Small pleasures – Then and now

I should have titled it differently. It is not small pleasures but pleasures out of small things.  I also want to examine the past as it appears now and the present. There is an element of nostalgia and because of that past comes alive.

We were living in Chamarajpet when I was 12 or 13. It means half a century back. Chamarajpet is one of the oldest localities of Bangalore and our home was close to a tank named after Kempamma, daughter–in–law of Kempegowda, the founder of the city. We were from lower middle class and most of my friends were at the same level if not poorer. Some of us, notably Kittanna, were interested in swimming. Pool was out of reach – both distance wise and affordability wise. Kittanna was from orthodox (everyone was orthodox; some more and some less) Iyengar family presided over by his mother. She was a woman of strong opinions and a voice to match and strict in her ways. She was not averse to explicitly sharing her disapproval publicly.  It was no surprise that Kittanna dare not ask her to allow him to go for swimming. So he would come with no paraphernalia- no change of clothes, no towel and most importantly no apparent enthusiasm in going out. We would go to a village three or four kilometers away called Dasarahalli where there was a large well. Large means at best the well would have been 15 ft. in diameter but it was more than enough for 4 or 5 of us. We would swim there and Kittanna would wait till his clothes were dry and hair combed to look natural. It was a long distance away and we would be tired by the time we walked the distance. Sometimes on our way to the well we would ‘place an order’ (actually request) for idlis (easy availability and easy on the pocket) with the cook (‘Bhatta - ಭಟ್ಟರು ‘ ) who ran a small eatery at his home and on our return we would eat them with relish. Only two idlis per head and no coffee as there would be no money for such extravaganza. Once after placing the order and on our way back we found to our dismay that the money, pooled from all, was insufficient for the idlis. We had to avoid  the cook and so we took a long diversion back home. 

The swimming was basic and rustic and devoid of any skill, style or grace. It was beating water by feet and hands as vigorously as possible to stay afloat. The swimming, idle chatter and idlis after a tiring trip were all so pleasant. Even more- the sharing, bonding and immense pleasure in going out for forbidden adventure was delightful. 

Cricket was the game we played all the time. If there was a match (India vs. any other country; or Ranji trophy matches Mysore vs. other teams) there would be a commentary on the radio. We would crowd around a set (not easy to locate one) and listen. Most of us could not follow the details as our English was inadequate but scores would be easy to decipher. My reputation was high with my friends on such occasions. My English was distinctly superior to that of others and I would interpret for them some nuances of the commentary such as when the new ball would arrive , catches dropped or off drives executed or some reference to Bradman or Vinu Mankad. There was a commentator Vizzy, Maharaja of Vijanagaram, who was one sided, long winded and would frequently go off the tangent from what was happening and return later to announce the fall of a wicket. Then I would be very handy to tell them  what was happening. I was also the one who could read the newspaper, even as formidable as Hindu, and understand the column say by Fingleton or someone like that.

We played Cricket everywhere- in roads, in play grounds, in small alleys and at all times. It was Cricket with a capital C. There was a place nearby (called  ಮಂಟಪ) which was earmarked and used for performing ceremonies (post death). During that time it was forbidden for anyone other than the required persons to enter. Rest of the days (not everyday people- particularly Brahmins- would die) it was free. My mother, when she came to know about us playing cricket there, was furious and also scared. She coaxed, cajoled and threatened, but I was sulky and adamant. She finally relented and did not inform father. Looking back, with the revulsion, fear, strong traditional beliefs etc. attached to such places, allowing me (10 – 12 years old) to go and play there was unthinkable. Only her love for me must have made her agree. I feel so thankful even today.

We collected cricket memorabilia diligently and with fondness.  Chiefly it consisted of photos of cricket heroes in the context of the game. We cut newspapers, sports magazines and pasted them in used (written but now discarded) note books. Harveys, Oneils, Worrels and Weeks, Mankads and Subhash Guptes all came home and occupied their allotted slots. Triumphs (a few in those days) and tragedies (plenty) of Indian team were all captured.  It was more than adequate for an afternoon of reverential study. My friend had one such collection. He would give it to me to go through but stay around to keep a watch on me !

Before we graduated to cricket we played local games such as goli, buguri, kuntata, chinni- dandu (ಗೋಲಿ, ಬುಗುರಿ , ಕುಂಟಾಟ , ಚಿಣ್ಣಿ – ದಾಂಡು ) . Sometimes we played kuntata with rewards. The winning team would get a pencil (not for everyone though) as a trophy. It was played with all the seriousness it deserved and would be the topic for discussion before and after the match. I really feel you do not need sophisticated games or equipment to enjoy. What all you need is freedom from elders, understanding friends and bright sun and some space.

Indoor games were also absorbing. Carrom and dice (ಪಗಡೆ) and sometimes snakes and ladders (ಪರಮಪದ ಸೋಪಾನ ಪಟಮು) were our popular ones and chess much later. I remember when I had my leg in plaster for two months during a summer vocation four of us friends would play from morning to evening with a short break for lunch. Sometimes when the number exceeded four, we  had to wait for our turn. I wonder how  people at home tolerated the constant clatter of dice rolling. Why was it played in our house? I did not think at that time but later it became clear. Because only we had space and more importantly only we had the carrom board and needed things for the game of dice ( others could not afford them ). We imagined us to be characters from Mahabharata I suppose.

I wonder if nostalgia is making these memories so attractive. On deeper reflection I do not think so. Even in those days when they were actually  happening all these were extremely pleasurable. So pleasure was then and the lingering  memory  of that now. Occasionally I also wonder if those days of finding joy  from simple and small things and events have gone.

 I start thinking about simple, basic things, events and experiences that happen now.  Then I realize with a smile that fortunately joy still springs from these.

 As I thought about this I was sitting in a coffee day café and sipping coffee ( what else in a coffee shop ! ) . I look out – winter sun though bright is still pleasant. I am sitting in an A/C room and watch  lazily the outside traffic and in particular people in various degrees of urgency. I must admit that there is some vicarious pleasure in watching people moving around when you don’t need to.

Then there are experiences that are simple but with richer overtones. Morning coffee we (my wife and I) have sitting in a corner of our sofa. Day is yet to begin or just begun.  It is generally cool and aroma of coffee and idle chatter likes ‘did you have good sleep’, ‘what about today’s lunch ’,‘there is pain in the elbow’ are good enough for half an hour to one hour. Sometimes they are laced with stronger ones such as Gundu’s heroics. Or recollections of our children’s deeds.or about TMKrishna,GNB or MS . Or after a good lunch (most of the days it is) and beetle nuts I slip into a delightful nap. Winter, rain or summer each one has its own beauty as I close my eyes.

Lest I deal only with eating and drinking let me recall the Nirgun Bhajans of Kumara Gandharva I heard the other day while walking. It is so beautiful, touching and strangely I get the feeling of a long distance runner!  I do not know the connection but the closest I can think is what my friend Galagali told me once. He felt strange but very happy running on a bridge (SFO) while listening to classical Hindustani vocal recital of Bhimsen Joshi.

Or watching unusual movies – the experiences of the characters that are not ours, treatment of the story that is much different from what we would see here. But in spite of the strangeness something takes over and I watch with growing interest. Somewhat similar to the days when as young we watched Hollywood movies of heroes and their exploits , spectacles and fancy locations while speaking in a language we understood only in fragments.

Sports are still captivating. The fours and sixes, leg glances, scoops, helicopter shots, googlies and doosras in cricket; inn offs and canons in Billiards; passion of football (non-American variety!) and tennis and tales of chess are often delightful.

While I write this I am at rest both physically and mentally and know that awesome moments happen all the time . Life is still beautiful. 

There are plenty of things replacing childhood pleasures. The sun, moon, stars, wind, rain, different seasons have remained the same and continue to give the same pleasures. There has been the mystery world of   books, music, paintings, photographs; wonders of science and mathematics; complexities  of management and business; power of technology; kaleidoscopic  politics; great pleasures of travel; delicacies  of food and drinks – so many have poured into life. Broader and deeper and richer relationships have enhanced the earlier few. No definitely life is more charming.

What was new and fresh in childhood and flavoured now by nostalgia is replaced by variety, affordability and most importantly the urgency to experience as I hit the home run.

Spring in the steps has diminished but sparkle in the eyes remains. Fortunately eyes and ears and more importantly the mind have retained the wonder.