Blog 122 - Marine Musings - Ramana Maharishi - My School - My Books and Poetry
Updated: Sep 20
Chapter 4
Arni
On the occasions that my Father came to Vandavasi, he would stay for a very short period at his Father-in-law’s house and escape to Arni, to meet his numerous nieces and nephews, children of his elder sister, who had passed away. He was very popular with all his sisters’ children – I think he had six sisters, all elder to him. He also had one younger brother, my Chitappa. His Father, my Grandfather, was a Police Circle Inspector during the British Raj and was well known in places like Thirunannamalai – which was the reason my Father was named Arunachalam, after the Siva deity in the temple, one of the Pancha Lingas of Hinduism.
A small diversion here, to bring an interesting anecdote which my Father had told me. My paternal Grandfather was a Police Circle Inspector in Tiruvannamalai. A ‘missing person’ report led him to investigate and search the temple premises, whereon he was told that a youth used to be sitting at a particular spot in the temple for many months. He faded from the collective memory when he was no longer seen. On a broader search, some cowherds said that a ‘samiyaar’ (holy man) used to be sitting on one of the trails on the mountain and they used to give him food, but later he was no longer to be seen. Pointing out the area, the police were led to a visible anthill. Upon breaking open this anthill, the boy was found in a trance, emaciated and with sores all over his body. He was hospitalised and revived. On his becoming coherent, he started discussing high Vedic philosophy and stunned one and all, as he was still young. Later, he was known as Ramana Maharishi.
Quoting from Wikipedia:
When Maharshi arrived in Tiruvannamalai, he went to the temple of Arunachaleswara.[33] He spent the first few weeks in the thousand-pillared hall, then shifted to other spots in the temple, and eventually to the Patala-lingam vault so that he could remain undisturbed. There, he spent days absorbed in such deep samādhi that he was unaware of the bites of vermin and pests. Seshadri Swamigal, a local saint, discovered him in the underground vault and tried to protect him.[32] After about six weeks in the Patala-lingam vault, he was carried out and cleaned up. For the next two months he stayed in the Subramanya Shrine, so unaware of his body and surroundings that food had to be placed in his mouth to keep him from starving.
This bond with Ramana Maharishi used to take my Father on numerous occasions to Ramana Ashram.
Anyway, he used to take me along to Arni to meet my cousins. My ‘Athimber’ – my Father’s sister's husband – had married again after the death of my aunt. He fathered 9 children with his first wife (my aunt) and another 9 with his second wife, making a total of 18 children. He could afford such a prodigious production, as he was a very successful criminal and civil lawyer, 2 of his sons also becoming lawyers and helping him in his practice. They all lived together in a large house on a street called Kovil Theru (Temple Street). The first wife’s children were all in their thirties and forties, closer to my Father’s age, with their wives and children. One of them, my cousin sister, had been widowed – she was headmistress of a school nearby. The second wife’s children were aged from 16 to 4, or thereabouts. I was a curiosity for them as I could relate to them as well as my elder cousins. My elder cousins were very fond of me and would discuss things with me as if I was their own age – in later years I realised it was because of their fondness for my Father, their Maama. The younger ones would play with me.
My ‘Athimber’ had his office in the first room leading out of a corridor, filled with law books on revolving shelves and anywhere else where a shelf or a bookcase could be put. It was rather a large room, where client meetings were held. He was very authoritarian with all his children, including the elder ones. One day, with everybody at work or in school, I found myself in this room and had immersed myself in one of the lawbooks – I still remember it was on the Indian Penal Code – when my Athimber walked in. My lawyer cousins were shocked to see me in that office and were a little apprehensive that I would be shouted at. They were standing at the door for a few minutes before I realised their presence, being deeply involved in what I was reading. I was not alarmed, only sheepish as I had been caught with my feet up on the chair. My ‘Athimber’ asked me what I was reading and, when I showed him, he asked me a few questions on what I had read. He was impressed by my knowledge of English and my recall of the content of the page I had read. He later told my Father to send me to a law school, as he thought I had the makings of a good lawyer. After that, I was the only one allowed into his office. I was then 9 or 10 years old, but he spoke to me as if I were his colleague.
A few years later, when I thought about this incident, I realised I was precocious and rather vain at that time, showing off in front of my younger (half) cousins. But they were all simple souls and did not even notice my vanity.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner used to be like a production line, with many a fire burning in the kitchen, all wood. Laundry used to be an amusing experience. The eldest of my 2nd cousins, Lalli, was in charge. The younger ones had to collect all the soiled clothes and bring them to a small room near the entrance. The Dhobi would come with the previous day’s wash, some ironed. Lalli had a thick notebook, 18” long and 6” wide, which was actually an accounts book. It was her job to note incoming and outgoing and admonish the Dhobi.
Why I mention Lalli by name was because I came across her once again in 1966, when I was 16+. When I went for my Dufferin entrance exam to Madras, I stayed at my Father’s colleague’s abode – and she was the daughter-in-law of the house, apparently through the match making efforts of my Father and his colleague. She was taken aback and amused that I remembered so many details about my trip to Arni, especially the Laundry Book. I ran into or visited quite a number of my paternal cousins over the years and it was always a joyous reunion.
One of my elder cousins was a Machine Tools designer and was considered a leading expert in India in his profession.
Alas, the elder ones are no more and the younger ones are scattered.
Chapter 5
COIMBATORE
We shifted to Coimbatore after 5 years in Wellington, as my Father had been transferred to a remote north Indian area, in order to get proper colleges for my brother and schools for the others. Having come from St. Joseph’s Coonoor, I was promptly admitted to Stanes High School, Coimbatore.
Courtesy Linkedin
School Logo
‘Excelsa Sequar’ – Aim for the Highest – was the motto of the school.
My hair was always a topic of light banter, even when I grew it long (in the absence of my Father). It grew straight and strong. The whole class – my new co-ed school in Coimbatore – chortled and had a good hearted laugh when, one day, my class teacher asked me the secret of my hair being so straight. The picturesque scene I painted for them made them - of my haircuts in Wellington - all think of me as a close friend till we parted ways. My academic accomplishments also helped in breaking barriers in the new school.
Probably the most important phase of my life was from my 8th to 11th standards. Important because the people – teachers, classmates – who I interacted with, influenced me in my thought processes, mental attitude, sports activities, love for literature, never-say-die attitude, resilience to pitfalls in life. It is only when I let my fond memories float over decades past that I realise how much those formative years influenced me and strengthened me for the decades to come.
My 8th standard class room had this framed on the wall:
For, when the One Great Scorer comes
To write against your name,
He writes not that you won or lost
But how you played the game.
Thanks to today’s computers, I recalled even the Old English Text font of the framed quote. Google helped me find the author – a sports writer by the name of Grantland Rice.
My young mind was intrigued by the ramifications of this simple quote and its applications in far-afield areas, not just games alone, and influenced me a great deal during the course of my life.
What kind of teacher would put up something so profound? This teacher was my Class Teacher, Miss Nurse, who also taught us English. A middle aged, crusty spinster who lived only for teaching. Not many of my errant class mates liked her due to her tongue lashing; most of the others were scared of her. But just behind that crusty exterior was a person of warmth, with an eagerness to impart all she had to her students and a pronounced love for the English language.
My lifelong affair with English literature had begun. It was further nurtured in my 10th and 11th by our school Principal, Reverend HO Fowler, who taught us Shakespeare. By the time I finished school, Shakespeare had become an integral part of my life.
Today I reminisce and find it amusing that I braved – and grittily took - a thrashing at home for four consecutive evenings for returning very late from school, in order to see the Kendall family’s Shakespeareana troupe perform various plays in my school auditorium.
An extraordinary human being, our Principal, Rev Fowler. Though an ordained Christian priest, he taught us religious tolerance, human tolerance and put us on a path where we could aspire to be good human beings.
One of my classmates was a British girl who, for reasons I could not initially fathom, used to be very curt and hurtful towards me. Later, I found that she resented my always being first in English which she thought was a Britisher’s by birthright. A few months later, familiarity with India and my smiling refusal to antagonise her, led to good friendship and an acceptance of Indian culture.
From the 8th to 11th standard, my reading expanded, particularly influenced by my 8th standard teacher and my Principal. Dornford Yates, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, Frank Richards’ Billy Bunter, Biggles became regular reading and introduced me to adventurism, mystery and humour. One of the books that I read was ’The Thirty Nine Steps’ by John Buchanan, which I literally considered was the forerunner to Ian Fleming’s James Bond series. Seeing my love for reading, my 8th Standard class teacher, Miss Sylvia Nurse, allowed me to go through her collection of Reader’s Digests, an already familiar magazine for me, having read the latest of them at the Staff College Library in Wellington. The difference here was, she had a huge pile of them dating back to around the 1930s. So, in batches of ten, I read the ever evolving Digests over a period of two years. Old ‘Life’ and ‘National Geographic’ magazines were also there and I was fascinated by them. All in all, a treasure trove.
By the 11th standard, I had progressed to authors like Lloyd C Douglas’ books which, though thematically Christian, fascinated me – ‘The Robe’ and ‘Magnificent Obsession' being some of them. Shakespeare continued to dominate my interests.
Another author I read during those years was AJ Cronin – I was a little too young for such profound thought. I read all his books again after I turned twenty – they had a profound effect on me ever since.
During the years that I was a day scholar, (I joined the hostel for my last year), I was given 20 paisa daily for bus fare. I used to walk the distance from Tatabad to school, once in a while taking a short cut through the Central Jail compound, the other route through Chidambaram Park. being slightly longer. The return walk was always through the park, where an old lady (‘paati’ or grandmother) used to sell roasted peanuts. For 10 paisa, as I was a daily customer, she would give me more than normal. My elder brother Prabhakar used to wait eagerly for my return from school for the peanuts, an everyday heart warming ritual. The remaining 10 paise would be hoarded to see an English movie in Rainbow theatre. We always used to be early for the movie, so as not to miss the cartoons before the movie. I don’t think I missed any of the Hitchcock movies of the 1950s and 60s. Zarak (Victor Mature?) was another unforgettable movie. I think it was 1964 when I saw my first James Bond film Dr. No and became a lifelong fan.
I joined the Air Wing of the National Cadet Corps during the last couple of years, the highlight of which were the 10 day camps in uninhabited areas, pitching tents, having marching and sports competitions with rival schools.
We (my family) lived in rented houses and shifted 3 times in the 5 years I spent in Coimbatore. One of them was ‘Lalitha Nivas’ in Tatabad, with a ‘badam’ and sweet ‘nellikai’ (Gooseberry) tree in front and a guava tree at the back. I don’t remember any month when there were no fruits on the guava tree and, in season, I used to climb the tree, pluck fruits and drop them on to bedsheets held by my younger siblings. Total fun. Bucketloads would be filled and distributed to neighbours. Mother would make a lot of jam and store it. Really tasty fruits.
One very clear memory was when I burnt both my hands when I was in 8th Standard. The idiot that I was, I took all the powder out of the unburnt crackers, put them in a cardboard tray and held the tray over a lit candle. The flash burnt both my hands. But still, I wrote my final exams, except for geometry (as I could not hold a compass or scale) and did well.
About a year down the line, my eldest brother, after finishing his Mechanical Engineering degree, joined the Army on a Short Service Regular Commission and went to the Indian Military Academy (IMA) for training. From this time on, I saw very little of him till the late ‘70s.
1964 saw my Father transferred to Secunderabad. This being the last year of school, I became a boarder in Stanes School (same school) for my final year.
My first introduction to Western pop and rock music came in the form of ‘The Beatles’ and Cliff Richard. The unforgettable ‘She was just Seventeen’, ‘I wanna hold your hand’, ‘Bachelor Boy’ and quite a few more. How can I fail to remember the unforgettable – but at that time considered naughty – Paul Anka’s ‘Diana’.
Later on in life, I found that I had imbibed a lot of Carnatic Music, mostly by osmosis, my Mother singing in the kitchen, my younger sister learning music, the All India Radio programs.
A run through memory lane would not be complete without a few sentences about the magazines that influenced me during my childhood and early teen years.
English Magazines: Life, Reader’s Digest and National Geographic were avidly read whenever I could lay my hands on them, mostly old editions. In later years, I would buy the older editions from second hand shops very cheaply. ‘The Hindu’ was the newspaper of choice and it was religiously read every day. Scholarly in its editorials, unbiased in its reporting of political news, keeping the reader informed of current events, sports news and articles being devoured and probably the best sports articles that I have ever read – all from ‘The Hindu’ of those days. In retrospect, it was a little snobby. In later years, it became more leftist, so I stopped reading it.
‘Sport and Pastime’, also an ‘Hindu’ publication, although never bought regularly, was another magazine that was read with interest. It once featured a photograph of my brother Ramamurthy in a group photograph, along with his table tennis team mates, after they had won the Inter Varsity Tournament. I think I have that photograph still.
‘Illustrated Weekly’ was read whenever I could get hold of a free copy, interest being concentrated on the comics, mainly ‘Phantom’ and Mario’s ‘Miss Nimbupani’. In fact, ‘Phantom’, ‘the Ghost who Walks’ was the forerunner to almost all of my comic heroes, with Tarzan coming in a close second. 50 years down the line, I try not to miss any of their movies.
I was also fascinated by ‘The Lone Ranger’ and his ‘Hiyo Silver, Away’ will never be forgotten.
Tamil Magazines: Ananda Vikatan’ spread a lot of ‘aanandam’ (joy) in my life with some unforgettable stories and cartoons.
‘Gopulu’s drawings were unmatchable and are unforgettable. It was unfortunate that he was born in a struggling and impoverished country – anywhere else in the world, he would have gained more fame than, say, Norman Rockwell. His drawings of scenes about an accompanying story ‘Washingtonil Thirumanam’ (Marriage in Washington) was an unforgettable classic. His depth of knowledge of the various branches of Indian Society used to come together in a very humorous way in all his drawings. ‘RK Laxman’ of ‘Times of India’ was considered the best cartoonist in India. My vote is for ‘Gopulu’.
The above is one of his drawings for a Tamil story, “A Wedding in Washington”.
Another one
There was another artist, ‘Maya’ who used to illustrate some of the more serious stories – great artist.
‘Saavi’s ‘Thuppariyum Sambhu’ (Detective Sambhu) was another classic from the presses of ‘Ananda Vikatan’. Sambhu, Inspector Gopalan and Sambhu’s wife ‘Vembu’ live on for posterity.
A few of the serial stories also haven’t been forgotten. ‘Theru Villaku’ (Street Lamp) by WR Swarnalatha and another humorous love story ‘Kaadhal enna katrikaya?’ (Is Love a Brinjal (egg plant)?) were, to me, front runners.
‘Kumudam’ magazine was forbidden in my home, due to Mother’s censorship, as it was considered too racy and risque.
Surreptitious reading included ‘Kumudam’ and ‘Pesum Padam’ (Talking Pictures).
Lovely life.
These were the years when I was (mostly) devoid of the influence of my Father, who was away working in non-family stations. In his own quiet way, he has been my philosophical guide throughout my life. (That I lost sight of this for more than a decade during my prime, middle years, is my cross to bear).
Later in life, when we had more time for each other, I used to discuss various aspects of my school life and what it had taught me. He would ponder and come up with parallels of the same philosophy, thoughts from Hindu texts. He was my Google and Wikipedia of yesteryear.
During these years, Table tennis unknowingly found its way into me because of my eldest brother, who used to play for his college and university. One of his teammates would, later on, represent India. He had set up an engineering drawing board against the wall and used to practice. I started for fun and realised I was pretty good at it. His teammates would play against me regularly – such joyous memories of the drawing board table tennis. I played well in school but had not taken it up seriously as I would a year later.
I also boxed for my school and was the runner up in the Inter School competition.
Academically, I did pretty well in school as per the standards of those days and barely managed a First Class in my Final Year (11th Standard). This was the Anglo Indian High School examination, a country wide exam for Anglo Indian Schools, a remnant of the British Raj.
A year or so down the line, I came to realise that the standard / syllabus was way below par in the Sciences and Mathematics, the staple for an Engineer. Hence, I was always ‘catching up’ for a couple of years.
Thus did my school years provide me with the courage to face an hazardous life, with a ‘never give up’ policy.
Chapter 6
Poems in my Life
Some of the poems have stayed with me for life. In each poem, I can see my own evolution from dreamy innocence to insightful understanding to foreboding.
Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorpes, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,
And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.
Recently, I came across an article where the writer claimed that practically all Wordsworth poems were written by his sister, Dorothy. How far it is true, I do not know. But it doesn’t diminish even one whit of his poems.
The Solitary Reaper
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;—
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
----
Foreboding: About ten or so years ago, when I read the poem (Oft in the Stilly Night) once again, it seemed to encompass my entire life and also as a harbinger of things to come, hence the ‘foreboding’.
Oft, in the Stilly Night (Scotch Air)
BY THOMAS MOORE
Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm’d and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain hath bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
When I remember all
The friends, so link’d together,
I’ve seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
Rangan
Comments