Hemantha Kalam - 66 'Learnings of a teacher'

Sometime during 1984, when I was specialising in Materials Management by taking lessons in the evenings from University of Madras, India, my professor in management Dr. Jaigopal asked me to take a class for the rest of my classmates and explain to them the management aspects practiced at my work place. At the end, not only did my classmates, but also my professor appreciated my session. That became my first lesson to teach and the seed was sown for my teaching.

Then, in 2002, I had an opportunity to address, in a class room mode, the general and senior managers across the country of the security department of Reserve Bank of India, on the importance of having electronic surveillance fixed at vantage positions of the branches of the bank. That session was loved by all the participants as also by my boss.

It was like GOD beckoning and bequeathing me with an option of teaching! Having been born into that class of people in India, whose profession and dharma was to learn and teach, I am happy that at the dusk of my life I am getting an opportunity to do exactly the same – assimilate and disseminate knowledge. From 2006, there has been no looking back and today over 60% of my professional time is spent on teaching various aspects; out of knowledge and experience gathered over four decades and no need to emphasise, I am quite passionate about that. Teach'em a lesson, wilya? :-)

So, in the middle of 2019, when a meeting was arranged between the director of a business school associated with an age old highly reputed educational institution and myself, I did not hesitate much to accept the opportunity provided by him to teach. It was an institution where I failed to get an admission for my college education some five decades ago, due to their high and ‘my poor’ standards. Apart from being proud, I also felt it paradoxical that today they are asking me to impart lessons on an important subject in that very institution.

I am to take five sessions of Law on Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR), on Saturdays, across four hours for each session making the total course 20 hours, preparation time another twenty 20 hours, travel time (the place took a commute of about 45 minutes each way) about 8 hours, question paper setting for an interim exam and a final exam, evaluating answer papers of the students who took the exams, all put together, worked out to about 80 hours of work.

With a lot of excitement I went to the first class 10 minutes ahead of time, sacrificing my morning sleep. It was the first time that I was stepping on to the campus and I was awestruck for the neatly maintained colonial buildings and the gardens in the campus. And then I began waiting. Students started sauntering into the class after about 30 minutes. The coming in continued till the first break which was two hours after the starting of the class. At the end of any day, the students were never more than 10 in the class, while I was given to understand that the total enrollment were 24 students.

So the classes limped and in between an interim exam was conducted. Interestingly I found, from the papers sent to me for evaluation, that several students cheated by copying from my presentations. So while announcing the results, I succinctly put forward that CSR Managers are to be highly ethical and such behaviour is not acceptable. They (well, whoever was present in the class on that day), all nodded.

The final exam was to be conducted in the month of March 2020 and thanks to the continuous lock-down due to COVID-19 (Corona Virus), the exam got postponed several times and finally the institution felt that the exams will have to be conducted  online and from the students’ homes/hostels/premises.

Question paper would be mailed to students’ email IDs and the exam would have to be taken within 2 hours and written answer sheets to be scanned and mailed within 30 minutes after the end of the specific examination, to the institution.

After the exam was over, the institution mailed me the papers in a zipped file, for evaluation. This came along with a roster, where the names of all the 24 students enrolled for the programme were let known to me for the first time after my completing my part. I noted that 22 students took the exam and two were absent for this too. There were so many names to which I could not put a face to. Rank new names were there.

The papers gave me a ringside view of how ingenious our dear students are.

There was one student who wrote sentences that went from 0 to 150 degrees and I have to incline and recline my neck to read through, developing a neck pain while I am already suffering from spondylitis.

Having once been bitten by the copycats, this time I had set questions in a jumbled manner so that they will need to take time to search for answers while copying. But then, such gimmicks would be easily tackled by my dear students. They, apparently, kept all my PPT presentations in a chronological order and searched for questions based on the presentations and answered in a jumbled manner. Now it became a task for me to find the keys while evaluating. And I thought, what a smart alec I was. How naïve and innocent I could be?

The question paper had two sections. The simple questions fetching two marks each were 10 and all 10 needed to be answered. The second part needed some writing as each question fetched them 16 marks (Institution’s standard). So a choice of taking in five out of a total seven questions was given.

Many students smartly tackled the big ones first and attempted the easier ones later.

After going through two or three answer papers, I could notice a pattern emerging. Excepting for three or four students all the rest virtually copied word to word, comma to comma whatever was given in the presentations, leaving me in a predicament to disallow or allow. If I disallow it would tantamount to saying that my own answers were not correct. If I allow, almost everyone was getting a ‘E’ or ‘D’. Rank new comers, unknown to me and those who never attended even one of my classes could  also get an ‘E’ or a ‘D’.

Ironically, those who really tried to write on their own could get only ‘A+’ or ‘A’. And then there were those dolts who could not even copy properly or in time.

I strongly suspect that all or some of the participating students must have, conveniently, fixed a Google Duo or Zoom or such app for a meeting among themselves and comfortably discussed the answers. Some answer papers were so identical to each other, even in the sequence of the question/answer numbers.

There were those smarter guys who attempted only those questions that could make them pass and took it easy for the rest.

Finally, at the end of the exercise, I noted that almost all not only passed but with flying colours. It also left me with a few questions.

1) If getting all the students just pass is the intention, why waste time in all this farce? Certificates could have been simply given off making every one’s life that much easier. After all, it is a known fact that many would not remember this skill and anyway they would be invoking that all pervasive new god ‘Google’ for every one of their needs.

2) The students are of mixed nature whose age must be ranging from the early twenties to late forties. While some of them are fresh students just out of college or still in college but doing the course for an additional qualification, there also are several working executives. Sadly the copying was more intensive among the executives. Now CSR is also about business ethics. If the students themselves are not ethical, what ethics are they going to practice at work or insist with implementing partners?

The Hindus believe that the time of the earth has been measured in terms of four Yugas, each signified by the amount of Dharma (loosely can be interpreted as justice; at least for this blog’s purpose) prevalent in that time. The first one was Kruta Yuga or Satya Yuga where dharma was 100%. Then came Tretaa Yuga where dharma was 75%. This was followed by Dwaapara Yuga where dharma was 50%. Now, the present time is supposed to be Kali Yuga where only 25% dharma is supposed to be prevalent.

So, this is how it is going to be? If so, am I right in conceding to teaching to follow my intended professional dharma?

What do you think? Pray, tell me!

So long until the next one! 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Bohoma Sthuthiyi (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai),Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 65 "This day That year"

My parents truly wanted an independent life – independent of paying monthly house rentals, debts and loans and thus equated monthly instalments (EMIs). Having virtually started from scratch and zero money in my father’s pockets, it was not an easy dream to be realised.

They worked hard, practiced thrift and saved every paisa, they could. It was just the three of us at that time, as my siblings were not born yet.

Since 1965, my father was on the lookout for buying some empty plots affordable for him. Apartments were almost unknown then, in Chennai (then Madras). We visited Singaperumal Koil (where 2,400 sq ft of land or one ground was costing a mere Rs.40), then Pallavaram, at the foot of Tirusulam hills where one ground cost Rs.200 and in Saligramam where one ground of plot with a fruit bearing mango tree was costing Rs.3,000. Both Singaperumal Koil and Pallavaram plots were not considered as they were way too far for my school and my father almost settled to buy the Saligramam plot. This plot was owned by some eight family members who apparently had several differences of opinion on the disposal of the plot. Meantime, the Kodambakkam rail over bridge (ROB) was inaugurated and like magic, the rates of plots zoomed up and the plot owners said that they were not selling the plot.

Sometime during 1966, one of our close family friends, dear Devendranath uncle (since demised) came home and told my father that there was a new layout being made out, in a nice coconut grove, on the border between Vadapalani and Saligramam and the quality of land is good.

In those days, buying land for investment was hardly known to normal people. Every one saved desperately to own and construct a home in a plot. One Mr. Dharani Singh Gramani (since demised) had eleven and half acres of coconut grove with about 1,000 coconut trees and which was developed into a layout of 92 plots with each plot being a minimum of one ground. Each plot got anything between six to eight yielding coconut trees (out of those 1,000 trees, today you can hardly see trees in double digits in the entire colony - so much for civilisation and development). However, since the grove was grown for tapping toddy, it took about two years thence for yielding coconuts. Nice roads of a minimum 30 feet wide were allotted. One afternoon we went and saw the plot and my father liked to book a North-East corner plot. We got eight coconut trees for our share.

 

The layout was made and plots were sold by one RMC Traders whose office was located opposite to today’s Vadapalani Police Station. I distinctly remember our visiting the place and booking the plot by giving a token advance of some Rs.250 or so. This was sometime in the end of 1966.

Immediately, my father took us all to Hotel Udupi Ganesh Bhavan, a few meters away, which was actually a restaurant with some tables in a hall and some tables under the trees in the yard. We had some light snacks and coffee as a celebration.

Those days, that was the only restaurant in Vadapalani, after which another one could have been found only at Porur or Poondamalli. Because Vadapalani depot, about a kilo meter away from our plot, was being just constructed and all buses, except three, used to terminate at Vadapalani Murugan’s temple and return. From there, the nearby villages of Saligramam and Virugambakkam can be reached by only a single horse drawn vehicle called ‘Jutka’. Places like Valasaravakkam, Porur were from the other world. The three buses that went beyond Vadapalani were 17 B to Maangaadu, 63 to Poondamalli or Tiruverkadu (I don’t remember it for certain) and 88 to Kundrathur.

The next few months were occupied in putting together the rest of the money needed for the plot, getting it registered (those days the registration was done with utmost courtesy) and my father now started working towards saving and putting together money for a decent hut (cottage to say it respectfully) to be put up in the plot.

But when compared to the costs of a hut, which required regular maintenance and also taking the safety aspects into consideration, it was decided by my parents that they will build a simple home of two rooms with asbestos sheets for roof. They consulted Vaastu Sastra (the knowledge of which spilled over to me too and making me a bit proficient in the subject) and decided on where and how the house will be located and what the elevation facing would be (It was decided to be East facing). Then they approached late Ramchandra Rao Sajip (R. R. Sajip, since demised), a Konkani speaking architecture professor in Guindy Engineering College (I think) and asked for his advice. He was kind enough to design and make a plan for a simple two roomed house.

I think RMC Traders, who sold the plot to us suggested a contractor to undertake the construction for us. My father, though was not qualified, was a great materials manager and a resource person (I am a qualified materials manager and considered to be good at negotiations but to date, could never negotiate a single thing for my advantage). He has decided to go for second hand (used and removed from some dismantled house) teak doors and windows and after making a thorough search identified a supplier for four doors and for windows for the house.

The contractor was Mr. Krishnan (since demised) who actually graduated to be a contractor from being a mason. He used to ride a Jawa motorcycle and ever since, I always wanted to own and ride a Jawa motorcycle a desire for some reason or other I could not succeed in fulfilling, till date.

The construction work began and almost every evening, after my school closed, my mother and I used to walk from our home in T. Nagar to the bus stop which was called the ‘Maattu Aasupathri Stop’ (Animal Hospital stop near today’s Valluvar Kottam) and get one of the three buses that came first and which would drop us near AVM Film studios. From there, we used to walk on the Arunachalam Road (hardly eight or 10 feet wide road topped with asphalt/tar) and crossing the farms and mango groves of the film mogul L. V. Prasad we used to reach our plot. Except for a rare passing Jutka or a car to or from a film studio (there were three studios then but now only one is limping), the road was mostly uninhabited. But those village scenes were so beautiful when compared to the present day’s developed ugliness. People also have become more self centered and cunning compared to the naiveté and innocence of the villagers then.

We used to supervise the construction and for daily updates chat with Mr. Sengeni (since demised), whom we had temporarily hired for a monthly salary of Rs.40, and accommodated as a live-in Watchman to take care of the bricks, blue metal, sand and cement and later the woodwork and the steel to be used for the construction.

As I was involved in the construction of our house, right from the point of buying the plot till construction, I have had the total hands-on experience of house construction. I was just above 10 years of age then. This experience came in handy later, when my parents started expanding the house and I lent a hand right from digging foundations to buying raw material and supervising the daily construction etc.

Finally, the house was completed to a level where the insides and the front and backside of the exterior were plastered and white washed. On 15^th April, 1967, we had had our simple ‘gruha pravesam’ (house warming) celebrated. One of my grand uncles then remarked to my father that he (my father) was rather foolish to construct a house in such a wilderness and how that is going to adversely affect his son’s (mine) education and other prospects. True to his averment, living there became fun and risky too. There were quite a few snakes, no electricity for a year and I had to study in hurricane lantern’s light and so on (another blog on this later, perhaps).

After finishing some balance construction work, we occupied the house on the 30^th April, 1967 for good. After this, my parents never again had occasion to stay in any rented houses. Both my parents thus successfully fulfilled one of their major dreams.

When we were constructing, there were five or six houses in Kumaran Colony and just one house, neighbouring ours, in our own colony and we were the second to construct a house in the colony. The previous house here was constructed by late N. R. Rao who retired as a stenographer from a multinational publishing house in Chennai and constructed a two tenement house in his plot with his retirement money. They were originally from Triplicane in Chennai and all their relatives were there only. Since, we were to occupy our house on the 30^th April (1967) and they had a function to do on the 1^st May, they locked their house and went to Triplicane.

As scheduled, we arrived on 30^th April, in a truck carrying our meager household material that included a steel cupboard, a Philips table radio and a Kassel’s table fan, three foldable camp cots, bedding material and a few clothes. My father and mother sat in the cabin of the truck and I stood in the carriage space along with the packers and loaders. Though I was quite scared, while doing so, I enjoyed the drive too which was so novel. Now I lost count as to how many times I rode in trucks, in all formats, in my life so far. In fact, I learnt driving on a 6 tonner truck.

After settling down, we were tired and fell asleep. One most important thing was that as the layout was new and the nearest electric power pole was quite far, we didn’t have electricity. So we ate our supper quickly and being tired of packing and unpacking, slept off fast and sound.

The next morning, my mother woke up first, and looked around through the window and found our neighbour’s back door, looking on to our house was wide open. There was a tin box that was thrown open and many papers including documents and registration papers strewn around were flying about. My mother woke my father and asked him to check whether the old couple returned back and when my father wanted to enter their house through the gate he found the main door open with a broken lock and bolt. He could make out that the house was actually burgled.

When there is no power itself, there is no question of having a telephone in the vicinity. My father quickly finished his ablutions, had a cup of coffee and pedalled to the nearest police station, in Vadapalani. Meantime, a few people, passing by on the way to their work, in the nearby film studios, stopped to find what all the commotion was about.

A guy who was doing his morning ‘business’ in the fields, about half a kilometre away came and showed us a small metal alarm clock saying that as he squatted down to attend to his ‘business’, the alarm started ringing in the open field and he was startled, to say the least. It was hilarious and having imagined his plight I couldn’t hold back my laughter. Having seen some commotion yonder, he brought it to us to check what is happening.

During all this, my father reached the police station, only to be told by the police there that it is not their jurisdiction and asked my father to go to Maduravoyal police station. My father had to find his way about and got to Maduravoyal police station. There too, initially they were reluctant to take cognizance of such a ‘petty crime’ but when my father informed them for whom he was working (would be vice president of India), they relented and sent a constable with my father. The constable came and went around the house with my father tagging as a witness and found the house in turmoil with everything pulled apart including mattresses and pillows.

We did not know how to reach the old couple and conveyed the message to the gentleman’s office from where he retired from and sometime in the afternoon they came home. By evening we came to know that the damage was minimal with some small amount of cash and some petty material was lost. The old lady was smart enough to bundle all jewels and hide the bundle within the charcoal sack which the thief didn’t touch.

For a long time there was speculation that it must have been the work of some local fellow, who knew the old people’s movements well. But, to date, the case remains unsolved.

But, for us, it was a traumatic day. The happiness of coming to our own house vapourised, leaving my mother petrified and later she hardly left the house over a dozen occasions in all these 53 years of our staying in that home. She gave up shopping totally and never watched a movie in a theater thereafter. She stuck to good old home.

Over the years we developed the house and made many changes to what it is today. Yet, the dates of 30^th April and 1^st May became forever etched in our minds and lives.

So long until the next one! 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Bohoma Sthuthiyi (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai),Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 64 "Click right to Type write"

(All pictures courtesy Google search)

This damned key board that I am using for my desktop computer is a sham. For once, my daughter got fooled. She is quite adept in online buying and about gadgets too, but this time, the keyboard, purportedly from an American computer giant, is not easy to type on, as the keys get stuck every third strike or other and just cannot take my speed of typing, which is now about 48 years vintage.

When talking of my typewriting speed I have to inevitably think of the summer of 1972 which was a watershed in my life time. All of 16 years old that I became, my father found it necessary to put me into gainful learnings, during my summer holidays. So, it was learning type-writing and shorthand in the early morning, learning Tamil Language in the morning and learning Hindi language in the evening {it was during these classes that Mr. Annadurai Kannadasan (son of the famous Tamil poet Kannadasan) was my bench mate}.

Helping my mother in bringing up my three siblings, while listening to the radio (those days there was good music - unlike today’s frigging constipated stuff that we are doled out with that you can’t remember the next moment) and practicing my singing with (or should it be on?) my hapless siblings, filled the rest of my day. And yes, I could sneak out for a game of ball-badminton at which I have proven myself good (but not as good as my father). I fretted and fumed against the tight regime, but there was very little I could do against the dictums of my dear father.

I had been a late bird, all my life. Having the dubious distinction of going alone for ‘second-show’ cinemas, at least twice a week, usually from 10.00 pm till at least 12.30 am the next day, and walk home in the dead of the night, several times in pouring rain too, when I was just 13 years of age, it got into my DNA to wake up late in the mornings. Such being the case, you can imagine what an effort it required of me to wake up early in the mornings and to go to the ‘Typewriting Institute’ as that is the name given to the typing learning/teaching centres.

The nearest typewriting institute, called ‘Durga Tutorials and Institute’ was about two kms away from my home and I had to either bicycle (when my father allowed me to use his 24 inches bicycle – a tall guy that he was) or walk halfway to the bus stand or walk the entire distance and save the bus fare. I used to either walk and save, or use my father’s bicycle.

The monthly fee for typewriting was Rs.10 and for the shorthand was Rs.15 (as I could recall the US D was around INR 8 then) meaning that we were paying something like four cents per hour of typewriting classes and about six cents per hour of short-hand classes.

I had initially observed the classes for shorthand from a distance and immediately decided that I am not cut for that as it required patience and practice, both of which I lacked and continue to lack. So I didn’t want to waste good money on buying a new shorthand book and got a used book for about Rs.3 from a vendor on the pavement. For my father’s sake, I attended a few classes of short-hand and could learn strokes for ‘pee bee tee dee’ and then I called it a day, forever for my short-hand classes. This is one language I really didn’t like to learn, at all.

Now coming to the typewriting classes, the hours of classes were decided, by the students, based on three very important factors:

1) Those hours, where good looking and attractive girls also attend, is the primary reason (for boys). Could have been the same for the girls too but at that age I never had the guts to check it out. But then, there have been quite several institutes where love blossomed into marriages – successful or not, please don’t ask me!

2) The type / brand of typewriter that is made available.

3) Convenience of time.

Since my day’s itinerary has already been pre-fixed for me by my father, I had no other go but to attend only the first opening hour for my class.

After a couple of months of learning typing there, I was feeling claustrophobic as the room was too small and overcrowded and I was given a relic of a typewriter called ‘Underwood’ (should have been named ‘Under grave’ actually) to practice on, which was no incentive at all. The only thing that kept me on was the fear of my father and the lady teacher there, who was quite kind.

Soon a new institute opened nearer to my house within half-a-kilo meter's distance from my house, and I got into that institute again, at the opening hour in the early morning. I racked my brains but couldn’t remember the name of this second institute I had attended, which was then opened newly and was located on the first floor opposite Prasad Film Studio on Arunachalam Road, Saligramam, Chennai.

Those days, several ‘type institutes’ were run by secretaries / stenographers who were already employed in some office, but this was to be a source of secondary income and, in most of the cases, run by a brother-in-law, who has accompanied the wife in marriage and who is generally not gainfully employed.

It was a similar case. First the brother-in-law used to come, open the institute, sweep the hall, pick up and dispose of  the earlier day’s litter of garbage, collect water in a pot for drinking, dust all the typewriters, keep the lessons next to each typewriter and be ready for the students. After about an hour and a half, the main person would come who would be teaching shorthand and leave for office after an hour or so. In the evenings, he used to rush to institute straight from the office and go home only after closing the institute after the last batch hour which could easily be by 10 pm at least. Thankfully there were no mobile phones for distractions. When he missed the last bus, there were instances when he walked home, dog tired.

The students would be in different levels of learning; beginning with familiarising on the ‘Qwerty’ keyboard (the word QWERTY was not known to us those days as it has been coined by the later generation of computer whiz kids). The first lesson would be to type continuously ‘asdfgf’;lkjhj asdfgf’;lkjhj’ and so on till you can type the same blindfolded and without looking at the keyboard and using all the fingers of both the hands. After about a week or so, one graduates to typing the next lesson of the upper row “qwertr poiuyu’ and then ‘zxcvbv /.,mnm’ something like that. The final will be digits. Some institutes also taught in Tamil with a specific vernacular key board and which was more difficult than English typewriting.

For all this practice, all institutes used to have run-down vintage models of mostly ‘Underwood’ typewriters, whose keys get stuck deeply or with each other often. So if you wish to graduate to a better typewriter you have to learn faster.

Underwood Typewriter

Then you are made to practice words like imposition. This will go on for at least another fortnight or so. Then you graduate to sentences.

The students had to bring in their own stationery. Once you insert the paper into the platen, balance the edges perfectly and fix both sides margins, you clip it tight and start typing. At the end of every line, you push the handle which pushes the ratchet and moves the platen in a circular motion so that after every line, space for the next line would be ready. The typing ribbons could come in several colours, Black, blue, green, blue and red, black and red etc. One can type in two colours by tipping a small lever on the machine. They also taught exact spacing between lines, words and punctuation etc. Truly, for a sincere student, by the time higher grade exam is completed, s/he would have become a real ace in typewriting.

By the time you are ready to type fast and what is called as ‘speed’ typing, you would have had a practice of at least two or three months. As I remember (well, my memory in this regard is a bit rusty, though) if you are able to type 40 words per minute (WPM), you qualify for having passed the Lower grade, if you can do 80 WPM, it would be higher grade and above 100 WPM means, the high speed grade.

For the speed level practicing, normally institutes used to have Halda and or Remington Rand typewriters and some institutes used to have Godrej typewriters. While the Halda typewriters were of feather touch, the Remington of medium touch, Godrej typewriters required real macho touch. It was much later that Facit typewriters were introduced.

Halda Typewriter

Remington Rand – Standard Typewriter

Godrej Typewriter with a large (wide) carrier

Facit Typewriter

Many of the students did not choose Godrej typewriters in the institutes because they were worried that their tender fingers would ache and that their speed would be impeded. Since there was no competition, I always preferred Godrej typewriters. Well, those days I never had any inkling that one day I would be working for one of the Godrej group companies and continue with them for about 12 years of my life.

Legend has it that Godrej & Boyce, the company which was manufacturing these typewriters, used to set a target for newly joining sales persons to sell at least three typewriters in six months, before confirming them for the job. As the keyboard required hard touch and many stenographers were women with tender fingers, apparently they were not favouring the typewriter and hence it was tough selling the same.

A confirmed but unproven story has it that one particular Chennai based well known film actor (whose son also became a hit film actor) joined as a salesman with the company, could sell only two typewriters, could not sell a third and so did not turn up at office neither to return the unsold machine nor to pay the proceeds of the sale amount of the earlier two typewriters as well, which he had collected from the clients on behalf of the company. The company followed up for quite some time and finally found it profitable to write off the amount and close the matter.

The long and short of it was that I almost had a free run of the Godrej typewriter and practiced my speed on them. Normally since every participant got only an hour of the day for which he has paid, the next batch person would be breathing on your neck for her/his time. In this case, since there weren’t many takers, I didn’t have this issue too. Like Wild Bill Hickok, I never liked my back to the door and never liked people standing behind me, even if that was my instructor. Inevitably my touch became very hard and I could later never type on any light touch typewriters, especially on Halda, ever.

At home, my father had an Italian Olivetti Lettera 22 model portable typewriter from his office for working from home (this ‘working from home’ concept existed in our home since my childhood) and even if I wanted to type on it, I used to feel the difference as between a musk and a mouse. Later when my father quit that job, he very reluctantly returned that typewriter but very soon purchased a Remington Rand Portable typewriter, which we have it to date as one of our father’s several material inheritances. Later, I too purchased a Godrej typewriter and after continuous disuse, disposed it off.

Olivetti Lettera 22 Portable Typewriter

Remington Rand Portable Typewriter

I do not clearly remember whether I qualified for my Lower Grade examination from this typewriting institute or from another Institute called ‘Laxminarayana Institute of Commerce’ or LIC, as it was fondly referred to, which opened up just a couple of streets away, but pass I did.

This institute was run by a family, where the two brothers used to take turns in running the class sessions and the two sisters helped in the upkeep of the institution. The elder brother was working as a secretary in a Multinational Company and with his life savings he started the institute. Later the elder brother got married and his wife, a kind lady, also gave a helping hand in running the institute.  His younger brother was the contemporary of yours faithfully, studying in a college where most of the pious students used to get admitted. Inevitably, he got a gold medal and grew rapidly in life to retire as a director of the Exim Bank in India. Yours faithfully tasted a series of failures, but yet closed his active career as a Managing Director of a Microfinance Institution.

The writing of the typewriting examinations was like a jamboree. The government of our state, Tamilnadu, used to conduct these examinations twice a year. Centrally located large schools would be identified and the examinations would take place on two days in batches for Lower, Higher and High Speed grades of Typewriting and shorthand. Though it was a breeze for arranging the shorthand grade tests, it was a challenge to arrange the typewriting grade tests.

Students would have been used to a particular typewriter and the institutes would have to transport those machines to a designated centre, ensure the safe keeping of the same, co-ordinate the machine, the student and the time for the test to take place. During the grade examination days, the institutes’ owners would not have proper food or sleep, in anxiety, for the safety of their machines as well as for the results of the students. If many students fail, the institute may not attract new students from the next batch. When I was young at 16 years of age, I couldn’t care less, as I never bothered to understand these issues but today when I look back, I do empathise with their agony.

I have passed the lower grade examination and pushed by the success, continued with the institute for the higher grade and practiced real furiously. The fee per month now was just about Rs.15 if I remember and there used to be some students who c/wouldn’t pay this and in time too!

The day for the higher grade examination approached and I was doing the speed of something like about 120 words per minute and the institute really was looking out at me as a sure winner of some record breaking recognition.

I sat before the machine and started hitting it and completed the first page in about five minutes or so; only to note how doltish I was. The paper on which I typed was torn diagonally and became a useless dreck to be submitted. My eyes welled with tears. I think that was one of the first of a series of failures in my life. I took the question paper and hopeless of passing the grade, I still attended the mechanism test, so that I can take in the questions and give them to the institute, for the benefit of future students, as sample questions.

I never again attempted to qualify in typewriting. Today my typing prowess shows for my capability, than my certificate.

But while it lasted, it was fun. We started the practice of celebrating festivals and annual days (anniversaries) of the institute (LIC). We used to have some music, quiz and other interesting sessions. Later it became a ritual and batch after batch celebrated these festivals at the institute till it has been closed in the new millennium and the owners left Chennai for another city.

Recently I read in ‘The Hindu’, an article titled ‘The dulled click-clack’ (https://www.thehindu.com/opinion/open-page/the-dulled-click-clack/article31259480.ece) wherein the author had visited his alma mater typewriting institute some 57 years hence, which actually inspired this blog.

Even if I wish to visit one of my institutes, for nostalgia sake, all the three have been closed eternally. So it’s just good memories and the art in itself that remained with me, despite the present darned keyboard I am using, which seems to be worser than that Underwood I started with.

Well folks, what do you think? Do let me know your thoughts!

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Bohoma Sthuthiyi (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai),Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 63 "Eat Out - Eat In"

I helped in peeling and dicing the raw banana to be turned out into a curry by my wife. Not a big deal. Took me all of about 10 minutes, at the most!

So I was expecting to get a hot and spicy banana fry for lunch and started salivating. But when it was served onto my plate I found it to be different to my expectations and was sort of a little gravied, if I may say so; not the crispy fries but a little moist, as it has been cooked than being fried.

With a bit of disappointment, I continued with my lunch and got onto my thoughts. If only I could have had the choice of eating out! Well, the world is locked down due to COVID-19 (Corona Virus) and under the circumstances going out to even the barber’s shop, almost next door, seems to be impossible.

So, I was (in all lighter vein) ruminating on the differences between eating out and eating in! Well, here’s a quick list I could compile.

Eating out (at restaurants/delis etc.)	Eating in (at home)
Your choice, with the                            chef’s recommendation, if you are up to it.	“Chef’s” choice absolute and most of the times irrevocable.
Scenery can change, as choice of eating out at different places.	Scenery rarely changes, as the place is always the same.
Discreet eating with discreet partners.	Indiscreet and monotonous with the regular ‘clients’ every day.
You have the choice of choosing from a menu.	Choice of menu is rarely yours.
You have the choice of telling your requirement and suggest choices; like roasting it rare, medium or deep.	Your innovative thoughts and suggestions on any specific dish, rarely work.
You don’t need to buy the raw materials.	You better get the raw materials if you want to eat.
If you are with guests, there are chances of the guests footing the bill, sometimes.	No such luxuries! You better cough up even for y/our guests.
Choice of payment depends on who you are with and what type of a meal it is.	Unless you are a homemaker or a child, you always end up making       the payment and for all, at the table.
You pay for only what you eat and as billed.	You pay for what you don’t eat too and many a time for the leftovers and wastage too.
You pay after you are done with your meal! Credit cards are possible!	You have to shell out in advance, sometimes even one or two months in advance!
You may have to leave tips.	No need for tips. But the interest lost on ‘prepayment’ takes care of it. In addition, you may have to clean the dishes.
You have a right to express your displeasure.	If food is not upto your liking, you express so at your own peril!  The punishment could vary from getting the same stuff several times in the week or burnt out stuff or even ‘no stuff’ sometimes. So watch out, before speaking out!
You don’t need to remove the plates and wash them if you could afford and pay the bill.	You may have to remove the plates and other empty vessels to wash, even after you have paid, much in advance.

Folks, what do you think? Do let me know your thoughts!

Meantime, it’s time to wash the dishes! Now, where’s my apron? J

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Bohoma Sthuthiyi (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai),Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India

Hemantha Kalam - 62 "Dumped Dreams, Orphaned Puzzles"

   

  How many are free from – 

Anxiety, Betrayal, Debt, Dreams, Failure, Fear, Indignity, Stress.......?

The compulsory ‘stay at home’ lock-down, forced by the COVID – 19 (Corona Virus) pandemic in the world, is redefining the routines of the global civilizations.

People are again trying to become human beings, having healthier lifestyles and better family bondages. Apart from being informed upon on the developments of COVID situation, the stranded people started helping in the household chores, bonding with old friends, group prayers through various apps like Zoom and Houseparty, catching up on solving puzzles, singing on Smule and so on.

Chennai (erstwhile Madras), the city, where I reside in, used to be a conservative place where people were of very high intelligence and exemplary discipline, who used to end their days rather early and 9.00 pm every day to hit the bed rather quietly.

It is because of this discipline, intelligence and also hard work that Chennai becomes a likable and lovable place to live for many. Even today, Chennai is bustling with activity from 5.30 am onwards. While most of the tea shops start their business from 5.00 am, many of the restaurants begin serving from 6.30 am onwards. Most of the people take a bath, make their peace with their respective gods they have faith in and start their work.

Such discipline has been disrupted in the past few decades, betraying the faith of the people in themselves and the age old systems and methods they were following. Today Tamil Nadu is synonymous with protests of every kind. What happened to the wonderful civilization of this city dwellers, whose intelligence was renowned? Why are they allowing themselves to be lead by almost imbeciles? Protest for this and a petition for that. Nothing goes without a protest. In the process, lot of anxiety, indignity and stress is created.

Things have degenerated so much that the cab drivers (chauffeurs of aggregators whom I engage for my regular commuting) in the city whine and wince that it is the girls, whom they meet as passengers, who appear to be more degenerated than the boys. Many a chauffeur has shared his thoughts that it is dreadful to pick a girl or a lady in the middle of a night as in most cases, they are drunk, badly dressed and also that they use more abusive language than the guys! The drivers say that they cannot refuse a ride and if they take them in, they fear the consequences.

A conservative Madras has changed to a cosmo Chennai in the name of development and tech upgrade.

Yet, all these changed on the 23^rd March, 2020, when the government tested waters with a one day lock-down which was immediately followed by a 21 day lock-down keeping the people in their homes to help them save themselves from the COVID-19 pandemic’s infection.

Overnight, this made changes. The colony, where I stay in now, used to be buzzing with activity till about 12.00 am with a few nocturnal owls like myself keeping the buzz on. Today the colony is back to where it was some 30 years ago. Lights down mostly by 9.30 pm and calm by 10.00 pm. I, who used to go to bed only around 3.30 am now close shop with my last movie on the Netflix by about 11.30 pm and hit the sack to work on Sudoku on my mobile app till I slip into sleep. I wake up around 5.30 am and since I have nothing to do important in life anymore, I hit the bed again to wake up at a leisurely pace. This is the time-slot I started dreaming in, nowadays.

As always, I forget most of the dreams I had, when I wake up. But then there are times when you have disturbing dreams which have to be dumped halfway before a solution or an end is reached. Yesterday, I was being threatened to sign a letter implicating someone who, I know, was innocent. I refused and they advanced upon me in a menacing way, to sort of ‘persuade’ me. I woke up sweating and in the process dumping the dream. But more than the persuading torture intended for me to make me sign the implicating letter, the torture of not knowing what happened thereafter, gnawed at me the whole day.

Today morning, I was being driven by someone in a BMW sedan with a left wheel drive. I don’t know why it had to be a left wheel drive car as in India it is mostly the right wheel drive. The car stopped at Rangarajapuram Main Road near the train’s level crossing. There is no more level crossing there in reality, as it gave way for a narrow subway. Then the car driver alighted without as much giving a hint and walked away from the car while I was still in the car. The car started sliding in the reverse as the road was a gradient and I couldn’t find the hand brake to stop it. I never drove a BMW yet, so the unfamiliarity. At last, after quite a bit of a struggle of removing my seat belt, crawling into the driver’s seat, I could stomp hard on the brake and bring it to a stop. From there, I started driving back, and oh what a smooth drive it was and again went to the Rangarajapuram level crossing to take a left at Paraankusapuram only to hear Gandhi, my colleague from the last organisation I worked in, and whom I now recognised as the driver who left me, telling me to come straight and lo, I see Seshachalam hills, the abode of Tirumala Venkateswara Swamy (Balaji). I was giving way for the traffic and woke up. Don’t know what happened, after!

Thereafter, when I was going through the morning ritual of wading through some 200 good mornings on my WhatsApp, over a cuppa, I saw this message from dear V. S. Parthasarathy whom we all refer to as VSP with love.

Yesterday, he had invited our WhatsApp group members to solve a filmy puzzle he gave and very faithfully, I did my best and asked him for the final answers. Today he responds that even he doesn’t have answers but if I wish I may write a blog on orphaned puzzles such as this. Now you know what triggered this blog. I owe it to dear VSP.

But talking of puzzles and orphans, I don’t really mind what happens to the dreams that I had to dump, but my thoughts are with those innumerous orphans on the roadsides of India who must be puzzled with the developments and what moved their meager food away from them. Here in Chennai, there have been quite a few good samaritans who have been trying their best to feed these unfortunate homeless people even against the odds of being beaten / caned by the police, for not conforming to the lock-down dictum.

But the question is how long and how much? A sad situation, indeed! Those poor people hardly had any dreams and if at all they had, those must be too small. Even those are beaten and broken making them face indignities and live in eternal failure, fear and hunger!

Will God change that too with this calamity?  

Folks, what do you think? Do let me know your thoughts!

Till then, 

Krutagjnatalu (Telugu), Nanri (Tamil), Dhanyavaadagalu (Kannada), Nanni (Malayalam), Dhanyavaad (Hindi), Dhanyosmi (Sanskrit), Thanks (English), Dhonyavaad (Bangla), Dhanyabad (Oriya), Gracias (Spanish), Grazie (Italian), Danke Schon (Deutsche), Merci (French), Obrigado (Portuguese), Shukraan (Arabic), Shukriya (Urdu), Bohoma Sthuthiyi (Sinhalese) Aw-koon (Khmer), Kawp Jai Lhai Lhai (Laotian), Kob Kun Krab (Thai),Asante (Kiswahili), Maraming Salamat sa Lahat (Pinoy-Tagalog-Filipino), Tack (Swedish), Fa'afetai (Samoan), Terima Kasih (Bahasa Indonesian) and Tenkyu (Tok Pisin of Papua New Guinea).

Hemantha Kumar Pamarthy

Chennai, India