacist said, “As a policy we don’t take sold medicines back. But wait for the owner.”          

I waited for 10 minutes before another patient came with Dr.V’s prescription – he practises in the next lane – with “Flavojoint – 500mg”. I immediately knew that this doctor and pharmacy worked as a team; this ortho fellow the best saleperson of Sun Pharma for this expensive medicine. I thought: such dishonesty and so unethical.

            The owner came and I made the usual pitch: this is medicines worth Rs. 800. I purchased it from your shop last month. Please take it back, I have changed my doctors and on a new course of treatment.

            He looked at the aluminium foil tablets for expiry date and shook his head, “It’s not possible.”

            I tried one more plea, “How about a Horlicks or whatever. Anyhow I have to junk them, give me one-fourth the value and I am done.”

            The owner was foolishly short-sighted for this is a fast moving drug for him. But he said to a tone of finality, “After GST it is difficult to exchange.”

            I came out of the shop with frustration writ large, found the next municipal garbage can and junked the twin aluminium foil sheets. My heart cried: there goes my Rs. 800 down the drain. My mind cried, “Cheat of a doctor and callous pharmacy.”

            Later in the week I got to meet Mr. Srinivasan, my maternal cousin’s husband, at his posh Karpagam Garden residence. We got talking on doctors and I said, “This fellow Velayutham is a crook,” and described the Flavojoint 500 mg experience.

            Srinivasan said, “Dr. V’s father is a brilliant orthopaedic; this is the useless son spoiling his good reputation.” He then proceeded to give me his take on unethical doctors. He explained: Each time, a dentist advises root-canal treatment for a filling, I know he is dishonest.

            I smiled, “I know those kinds.”

            He continued despite my interruption, “Last year, a dentist advised me root canal and I asked him which canal.  Panama canal or Suez??”

             The sarcasm could not be more dripping and straight. If I was a doctor at the other end, I would have died if a patient spoke to me like this. But then we live in a shameless world.  

            “Another sign of a dishonest ortho is he advises “Total knee Replacement” at the first base; I hate cardiologist who recommend “by pass” surgery and ophthalmologist “Cataract” before exploring other avenues. There are doctors who are waiting on pounce on such easy goat prospects.”

            I said,” These doctors bring a bad name to the entire profession. Dr. N Sundar Bose did not diagnose my tuberculosis way back in 1998 despite being told and that led to my heart surgery six months down the line.”

            Srinivasan said,” Sathya, that’s incompetence. Here I am talking about unethical ones who prescribe surgery options for no rhyme or reason except fatten their wallets.”

            I concluded, “These doctors are no better than Vinayaka Electricals. Bugger each time he comes to change a tubelight, he will replace the entire casing.”

            Srinivasan laughed, “I know Vinayaka, corrupt as hell and a synonym for dishonesty in Adyar.  For replacing a Rs. 50 tubelight that guy will furnish a bill for Rs. 500.”

            I said,” In my life I have respect for Dr. Devi Shetty and his team. Also Sankara Nethralaya. I think Chennai is full of dishonest and unethical doctors. Say 75%”

            My cousin’s husband said,” I would place the black sheep at 40%. There are honest doctors but one-in-two would be my estimate for Chennai.”

            As for me, I said: I am going blog this experience and if anyone were to read about Dr. Velayutham and Caps N Tabsz, let them be forewarned. The medical profession fails because it does not weed out such scamsters. 

My Ortho troubles - Part 2

There is nothing better that makes for objective narration of an event than chronology with specific dates. First attack of intense debilitating pain felt in the third week of May that forbade me from daily walks, I consulted Dr. Velayutham on 25^th May and then X-rays and blood test review on 7^th June which the previous post goes heavy on.

            The next 10 days I am in house-arrest venturing out of the house for absolute necessities. T H Iyer mama is a caring friend and well-wisher as he wrote on the mail: Sathya, miss you at the daily walks.

We arranged to converge at Vishranti on 17^th June. He was there with his eldest son from California, Mani, as we he stabbed into a hot vadai and coffee.  As we bade goodbye Mani said: Sathya, tomorrow the FOSWL talk is on “Chronic Pain”. Why don’t you attend and maybe something in it for you?   

This invitation showed my guardian angels and providence was in good working order as it proved later.

            The next day, Sunday, I got into a bus to Yogalaya for an auditorium hall behind the famous Anantha Padmanatha temple in Gandhinagar. FOSWL is the abbreviation for “Friends of the Same Wavelength” a community initiative of T H Iyer mama where a dozen or more people gather every month, a speaker is invited to present on a topic and we pose questions over biscuits and Tropicana. Normally I give FOSWL meetings a wide berth (given my rapidly declining social status) but a talk by a neurosurgeon is irresistible for a man reduced to Arthritis and Dr. Velayutham.

            The talk by Dr. Ramnarayan was just the thing I was looking for. In the course of a 45 minute presentation, he spoke on how everyday body postures and chronic pain are related. The back must be in the shape of a double “S” as he showed the slides to avoid back aches. He showed slide pictures for “sleep postures” (never on a prone position for it affects diaphragm breathing), use of head rest while driving, even to the height of pillows and best mattress for sleep.

            Dr. Ramnarayan is a tall spectacled man in mid 50s as it appeared to my eyes.  Within 15 minutes of listening him, I felt that this man knew the human body at an intuitive level. Best of all he is on the side of the patients.

            During the talk he said: 90% of operations are avoidable and it mainly for commercial reasons than medical.  The pharma industry and medical practitioners work in cohorts to boost their profitability. Another insight floored the 10 of us present on the other side: Dr. Ramnarayan opined 30 minutes of daily walking is good enough; yoga, cycling, swimming cause more harm than any good.  That’s why Nike spends over a billion dollars in advertising to promote jogging which is actually bad for health.

            This led to a lot of uproar and counter questions from the audience and the Doctor explained: I am not giving a personal opinion for many studies have shown this. Say your cholesterol is 250 and you start a fitness programme of daily gym. In the next 3 months the cholesterol reduces to 150. But stop the gym or yoga or swims for a week and all the gains are lost, you are not back at 250 but it is 350 now!

            The doctor asked: “How many practice yoga regularly?”
              Couple of hands went by. The Doctor asked: What happens if you take a break of 3 or 4 days? Do you feel fresh or fatigued?  This only means it is a placebo effect! Walking is something you can fit into your busy lifestyle and it is more than sufficient for a human body for an exercise.  Frankly all these yogas and gyms have only benefitted Ramdevs of the world; it’s no more than a social thing to boast to your friends and colleagues.

            At the end of the talk, I sought out the doctor for an appointment.  He dished his visiting card and I met him couple of days later at Mint Hospital where he consults in the evenings.

            It was on Wednesday, 21^st June I waited for the doctor on a 5:30 pm appointment.

            We shook hands as he spoke of the FOSWL presentation. He looked at the all the X-rays and blood tests and said: Don’t mind my saying so, yours is sports injury related. This is not natural wear and tear of a 48 year old.

            I said: Yeah, I used to jog miles for years before the knees buckled.

            Dr. Ramnarayan explained: Cartilage is nothing but a soft tissue around the bones.  It is a protective covering nature has provided against bone abrasions.

            I nodded to register understanding. Doctor said: The cartilage is a tissue as soft as woman’s nipple.

            He then narrated a couple of innovations he brought to the field of neurosurgery: At Apollo my patients walk out of a brain surgery on their feet the next day. The other surgeons’ patients need a week’s recuperation before discharge.

            He also narrated a procedure for brain haemorrhage and clogging he innovated in the UK.  It was a bit too technical and bounced off my head. It went something like a portion of a nerve was cut from the brain and stored in the stomach and later refitted.  The entire UK team applauded me on this technique for it is cost effective, even an orthopaedic can perform for simplicity. I prescribe only simple solutions and they work.

            On my knees he prescribed a “tablet” and “apply volini gel thrice a day, have hot water dabs after ten minutes. You will find considerable relief within a month. It takes 3 months for the cartilage to grow in 75% of the cases. Then I will teach you thigh strengthening exercises for a complete cure. But if it does not work, we’ll look at other options including surgery. “  

            Listening to him I felt half-healed. I have been following his advice conscientiously and as he forecasted the knee pain is down a small extent. Chancing on Dr. Ramnarayan is indeed a miracle, he is a maverick in a field where business men doctors rush to advice “Total Knee Replacement” surgeries.

            As for me, I came home and dumped Dr. Velayutham’s medicines.  I feel the knees are coming around nicely and maybe cartilage grow in the knees. 

           Now each time I feel like sucking a nipple in my fantasy, let me wake up to reality and kiss my knees!!! 

My Ortho troubles - Part 1

I used to run 3 miles a day untill 33. The year was 2003 when one fine cold winter day at dawn I felt a stab of intense pain shot like an arrow at the knees during the run. It didn’t go away; the following days I found running more than a bother. I went to Adyar Orthopaedic run by Durgabai Deshmukh Mahila Sabha. One X-ray at the centre and the doctor pronounced, “Osteo Arthritis” and your running days are over.

            That really felt a death knell sentence for I used to derive a huge amount of self-esteem from these daily runs.  

But I am a determined fellow. Instead of running, I would walk 6-7 kms a day, still meet the same old friends in Theosophical Society, the knees would still protest but they did not get much sympathy and attention until the pain got acute and a persistent stab. Then I would run to a Kottakal Arya Vaidya Sala near Cozee then a couple of years later to Venkatnarayana centre at Kutchery Road then IMPCOMPS at Thiruvanmiyur and even Ayush. Meaning I knew Western medicine had limited treatment options and any massage of any Ayurveda stream would suffice – there will be a let up in pain before I got those daily walks back. I intuitively realized that my knees would not get any better except reduce the pace of deterioration by these sporadic interventions.  Come of think of it, ageing is this mindset of coping with limited resources as most of organs start to slide.  The eyes demand a visit to Sankara Nethralaya, dental issues starts in the forties, my heart cried foul when I was 29, and now my knees at 33. I am strong as a bull and take it in stride.  And my sisters say how fortunate I am not to make friends with Diabetes and Hypertension at 48! Talk of relations and friends and misplaced humour!!

It was in February this year that I felt the knee pain graduate to a new territory. Pain comes in various sensations. There is a chronic one and it will stop bothering you once you get used to it.  Then there is a sharp and tingling pain; you take a stride and it feels like a knife stab. Then I progressed to a pain where the initial few steps feels as heavy as an elephant, limp for a dozen strides before you carry the weight of your body without wincing. Actually the worst of arthritis it makes you geometrically stiff; you are reduced to an unwieldy luggage that need dragging and shoving.

I should have read the symptoms but I am a prized stupid fool. I continued walks to Eliot Beach (I gave up on Theosophical Society 3 years back for it’s farther) on 4-5 km stretches before the knees threw in the towel completely.  By May 2017 there reached a stage when I just couldn’t take a step.

I spoke to friends around to source orthopaedics as I felt Ayurvedic massages will not serve for the damage looked real and deep. My cook Thangam (whose wisdom level is on par with Sarada mami) said: There is an Ortho in Mandavelli. He is very good and comes cheap. So I booked an appointment and met Dr. S. Manikkavelayutham.

The clinic is on a narrow lane off Devanathan street is crowded much like a beehive.  My appointment at 6:30 pm kept getting pushed past 7:30 and my patience wearing thin. After 7:00 pm, I keep reminding the secretary every 10 minutes before I was announced to the doctor.

            Dr. Velayutham is a short, well-fed, plumb, healthy man in mid-forties (my age-group) and didn’t look particularly bright, more the austere and morose. One look at my knees he said: EFFUSION and then said: Lot of deformity as I lay supine on a bed this man kept for his consultation patients.

            I was beginning to buy in his mood, I saw both the limbs bent like a bow as we both examined in our own ways. 

            The doctor pressed a few knee muscles, shook his head, said, “Looks very bad.”

I asked: Is it curable or not? Treatable or not?

He said: I have to see the X-rays and the blood reports.

But I don’t let go easily, “I am sure with your experience, what do you make of it? The reports will only give a name and extent of damage.”  I can be annoying when I want to be.

The doctor did not like my flippant attitude, “What is your name?” as he begins to write the prescription. He once again shakes his head, “Sathya, your knees is not like a car spare part. That you can junk it and buy a new one! This is a living organism. We will try different approaches and see what fits. 95% of ortho issues are treatable and 5% beyond us.”

I finally get it,” I do all these tests and then you will decide on the next course.”

He waved me for a curt dismissal saying: Finally you get it. Pay Rs. 300 and try these medicines for 10 days. The pain will come down. Do these tests and meet me.” 

I did not really enjoy the conversation but I thought: let’s give this man a chance. Like a good boy I got the medicines and did all the X-rays and blood tests. After 4 days of taking the tablets I felt the pain subside that I even went for a 5 km walk on Eliot’s beach. The next 4 days were excruciating and walking even inside the house was monumental.

On the tenth day armed with reports I met the Doctor. I said brightening to a cheerful smile: Your medicines worked. But I was foolish. I walked to the beach on the third day and since then the pain has been unbearable.

Looking at the X-ray he says: Your knees are gone. You need surgery. You are still 48 and some distance to go.  What does your job entail? The days of walking 4 kms are gone; I’ll be happy if you can manage under 1 km a day.

I ask, “What then are my options? I am not a car spare part to be replaced”

Doctor does not encourage my humour. Still morose and grave he says: Total Knee Replacement Surgery. 3 lacs per knee and you need for both. 

I ask without losing nerve: Can we control it by way of medicines?

He said “the pain and swelling can be managed by painkillers and antibiotics but it won’t help in the long run.”

I said: I had one heart surgery in my life and I am fed up.  I don’t want to go through the trauma again.” Especially as the doctor talks about imported steel bolts and nuts and raping the mind’s sensitivities.

I tell him, “Let me try Mindfulness. If the pain is in the mind then some sort of affirmations will work. You see I am great believer of Eckhart Tolle.” I am a moron and should be shot at dawn. I am so full of enthusiasm that I drag in the German philosopher needlessly within two statements of meeting a stranger. God save my friends from me!

Dr. Velayutham responds with contempt: Your cartilage is gone and damaged beyond for any mind related affirmations to work here. This is physical damage. By the way, I want to talk to your wife.”

I say cheerfully, “I am a very happy bachelor and do all the talking to me.”

The doctor is insistent, “The surgery is needed in your case. You can take a second opinion with these reports.”

I tell him in a tone of finality: In that case I will reduce 10 kgs, take a walking stick or even be reduced to a wheel chair. No surgery when I am alive and able to make my own decision.

Dr. Velayutham writes a prescription for a month, “These are painkillers. Meet me after a month of MINDFULNESS and these tablets. Let’s see if you can go around surgical options.”

He asked for Rs.300 which I felt was not needed for it was just a review. I forked out a crisp Rs. 2000 rupee note which the doctor examined minutely than the knees. He explained, “I was checking for anything written on them. Such soiled notes are invalid” giving me much need information but not helping doctor-client bedside manners.

I walked out feeling dazed and hating life. Dr. Velayutham may be 100% right in his advice but somehow I felt bitter and rode roughshod over. The doctor may as well be treating cows and goats. He didn’t look the kind to involve patients in conversations. Besides there’s horde of waiting patients and the train running 30 to 60 minutes late for each one of them.  Everyone makes money save a poor content writer!

As I limped out of the place I thought: lame for life. LANGDA in Hindi kept coming up though I don’t go easy on the language.  My life situation read “pushed to a corner” but the mind didn’t lose any of its gaiety. There must be some way out of this. 

Endless Suffering -3 (RATS)

I am now 48 in the calendar and I faced the brunt of suffering to its depths. It’s highly improbable that any human being had it dished more.

            The first part spoke about SNAKE of a mother, second part the JACKAL of a girlfriend, and now the third part of RATS for siblings.

            I am the youngest of the three: Vijayalakshmi born 1962, Latha in 1964 and Sathyanarayanan in 1969.

            Viji had the good fortune of her infant and childhood years with Janaki Paati so the SNAKE did not come in the way. V is indeed emotionally the most resilient of the three. Latha had bits and pieces of SNAKE in her infant days, she grew painfully shy till she became super confident (which is an excess in the other direction) after her marriage as she turned 24.

            Viji was always a star in our family: everyone doted on her. She was good in studies, sparkling eyes on an elegant face, inherent leadership skills that got her ahead in most crowds, my father particularly looked on her as a blessing, and even the neighbours in East Marredpalli thought she was special as she drove a car way back in 1981 still in her teens. She got married in 1983 and went off the family radar.

            Latha was painfully shy (refer part-1 for the head injury as a two year old), tall and gangling, barely passed the monthly tests in school, gritted her way to graduation by sheer force of will.  I was a big villain of her growing years: My nickname for her “39” which was the rank in her 5^th standard for more than a decade for a nerve wrecking put-down and humiliation. She joined the workforce after graduation at Hilton Rubbers Limited and those got her voice going with friendly colleagues and grow in confidence as an “Accounts Assistant”.  L was a huge devotee of Santoshi Maa with those never ending “Friday” fasts, finally those paid off as she married Basker and leaving the nest in 1989.

            Anyone would have thought that both graduates would have an independent streak of mind. They fail to read the situation even today: That father was a fool infatuated to a sick and diseased crazy woman for a wife who drove him to a premature death. They also fail to grasp that AMMA was mighty sick and unfit for human consumption. Where they failed most was with respect to me.

            By 1992 it was clear that I had a bipolar disorder; career and marriage at once out of the window.  Latha now married and two kids just turned the other way.  The mother and son troubles at Besant Nagar never reached her ears and even if it did she chose to look the other way. Her life was a straight line of rail tracks and a blinkered horse: I, me, myself, my husband and my two sons. Others might as well take a walk and drown. And once an individual vibrates this level of SELFISHNESS others perceive the signs and sure enough to keep away.

            Viji on the other hand is a duplicitous character. She is given to keeping appearances. There are a couple of incidents I can never forget:

a)     Between her engagement and marriage in 1983 there was a six months gap usually the norm. She kept practicing a new signature from “ A Vijayalakshmi” to “S Vijayalakshmi” – absolutely nothing wrong for a 20 year woman full of dreams and excitement. Latha found that page of paper and gave it to me. Viji now married and a year and kid later was shown the paper, she simply denies it with a finesse even politicians would envy.  She is outraged and crushes any criticism when a simple laugh would have sufficed. The purpose of this anecdote is a depiction that she just can’t take criticism in the air.  Touchy, hypersensitive, defensive. 

b)     This is something hard to forget and even forgive. The year 1998, I was 29 and in Manipal Heart Foundation for a heart surgery. Viji was in Bangalore then, she would visit me every day. She happened to wash my jocks for three days which she kept reminding for the next five years: Which eldest sister would wash a brother’s undies? It took me years to drill some sense: So you are a Mother Teresa, aah! I spend 60 k on my surgery and had I known this would be a lingering issue, I would have happily spent Rs.300 and got myself disposable ones. Don’t yank your mouth too much and risk unpopularity. Viji finally got it and put a cellophane tape on this score.   

            The years kept marching.  Now both Viji and Latha have grownup sons: one in Bahrain, another in USA. Latha’s eldest is in Norway.  The 25 years have been good years for both V and L – each own 3 houses in the metropolitan, they change their cars every five years, sons getting married and on the whole nothing to crib about life.  My ship stranded still for these 25 years and they don't lift a finger at my plight and growing desperation.

            I have not celebrated a festival since 1989 the year my dad died. I berate them at their faces: What kind of a family are we? We don’t even include our own blood for festivities. Had I been in your position, I'll never summon a will to celebrate a festival without including a sick brother or sister. What kind of rotten genes and callous nerves are these?

            My relation with Latha was always strained. Say for 20 years I never visited her house or spoke to her on the phones. Viji on the other hand was a daily caller till I put a stop to it last week. My cousin Prakash’s sudden demise proved an eye-opener besides the rich dose of MINDFULNESS I was absorbing.

            Viji called every day for decades with the usual: Did Thangam come? What did she cook today? How did your interview go? Or exhort “Sathi, you need to adjust to Mohan. Where will you get 2 lac salaries in India? This is your last chance for saving for retirement years.” Viji is indeed very perspicacious – perceptive, intelligent, smart – in reading situations as they fold. But she is a miser to the last atom. 

            She will take AMMA for yearly heart check-ups and wait the whole day on tests and conferring with doctors (something Latha and I are not wired to do) but she’ll spoil it all by saying: I spent Rs. 500 on auto charges.  That ‘washing the jocks of a brother in heart surgery” mind-set never learnt that “you don’t evaluate love of a mother however diseased on a monetary denomination.” The moment you bring money to a blood relation, you lose both: money and relation and I shouted hoarse trying to drill this into a thick skull unsuccessfully for decades.  Women from North Arcot genes REFUSE to listen or see reason that does not suit them even if you shout in their ears and wave before their eyes. V is a miser on a global scale as I humour with T H Iyer mama on a walk on Eliot's Beach. For a gossip time-filler I tell him: V is going to America for her son's graduation in Colorado. My friend asked: Is she taking you with her? I said to a divine inspiration: Viji's budget for me is Rs. 300 - a Baahubali movie at best. This earned  a good laugh. 

            I came back from Abu Dhabi a wounded soldier and next two years were depression years. Both V and L transfer their claims to the Besant Nagar residence to my name; both felt strongly I was financially vulnerable and these would be insurance against poverty.

            I used to plead with Viji often in 2016: I hate to sell this flat for sustenance. Why don’t you take the house; give me 40 lacs (of a property worth more than 1.25 crore at a minimum) so that the family retains it. Viji simply wouldn’t hear of it: my son is not interested and he feels Besant Nagar apartment is jinxed.

            I made a WILL in which I leave the proceeds in the ratio 3:1 in Viji’s favour. My thinking was Viji by taking after AMMA into her fold: giving her company and feeding three squares besides her daily calls to me. I did not wish to deprive anything for L for she was at least worth a 25% share (we were four legal heirs and so I thought that by just being born to this family she’s earned that).

            Then Theni happened in late 2016. I went to this God forsaken place to die. I engage a car driver over a cash transaction to administer a lethal injection. It came to the point that I saw a man inject the drug from the bottle as I lay in a hotel room. I tell him: I am not ready. Sorry, I don’t want to do it now.  I wasn’t worried about karmic punishment. What really galled me was the terms: This man would inject me to a hasty death and then burn the body and leave no trace. If the sisters in Chennai were to file a missing complaint with the Police – fat chance - and the cops in the unlikely event of tracing my disappearance from earth to Theni then these people had my written suicide note to absolve them. I felt even these bitches - V and L - deserved a better closure than disappearance into thin air. 

            I came back to Chennai and what appalled me were both V and L did not react at all that their kid brother’s close embrace (7 years younger than V and 4 years younger than L) of a self-administered death.

            I used to tell V repeatedly: the moment my finances run out, I die. I can’t survive selling and living off the proceeds of Besant Nagar apartment.  She would counsel: Get into a gated community and live like a prince. Latha would say: Sathi, don’t force death on yourself. You have struggled so long and just give a few more years and death would naturally come its way. But both never said: we'll keep an eye on you. 

            It was only last week I got the whole picture seeing Prakash’s dead body (my Athai’s son).  All our relations have been reduced to weddings and funerals. There is no heart at all. I have not celebrated a festival since 1989. Suddenly my mind discerned to a frighteningly clear reading of my life situation. I told Viji in no uncertain terms rather clear as daylight: This is over. We talk daily and produce only noise. Stop talking. Our relations are so feeble that if I die you’ll squabble amongst yourself as to who should light the pyre. Donate my body for organ harvesting to a medical college. Let’s just drop this act. We were born brother and sisters and we did not learn how to relate. None of the four nephews respect or save a millimetre affection and bonding towards me. 
           I tell Thangam my cook who is as wise as Sarada mami: This M90 could have been saved by V and L. I don't want a dime from them. They could have at least visited me on a quarterly basis and that would have been sufficient to see me through.  Not once did V and L visit me in Besant Nagar in the last 27 years except on ritual days!!!! 

            Both V and L readily agreed as I said: No more of your silly invitations to your son’s weddings. In fact I’ll ensure that news of my demise don’t reach your shores. As for AMMA, give me a call and I will do the honours. I sell the flat, give you 10 lacs for amma’s upkeep and the rest is how I decide. Both of you don’t deserve a nickel as dad’s money will go to cooks, charities, and anyone who said a kind word or did a kind act for me.

            So the story of my life reads: Raised by a SNAKE, jilted by a JACKAL and not adopted by RATS. I used to often tell V: Instead of watching National Geographic, people can watch our family. We are like 3 siblings of a tiger; each has to fight for its share of the carcass to the extent of maiming or snuffing the lives of others.  We “TAMBRAHS” are no less wild and junglee! 
          Is love and compassion so difficult to learn? Yes if you are born as a lower class tamil brahmins of North Arcot District.  Ritualistic to the last breath and no human connection. 

Post Script: Why wash dirty linen in public, I ask myself? Then I ask myself: Do V and L seem the kind of people who will wait outside the ICU when I am inside?  Not in a million. So what do I lose by venting my anger? Nothing.  Both are not bad people except they programmed their minds wrong: Who said that once married, you turn your backs completely on your old family? Which Veda? which Upanishads? It's sad when a couple of drops of white blood is all that it takes to  turn calculative, callous, and heartless. Family is always about standing by someone in their distress. It's not my mistake that you defined "family" on your own narrow terms.  Insight of this blog post: Any brother or sister who does not involve a sibling in festivities for 28 years is no brother or sister at all.