MY PROFILE & THE STORIES

Hello, I am Rama Venkataraman.
I like writing stories I think stories are a great way to share the scene behind the scene.It can bring out as a picture the emotions, the trials behind everyday life which a picture cannot.
I have written stories of everyday characters whom we meet everyday. It may be yourself or somebody you know . Read through enjoy and please please communicate and comment. Then I will know I have reached the reader to whom it is written.
Blogs are greatway of sharing.
These set of stories I have given the name STORIES OF OLD WORLD CHARM, for it will contain scenes of the era when I grew up

THE EVER GREEN ROMANCE

I was back to the hometown Tiruchi after 22 long years. The scenes had changed beyond recognition. The people the place, everything was new to me. Our house itself dismantled. The members dispersed that we had to stay with the family in a hotel to show the green remembrance of my childhood years.

Strolling in the market the next day peering in to the faces to spot a familiar one, I was greatly excited to have spotted and recognized Rosamma. I found her rather plump, but still having the old world charm, that slow sincere smile revealing an inner strength and resolve. Two teenaged girls were tagging along with her looking a mirror image of the mother.

When I was at Trichi Rosamma George and Mani Iyers romance was a raging topic both belonging to diverse religious groups, one a chaste Christian and other a chaste Hindu.

However I had to leave the scene in a hurry having got a plum offer of a job at Middle East. Now returning after so many years seeing Rosamma happily married with two daughters, I was wondering what happened to the Romance. Did she eventually marry Mani Iyer? After initial exclamation of recognition, I hesitantly broached the subject of her husband, seeing me hesitant, with a twinkle in her eyes Rosamma invited me to her place `Dwaraka Villa’ Tiruchi east and asked me to join them for evening tea.

I accepted the invitation eagerly to find at last a long lost friend whom I can display to the family too with some aplomb proclaiming my links with the old days at Tiruchi, also with an inherent curiosity to know about Rosammas life.

Sharp at 5.30 p.m, we were at `Dwaraka Villa’. As our Auto circled and located the house I found the `Dwaraka villa’ looked more like a quaint cottage having the charm of a christian home, emitting none of the flavor of an Iyer household

As I entered I found the very same Mani Iyer in tweed pant, check shirt and broad belt coming out. He gave me a bear hug and greeted me as a long lost friend.

We settled for the evening reminiscing our old days when the story unfolded step by step

Rosamma George on the first look cannot be classified as an exemplary beauty. At the age of nineteen the dusky and stocky Rosamma had an air of dependability around her. A talk with her for few minutes will make anyone relaxed and restore faith in the old world charms. She talked slowly and surely. The smile was always gradual to arrive revealing a row of sparkling white teeth. She student of B.A Economics, in the small township, always kept an even pace with her routine. At 9.30 p.m sharp you could find her in the local bus stand, dressed simple but smartly. Her curly hair secured at the back by a small clip, dressed in simple frock or unceremonious skirt and blouse, with a bunch of books in hand she made a picture, modern yet traditional. At 2.30 p.m. she would be spotted at the same stop, back after a scholarly bout from the college situated at the center of the town.

On Sundays you can truly catch her at Sunday best. When she gets ready to go to church with her mother and father. Taking a hair bath perhaps was a Sunday ritual when one can see her sailing past the road mainly made of residential houses, with her thick mop of curly hair left open, a simple embroidered frock adorning her neat curves. She almost used to look like a fairy especially to the eyes of Subramaniam sitting there in his house for the last many years with a pile of books, doggedly studying for his chartered accountancy

For Subramaniam shortly called Mani what started has a diversion to watch Rosamma behind the privacy of the meshed window had of late become an obsession. He had been watching Rosamma ever since he got involved in dreary dull topic of accountancy. Mani a born dreamer would have shorn well in any of the fields but pertaining to the complicated, monstrous realm of numbers. He would have made an excellent chef, always interested to do anything connected with food, perhaps a painter for always he used to come with a A grade in Drawing and fine arts. But that was not to be. His father Narashiman believed in leading his wards firmly and surely. As soon as he turned up with a terrible mark sheet in science at his school finals, Narashiman enrolled him in commerce firmly directing him to C.A. and in no nonsense terms stated getting through that lies his salvation. For last 5 yrs, hence for Subramaniam the accountancy books had become his inseparable companions. With much grinding effort and burning the midnight lamps he scrapped through the inter while the finals still loomed large in front of him.

It was than 2 yrs back he spotted his Rosamma, as he now fondly comes to regard her. It was as though he got a new meaning for life, religiously observing Rosamma commuting to and fro their lane. As months passed it became an obsession, the only interest to sustain him to his dreary world of accounts. He felt himself extremely lucky to have had the house at the roadside opposite the bus stand that he could observe her till the bus whisked her away from sight.

Shy by nature Mani however could not muster the courage to go and talk to Rosamma. He has had umpteen rehearsal in mind, meeting had taken place in college campus, in the bus, in their own lane as she walks past his house, in front of the church. But all in imagination. Never in real.
Finally when they did meet it was in a very prosaic manner. He had taken the electric bill for remittance in the counter close to town. After waiting for clean 2 hrs in the scorching sun with the queue moving inch by inch he had almost reached the counter when he spotted his dear Rosamma with the electricity chit catching the end of the lane. He could not bear the thought of his dear Rosamma getting wilted in the heat and crowd. Somehow he developed enough courage, offering her to remit the bill. However it was another story he ended up paying Rosamma's bill first and when the clerk refused to take his bill he sheepishly had to catch the end of the line again to pay up his bill. But the act did not go unrecorded. In a single act he won the complete favour of Rosamma.

The romance blossomed like a tender bud, slowly and surely. The initial shy exchanges gave way to planned meetings. The 30 E bus frequented by Rosamma became the favorite haunt of their budding Romance. Mani now became the ready errand boy of the house. Going to town just before Rosammas College leaves, fetching her back gallantly in the 30 E bus back home. The bumps and the jolts of the bus ride became an occasion to rejoice which brought Rosamma and Mani ever so closer.

However it doesn’t take long for the news of the young romances to reject the guardian’s ears. As soon as Narashiman received the news of his darling son afternoon antecedents, his rage hit the ceiling. A man who brooked no nonsense, he did not take it kindly to his sons wavering concentration from the realm numbers in to the eyes of the cupid. He stomped, shouted, raved, and Mani’s movements were put under strict vigilance. But the young things have a way to hoodwink their guardians if they are determined and Mani was determined to bask under the cool eyes of Rosamma. Their romance continued furtively though Rosamma had no problem. Her liberal parents respected and accepted their daughter’s wishes.

Narashiman than played his final cards. He told his son who was undergoing the 4th attempt at his chartered accountancy if he succeeds this time he will than consider consenting for the marriage, feeling it must be beyond Mani's capacity to stand unto the challenge.

It was just two months to the exam when the challenge was thrown to him. It took some time for the full impact to sink in him. He had read many a stories where the young suitors have to under go difficult test of valor to win the hand of the princess. Here his task was no less. A clean walk through the dreaded exams to get his Rosamma in a decent way. He knew not from where he got the indomitable will and grit. He went in to the world of his accountancy books putting in nearly 20 hrs a day towards his goal. He discovered a new aspect of his personality. The till now abhorred studies suddenly seemed to illuminate and create a strong interest in him. As he poured in to the calculations and tabulations they seemed to speak to him a new language of intimacy. He did his exams admiringly well and the results spoke his effort.

Seeing finally his number on papers Mani jumped with joy. Now on more restraining him to reach his Rosamma. Clutching the paper in hand, under the very eyes of his father he ran to Rosamma’s house and in jiffy brought her back home.Soon the wedding took place and Rosamma came into the chaste Iyer household with formal tidings of the family and became the first skirt-clad bahu of the house

The rest is history. The firm resolute Rosamma with her tender yet sure ways had changed Mani Iyer of yesterday to Mr. Manni. However as far as Mr. Manni was happy and contended I felt there is nothing to complain.

SUNDARAM’S PREDICAMENT

Sundaram sat crest fallen in the stiff back chair in the tiny apartment at Thiruvellikeni in Madras. His eyes were hopelessly trying to focus in the day’s newspaper, a result of years of habit. His wife Lakshmi a product of yester yrs, who in the 24 hrs of married life had never dared to utter a word against her husband, was quietly in the kitchen trying to make headway with the days cooking.

The house wore an ominous silence. Their younger daughters were involved in the job of stitching buttonholes in the school uniforms. The stray orders of stitching they fetched from near by ready-made factory. Their elder daughter Shankari was out to fetch kerosene from the long ration queue.

Sundaram was patriarch in true sense. He had believed in ruling the family with an iron hand and irrevocable discipline codes. Filled with pride of an aristocratic landed ancestry Sundaram was finding it a tough going to uphold the traditional values, in that urban conglomerate where he had secured a respectable job of accountant 25 yrs back. Tall with an angular nose, sharp critical eyes which had kept Lakshmi and horde of four children well with in their parameters etched by the patriarch Sundaram. When Lakshmi bore two daughters in quick succession after marriage at the age of sixteen, Sundaram did not speak anything. He did not believe in expressing his disappointment. But silent-seething rage used to erupt at home over trivials. Lakshmi bore his rages calmly with fortitude like any true hindu lady. She could sense her resentment and even felt it well with in her husband’s expectation.

When she carried her 3rd child just in an yr. of shanthi’s birth even her conservative family members raised an eyebrow. But Lakshmi had impeccable faith in Lord Murugar. She had seen the lord himself in child’s apparel a couple of times that had put her mind to rest that her next offspring will be a boy. She was at peace with herself attending to the multitudes of jobs at home. With Shankari and Shanti the two toddlers and Sundaram keeping his strict discipline in matters of food and clothes Lakshmi had to spin like a top attending to every ones needs.
All the trouble was worthwhile when finally their son Ganeshan arrived. Sundaram was pleased and Lakshmi felt supremely contended of having won the favour of her lord. With Ganeshans arrival he did not have anything against his wife. Feeling so much benevolent towards Lakshmi that he did not mind at all when Kamali arrived in couple of years.

However it was Ganeshan who was the apple of his eyes. Ganeshan grew up in adulation. He always had his mother and sisters to attend on him. Looking through the families eyes Ganeshan always felt himself special. When it was time to enroll him in school, Sundaram went around and put him in the English Medium School, 2 km. Far. Where as his three daughters got their berth in the near by Municipality school.

Ganesh did grow up to their expectations. Chubby and exuberant he did exceedingly well in academics too. Every time when he used to come home with flying grades Sundaram felt a feet taller. He looked at his son to carry the family prestige and name and channel for all his unrealized ambitions. Unabashedly his plans for Ganeshan grew higher and higher as the child himself grew from childhood to adolescence, For was not Ganeshan proving worthy of his every effort and dreams?

When Ganesh got his seat in Tiruchi Engineering College Sundarams happiness knew no bounds. Lakshmi had never seen him in that mood. A generally reticent Sundaram talked incessantly. He bought a large packet of Jalebis and distributed to neighbors with whom he hardly had nodding acquaintance. The day Ganeshan was to leave it was like a marriage. The entire house ran around making savories, sweets and pickles, packing them in compact packets, all that was arranged in a neat carton got on special request from Madavan working in the medical company. When Ganeshan landed in Tiruchi with his good-sized carton of eatables, he was an instant favorite among the newfound friends. However the friendliness lasted only as long as the eatable remained. Soon he found himself the target of subtle ridicule. He stood out in the group of gay go gutters with his conservative and almost puritan ways. He learned life a hard way in the hostel. In the four years in hostel he learned more about life than about engineering. Where his life had started and ended with his dotting parents he saw it had a lot more variety to offer. The very adulation of his family now he found it loathsome. Every time he returned home in the holidays he could see his parents staying in a world apart, a world his father Sundaram had created stunted, shrunken, refusing to change as the rest of the world moved swiftly and rapidly around them.

His mother Lakshmi never having an opinion, so docile, that at times he felt like screaming and waking his mother. His sisters seemed to be clone of his mother, always obedient, stitching, cleaning, washing, cooking and looking at him as though he is a species from the outer world. Any attempt to get a rapport with them, share the umpteen thoughts milling in his mind found no response.
Soon after finishing the Engineering when he got a scholarship to go abroad he felt most elated. He was ashamed to admit to himself how relieved he felt to have a way out of all obligations expected of him. To live a life under constant glory of adulation he would have found it most galling. A journey abroad was he felt like a ticket to freedom.

Sundaram and family felt at loss as how to react to Ganeshan's going abroad. No doubt it was something to be proud of. But they had a nagging fear will they loose Ganeshan?

Sundaram’s finance was at an abysmal low level. Having drained off all his life savings and even borrowed heavily for Ganeshan’s education. His daughters had grown up. Sundaram had quietly submitted Shankari's and Shatters horoscope at the marriage bureau. They had immediately suggested him a couple of cases for Shankari. One boy was working in the railway canteen another a lower division clerk in a private firm. Both he had rejected. Once Ganeshan starts earning handsomely wont it be possible to see them grooms fitting to their family heritage and standing?

All that hopes were drowned to dust in the small blue aerogramme, which arrived few days ago. Ganeshan an indifferent letter writer had kept them in waiting often. That when a letter arrived after two whole months, they all were most eager to know the news. As was the routine Sundaram read it while the family patiently hovered around trying to know the contents from Sundarams facial reaction. When Sundarams face turned a ghastly pale they kept quiet for him to speak. However this time Sundaram did not wax eloquent about Ganeshan’s escapades as generally he used to do. He got up in a huff flinging the letter aside. It was Kamali who got the nerve to open it and read the contents.

Ganeshan had married a Korean Girl. He was extremely sorry to break the news this way but as he felt there was no way his family going to accede to this, he thought private marriage was the only way out. It was also not possible to come immediately. It may take some months or even a year or two by which time it will be possible for them to travel out of the country. That’s another reason they decided to have the marriage done there itself. After reading the letter thus to the rest of the family Kamali, her sisters and mother stood quietly in a daze as though mourning a death.
It was Sundaram who took the news the worst. He refused to talk or discuss the matter. He lost the aim and zest for living. He ate listlessly and whatever little he ate didn’t get digested. The aristocratic bearing and commanding ways were completely lost. He kept to himself looking blankly for hours at the newspaper at times mumbling to himself.

The daughters and Lakshmi having more resilience and tenacity were quick to take matters in the stride. If anything it made them more determined to conduct their affairs more competently.

Presently Shankari returned back with the tin of kerosene, having successfully managed to procure the family’s share in the long queue and daring the mid summers hot sun. Inspite of the ordeal she looked bright, her eyes twinkled with suppressed excitement. Having a peep at her by her sisters working in the anteroom, they could sense there was something in the offing. There was a warm comradeship among the sisters, which kept them in good spirit inspite of the grinding poverty. They quietly walked in to the kitchen where Shankari was talking in hushed tones to her mother. Shankari was telling breathlessly, they have been recruiting in the ready-made factory, girls for work as the proprieter has come down with a huge export order. There are good chances for them to get recruited having worked sincerely at the piece meal jobs for the last two years. The hushed tones between the mother and the daughters continued. Even Lakshmi got caught up with the excitement and dropped a couple of vessels and broke in to smiles and even laughter.

In a matter of days all the three girls were gainfully employed in the ready-made factory.

The house started reverberating in their enthusiasm of the newfound prosperity earned with their own efforts. Sundaram slowly started coming out of his reverie and mourning. He could now see his daughters in a new light. It dawned on him he need not feel lost when such pillars of strength, his affectionate and competent daughters are around him. The sharp critical glint in his eyes was replaced by a warm affectionate glow. He once again started reading his paper relaxedly and ate his food worth relish. Ganeshan was forgotten like a dream, which went sour. As time passed it looked Sundaram may even develop equanimity to pardon his son who erred gravely.

A MEMORABLE ENCOUNTER

It was a cold December night. The new year was just round the corner. I was on the last lap of my journey back to Varanasi after a whirl Wind tour of U.P. as part of my election duties. The numerous travels mostly done by road through out U.P. and the cumbersome administrative work had sapped my energy. I was planning to catch up a good nights rest in the first class coupe of the Varanasi bound mail booked well in advance.

Waiting for the train in the broad platform of Lucknow at the especially cold night all I could see was hooded dark figures of men and women covered in blankets, huddled here and there trying to beat the freezing cold in the air. Standing in the dull yellow lights of the platform in my business suit of grey woolen pants and black coat, I suspected I looked a picture of officialdom. I walked up and down the platform waiting impatiently for the train to arrive though my bones were aching with fatigue.

The train arrived quietly and stealthily. The newly incorporated electric engine hardly made a sound. Locating my first class couple was no trouble at all. As soon as the train came to a halt, I climbed in to the first class compartment, which bore a deserted look, located my coupe third in the aisle.

I wrenched open the door, which seemed to have got stuck. As soon as I entered the coupe I could get a distinct smell, an aroma I should say. I could not place it exactly but it smelt familiar, say like the musk of a full healthy female. I looked around; the faint light inside the coupe the visibility was poor. However I felt, the coupe a compact one just for two cannot hide a person, I looked up and down before dumping my luggage below the seat. I dismissed the smell as I left over of the passengers who must have stayed and left. I closed the sliding door secured it with a latch, put the shutters in the window, unrolled my bedding, removed my coat, hung it in the peg above the window, slipped the shoes out and pushed it under the berth and stretched blissfully full length in the berth below.

I had almost in to my sleep when the train left the platform. The rhythmatic jogging of the train soon became a lullaby to me and I drifted to a dreamless slumber.

I have no idea how long I must have slept; I woke with a start to the shrill whistle of the train and a waft of chill wind blowing over my face. I distinctly remembered to have closed the shutters. Perhaps the spring on a rebound pulled it up. The train had halted. It was totally pitch dark outside indicating the night was still alive. I got up wearily to put the shutters down.

It was then I noticed her. Silently huddled in the corner, young women draped in black. The first thing I noticed about her was the wide-eyed innocence. The soft curly hair left loose forming a fine frame over her ivory colored skin. Her smooth cheeks were glistening in the light amber light of the train. She had worn some heavy silver jewelry hanging from her slender ear lobes and neck strangely reminding the picture of the bygone ears. Her looks were averted. She was gazing fixedly at the darkness outside.

I stared at her with an open-mouthed surprise. I had not expected to have any company till at least the train reached the next big halt and least of all a young female company of such striking beauty. Further how and when the lady must have entered the coupe when I had latched the door? She seemed to be oblivious of my movements of me getting up and putting down the shutters or now sitting and gaping at her open mouthed. I raked my head for some time as how to attract her attention.

Should I speak to her in chaste English or the native tongue Hindi? What should I call her madam, lady or memsab? I just couldn’t place the young thing in front of me. I finally cleared my throat and called out to her “Excuse me, do you want the shutters to be open?

She slowly took her eyes from the darkness outside, looked at me in a sort of stirring forlorn way and gave a faint smile. I could see her cheeks were tear stained and her innocent eyes bore an expression of immense grief. Her look and the faint smile stirred some thing in me, a sort of feeling of protective instinct. I felt a strong urge to put a protective hand around her and assure her as not to worry over anything. But won’t it be odd for a perfect stranger to do that. She once again averted her eyes and continued to stare in to the cold night.

I laid back in my cozy bed while the train slowly stirred and started moving, slowly picking up speed. I felt strangely sad and melancholic as though the lady’s mood was catching on to me. I must have laid with my eyes wide open for a long time staring at the frail legs with silver anklets visible out of the black apparel. It must have been my fatigue I knew not when I closed my eyes and went back to the world of sleep responding to the rythmatic jugging of the train.

When I opened my eyes the day had broken well and clear. The soft glow of the moonlight was flitting in to the compartment and the scenery outside was glorious, the fields, trees, the sky, the passing electric poles all bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

My eyes searched for the nubile young companion. The lady was not to be seen anywhere, vanished like the early morning mist. Had she gone to the toilet for the early morning adulations? I got up put the shutters up allowed the pleasant cold wind to sweep inside the coupe.

There was a knock at the door. I opened to find the attendant, ready to take orders for morning breakfast and tea.

Instead of giving orders I fumbled incoherently the lady, memsab, pointing to the seat opposite “Where is she?”

He looked at me quizzingly trying to comprehend what I was trying to tell?

“Your memsab, I don’t know Saab where is she”

“Oh not my biwi, that rathwali memsab who was sitting here.” Suddenly a look of comprehension and excitement seem to jump in to his eyes.

“The fair memsab wearing black clothes?”

“Yes, yes the same one, where has she gone?”

“Oh she was not a real memsab, she was booth”

“Booth” of course an educated man like me did not believe in all these things. He started telling me the story vividly. While I sat rubbing my hands to hear a good story.

She was Rupadevi Raja shamender singhs daughter. It was a sad love story. The raja was a good benevolent ruler. If he had any weakness, it was his daughter Rupadevi. He loved her beyond anything in the world and had dreams of getting the most eligible man around the place for his darling daughter. The tests of valor were a routine affair. He demanded impossible feats to be done by young men like fighting single-handed with a group of his select solders, jumping over burning charcoal, lift heavy weights etc. The enthusiastic young man with dash and valor used to come out these feats belittled and in due course less and less people began volunteering for such feats.

In the mean while Rupadevi a young beautiful lady in the prime of her youth gave her heart to the young lass who used to fill water in the huge bathtubs. Starved of male company the young lass rippling muscles, pleasant manners endured her, she gave her body and soul to him. When matters reached Raja shamendar singh ears, in a fit of rage he promptly beheaded the young man leaving an inconsolable Rupadevi. She jumped in to the well inside the palace grounds and gave her life in a moonless night. Every amavsi she manifested and tried to share her sorrow with any person whom she thinks can understand her. Of late as the village melee has changed beyond recognition, the lady has been frequenting the mail especially on the moonless night when it happens to halt close to the village. As a regular attendant in the train it was the 5th time he was hearing from passengers the tale of the young lady in black.

The story was told breathlessly by the attendant. The sleepy impersonal attendant suddenly seemed to be charged with life as he expanded the story to me with all the enthusiasm.

I looked at him with total disbelief as any educated man will hear and dismiss the babbles of an illiterate country lad.

I ordered him two mugs of hot tea with a plate of toast and omelets. As I sat pondering over the story strangely the young lady’s pathetic face came again and again in front of me while I felt for no reason sad and melancholic. For that matter to this day whenever I look back the whole scene rushes back like a picture and for some inexplicable reason I feel terribly sad.