Middle class ways

Beriozka and we the middle class folks

It is difficult to talk in general terms about life of common man in USSR based on my limited exposure. With that disclaimer let me proceed.

I visited Moscow, Cosmodrome several times between 1976 – 92 or so.  These years were not the glorious ones for USSR as well as for India. My trips as a part of a team was to discuss mechanical / mechanism / thermal  interfaces, specifications, schedule etc and these meetings were held in Moscow. As a part of launch readiness I went with the team to Beikanur Cosmodrome.

Goods were in short supply in Moscow / elsewhere in USSR. Clothes, shoes, kitchen articles, household items such as sewing machines, driers, washing machines, kitchen items, ‘luxury’ items such as aftershaves, lipsticks , perfumes were limited in range and were of low quality. Import of goods from the Western world was prohibitively expensive and in fact generally not allowed lest the public start comparing their standard with that of the West. Imports were mostly from their satellite countries such as East Germany, Czechoslovakia , Romania, Poland or from third world countries such as India . ''Now you see it, now you don't'' was an apt description of the scene.

Whenever some new goods arrived , say ,  a quality dress material or bedsheet there would be an immediate crowd for it. It was said that people had cash but could not spend because there were not enough things to buy. One must remember that people had access to free education and healthcare ( no private schools or clinics or doctors ), could not buy property ( to be passed on to next generation ) , apartments were allotted by the government based on needs , travelling abroad was ‘ need based ’ , even travel to other cities within Soviet Union required permission. Sometimes there would be a long line in the shop and the person at the end of the line did not know what is being sold. This is not an exaggeration as I was to witness it once.  I heard from one of the Indian officials that when onions arrived after a severe shortage the entire staff in the embassy were   absconding as they rushed to buy ( Embassy had many north Indians and particularly Punjabis ) before stocks got exhausted.

However , there were shops called Beriozka in Moscow where one could buy much different goods paying hard currency such as USD, Pound, Mark etc. These were still run by the state. That meant only foreigners could shop there. Holding hard currency by a Soviet citizen was illegal and subject to severe punishment. The government wanted hard currency desperately. The foreign buyers were treated courteously and of course the crowd was much less. Any Russian seen in Bezioska would be a suspect as he is not supposed to have any foreign currency.

Goods sold in the shops ranged from products like watches (inexpensive, often attractive but difficult to repair outside the Soviet Union) to blank tape cassettes, imported perfumes and liquor, sundries and snacks, books and records. Of most interest to many tourists were the amber jewelry and gilded enamelware, cheerful khokhloma (painted wooden bowls, spoons and other household objects), luminous lacquered boxes illustrated with scenes from Russian folklore and history, Matryoshka or nesting dolls, embroidered skirts, children's toys and woodcarvings -and, of course, vodka and caviar. 


We had done our research well. What is available and where and when. Someone would announce that ‘ Arun Batra bought watches or some beautiful toy or whatever ’ and the news would spread quickly. Saturday program was set subject to any meeting Prof Rao might call. Better than Google map – we would have information like which Beriozka , which Metro station, which line, timings, price. Alternately , Beriozka  near university though a little far ( cost of Metro travel was the same ) was also available in case the first one ran out of stocks.

We bought Cuckoo clocks ( beautiful ones which would be wound by pulling a chain and the Cuckoo would come out every hour and chime) . These were available in a far off Beriozka ( but could be reached in less than 20 minutes by metro at the cost  of10 kopecks  - return tkt - or less . Compare : a cup of  Tea would cost 3 kopecks and 100 kopecks make a ruble ).

Some bought vacuum cleaners  (not in these shops though )  – so heavy and unwieldy – and carried them as hand luggage. It was very amusing if you are not the one who bought it. The heavy, sturdy vacuum cleaners would somehow reach Bangalore homes and within a week would find their final resting place in the garage or closet.

Some bought cheese ( what ? if you exclaim you do have a point ). It had to overcome barriers of a few days of storage ( no refrigerator in the room except the suite Prof Rao had ) , transport , customs in India and finally had to make a quick dash to the home and reach wife. I do not have a first hand information on how cheese tasted  or smelt after such hazardous journey but have a fair idea. I was one of the lucky ones, a conservative South Indian who would not spend money easily and hence was spared of some of the adventures. Our Project Director ( Dr Kasturi Rangan ) had to buy as Prof Rao did or recommended. He exclaimed to us how great a purchase he had made in an excited voice at once fake and with more than a trace of regret which he tried to hide unsuccessfully. I smiled.

Some bought  mother toys and vodka ( limited  as Customs would allow ) and foreign cigarettes ( not popular as they were expensive ). Caviar ( fish eggs ) black and shiny was very popular with Russians and expensive and was served only in Banquets. There would be sparkle in the eyes of Russians and  if I say in fact a respect and reverence as they waited impatiently for their turn to fill their plate it would not be an exaggeration at all.  Our Indian buyers even non -vegetarian ones and exposed  ( or thought to have been  ) to western norms , found fish eggs to be repulsive and in any case not worth the expense. They did not even try it when it was free in official dinners.

On Cheese : Russian one was ordinary ( from my later experience ) but was far better than Indian variety if at all it existed. May be they ( Russians )  had only one or two types of cheese reflecting the level of complexity they could handle. I recall,  speaking of France , the then president  Charles ge Gaulle said :
How can anyone govern a nation that has two hundred and forty-six different kinds of cheese?


Let me narrate two interesting incidents. First  was the time when we were waiting for our flight from Beikanur to Moscow. The flight was delayed and naturally no reasons were given and it was not known when would it happen. We 15 – 18 of  us and Prof Rao, PD etc. After one or two hours we were given some coupons which could be exchanged for food and drinks. Food was an apology and hence drinks. We collected all coupons and got them exchanged for Bear. It was good that some did not want to drink. One , Prof Rao did not feel it appropriate at his level to go to the counter. Two, PD had to follow the boss. Three, there were people who were teetotalers  and soft drinks were not available . Rest of us had no such compulsions nor inhibitions . We sat on the floor , formed a circle and started drinking bear  ( as if it was ambrosia ) with a lot of animated discussions on all topics of interest in cacophony of voices at once clear, loud and simultaneous. Initially we were looked down. As the waiting time increased we could see the smile on Prof Rao’s face turn to irritation and I imagine a tinge of regret. PD was miserable ( ‘ trishanku ’). After a while our guardian angels ( KGB as we called them affectionately ) also  joined us and we had a great time. In fact when flight was announced there was a feeling of reluctance to get up.

The second one involves Patki. He went to Moscow with some team and was returning. At the Indian airport at the customs he was asked to declare the bottles of drink he had brought. One bottle was allowed and there was one smaller one which was not. No amount of cajoling could help. So as only AVP could do, he opened the forbidden bottle and drank it. And walked out of customs triumphantly.

As I look back at us – middle class, conservative, thrifty , opportunistic folks – I can not but smile. Small things, small pleasures but resulted in deeper bonds ,  diminished hostilities , formed new friendships. We were small men but collectively not that small. We achieved something that we ( not just  the team that went there ) could feel proud of.

I am not indulging in nostalgia which glorifies the past nor feels bad that those good old days are gone and yearns for that to return.

Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And think of all the great things we would do
…        
                                                      Mary Hopkin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QptZ8tYZAkE

Or more intensely and with religious fervor a song from  ‘Meera ‘ , a Tamil movie , sung by MS
‘ anda naalum vandidatho ; brindavanayhil Kannan valarntha’  ( can we get back those days when Krishna grew up in Brindavan )
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjJZFo1sm-w

I am not immune to it but keep reminding myself that magical days are here and now.

I keep thinking if it is nostalgia that makes these fond or dear to me. I am aware that nostalgia can blur memories, add colours , make oneself appear in better light  …  If past can play important role in shaping present, it is also true that view of the past can be painted by present. I do not hold much importance if life is enjoyed only in nostalgia. I do believe that when things / events happened and we experienced them did I ( we ) feel so as I do now ? Did I enjoy or feel the emotions at that time ?
In a larger sense meaning to those little things or for that matter to life itself does not arise from them alone. It is what we ascribe to them; what we imbue into them.

I keep recalling a line from Thyagaraja
Enaati Nomu Phalamo! Ye Daana Balamo!
( What penance and vows have brought me this blessing? To which generous alms given by me do I owe this fortune? )

That brings me to the present , grateful , happy and alive to glorious life. I hope I can retain that.

Cosmodrome – Baikonur

I had the good fortune of being part of a launch team that went to Cosmodrome for satellite readiness and launch. I went a couple of times. Several interesting things happened during the trips.

First  travel. It was always Air India -  as Government officials could only travel on Air India. Often we went to Mumbai in the evening and then would catch the mid night flight to Moscow. Later from Moscow to Baikonur we flew Aeroflot . We would reach Mumbai and would be put up in Centaur ( another GOI undertaking ). It was big, luxurious and intimidating and five star I suppose. We would shun any  help in carrying our baggage to our rooms. The reason is easy to guess – to avoid paying any tips ( we had to save from such trips you see ). To add, the waiters and others were much better  dressed and looked smarter than us. Dinner was buffet , paid by AI and generally excellent. Again  no tips please we are ISRO officials.

In Air India flights food was not a problem. If drinks were free,  hurry up. Look for any inexpensive thing to buy. Perfume , while not cheap ,  was my favourite. Whiskey etc , needed as per Structures norm , would have to wait for the return trip. In any case Vodka in Moscow was easily available and cheap.

Landing and clearances at Moscow airport would be intimidating. The large airport would be empty . You stand in a line and when your turn comes hand over the documents ( white passports ! ) to a severe looking and unsmiling official and wait. You were to look straight ahead all the time boxed inside two small but heavy gates. No smiles please - we are now in USSR. After an uncertain period of time a heavy sound of stamping ( not on passport but on a visa paper issued separately by them ) and gates would open.

At the Moscow Hotel ( no room service ; bourgeois values are not tolerated for common people  ) all passports were whisked away ( no receipts ) for ‘ verification ‘ and would be returned after two days. There was a phone in the room but no directory. So also in public booths. The logic was that if you know a person you would know his / her phone number.

We would be asked to leave all our baggage at the curb ( footpath ) near airport. It will be loaded they assured us. In a way it was good as we were not to carry it to the counter etc. All our tickets would be collected and when it was time to go we would be asked to get into a bus to take us to the plane waiting somewhere . The flight from Moscow to Baikonur by Soviet Airlines would make us feel how good Air India was. The Air hostesses would be formidable ladies and even request for water was hesitatingly made and grudgingly fulfilled.

We were accommodated in some  place near Baikonur  with no name or identification. We would be asked to remain indoors. Sometimes the guide would take us out. She would take us and show basketball court, school ( not functioning at that time ) , Town hall etc. No newspapers and no magazines. If there were any they would talk about party secretary opening something, decadent west, sacrifices made by Soviets during the Great war. TV was there in the lobby but broadcast was only in Russian. Only one that was of any interest was a channel showing domestic football ( soccer ) . Lakshmisha , a very orthodox colleague of ours ( more on him later ) , would occupy the best seat in the room  for TV and doze.

Our daily trip to Cosmodrome would begin sharply at 8 30 am ( or whatever time fixed by them ) and would take an hour or more. We would always have a vehicle in front of our bus. A couple of ‘ guides’ ( we said KGB ) would travel with us and doors would be locked throughout the journey. The scene outside was dreary with no vegetation and with no traffic and the road straight and desolated. After we arrived at the Cosmodrome hall we were to stay inside  till the end of the day. There was a break for lunch to a nearby building and we would be escorted. When outside was cold and it was snowing I shuddered at the thought of Siberia where thousands perished during Stalin’s regime. There was uncertainty, fear and a sense of doom  (  for fun, once I posted a letter written in Kannada to Usha with Bangalore address. There was nothing objectionable in it. It arrived after a month of my return )

The hall would be like ( was ) a giant hanger. Not very clean. No 10,000 or 10,000 ( particles per cubic meter or foot or something like that; lower the better is the norm  ) cleanliness. Our clean rooms in ISAC were of much higher standard .You could spot pigeons sometimes.

Then some unexpected things. Closer to  the launch, one day we went home after finishing the work. Next day the last stage of the rocket was inside the hall ! It had arrived along with other stages the previous night by rail. Long freight train. Contrast it with NASA vehicles !

At the end of the day we would board the bus for the long ride back to our hostel / home whatever. Some would doze, some chat, some joke, some would calculate how much they had saved so far , some would sing Hindi songs till we were close to the hostel. When it was a popular song such as ‘ Mera Jhuta hai japani ’ or ‘ mai Awara hoon’ our Soviet person ( s  ) including driver would join ( it was said that after  Gandhi and Nehru, Raj Kapoor was the most well known Indian in USSR ).There was a turning that we needed to take to reach our destination and that was a signal that we were 2 or 3 minutes away. Then someone would say ‘ aa gaya  ‘ and we would sing in unison ‘ sare jahan se acha hindostan hamara’ . It always brought a lump to my throat and a tear which I would wipe shyly. 
Who was sitting next to me ? An Agarwal, a Menon, a  Raman , a Rao,  a Goswamy, a Verghese ? I forgot or rather never even thought. There was no need to preach patriotism. Oneness in our work united us all.

( On Hindi : I feel Hindi zealots did it all wrong. To spread Hindi they should have stuck to two themes / modes : Bhajans and religious verses such as  of Meera or Tulsidas and second Hindi movies and songs . Everyone would have embraced Hindi – at conversational level – whole heartedly. Dr Reddy learning Hindi in ISAC as per rules sat for the exam and as luck would have it he was in the first  row . No one to look up to. There was a question about a popular tyohar ( festival ) in Karnataka and he wrote ‘ Gundu Rao ‘. How about me ? I declared myself very busy for a couple of years and later self declared that my Hindi was good enough . I had passed ‘ Madhyama’ long back )

I had the great fortune to witness one of their launches ( SEO or IRS I forget ) with our satellite. We ( some ) were standing behind a building and waited for the launch. If it had failed no one ( of us ) would have survived. A roar, an earth quake like vibration and the rocket took off. Fire and fury. Unimaginable experience. I was stuck dumb and deaf as the expression goes. The launch, the noise, spectacle of fire and the launch vehicle slowly rising from the ground and then accelerating is etched in my memory. There was beauty, power, precision, years of work, grandeur of science and technology – all in super human doses. It made one so small and at the same time one’s heart would swell with pride. True it was not our efforts but I felt an Engineer in Soviet Union would have felt like me. I could keenly feel the oneness with many Soviet Engineers, unseen ,  who would have put in such hard work, faced many failures and tasted success at last. Marvel of Engineering. We congratulated everyone around and were wild with excitement. A Soviet colleague while smilingly accepting our congratulations said that it was somewhat routine for them as launches took place regularly ( once in ten days I learnt later during the peak of cold war ).

More over it was our satellite riding inside the rocket. Hundreds of Engineers had worked on it and it had taken 3 - 4 years. It was truly our baby. It was impossible not to feel so emotional. It united us all . A common goal achieved and that success and the intense feeling of  camaraderie and excitement I would never experience again.

That also reminds me of a scene in some other Cosmodrome. A Soviet Engineer came to the launch pad to sort out some problem in one of their vehicles ( what problem ? no one would tell you ) . He was expected to return in a week or two. Problems persisted and the Engineer stayed on for the next 2 ½ years and actually died there. They have preserved his office and the things he used – paper, pen, slide rule, drawing board. What touched me was the respect they had for his skills, dedication and knowledge. Here in India Sir M Visveshawarayya is the only Engineer honoured ( Bharat Ratna ) . We have scant respect for Engineers , Technologists or medical professionals ( a small anecdote : Sir – not yet - MV went to watch Jog Falls – or Shivansamudram -  and the glorious falls was in full flow. An artist or  one like us would have exclaimed what a beauty, God is great etc . It is quite understandable. MV exclaimed ‘ what a waste ’ ) .

People talking lightly of progress made in science or technology make me really sad and angry. Every child should learn science to some level at least and have healthy respect for the giant strides that are taking place. It is difficult to find people to share the wonders of science or Technology – Physics, Biology, Medicine, Genetics, Aerospace, Communication . Discussion is out of question. Daily miracles in our  lives pass by. Instead we talk of levitation at some Sadhu’s place , some pillar at Lepakshi hanging from the top, Ajantha caves carved by aliens , how Tulsidas has correctly estimated the distance of earth from sun , Nostradamus predictions, Bermuda Triangle, quantum healing and non local interactions , how our ancients knew God particle and theory of relativity… We are all well educated men and women. It is an insult to common sense. And we worship Saraswati.

Aroma

Aroma

One of the earliest memories of smell that I liked is that of coffee. Due to some reason we were not denied coffee even in our younger age. I remember drinking it at the age of 8 . The aroma of coffee getting filtered in our traditional steel filter and the tinkling sound of tumblers ( Stainless Steel of course ) would wake me up. A quick brushing of teeth would find me in the kitchen for my coffee.  But there was a chore connected with coffee that was not pleasant . It was often my job to take green beans to the shop and get them roasted and powdered ( ‘ filter ‘ coffee I would faithfully instruct the shop person so that he would grind it coarse ) . The job was not difficult. It would take 30 – 45 minutes. The problem was that invariably the ‘ bulav ‘ would come from mother / sisters in the evening when I would be busy playing cricket. Often I would be at the verge of getting my batting turn after a long wait. But Coffee is coffee and it could not be postponed and I would have to sacrifice my cricket and no one would care. Why can’t girls ( elder sisters ) do this ? What a question !

Coffee has been with me for as long as I can remember. In my hey days I have woken up my wife in the night and asked for coffee. She would prepare coffee in the dead of the night . ‘ ಹೆಂಡತಿ ಸಂತತಿ ಸಾವಿರವಾಗಲಿ ‘

Coffee – later – at Starbucks. Irrespective what one feels about Starbucks coffee ( better ones available etc ) , my fascination has been the aroma that welcomes you as you step in. I recall with fondness when Mythili was at her  previous apartment, I would go for a walk and at the end reward myself a prize. Sit and sip coffee in a Starbucks café which was just two minutes away from her home.

Now when I don’t get the aroma here in Bangalore, I sometime wonder ( with a little concern I should admit ) if I am slowly  losing my ability to smell.

Then there is bakery. Biscuits freshly baked in VB bakery in Sajjan Rao  Circle , Bangalore. For a long time it was my Gold standard for Bakery items. ಬೆಣ್ಣೆ ಬಿಸ್ಕೆಟ್ಟು , ಉಪ್ಪು ಬಿಸ್ಕೆಟ್ಟು , ಖಾರ ಬಿಸ್ಕೆಟ್ಟು, ಮಸಾಲೆ ಬನ್ನು , ಬೆಣ್ಣೆ ಜಾಮ್ ಬನ್ನು - ಒಂದೇ ಎರಡೇ   …. Wah. The aroma of a tray of freshly baked biscuits coming out of Oven would be irresistible.

Later, Bread in Mythili’s home was invariably delicious. She makes it from scratch and the sight of dough swelling is so good and the aroma of bread baking in the oven would fill the house.

Have you ever tasted ಮಿಡಿ ಮಾವಿನಕಾಯಿ ? Don’t exclaim - what a question ? Let me rephrase it. I am talking about ಜೀರಿಗೆ ಮಿಡಿ ಮಾವಿನಕಾಯಿ  . The aroma is so good and the taste of pickles matches that. One would eat everything – ಕಾಯಿ , ತೊಟ್ಟು , ಬೀಜ .

Then there is this anticipatory aroma. When Khus Khus ( ಗಸ ಗಸೆ ) is boiling it spreads a sweet and strong aroma which you could smell several feet away. I would take a deep breath and wait for ಗಸ ಗಸೆ ಪಾಯಸ .

I should not forget my daily ( lowly , unheralded ) ಉದ್ದಿನ ಬೇಳೆ , ಈರುಳ್ಳಿ , ಶುಂಠಿ  . Each one has a character of its own. And of course ಸಾರು - ಇಂಗು , ಸಾರಿನ ಪುಡಿ, ಉಪ್ಪು , ಹುಳಿ , ಕರಿಬೇವು , ಕೊತ್ತಂಬರಿ ಸೊಪ್ಪು , ಸಕ್ಕರೆ - ಹಾಕಿ ಕುದಿಸುವಾಗ  life is so good.

Lastly at the end of the day -  schedules gone wrong, analysis results don’t match tests, Dr Reddy is sniggering, design review is fast approaching , I keep wondering how to get a  loan for ear ( which one ) boring ceremony, will I or will I not make it to promotional interview and so many other earth shaking things  - you get down from the bus , one stop before the usual one – and the aroma of ಆಲು ಬೋಂಡ , ಮೆಣಸಿನ ಕಾಯಿ ಬಜ್ಜಿ  from my favourite shop near Uma theatre lifts my mood. After that I can face any problem !

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Perfumes have always attracted me.  Colloquially they are called ‘ ಸೆಂಟು  ‘ in Kannda . First one I ever bought was for Usha called Intimate. It was sold in Air India flights ( my trips to USSR ) probably at a discount. It was so good ( I knew no other ). Later Poisson, Kenzo came. So delicate. Sometimes it is there and sometimes gone.

I wish I had the means to try out Men’s perfume at that time

In the world outside, freshly cut grass has a sweet smell and you feel it is morning . It was generally in USA I would experience this. Not much of grass here anyway. Slightly pushed and in an imaginative mood  I could even think that given ‘ right’ circumstances  I would have become another Wordsworth ( it is always somebody else’s fault if I did not become one ).

At the end of a hot summer day, as day dies down, temperature drops, a slight breeze blows and brings in the scent of ರಾತ್ರಿ ರಾಣಿ flower from our garden. A tinge of sadness appears and I don’t know why.

Sometimes, summer also brings in a light rain in Bangalore. It wets the earth and an aroma , at once lifting our mood, emanates from the earth. If it rains hard it is gone. But when it lasts it is so invigorating. ಮಣ್ಣಿನ ವಾಸನೆ ಅಲ್ಲವೇ .

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A couple of years back I happened to go to my friend’s resort in Coorg. It was probably February but I can’t be sure. Coffee plants were blooming and a stretch was full of white flowers. Beautiful to look at and even more beautiful was the smell. Flowers last two weeks or so and then they are gone. I hope to make a trip next year. It is rather silly and sad that I , living in Karnataka , never experienced it till now.

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Completely different aromas and entwined with strong, delicate and wistful emotions  and often impossible to separate are these.

First ,  the smell of saree of my mother. We were already four children then and if sufficient attention was not bestowed on any one it was not unusual or unexpected. Sometimes I would wait impatiently for my mother to finish her work and come to me. I don’t remember any stories being told but have a distinct memory of the smell of her saree as I cuddle closer.

Second is the smell of woman you love. A cocktail of aromas and emotions ; heady mixture as it were . I will leave it at that.

The third is the baby smell. There is an aroma of the baby that is difficult to describe – a combination of milk and honey, sweet and heavy ; it combines with the smoothness of the skin and softness of the tender body. I often recall this of our children and live again with recent experience of Gundu. It brings tears.

Some tribes greet each other by sniffing their forehead. I feel like doing it with Gundu. There may be some primordial instinct in it !

Devotees yearn to see God, hear Him, feel Him. Some have even claimed to have done it /  experienced it in reality. But has any one smelt God ?