When I finished my graduation in England in Polymer and Plastics Science and Technology, I joined the Rubber and Plastics Research Association (RAPRA) of Great Britain, the British Government research centre located in Shawbury, a village in the county of Shropshire, west of Birmingham, on the Welsh border.
My Director was a Dr. Bill Watson. He was the local guardian for a young Malaysian boy of Indian origin.This was the son of Dr. B. C Sehkar (BC), the father of the Natural Rubber industry. BC and I became rather good friends as he used to visit RAPRA on all his visits to the UK. Our common Indian Kerala roots formed a deep bond between us. (Later BC was awarded the Magsaysay Award, the Asian Nobel Prize, and also given the Malaysian title, Tan Sri. Besides being the Chairman of the Malaysian Rubber and Research development Board, he was also Chairman of the Malyasian palm Oili Board. Born in 1929, he died in 2006.)
In 1969, I returned to India and set up my consultancy company, Polymer Consultancy Services (PCS), with my brother. He concentrated on the Rubber Industry, while I, being the extrovert, took on the job of Business Development and the Plastics Industry. Both of us were very active in our professional associations, rubber and plastics.
One day I got a call from BC saying he was passing through Madras and asking whether it would it be possible to meet. I asked my brother to organise a meeting so that BC could meet the local rubber industrialists and technologists.
I was not able to attend the talk as I had my own hectic schedule. BC insisted we meet for a quiet dinner. He was interested in taking his family to the beach. I organised a moonlit dinner on the beautiful sandy beach in Madras. I organised some wonderful food from Buharis and my favourite biriyani pace.
BC was interested in hearing how I had succeeded in setting up the consultancy company in India, as he was looking at his personal future. He felt that he may take the Malaysian root of an early retirement at the age of 50! He was not sure whether he would continue in his role as he was not sure how all his futuristic plans would be received by the Malaysian Government.
He offered me a great opportunity that he wanted me to take over the Malaysian Rubber Bureau, which was a small set up in Bombay which distributed literature of the Malaysian Research Institute and their research centre in the UK. He wanted me to promote the Malaysian rubber industry in India so that India would consider importing rubber from Malaysia.
My brother was never a decision maker. I jumped at the opportunity on the condition that he would look after this side of the business. So was born the MRB division of our consultancy company - a huge publicity boost for me as I already had a tie up with my old employer - RAPRA.
BC had long term plans. His brother, Chandran was retiring from the Oil Industry in Borneo. He had been working as the hospitality manager for Shell there and he took early retirement and decided to settle down in india. BC wanted to establish his base in India through his brother, so he decided to start a company along with another Malaysian friend who was an agronomist. The idea was to introduce soil and leaf analysis for the rubber growing industry, where samples of soil and leaf would be taken, prepared and sent to Malaysia, where they would be analyzed. From that, fertilising recommendations would be sent to the growers in india so as to optimise the output, as had been done in Malaysia.
With a couple of friends, and my brother in tow, they decided to start some organisation, but things did not move as they kept talking and talking.
Finally in desperation, BC called me in to one meeting when he was in Madras and asked me to present my views on how they should go about this venture.
My visions were crystal clear in those days. I had very vibrant ideas. All the parties immediately fell for my strategy. The Agro Polymer Research and Development Pvt. Ltd. company was born. I was appointed as the Business Development Director of the organisation, with Chandran, BC's brother as the Managing Director.
We worked well as a team, as Chandran knew that I made decisions and moved things forward. The soil and leaf testing service was quickly established with one of Dr. Guha's nephews as the field officer gathering the samples.
Agropol as it was known, quickly became well known in the field of soil and leaf testing. We had the nephew of Dr. Guha who would go to the rubber (and also tea and coffee estates) and collect the soil and leaf samples, which would be dried and then sent to Malaysia for testing. The results with the fertilising recommendations would be sent back and this would be handed over to the estates.
Further projects were in the pipeline as a plant to produce Standardized Malaysian Rubber (SMR) also called Heavea Crumb Rubber, based on Malaysian technology.
Word got around about our activities.
One day I got a call from the Raman Research Institute, which was a Fundamental Physics Research Centre set up by Sir C. V. Raman after he had received the Nobel Price for Physics. He had passed on and the Institute was being run by one of his sons.
With the Nobel Prize money, Sir Raman had bought a 100 acre farm on the outskirts of Bangalore at a place called Kengeri. With great vision he had planted different areas. It was an idyllic setting with a river running on three sides and a small tank on the fourth. He had casuarina trees, cashewnut trees, a whole range of fruit trees, and areas for growing a variety of flowers, medicinal plants as well as some grain as maize and paddy.
After the death of Sir CV, the farm was not being maintained well, so they called me in to see whether I could revive it to glory of when Sir CV was living there. I was given quite a leeway, a small budget and instructions that I should grow a special rice that Lady Raman, who was still alive, liked to eat.
It was a huge challenge as I knew nothing about farming. But I learnt fast, starting with the cash crops, the best being the African Marigold which could be sold daily in the main city market, as it is the primary flower used by the Hindus who visit temples. This meant harvesting the flowers at 4 and 5 am and transporting them to the city in bullock carts so that they could arrive in time for the morning auctions where all the small and big buyers would turn up, look at the quality of the flowers and bid for them.
This kept up a steady cash flow.
I started taking care of the fruit yielding trees, doing the soil and leaf analysis so that they could be correctly fertilised and the yield increased. This was done for the mango, chikku, cashewnut and many other fruit trees growing on the estate.
I then started to look at the medicinal plants that Sir CV had introduced into the estate, which included winca rosa and Dioscorea. I introduced citronella from which oil could be extracted and sold to the medical and toiletry industries. I continued the seasonal planting of rice and maize.
The trees were pruned and more trees planted.
All this kept a healthy budget and cash flow and the inputs from the Research Centre to support the farm was gradually reduced.
When I felt the work was done, I arranged for Lady Raman to visit the farm over the Pongal Festival so that she could see how the farm looked. She was so happy that she told me that she could now rest in peace. She died a few months later.
As a result of this, several other farmers in the region asked for us to take over their farms. We took one, but it was more a diary farm, and one which I could not do the justice as our strength was in growing crops and not maintaining a herd of cows! Also it had nothing to do with soil and leaf testing or Agro Polymers!
It was an exciting time of my life as I learnt how tough was the life of an Indian farmer, especially when water was a problem, such as when drought conditions prevailed.
Agropol was doing well in the soil and leaf testing business, so we slowly withdrew from this farm management business. I had to get back to my main field of Polymer and Plastics Science and Technology, as I was appointed managing and Technical director of another company.
However, this experience was worth every minute as it made me understand and respect the massive rural population of India and understand how hard a life they faced to feed the teeming millions of India.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Palm Sunday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday
What do these three days mean to you, as a Christian and a non-Christian?
I am a Christian by birth and tradition. But I am a secularist by upbringing as the Christian schools and college that I went to told me that that there was no differnce in the religions, except man-made ones.
But some traditions that I followed as a Christian have stayed deeply engraved in my mind and although I do not practice all of them today, they are part of my heritage.
The first relates to Palm Sunday. It is the day Jesus rode into the city of Jerusalem sitting on an ass. He was greeted by crowds waving palms.
The tradition that I remember from this dates back to my childhood days in Bangalore.
When we went to church on Palm Sunday, we received this cross made from a palm leaf.
When we moved to Bombay, I sort of remember that my mother may have introduced this practice also in the St. Thomas Cathedral.
When we came to Finland, The English Club of Oulu used to hold a very traditional lunch on Palm Sunday. Annikki was for a time the Chairperson of this Club which was to help promote the English language amongst Finns. (More about this in another blog entry, hopefully!)
One year, I had the Palm Crosses flown from in from India to Oulu to give to all the participants of this lunch in Oulu. It was greatly appreciated and a few of those still have them in their Bibles as book markers! This lunch tradition has vanished over the years!
The second tradition that sticks in my mind was the sombre atmosphere that pervaded our household on Good Friday. My mom and dad used to go to church early morning and then again at noon for a long three hour service. On a few occasions, when we asked, they would take us to the service. Some years we went tothe Orthodox Church where the service was more intense and longer.
In the long service all the stages that took place while Christ was being taken to the cross, nailed and till his death, were recreated. People in the church genuinely felt all the anguish and pain that Jesus and his family and friends must have been through.
After the service, as none of us would have eaten a morsel that day, we would have a very traditional meal of rice in the rice water (called kanji in Malayalam), cooked beans (paira) and a very spicy pickle, the sparsest and simplest of meals that one can have in our Kerala tradition.
The sombre atmosphere would continue right through to Friday evening, when we would sing hymns to my dad's piano playing. It would also run into Saturday. We were not permitted any form of "enjoyment", but this was never given or taken as a punishment. The whole atmosphere was as if we were mourning the death of a very real family friend.
Then would come Easter Day. Right from the early morning, the atmosphere changed from the one of great sadness to one of untold joy. Everyone would wish each other. My dad would ring his friends all around the world to wish them a very happy Easter!
There was a rush to put on our very best clothes and be in church to wish all our friends. This atmosphere of untold joy was so infectious. The smiles and happiness would continue in the songs we sang and the get together for tea and cofee with biscuits after the church service.
Then we would go home to a wonderful Easter lunch which was the very best food we could afford! This would bring to end the 40 days of Lent where we would have each given up something we really liked. The money saved would be entered into a card and that would be given by my mom to some charity.
The meal was usually biriyani (Chicken or mutton), a wonderful curry (usually chicken), lots of vegetable side dishes and a very sweet rice traditional paysam. As some of us liked fried fish, this was also usually on the menu.
My mom would invite anyone who she thought was alone, to join us for the lunch. She really believed in sharing our good fortune and joy with others.
Talking to Joanna yesterday, I did find that she did remember that as a child she had experienced the Good Friday atmosphere and had enjoyed the sparse meal served up at home. As we used to have the Easter type meal on several occasions other than Easter, she may not have remembered that in particular.
I wonder whether these traditions still persist among Christian families in India? I only wish they do for the children of the present generation!
I am a Christian by birth and tradition. But I am a secularist by upbringing as the Christian schools and college that I went to told me that that there was no differnce in the religions, except man-made ones.
But some traditions that I followed as a Christian have stayed deeply engraved in my mind and although I do not practice all of them today, they are part of my heritage.
The first relates to Palm Sunday. It is the day Jesus rode into the city of Jerusalem sitting on an ass. He was greeted by crowds waving palms.
The tradition that I remember from this dates back to my childhood days in Bangalore.
 |
| From Jacob's Blog |
When we went to church on Palm Sunday, we received this cross made from a palm leaf.
When we moved to Bombay, I sort of remember that my mother may have introduced this practice also in the St. Thomas Cathedral.
When we came to Finland, The English Club of Oulu used to hold a very traditional lunch on Palm Sunday. Annikki was for a time the Chairperson of this Club which was to help promote the English language amongst Finns. (More about this in another blog entry, hopefully!)
One year, I had the Palm Crosses flown from in from India to Oulu to give to all the participants of this lunch in Oulu. It was greatly appreciated and a few of those still have them in their Bibles as book markers! This lunch tradition has vanished over the years!
The second tradition that sticks in my mind was the sombre atmosphere that pervaded our household on Good Friday. My mom and dad used to go to church early morning and then again at noon for a long three hour service. On a few occasions, when we asked, they would take us to the service. Some years we went tothe Orthodox Church where the service was more intense and longer.
In the long service all the stages that took place while Christ was being taken to the cross, nailed and till his death, were recreated. People in the church genuinely felt all the anguish and pain that Jesus and his family and friends must have been through.
After the service, as none of us would have eaten a morsel that day, we would have a very traditional meal of rice in the rice water (called kanji in Malayalam), cooked beans (paira) and a very spicy pickle, the sparsest and simplest of meals that one can have in our Kerala tradition.
The sombre atmosphere would continue right through to Friday evening, when we would sing hymns to my dad's piano playing. It would also run into Saturday. We were not permitted any form of "enjoyment", but this was never given or taken as a punishment. The whole atmosphere was as if we were mourning the death of a very real family friend.
Then would come Easter Day. Right from the early morning, the atmosphere changed from the one of great sadness to one of untold joy. Everyone would wish each other. My dad would ring his friends all around the world to wish them a very happy Easter!
There was a rush to put on our very best clothes and be in church to wish all our friends. This atmosphere of untold joy was so infectious. The smiles and happiness would continue in the songs we sang and the get together for tea and cofee with biscuits after the church service.
Then we would go home to a wonderful Easter lunch which was the very best food we could afford! This would bring to end the 40 days of Lent where we would have each given up something we really liked. The money saved would be entered into a card and that would be given by my mom to some charity.
The meal was usually biriyani (Chicken or mutton), a wonderful curry (usually chicken), lots of vegetable side dishes and a very sweet rice traditional paysam. As some of us liked fried fish, this was also usually on the menu.
My mom would invite anyone who she thought was alone, to join us for the lunch. She really believed in sharing our good fortune and joy with others.
Talking to Joanna yesterday, I did find that she did remember that as a child she had experienced the Good Friday atmosphere and had enjoyed the sparse meal served up at home. As we used to have the Easter type meal on several occasions other than Easter, she may not have remembered that in particular.
I wonder whether these traditions still persist among Christian families in India? I only wish they do for the children of the present generation!
Friday, April 02, 2010
Why don't I write about my special fields?
Many of you have emailed me, over time, as to why I do not post blog entries about all my special interest areas.
There are several of them - plastics technology, polymer science and technology, microelectronics materials and processes, stamps, coins, management, finance, Apple / Macs, and several others.
Today the answer dawned on me.
In the past, it had been hard work to stay abreast all the developments in all these fields. But it had been a worthwhile, financially rewarding and an enjoyable chore. I used to read books and magazines, search the internet, and also attend and make speeches at conferences as well as write papers and articles on most of these subjects. I had been the life and soul at many international conferences, talking to my friends in these fields, trading ideas and generating many hundred new ones.
It had been good while it lasted.
Then I retired officially and the same drive was not there to keep abreast of all these subjects. I was enjoying my new role as a social animal rather than a knowledge beast!
During the last couple of years, I used to boast that when I wake up every morning I do not need to know anything about anything!
I was sitting with Samu, my 13 year old grandson, yesterday evening, watching television. He told me that the diamond was the hardest material on this earth. I had some doubt about it.
My daughter, who was in the room, asked him to "iPhone" it. (Just a year or so ago we would have used the term "Google" it!)
Samu, like his mother, have beautiful iPhones, which they love and use constantly. Although being a Apple / Mac user for over 25 years, I don't, and probably will not, as I cannot manage the small text, and am not happy with the flipping technology to see a complete line of text on a screen!
The first entry Samu found on his iPhone was interesting. It turned up an abstract which said that till 2009, diamond had been the hardest material known on earth, but now nanotechnolgy had produced harder materials.
I asked him to look up nanotechnology. But before he did, he told me that a new materials which could stop a bullet, but was thin as paper had been developed using nanotechnology. He gave me quite a graphic introduction into this area.
I was glad to be educated by this 13 year old.
On his iPhone, he turned up some details of fulrene science. The structure was most interesting as it was still polymer technology, and I had not read much in this field over the last 5 years!
Then it dawned on me that I was no more at the forefront of knowledge in areas where once I had been the source of all information to persons around me.
Although I did not enjoy being in this position where I was no longer "up-to-date", I felt good that I was knowing less than my 13 year old grandson, as he and his generation are the ones who should know about these things, not me.
At the age of 67 (yes, I will attain that age tomorrow!), it is important to focus on fewer areas and let the younger generation be in charge of modern knowledge.
I felt happy that, as I had retired, I was not required to know these developments, although I did feel some degree of shame!
But I felt proud to be educated in "my field" by my grandson.
Thank you, Samu!
There are several of them - plastics technology, polymer science and technology, microelectronics materials and processes, stamps, coins, management, finance, Apple / Macs, and several others.
Today the answer dawned on me.
In the past, it had been hard work to stay abreast all the developments in all these fields. But it had been a worthwhile, financially rewarding and an enjoyable chore. I used to read books and magazines, search the internet, and also attend and make speeches at conferences as well as write papers and articles on most of these subjects. I had been the life and soul at many international conferences, talking to my friends in these fields, trading ideas and generating many hundred new ones.
It had been good while it lasted.
Then I retired officially and the same drive was not there to keep abreast of all these subjects. I was enjoying my new role as a social animal rather than a knowledge beast!
During the last couple of years, I used to boast that when I wake up every morning I do not need to know anything about anything!
I was sitting with Samu, my 13 year old grandson, yesterday evening, watching television. He told me that the diamond was the hardest material on this earth. I had some doubt about it.
My daughter, who was in the room, asked him to "iPhone" it. (Just a year or so ago we would have used the term "Google" it!)
Samu, like his mother, have beautiful iPhones, which they love and use constantly. Although being a Apple / Mac user for over 25 years, I don't, and probably will not, as I cannot manage the small text, and am not happy with the flipping technology to see a complete line of text on a screen!
The first entry Samu found on his iPhone was interesting. It turned up an abstract which said that till 2009, diamond had been the hardest material known on earth, but now nanotechnolgy had produced harder materials.
I asked him to look up nanotechnology. But before he did, he told me that a new materials which could stop a bullet, but was thin as paper had been developed using nanotechnology. He gave me quite a graphic introduction into this area.
I was glad to be educated by this 13 year old.
On his iPhone, he turned up some details of fulrene science. The structure was most interesting as it was still polymer technology, and I had not read much in this field over the last 5 years!
Then it dawned on me that I was no more at the forefront of knowledge in areas where once I had been the source of all information to persons around me.
Although I did not enjoy being in this position where I was no longer "up-to-date", I felt good that I was knowing less than my 13 year old grandson, as he and his generation are the ones who should know about these things, not me.
At the age of 67 (yes, I will attain that age tomorrow!), it is important to focus on fewer areas and let the younger generation be in charge of modern knowledge.
I felt happy that, as I had retired, I was not required to know these developments, although I did feel some degree of shame!
But I felt proud to be educated in "my field" by my grandson.
Thank you, Samu!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Secularity in Educational Institutions
(Posted on all my main blogs as this is one of my more serious postings meant to get the broadest reach.)
I learnt from the Times of India of 25th March 2010, Bishop Cotton school principals to resign, that my second alma maters, the Bishop Cotton's Schools in Bangalore, both the Boys and Girls schools, are going through a huge upheaval. The alleged interference of the Church in their running and the seemingly marginalisation of the Principals (also known as Wardens) into puppets, possibly all in the greed for the rich pickings associated with running a well-known educational institution, appear to have taken these two schools from reality into a fantasy world. Accusations are flying left, right and centre.
Sitting 7000 km away from that base, I do not know who is right or wrong, but it is such a shame to see the schools where my late father (he was also the Old Boy's Association Chairman for many years) and all his siblings, and a greater part of my generation of Matthan's, including my four children, being destroyed by these bickerings and the unfortunate media stories being put out.
A similar situation of the differences between the Church and the Principal is causing the rot of the fourth of my alma maters, St. Stephen's College in Delhi. The Alumni in different part of the world are taking actions, but that may not stop the rot.
However, my Mumbai alma mater, The Cathedral and John Connon School, seems to have overcome this problem, or it probably has not yet come to the forefront.
Trying to remember my days in each school and college, I knew I was in a Christian Institution in all these three cases (and also my first, The Good Shepherd Convent School in Mysore).
In Bishop Cotton's Boys' School we had to go, being a Christian by birth, to the Chapel for morning service before the start of school, every single day.
In Mumbai, we had School Assembly every morning with the reading of the Bible by one of the Prefects and singing of hymns. But it was not grossly evident that it was a Christian school.
My 59er class consisted of Atheists, Christians (a handful), Hindus, Jains, Jews, Muslims, Parsis, Sikhs, Sindhis, and probably various other sects and sub-sects. Not once did it cross my mind that my classmates were from different religions.
The only time I was aware the difference was we took our shirts off for PT. I noticed a few of my classmates wore quite different vests - the Parsis, as they had a sleeveless type muslin (?) vest quite different from the rest of the class. Other than mentally noting this difference, and I never even bothered to find out or understand the reason for this, we were all equal in every other respect during our hours in school.
The only differences were those imposed by the time table, as the Christians had to do Scripture as a subject while the non-Christians were exempt from this.
These secular values, and the continuation of the same which I imbibed in St. Stephen's College of the early 60s, has stood me in good stead through my life. I learnt to respect people for what they do and achieve and not because of their religion, caste or creed.
I wish this would be the universal philosophy across the world, as the wars that plague us today are based on these stupid artificial values, called as faith - be it by any religion anywhere in the world where the religious hierarchy fights for power and prestige, misguiding the masses along the way.
I learnt from the Times of India of 25th March 2010, Bishop Cotton school principals to resign, that my second alma maters, the Bishop Cotton's Schools in Bangalore, both the Boys and Girls schools, are going through a huge upheaval. The alleged interference of the Church in their running and the seemingly marginalisation of the Principals (also known as Wardens) into puppets, possibly all in the greed for the rich pickings associated with running a well-known educational institution, appear to have taken these two schools from reality into a fantasy world. Accusations are flying left, right and centre.
Sitting 7000 km away from that base, I do not know who is right or wrong, but it is such a shame to see the schools where my late father (he was also the Old Boy's Association Chairman for many years) and all his siblings, and a greater part of my generation of Matthan's, including my four children, being destroyed by these bickerings and the unfortunate media stories being put out.
A similar situation of the differences between the Church and the Principal is causing the rot of the fourth of my alma maters, St. Stephen's College in Delhi. The Alumni in different part of the world are taking actions, but that may not stop the rot.
However, my Mumbai alma mater, The Cathedral and John Connon School, seems to have overcome this problem, or it probably has not yet come to the forefront.
Trying to remember my days in each school and college, I knew I was in a Christian Institution in all these three cases (and also my first, The Good Shepherd Convent School in Mysore).
In Bishop Cotton's Boys' School we had to go, being a Christian by birth, to the Chapel for morning service before the start of school, every single day.
In Mumbai, we had School Assembly every morning with the reading of the Bible by one of the Prefects and singing of hymns. But it was not grossly evident that it was a Christian school.
My 59er class consisted of Atheists, Christians (a handful), Hindus, Jains, Jews, Muslims, Parsis, Sikhs, Sindhis, and probably various other sects and sub-sects. Not once did it cross my mind that my classmates were from different religions.
The only time I was aware the difference was we took our shirts off for PT. I noticed a few of my classmates wore quite different vests - the Parsis, as they had a sleeveless type muslin (?) vest quite different from the rest of the class. Other than mentally noting this difference, and I never even bothered to find out or understand the reason for this, we were all equal in every other respect during our hours in school.
The only differences were those imposed by the time table, as the Christians had to do Scripture as a subject while the non-Christians were exempt from this.
These secular values, and the continuation of the same which I imbibed in St. Stephen's College of the early 60s, has stood me in good stead through my life. I learnt to respect people for what they do and achieve and not because of their religion, caste or creed.
I wish this would be the universal philosophy across the world, as the wars that plague us today are based on these stupid artificial values, called as faith - be it by any religion anywhere in the world where the religious hierarchy fights for power and prestige, misguiding the masses along the way.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Beware of Black Ice
Yesterday was a tough day. I had tonnes of meetings including showeing up at the Annual General Body meeting of the Oulu Cricket Club. (I am too old to be a playing member, too blind to be an upmire or scorer, so I am just a happy fan.)
Joose continues as the Chairman. New Secretary and Treasurer and two new Board members. Looks like it is going to be a great year.
I offerefd the store room of Raantel for them to keep the cricket gear. They will need a lot more space as they will have the coir matting to keep in store!
Both Ashish (Medipolis) and Arindam (Indian Restaurant) are supporting the Club. Annikki and I agreed to underwrite the shortfall in last years accounts. A small contribution for a group of wonderful guys!
After the meeting, as I had a few minutes to spare, i thought I would reach the Lidl near our home to pick up some bananas. I had promised to pick up Annikki before 6 pm so as to attend our friends daughter's first birthday.
I was driving quite slowly when I saw the traffic light change in the distance. Before I could reduce the speed I noticed the car starting to slide. I had hit a stretch of the dreaded "Black Ice" under the powdery snow. I was in a slide without any chance of controlling anything. The car kept sliding to the right.
I tried to reduce the speed but the car just kept sliding as the wheels had no traction.
 |
| From Audi Accident 27/03/2010 18:00 |
The car went into the traffic divider which was packed high with snow.
I jumped out and saw that there appeared to be no major damage. When I tried to pull the car out, it refused to budge.
I rang Kamu who was at Citymarket with Naiomi. They came immediately, but he did not have his tow rope.
Just then another car stopped and offered to help. It was a four wheel drive. He brought the car to the back of mine and attached his rope. As he pulled, the rope snapped.
The kind gentleman promised to go to his office and get a stronger rope.
I cleared most of the snow under the car, behind the tyres and under the radiator. Just then a tow truck stopped behind me. The driver jumped out, attached the chains and within a couple of seconds I was pulled free.
I was on my way, about half an hour late for Annikki and and about an hour late for the birthday party.
But we had not missed anything as they were waiting for a few more guests to arrive!
Great party. thanks.
I now understand what Joanna went through when she hit a patch of black ice when driving back to Oulu from Tornio in 1998 in the Citroen! I don't know how the family survived that crash. Only by the grace of God!
But beware of Black Ice. You will not know its there till you start to slide!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Some Operations, Injuries and Accidents
I am sure most of you remember what operations were carried out on you when you were young. I remember I had my tonsils out while living in Mysore in 1948-49. They waited till I was 5 years old before doing that operation.
My mom told me that I had a strong reaction to the anaesthetic, which in those days, was ether. I flew from one table to the next, smashing a whole lot of bottle. My cousin, Ammnikochamma, who was studying to be a doctor at Vellore, came from Mysore to be with me during the operation. The doctors promised me lots of ice cream after the operation!
I crossed 6 foot. As can be seen from a recent photograph taken during our 50th year class reunion held in Mumbai last November, I was and am the largest in the class! I am that huge fellow on the extreme left! :-) I still stand tall, straight and true!
I lived a charmed life when I was a kid. I had several major accidents but came out living although my skin is not worth much as it is full of scratches and stitches.
The first "accident" I remember is when I was about 4 years old. We were living in our Basavangudi house on Market Road. My mom was busy tending the garden, and the two brothers were trying to help. We were all around her.
My brother picked up the pickaxe and swung it over his head as he wanted to dig the rose bed. When it went over his head, it went straight into mine . We had a lot of blood pouring out.
My mom did not panic. We went indoors and she straight away rang the doctor who came over immediately and "fixed" my head.
Now you know why I am quite crazy. :-)
I do not remember any pain or crying, only plenty of blood oozing out of the head.
A few years later we moved to Mysore and we had a beautiful large garden. Lots of kids would come over in the evening to play.The popular game we played was cowboys and Indians.
One evening, my mom and dad had gone out and all of us kids were rushing around playing this game. We had lots of trees to climb and plenty of space to run around.
My brother picked up a piece of wood and pretended it was a gun. He was firing it at me when I was up a tree. I jumped down and ran to get hold of it. He swung it not knowing there was a long nail on one side. It went deep into my flesh behind my left forearm. I looked at it and saw the blood pouring out.
My late elder sister, Nalini, came to my rescue. She called my mom and dad on the phone. She washed the wound so that I could see white flesh deep inside.
As soon as my mom and dad reached home we rushed to the hospital where the doctor again cleaned the wound and then stitched it up with half a dozen stitches. I still bear this scar on my hand. Because it was a rusty nail I got plenty of tetanus shots!
Again, I do not remember crying when this occurred, although I do remember panic from many of the other children present.
The third major accident I remember is when we were holidaying in my maternal grandfather's place in Kottayam (the Malayala Manorama premises). My grandmother had a little daschund dog and I loved to play with it. One day it came to my feet so kneeled down to pick it up. When I got up, I did not realise that I was just below a wooden window. The sharp corner went straight into the centre of my skull, exactly where the pickaxe had gone a few years earlier. The skull was torn open and I was rushed to the hospital across the road where a cousin, Sarammakochamma, who was studying to be doctor tended me.
Again I do not remember crying at this incident.
The next holiday, we were again in Kottayam. They had a wonderful 3 wheeler motorbike (called a DOT) which had a two wheel trailer in front. It was for carrying all sorts of materials from one place to another in the newspaper premises. It was safe as it was balanced by the two wheels in front.
I learnt to drive it when I was just 9 years old.
Someone had moved some stuff in it and it was lying next to the office. I had the intention of driving it and approached the bike from the side. My leg touched the exhaust pipe, which was searingly hot, and within seconds it burnt a great big hole into my thigh. (You can imagine how small i was then!)
Off to the hospital, but this time there were no stitches, just cleaning, a lot of pain-killers and a large bandage. I still bear the mark on my left thigh! No crying though!
The last of my chidhood episodes I have recorded in several places.
This was my drowning at the Vasind River outside Bombay when we went on a class picnic.
That gave me a second life.
After that I was reasonably free of any major accidents other than fracturing my wrist during a game of quad football in the school quadrangle in Mumbai and getting a splinted from my hockey stick while I was laying for the College XI in Delhi.That put paid to my serious hockey although I did play all the while I was studying and working in England.
And the last one was last year when I fell on my hand and crushed the fourth finger on my left hand!
That is not to say I have not had several near brushes with death.
One day, in Madras, in 1973, I was driving on the beach road to the MRF factory in Thiruvanmuyur. I saw a truck coming. I moved to the far right to give it way. I could not see a large unmarked broad plate of steel protruding from the side of the truck. It cut through my door and window of my car, missing my head by a few inches! The car was thrown to one side as the steel ripped through the metal. I survived and managed to get the car to the MRF factory about a kilometer down the road!
More true tales soon, so stay tuned!
My mom told me that I had a strong reaction to the anaesthetic, which in those days, was ether. I flew from one table to the next, smashing a whole lot of bottle. My cousin, Ammnikochamma, who was studying to be a doctor at Vellore, came from Mysore to be with me during the operation. The doctors promised me lots of ice cream after the operation!
The removal of my tonsils had a peculiar effect on me as I just shot up in height. My elder brother became the shortee of the family.
I continued to suffer from adenoids. A few years later, when I was 10, while driving from Bangalore to Madras, we stopped at the Christian Medical College Hospital in Vellore, where my cousin, Ammnikochamma, who was now a doctor, organised to have my adenoids removed. At the same time, my brother had his tonsils removed as he wanted to be as tall as me. He did grow a few inches, but has always remained the shortee in the family!
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| From Hasnain 59ers 2009 |
I crossed 6 foot. As can be seen from a recent photograph taken during our 50th year class reunion held in Mumbai last November, I was and am the largest in the class! I am that huge fellow on the extreme left! :-) I still stand tall, straight and true!
I lived a charmed life when I was a kid. I had several major accidents but came out living although my skin is not worth much as it is full of scratches and stitches.
The first "accident" I remember is when I was about 4 years old. We were living in our Basavangudi house on Market Road. My mom was busy tending the garden, and the two brothers were trying to help. We were all around her.
My brother picked up the pickaxe and swung it over his head as he wanted to dig the rose bed. When it went over his head, it went straight into mine . We had a lot of blood pouring out.
My mom did not panic. We went indoors and she straight away rang the doctor who came over immediately and "fixed" my head.
Now you know why I am quite crazy. :-)
I do not remember any pain or crying, only plenty of blood oozing out of the head.
A few years later we moved to Mysore and we had a beautiful large garden. Lots of kids would come over in the evening to play.The popular game we played was cowboys and Indians.
One evening, my mom and dad had gone out and all of us kids were rushing around playing this game. We had lots of trees to climb and plenty of space to run around.
My brother picked up a piece of wood and pretended it was a gun. He was firing it at me when I was up a tree. I jumped down and ran to get hold of it. He swung it not knowing there was a long nail on one side. It went deep into my flesh behind my left forearm. I looked at it and saw the blood pouring out.
My late elder sister, Nalini, came to my rescue. She called my mom and dad on the phone. She washed the wound so that I could see white flesh deep inside.
As soon as my mom and dad reached home we rushed to the hospital where the doctor again cleaned the wound and then stitched it up with half a dozen stitches. I still bear this scar on my hand. Because it was a rusty nail I got plenty of tetanus shots!
Again, I do not remember crying when this occurred, although I do remember panic from many of the other children present.
The third major accident I remember is when we were holidaying in my maternal grandfather's place in Kottayam (the Malayala Manorama premises). My grandmother had a little daschund dog and I loved to play with it. One day it came to my feet so kneeled down to pick it up. When I got up, I did not realise that I was just below a wooden window. The sharp corner went straight into the centre of my skull, exactly where the pickaxe had gone a few years earlier. The skull was torn open and I was rushed to the hospital across the road where a cousin, Sarammakochamma, who was studying to be doctor tended me.
Again I do not remember crying at this incident.
The next holiday, we were again in Kottayam. They had a wonderful 3 wheeler motorbike (called a DOT) which had a two wheel trailer in front. It was for carrying all sorts of materials from one place to another in the newspaper premises. It was safe as it was balanced by the two wheels in front.
I learnt to drive it when I was just 9 years old.
Someone had moved some stuff in it and it was lying next to the office. I had the intention of driving it and approached the bike from the side. My leg touched the exhaust pipe, which was searingly hot, and within seconds it burnt a great big hole into my thigh. (You can imagine how small i was then!)
Off to the hospital, but this time there were no stitches, just cleaning, a lot of pain-killers and a large bandage. I still bear the mark on my left thigh! No crying though!
The last of my chidhood episodes I have recorded in several places.
This was my drowning at the Vasind River outside Bombay when we went on a class picnic.
That gave me a second life.
After that I was reasonably free of any major accidents other than fracturing my wrist during a game of quad football in the school quadrangle in Mumbai and getting a splinted from my hockey stick while I was laying for the College XI in Delhi.That put paid to my serious hockey although I did play all the while I was studying and working in England.
And the last one was last year when I fell on my hand and crushed the fourth finger on my left hand!
That is not to say I have not had several near brushes with death.
One day, in Madras, in 1973, I was driving on the beach road to the MRF factory in Thiruvanmuyur. I saw a truck coming. I moved to the far right to give it way. I could not see a large unmarked broad plate of steel protruding from the side of the truck. It cut through my door and window of my car, missing my head by a few inches! The car was thrown to one side as the steel ripped through the metal. I survived and managed to get the car to the MRF factory about a kilometer down the road!
More true tales soon, so stay tuned!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Returning to the present
My last few blog entries wandered into the past, so I thought I would bring you back into the present day and reality.
I received a very nice email from a friend of the Finnish Red Cross in Helsinki and a close friend of the parents of the Indian girl who needs a bone marrow transplant. She is a reader of this blog and knew that I was in touch with a wide spectrum Indian community.
She drew my attention to an adopted "Indian" girl in Finland who needs a bone marrow transplant.
Bone marrow transplant matches require someone from the family or from the same ethnic background, if a match is to be found. What the young lady wanted me to do was to try and find someone to save this little 7 year old girl's life.
Of course, without looking into the matter further, I promptly volunteered.
When I read the details, however, I found that transplant donors are ideally between the age of 20 and 40, and as a last resort they may accept donors up to the age of 55.
With me being a dozen years more than the absolute limit, my possibility of doning was ruled out.
I have asked the O-Indian Community in Oulu to find out if they can become donors. So the Oulu Red Cross has agreed to make a working visit to their premises to see if the Indian Community here could be coded, so that if a donor is required, one could be approached.
Such social responsibilities for a community of people living in a different country will only pay in the long run. What if one of the Indians or their children in Finland required a transplant? Where would they turn?
I do hope our Indian Community, not only in Oulu, but also around Finland will play a part in a society where they are living ad working, as in the long run, only they will benefit by such participation.
I received a very nice email from a friend of the Finnish Red Cross in Helsinki and a close friend of the parents of the Indian girl who needs a bone marrow transplant. She is a reader of this blog and knew that I was in touch with a wide spectrum Indian community.
She drew my attention to an adopted "Indian" girl in Finland who needs a bone marrow transplant.
Bone marrow transplant matches require someone from the family or from the same ethnic background, if a match is to be found. What the young lady wanted me to do was to try and find someone to save this little 7 year old girl's life.
Of course, without looking into the matter further, I promptly volunteered.
When I read the details, however, I found that transplant donors are ideally between the age of 20 and 40, and as a last resort they may accept donors up to the age of 55.
With me being a dozen years more than the absolute limit, my possibility of doning was ruled out.
I have asked the O-Indian Community in Oulu to find out if they can become donors. So the Oulu Red Cross has agreed to make a working visit to their premises to see if the Indian Community here could be coded, so that if a donor is required, one could be approached.
Such social responsibilities for a community of people living in a different country will only pay in the long run. What if one of the Indians or their children in Finland required a transplant? Where would they turn?
I do hope our Indian Community, not only in Oulu, but also around Finland will play a part in a society where they are living ad working, as in the long run, only they will benefit by such participation.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Learning morality as a child....
In Finland, the situation is amazing that if you drop or lose something somewhere, even after a week or a month, it is likely to have been left there. The ordinary citizen does not want to take anything that belongs to someone else.
When I was just 10 years old, we had a great cricket side in Bangalore. We used to play almost every evening after school. I was a slow right hand leg spin bowler. I could really turn that ball over a metre. If one recalls an entry on my Cathedral school pages, Jimmy Jameson (of MCC XI fame) used me to get some wickets in the House matches way back in 1954..
In Bangalore, we played cricket on a disused level graveyard very near Richmond Circle, which used to be right in front of the present Republic Nursing Home. No tennis ball for us as we had a real hard cricket ball to play with!
We were about 15 of us, ranging from those who were 12 years to the youngest, who was probably 5 or 6. But we were all cricket mad well before the days of Sunil Gavaskar or Sachin Tendulkar.
And we really played serious cricket for our age. Not just knocking the ball around. We had fielding practice, bowling practice and batting practice, before we set up teams and played a match.
One day, as I was walking home from school, I found a Rs. 10 note lying on the pavement. I had never held a Rs. 10 note in my hand before.
As I walked home I wondered what I should do with it. My natural impulse was to hand it over to my mother. But something stopped me doing that.
That evening, while we were playing cricket, a thought struck me. I suggested we should organise to play a cricket match against another side. I felt I could use the Rs. 10 to celebrate our victory hoping, of course, we won!
So I organised a two innings match with a team on the other end of Bangalore, the team of one of my school classmates, for a Saturday morning.
We had 11 players and we set off early morning equipped to play and win. We did.
Then I revealed my cunning plan.
As it was only around 2:30 in the afternoon, I suggested we would go to the matinee show in a theatre, as the movie "Ivanhoe" had just been released. I did not reveal where I had got the money or how much, and no one asked me.
The boys were excited as some of them had never ever been to the theatre.
At that time, entrance to a cinema hall used to cost 4 annas for a seat (4 seats for rupee) for a child. The cost for all 11 of us was less than Rs. 3.
We sat through the first half, which in those days was usually Indian News Documentaries, a Walt Disney cartoon as Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Pluto or Bugs Bunny, and trailers of coming films.
We were really having a good time. I got chips for everyone during the interval. Another half a rupee!
When the lights came on before the real movie started, I looked back, and there, sitting a few rows behind me, were three of my cousins (the George Matthan family of Ammnikochamma, Baluchachen and Anand), and several friends.
They were as surprised to see me as I was to see them.
I knew I was sunk, as they would surely tell my mom, as we lived just a stone's throw from their house.
We enjoyed the movie as it was a real classic - I cannot remember the names of the stars but I certainly thought I had seen a good film. Lots of jousting and fighting. Ideal fare for children.
As soon as I left the theatre, I knew I had better come clean with my mom.
I knew my dad would be furious, but I knew if I handled my mom right, maybe I could get away with a scolding and a serious telling off.
After the movie I reached home around 5:30 in the evening.
My mom asked how the cricket had gone. I told her that we had won. Then I blurted out what I had done.
She looked at me very gravely and asked whether I understood what I had done. I told her that I fully understood. Igave her the rest of the money. (The value of Rs. 10 in 1953 would probably be equivalent to about Rs. 5000 of today!)
She decided that she would not tell my dad, who was still at work. (Yes, he worked till almost 7 pm even on a Saturday!)
She said she would deal with this matter on Monday.
Sure enough, it was lucky I had been quick, as no sooner had I finished with her, the phone rang. It was cousin ringing to tell my mom what she had seen.
Mom was sporting enough to tell her that I had told her what had happened and that she would handle it, but on no account should my dad know.
That taken care of, on Monday after school, she took me to the Police Station where one of our family friends, Doug Wilson, was the Police Inspector.
The Wilson family were very close family friends. Besides Doug and Marge, they had 5 children - Abner, Beverley, Cedric, Dinky and Zena.
Marge was a Protestant and went to the same church as us, St. Mark's Cathedral. Doug had been a Roman Catholic but had been ex-communicated as he did not agree to bring up his children in the Roman Catholic Church. He did not attend the Protestant Church, but he was a example of a wonderful Christian man as he was always happy and smiling.
His five children and us four kids were closer than most, as when we lived in Mysore, Inspector Wilson was also posted in Mysore. Dinky and I were the same age and she was the one who looked after me when I went to kindergarten for the first time. We used to walk back from the Good Shepherd Convent every afternoon.
When we moved to Bangalore, Doug was also transferred and our family friendship continued.
At the Police Station, my mom she gave Doug Rs. 10 and told him that I had found the money and was returning it.
Doug was astonished at the honesty of my mom (and by inference, me). He told her that he would file a report. If the money was claimed within 14 days, I would be entitled to a small reward. If it was not claimed within 14 days, the money would be mine.
The money was not claimed. After 14 days Doug sent a Police Constable round to our house with the money and a signing off form.
My mom took the money. She kept what had been remaining from my adventure. She told me I could give it to any charity that I wanted.
I do not remember which charity I chose. But it felt good at that moment that I was now not an official robber in the eyes of my mom.
This lesson has stood me in good stead all these years. Thanks mom!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Remember your first Fountain Pen?
Those were the days when we did not have ballpoint pens around.
I used to covet my mother's beautiful Shaeffer, a black and white striped shell bodied pen, very large and easy to hold. Pure gold nib and clip.
Whenever I had the opportuniy, I used to use it.
My mother noticed that I was getting quite good at writing with a pen. On my 10th birthday in 1953, she bought me a wonderful pen by the brand name of "Platinum". It was expensive with a lovely gold plated cover. The body was a wonderful purplish shade.
I loved it the minute I got it. I spent the next hour writing and writing.
I knew I would proudly show it off in school that day.
Bishop Cotton Boys' School was just ten minutes away, as we used to run to school in the morning and run back to have our evening tea. Then we would get into our sports uniform and run back as we had so many pitches that each year had its own pitch.
On morning of my birthday, after filling the pen full of ink, I proudly pushed the clip into my khaki shirt pocket and rushed to school.
Everyone in my class loved the pen. I could see many were envious, but I let lots of the boys use it. The teachers told me how lucky I was to get such a nice present.
I set of home at 15.30, when school lessons were over. I jumped over the school back gate next to the Bangalore Club, and ran down to the petrol station at Richmond Circle, where the manager was a good friend of mine. I showed him the pen, and he loved it. (He was a palmist and in 1953 read my palm and told me I would marry a girl with golden hair and have four children! Amazing fellow!)
I pushed the pen firmly back in my pocket and ran the 50 metres back to home down Lalbagh Road,
I rushed to tell my mom how everyone had loved my pen. As I was babling my story to her, I put my hand on the clip to show the pen to her. As I pulled the clip out, only the clip came out. There was no pen. I felt inside the pocket, but there was no pen body there.
I started to cry as I told my mom that it had been there just 2 minutes earlier.
She got the servants together and sent them to look for the pen on the road and pavement between the petrol station and home. I had crossed the road twice.
As we looked, we found no trace of the pen.
I was shattered.
I knew that if my dad got to hear of this he would scold my mom by saying I had been too young to be given such an expensive pen.
I clutched the beautiful gold top, my heart pounding with sorrow.
But my mom had an idea.
We quickly got into the car and went to the pen shop. There she asked the shopkeeper for a cheap pen but onto which my top was fitting. He gave a few pens. Out of them my mom chose one which was the best. She bought it, gave the cheap looking cover back to the shopkeeper and fixed my expensive platinum plated cover to this pen. She told me not to breathe a word to anyone, as it was our secret.
I scribbled with the pen, and it was just perfect. Although not quite the same purple, it was a lovely maroon colour. It looked almost identical. She had my name engraved on it in gold letters.
I had my new Platinum pen - a rather unique one, thanks to my mom.
Till this day no one knew the secret of my lost pen and how it was fixed!
I used to covet my mother's beautiful Shaeffer, a black and white striped shell bodied pen, very large and easy to hold. Pure gold nib and clip.
Whenever I had the opportuniy, I used to use it.
My mother noticed that I was getting quite good at writing with a pen. On my 10th birthday in 1953, she bought me a wonderful pen by the brand name of "Platinum". It was expensive with a lovely gold plated cover. The body was a wonderful purplish shade.
I loved it the minute I got it. I spent the next hour writing and writing.
I knew I would proudly show it off in school that day.
Bishop Cotton Boys' School was just ten minutes away, as we used to run to school in the morning and run back to have our evening tea. Then we would get into our sports uniform and run back as we had so many pitches that each year had its own pitch.
On morning of my birthday, after filling the pen full of ink, I proudly pushed the clip into my khaki shirt pocket and rushed to school.
Everyone in my class loved the pen. I could see many were envious, but I let lots of the boys use it. The teachers told me how lucky I was to get such a nice present.
I set of home at 15.30, when school lessons were over. I jumped over the school back gate next to the Bangalore Club, and ran down to the petrol station at Richmond Circle, where the manager was a good friend of mine. I showed him the pen, and he loved it. (He was a palmist and in 1953 read my palm and told me I would marry a girl with golden hair and have four children! Amazing fellow!)
I pushed the pen firmly back in my pocket and ran the 50 metres back to home down Lalbagh Road,
I rushed to tell my mom how everyone had loved my pen. As I was babling my story to her, I put my hand on the clip to show the pen to her. As I pulled the clip out, only the clip came out. There was no pen. I felt inside the pocket, but there was no pen body there.
I started to cry as I told my mom that it had been there just 2 minutes earlier.
She got the servants together and sent them to look for the pen on the road and pavement between the petrol station and home. I had crossed the road twice.
As we looked, we found no trace of the pen.
I was shattered.
I knew that if my dad got to hear of this he would scold my mom by saying I had been too young to be given such an expensive pen.
I clutched the beautiful gold top, my heart pounding with sorrow.
But my mom had an idea.
We quickly got into the car and went to the pen shop. There she asked the shopkeeper for a cheap pen but onto which my top was fitting. He gave a few pens. Out of them my mom chose one which was the best. She bought it, gave the cheap looking cover back to the shopkeeper and fixed my expensive platinum plated cover to this pen. She told me not to breathe a word to anyone, as it was our secret.
I scribbled with the pen, and it was just perfect. Although not quite the same purple, it was a lovely maroon colour. It looked almost identical. She had my name engraved on it in gold letters.
I had my new Platinum pen - a rather unique one, thanks to my mom.
Till this day no one knew the secret of my lost pen and how it was fixed!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Tips to catching a cat burglar
First advice to everyone reading this is "Don't try it!"
However, in 1960, the year after I left school, I had six months to spare before joining college. Along with a few friends, we used to go to the open gymnasium near the Bombay Gymkhanna and do an hour of really tough excercises. I did not do weights as my intention was to keep fit and remain speedy for hockey.
Those who went regularly were my 59er Cathedralite classmates, Arvind Thadani, Noel Ezekiel, Viney Sethi, late Ashok kapur and myself.
However, as a few of them went back to school to do the HSc, only three of us were left.
I used to pick up Arvind and drive to the gym. Then we would go back to his house, listen to records, have something light to eat, and then I would go home. Noel used to come home with me often and we would play some childish games to pass the time away!
In short, both Arving and I were physically very fit, both six footers, and we were quite a terrible fearsome sight!
I lived on the second floor of Meher Mansions. It was a beautiful apartment, large, with three bedrooms, and a fourth bedroom, which was a dressing room converted into a bedroom.
I lived in the back bedroom. When I went to sleep, I had my black labrador in the room. I used to bolt the door at night so that no one disturbed me in the morning, even though it was usually me that got up first!
One night, I had been reading quite late,and I swtiched off the bedlight around midnight. I was in a very light sleep, actually, half awake. As I lay in this stupor, I heard a faint sound from the attached bathroom.
I lay still and looked at the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar.
In the streetlight, which was coming through the window, I saw a small figure emerge from the bathroom. I held my breath.
The figure tried to gently open the Godrej steel cupboard. He found it locked. He turned to the large wooden clothes horse where I had hung my clothes. He started to go through the pockets of my trousers.
The initial shock of seeing the burglar in my room had passed. I was breathing very easily and in a flash of courage, I shouted at the top of my voice "Chor" which means "Thief".
The burglar reacted like lightning and jumped feet first to escape through the second floor window next to the Godrej cupboard. I did not think, but jumped, Flash Gordon style, feet first, and got my legs dead centre around his waist so that he came crashing down to the floor just a few inches away from the window.
My hands went round his throat and I got up very quickly, lifting him up along with me. I could feel his greasy body writhing against my sweaty chest, trying to get away from my firm elbow grip around his neck.
The burglar was really short, so that when I stood up, his feet were off the ground. As a result he had no propulsion place to use his energy and power.
People had woken up around the neighbourhood at hearing my cry of "Thief". My parents had come running down the corridor, wondering whether the commotion was coming from within our house.
My mom was almost in panic when I told her through the closed door that I had caught a thief! She was worried that the fellow had a knife or some other instrument to harm me.
I reassured her that I was safe and I would come out in a second. I called my "guard dog, Blitz, who had gone under the bed the minute she had heard me yell! :-)
I walked to the door and pulled down the latch which was at the top. The legs still dangling, I walked with this guy to the living room. The thief was begging for mercy to let him go.
In the light I saw I had seen this guy before. He belonged to the Churchgate street gangster Chotu's gang. I did not say anything to him but told my dad to call the Police. He rang the Police and then asked whether he should go the the garage, about 200 metres away to bring the car.
I assured him that I could manage this guy till the Police arrived.
By this time, many neighbours had come in to see the burglar. The burglar was acting most cunningly. In a desperate attempt to get out of my grip he told all of us that he wanted to go to toilet.
I knew that the minute I let him go, he would be off like a bullet. No one would be able to catch him.
So I told him to do his business on the spot.
Of course, he was bluffing!
It was a good 20 minutes before the Police arrived. Once they saw the guy, they told us that he had already robbed two houses not far from our house and he had got away.
It was third time unlucky.
They beat him on the head with a rubber truncheon asking where he had stashed the loot from the other houses. He was not ready to speak!
They asked me to come to the Police Station to register the complaint. My dad and I drove down to the Colaba Causeway Police Station and I gave my complaint.
The guy was sentenced to 6 nmonths for his attempted robbery.
I joined St. Stephen's College in Delhi in July 1960. When I came home for the autumn holidays in September, as I walked to Marine Drive to meet my friends, at the corner near Eros Theatre, I was accosted by this guy.
He smiled and greeted me. He told me that it was the first time he had been caught by a victim! He congratulated me, shook my hand and said no one would ever try to rob our house again!
Word was around that there was someone who was a professional cat burglar nabber. ME!
I thought I was unique and original...
A few days ago, I informed you of my laziness and my way of buttering my toast. I thought I was being clever, unique and absolutely original.
Today, I did a search for the words "Butter Slicer" on Google and it turned up literally thousands and thousands of hits with a price range from € 1 to € 650. Some sets made from sterling silver were priced as high as € 10000!
The butter slicers on the web fell into 3 categories.
The first is a series of wires are strung across a frame which could cut the butter into slices, not very thin, but manageable. Various designs have been developed. I am sure that quite a bit of force would be required to cut through a frozen block of butter. Not OK for a single Breakfast eater!
The second is a One Click butter slicer in which the butter block is loaded into the machine, and when a click is executed, a small square of butter is put onto your toast. About two slices for one toast. A nice neat idea and obviously patented and doing well as the company has its own web site with video, etc.
The third idea is to use a butter knife which had a sharp edged slot in the centre of the cutting edge. With it you could slice out a piece of butter from a block. Looks good, but I could see various pitfalls in using this type of device.
Of course, it is obvious there are several lazy people like me who have been using their cheese slicers as butter slicers.
Of all the ideas, my feeling is that the cheese slicer serves the purpose more uniquely than the other ideas!
Just goes to show that nothing is unique in this world!
Maybe I should share some of my other unique ideas with you which have not yet seen the light of day. And believe you me, Annikki came up with the rough potato scrubbing glove idea way way back (maybe 40 years ago!). It is now a common product on store shelves! I did not laugh at it when she told me the idea, but I could not believe that nobody had thought of it earlier!
But some of my unique ideas have now seen the light of day or are going to, in the very near future. Of course, I can claim all sorts of inventions as mine, but the proof is whether I have the patent. I have not, so it is no use crying over split milk! But in my heart of hearts, I can say that I had plenty of great ideas over the years, as has Annikki!
Today, I did a search for the words "Butter Slicer" on Google and it turned up literally thousands and thousands of hits with a price range from € 1 to € 650. Some sets made from sterling silver were priced as high as € 10000!
The butter slicers on the web fell into 3 categories.
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| From Jacob's Blog |
The first is a series of wires are strung across a frame which could cut the butter into slices, not very thin, but manageable. Various designs have been developed. I am sure that quite a bit of force would be required to cut through a frozen block of butter. Not OK for a single Breakfast eater!
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| From Jacob's Blog |
The second is a One Click butter slicer in which the butter block is loaded into the machine, and when a click is executed, a small square of butter is put onto your toast. About two slices for one toast. A nice neat idea and obviously patented and doing well as the company has its own web site with video, etc.
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| From Jacob's Blog |
The third idea is to use a butter knife which had a sharp edged slot in the centre of the cutting edge. With it you could slice out a piece of butter from a block. Looks good, but I could see various pitfalls in using this type of device.
Of course, it is obvious there are several lazy people like me who have been using their cheese slicers as butter slicers.
Of all the ideas, my feeling is that the cheese slicer serves the purpose more uniquely than the other ideas!
Just goes to show that nothing is unique in this world!
Maybe I should share some of my other unique ideas with you which have not yet seen the light of day. And believe you me, Annikki came up with the rough potato scrubbing glove idea way way back (maybe 40 years ago!). It is now a common product on store shelves! I did not laugh at it when she told me the idea, but I could not believe that nobody had thought of it earlier!
But some of my unique ideas have now seen the light of day or are going to, in the very near future. Of course, I can claim all sorts of inventions as mine, but the proof is whether I have the patent. I have not, so it is no use crying over split milk! But in my heart of hearts, I can say that I had plenty of great ideas over the years, as has Annikki!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
How do I get topics for my blogs?
Many of you have emailed me as to how I can get such a constant flow of topics for my blogs, and at the same time retain the readers interest.
I can write on any subject. Unless I develop writer's block, when I cannot write even a sentence!
This skill was what my English teachers in school, especially the late Mr. R. G. Salmon, taught me. Besides showing me how to write, he also taught me how to keep the reader's interest. His correction of my essays fascinated my father, who was a keen reader from Wodehouse to Shakespeare. Our house was lined with books and books and they were open for us to read. Lots of my friends, like Ooky Elijah Elias and late Ashok Kapur, would come over and borrow books, which my dad encouraged. He did not believe that books should remain in bookshelves.
He was unlike his father, my paternal grandfather, who had an enormous collection of books but wanted us to sit and read it in his library. I could hardly finish 10 pages when we were visiting, and my interest changed by the time of my next visit, a week later!
I had already been given another lesson by my maternal grandfather, the late K. C. Mammen Mappillai, in Kottayam, as he made me write (even before I was 11 years old as he died at the turn of 1953 / 1954), whenever we went to see him on holiday (which was twice or three times a year). His encouragement was infectious, as he promised to publish my childish writing in the newspaper! What greater incentive than that?
As each day progresses, several incidents occur, or telephone conversations reveal some intersting aspects. I record these in my brain. When I sit at my computer, as soon as I feel bored doing whatever I am supposed to be doing, my mind wanders to one of those topics.
I write it as soon as it comes to mind. Then I leave it as I look around for the facts to ensure that the stroy is not just a figment of my imagination, although ocasionally, the figments are just as appealing! :-)
On my daesktop I usually have half a dozen or me small pieces waiting to be published. Before I relaese a story, I usually read it and put in more relevant information. I do not work as a journalist does in trying to give the entire background to a story. I express it the way I feel I would like reading a story.
It is far more difficult running the school and college blogs as for that I have to find the facts that create nostalgia. But over the last 14 years I must say that I have somehow managed to keep my readers interest in whatever I am writing. I try not to be fixated! that would be the death of my blogs.
But a bulk of my topics come from the literally hundreds of emails that arrive in my Inbox everyday. Someone responds to one of my writings and points me in another direction. Each lead puts me on the track of another title and then another story.
Just yesterday I had published my attempt at Sudoku. There, in the comments, today, was a fascinating piece about Security Codes for Banks based on Sudoku!
Present Security Codes for Indian banks are just a joke. I could probably break into any Indian bank internet account. In Finland, I have been using internet banking since 1989, being one of the first to try and test out the system when it was launched. Simple yet effective, this system has stood the test of time.
So herein lies another possible story!
And by popular demand, you will get the story of my encounter with a "cat burglar", soon!!!
Anyway, thanks for being there. Without you, dear readers, I would feel very lonely!
I can write on any subject. Unless I develop writer's block, when I cannot write even a sentence!
This skill was what my English teachers in school, especially the late Mr. R. G. Salmon, taught me. Besides showing me how to write, he also taught me how to keep the reader's interest. His correction of my essays fascinated my father, who was a keen reader from Wodehouse to Shakespeare. Our house was lined with books and books and they were open for us to read. Lots of my friends, like Ooky Elijah Elias and late Ashok Kapur, would come over and borrow books, which my dad encouraged. He did not believe that books should remain in bookshelves.
He was unlike his father, my paternal grandfather, who had an enormous collection of books but wanted us to sit and read it in his library. I could hardly finish 10 pages when we were visiting, and my interest changed by the time of my next visit, a week later!
I had already been given another lesson by my maternal grandfather, the late K. C. Mammen Mappillai, in Kottayam, as he made me write (even before I was 11 years old as he died at the turn of 1953 / 1954), whenever we went to see him on holiday (which was twice or three times a year). His encouragement was infectious, as he promised to publish my childish writing in the newspaper! What greater incentive than that?
As each day progresses, several incidents occur, or telephone conversations reveal some intersting aspects. I record these in my brain. When I sit at my computer, as soon as I feel bored doing whatever I am supposed to be doing, my mind wanders to one of those topics.
I write it as soon as it comes to mind. Then I leave it as I look around for the facts to ensure that the stroy is not just a figment of my imagination, although ocasionally, the figments are just as appealing! :-)
On my daesktop I usually have half a dozen or me small pieces waiting to be published. Before I relaese a story, I usually read it and put in more relevant information. I do not work as a journalist does in trying to give the entire background to a story. I express it the way I feel I would like reading a story.
It is far more difficult running the school and college blogs as for that I have to find the facts that create nostalgia. But over the last 14 years I must say that I have somehow managed to keep my readers interest in whatever I am writing. I try not to be fixated! that would be the death of my blogs.
But a bulk of my topics come from the literally hundreds of emails that arrive in my Inbox everyday. Someone responds to one of my writings and points me in another direction. Each lead puts me on the track of another title and then another story.
Just yesterday I had published my attempt at Sudoku. There, in the comments, today, was a fascinating piece about Security Codes for Banks based on Sudoku!
Present Security Codes for Indian banks are just a joke. I could probably break into any Indian bank internet account. In Finland, I have been using internet banking since 1989, being one of the first to try and test out the system when it was launched. Simple yet effective, this system has stood the test of time.
So herein lies another possible story!
And by popular demand, you will get the story of my encounter with a "cat burglar", soon!!!
Anyway, thanks for being there. Without you, dear readers, I would feel very lonely!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Robbery attempt at ATM
Last week, four youngsters tried to harrass our daughter, Joanna, in Newcastle. She turned on them and pinned them down so that they then fled, scared out of their wits.
I rang Samu yesterday. He told me that someone had attempted to rob Joanna at an ATM. I got to Joanna and she told me that right in the centre of Newcastle, a guy snatched the money as she was getting it from an ATM.
Joanna is extremely fast and has learnt all there is to know about self defence, including karate! She managed to grab this guy's marauding hand and swing him around so she had him firmly locked in her grip.
Not a single person came forward to help her!
She cried for assistance and finally someone came forward and took the money the guy was clutching in his hands. The grabber tried to say the money was his and he was going to call the Police - to which Joanna quickly told him to!
Once she got her money back she let the guy go and he scooted off.
The Police Station was just a couple of doors away. She reported it to the Police. Today she will try to do an ID of the guy at the Police Station. She is sure it has been caught on the CCTV.
Joanna, and her friend, Rita, were active karate enthusiasts when she was in school in Oulu. I remember her coming home with blue marks all over as she learnt it the hard way! (Her karate teacher later became our neighbour when we lived at Kampitie - an orthopaedics doctor!)
If I remember correctly, I did get her the karate clothing on one of my visits to England. (My memory is not so good, but I seem to remember going with our son, Jaakko, to buy the stuff in Birmingham.)
Well that has paid off. Joanna intends to get her son, Samu, to join a course in self defence as soon as possible. Very important. We learnt boxing at school, but in my opinion, that is not enough.
In Finland, at ATMs, they have an red line about a metre and a half away. No one is permitted to stand nearer than that when someone is using the ATM. I have seen people telling people off if they come closer than that.
In my opinion, there should be a mirror on the ATM so one can see if someone is approaching the ATM from behind the user, as when one is busy on the machine, one will tend to forget what is going on behind. Any movement in a mirror will alert the individual.
Like father, like daughter.
I remember how I caught a cat burglar in our 2nd floor apartment in Mumbai in 1960, the year I left school. I was fit as a fiddle and brought him down with a scissor grip feet first dive from my bed while he was diving out of the bedroom window! He was greased and almost slid through my scissor grip, but I grabbed him around the neck. As I was six foot+ and this guy was no more than 5 foot, when I stood up, his feet were dangling off the ground! But he was a wily tough character.
I think I may have recounted this story earlier on the blog, maybe a long long time ago! Will check and if not will tell you the humourous side of it after the event occurred!
Anyway we are grateful that Joanna is safe and did not lose her money!
I rang Samu yesterday. He told me that someone had attempted to rob Joanna at an ATM. I got to Joanna and she told me that right in the centre of Newcastle, a guy snatched the money as she was getting it from an ATM.
Joanna is extremely fast and has learnt all there is to know about self defence, including karate! She managed to grab this guy's marauding hand and swing him around so she had him firmly locked in her grip.
Not a single person came forward to help her!
She cried for assistance and finally someone came forward and took the money the guy was clutching in his hands. The grabber tried to say the money was his and he was going to call the Police - to which Joanna quickly told him to!
Once she got her money back she let the guy go and he scooted off.
The Police Station was just a couple of doors away. She reported it to the Police. Today she will try to do an ID of the guy at the Police Station. She is sure it has been caught on the CCTV.
Joanna, and her friend, Rita, were active karate enthusiasts when she was in school in Oulu. I remember her coming home with blue marks all over as she learnt it the hard way! (Her karate teacher later became our neighbour when we lived at Kampitie - an orthopaedics doctor!)
If I remember correctly, I did get her the karate clothing on one of my visits to England. (My memory is not so good, but I seem to remember going with our son, Jaakko, to buy the stuff in Birmingham.)
Well that has paid off. Joanna intends to get her son, Samu, to join a course in self defence as soon as possible. Very important. We learnt boxing at school, but in my opinion, that is not enough.
In Finland, at ATMs, they have an red line about a metre and a half away. No one is permitted to stand nearer than that when someone is using the ATM. I have seen people telling people off if they come closer than that.
In my opinion, there should be a mirror on the ATM so one can see if someone is approaching the ATM from behind the user, as when one is busy on the machine, one will tend to forget what is going on behind. Any movement in a mirror will alert the individual.
Like father, like daughter.
I remember how I caught a cat burglar in our 2nd floor apartment in Mumbai in 1960, the year I left school. I was fit as a fiddle and brought him down with a scissor grip feet first dive from my bed while he was diving out of the bedroom window! He was greased and almost slid through my scissor grip, but I grabbed him around the neck. As I was six foot+ and this guy was no more than 5 foot, when I stood up, his feet were dangling off the ground! But he was a wily tough character.
I think I may have recounted this story earlier on the blog, maybe a long long time ago! Will check and if not will tell you the humourous side of it after the event occurred!
Anyway we are grateful that Joanna is safe and did not lose her money!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A new Indian magazine
After our Bharat Darshan, where we increased our readership to our main blog and then to all our blogs, we have been getting letters from several editors worldwide to write for their magazines.
I chose one as it is a new magazine to be shortly launched from Delhi.
It is called SURYA INDIA. Here is the blurb (edited by me as the English was atrocious!) that was sent to me:
SURYA INDIA
‘India is changing rapidly’, is an open secret before the world and heading toward becoming a power in almost every sphere of the possible future world. The largest number of richest people from one single soil comes from India. At the same time, India is home for the largest number of hunger stricken people at one place. The education scenario is also astonishing and dreadful, while the nation is boasting of producing the best management gurus and medical doctors in the world.
Time to time, a good number of intellectuals have shown and expressed their concern about the matter. The Government and many NGOs are also working on the subject but that is being done just to justify the objections raised by the Indian and foreign media. It has been proved over the course of time that there is no political and social will to curb the monstrous situation, which is a subject of shame for the really proud Indians and the best human minds all over the world.
In the talk in America and Europe about the “war on terrorism,” little has been said about tackling root causes. Somewhere along the line, the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon stemmed from tensions created by the widening gulf between rich and poor nations. International Herald Tribune, October 3, 2001
The role of Surya India is going to be crucial at this point of time and in the fresh decade especially when India is entering into a new orbit. The socioeconomic magazine will try its best to raise the voice of the strata standing at the lowest platform with its feet under the slush. Although Surya India is dedicated to encouraging the advancing troops to the new moon of success in various field, it will check as to what cost?
Readership – Urban Size - A4
Periodicity - Monthly Published from - New Delhi
Publisher - Jain Group
The article we chose to submit is a highly controversial one. It is called "Rural Urbanisation 2010". It it harks back to a paper of the same name that Abraham Thomas (then Managing Director of the building group Southern Investments) and I wrote based on his book "The Affluence Machine".
Surya India is talking about India becoming a super power!
If things go as they think, India will be the super power of super chaos!
We do not know when the magazine is being launched.
Sitting in Finland, we are also probably never likely to know. So, if anyone in India does see our article (jointly by Annikki and me), please give us a shout.
2009 - 2010 Cold Cold Arctic Winter
The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
Last winter the oil for the oil heating system had lasted right through the winter until almost the end of autumn. The oil was refilled in July. When we got back in December from India, I found that the oil had been consumed and the tank was already empty. So we got it refilled in December, hoping that we be able to get the next refill in the middle of summer.
Yesterday, I went to check the oil storage level and found that we were almost down to zero, so we have to call in the tanker by next week. The oil price has hit a high, so I am holding off till the lastmoment hoping I see some small respite.
Annikki, in preparation, has cleared the path from the gate to where the tank is filled, as the amount of snow was so much that the tanker guy would have had to wade through waist deep snow to get to the pipe.
I have turned down the heating considerably, but the weather is still cold as the hard winter continues - so much so that I was looking for my fur cap yesterday, one I have used for almost 20 years. I could never have imagined that i would use a fur cap as late as mid March!
My guess is that the Arctic Circle has moved down 200 km because of "global warming". May be they will shift the Santa Village here, and save a lot of tourists going to the middle of nowhere.
After all, the real Santa lives here! :-)
Last winter the oil for the oil heating system had lasted right through the winter until almost the end of autumn. The oil was refilled in July. When we got back in December from India, I found that the oil had been consumed and the tank was already empty. So we got it refilled in December, hoping that we be able to get the next refill in the middle of summer.
Yesterday, I went to check the oil storage level and found that we were almost down to zero, so we have to call in the tanker by next week. The oil price has hit a high, so I am holding off till the lastmoment hoping I see some small respite.
Annikki, in preparation, has cleared the path from the gate to where the tank is filled, as the amount of snow was so much that the tanker guy would have had to wade through waist deep snow to get to the pipe.
I have turned down the heating considerably, but the weather is still cold as the hard winter continues - so much so that I was looking for my fur cap yesterday, one I have used for almost 20 years. I could never have imagined that i would use a fur cap as late as mid March!
My guess is that the Arctic Circle has moved down 200 km because of "global warming". May be they will shift the Santa Village here, and save a lot of tourists going to the middle of nowhere.
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| From Jacob's Blog |
After all, the real Santa lives here! :-)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
I try my hand at Sudoku
I have not been very good at any sort of non-physical game (except Chess and Bridge), although I enjoy trying them.
I was extremely good at crosswords. It used to be a contant battle, when I lived in Bombay, as my dad and I would try to get to the Times of India newspaper before the other, so that we could finish the crossword before the other got his hands on the paper. I was particular good at anagrams, while he was good at quotations!
That was probably how I got into the habit of waking up at the unearthly hour of 4 am!
When I was studying and working in England I used to get The London Times, an expensive newspaper, just so I could do the crossword puzzle. My dad would have enjoyed that as there were far more quotations in them.
But I lost that crossword habit many years ago.
When we were in Mumbai for our holidays last December, my cousin's wife, Beena, was there for a couple of days. I saw her really enjoying doing something in the newspaper. I thought she was doing the crossword, but she told me she was doing something called the Sudoku.
I had never tried it although my grandson, Samu, had tried to explain the basics to me.
On returning to Finland, I found that the local newspaper, Kaleva, carried three Sudoku entries every day. They are labelled as EASY, MODERATE and DIFFICULT.
I started to attempt the EASY one. After a couple of days I was completing it within a span of about 35 minutes. Slowly the time decreased. I am now at a steady 15 minutes. Occasionally I have completed it in as little as 5 minutes.
So I started attempting the MODERATE puzzle. I have only completed it a couple of times. I think I was extremely lucky on those occasions. Most days I get about halfway and then other pressures call me away from the newspaper.
I also have been attempting the DIFFICULT version. In most cases I complete about 50% in about 5 minutes and them am completely stuck.
Can anyone explain whether there is some methodology to handle the MODERATE and DIFFICULT puzzles. Would greatly appreciate any advice as it is a bit frustrating to give up halfway!
And I don't want to cheat! :-)
Monday, March 15, 2010
Looks good in any outfit
Thanks for the nice comments regarding the photos of Annikki and me in my last blog entry. We have aged, but as we are both reasonably fit, we are able to go around without bending at the waist! :-)
Annikki used to carry her sari extremely well. She had a beautiful collection. She used the sari quite frequently while we lived in India.
After we came to Finland, she felt she got more mileage out of them as curtains. The curtains have decorated our house and have been greatly admired by our visitors. It is something quite unique and blends with how Annikki has decorated our rooms.
Also, her blouses became much too small.
One day we pulled out her old blouses from the trunks. They looked as if they were dolls blouses. We laughed our guts out thinking however did she mange to get into them!
Annikki was extremely slim all through her life in India.
In Finland, now, she wears convenient clothes and quite often, the salwar kameez, Finnish style. The jeans are the most common, but she uses the lovely kameezs with trousers on most occasions when going out.
What she loves are those beautiful scarves. She got a couple as presents a few months ago, and she wears them with everything.
She bought quite a few of them from the shop she did most of her shopping in while in India, some place called FabIndia. The prices were high, by Indian standards, but the quality was really good.
I, too, got most of my kurta pyjamas from there. For my more traditional Kerala gold braided jubba and mundu (dhoti), I went to Mahim, where I found a Malayali shop and bought them there. Unfortunately, as it was a Mumbai holiday, I could not get the exactly correct shoulder throw scarf, so I took another one as a stopper as I had to have one for the wedding in Kottayam a couple of days later.
Maybe on my next visit I will get myself the correct one.
People have asked what is meant by the shoulder throw scarf.
In fact, in common day usage, this is just a towel. The farmer used to throw a towel over his shoulder when going out to work, so as to wipe the sweat from his brow. The more expensive throws have developed out of this very natural custom followed by most Malayalis.
The two photos show a traditional and a conventional ME in November 2009!
Some, however, expressed surprise when I was walking around with a thin towel as a shoulder throw on days when I was wearing trousers.
Is it only those in mundus who are allowed to wipe the sweat from their brow?
I do not know why people find it difficult to extrapolate the concepts!
Annikki used to carry her sari extremely well. She had a beautiful collection. She used the sari quite frequently while we lived in India.
After we came to Finland, she felt she got more mileage out of them as curtains. The curtains have decorated our house and have been greatly admired by our visitors. It is something quite unique and blends with how Annikki has decorated our rooms.
Also, her blouses became much too small.
One day we pulled out her old blouses from the trunks. They looked as if they were dolls blouses. We laughed our guts out thinking however did she mange to get into them!
Annikki was extremely slim all through her life in India.
In Finland, now, she wears convenient clothes and quite often, the salwar kameez, Finnish style. The jeans are the most common, but she uses the lovely kameezs with trousers on most occasions when going out.
What she loves are those beautiful scarves. She got a couple as presents a few months ago, and she wears them with everything.
She bought quite a few of them from the shop she did most of her shopping in while in India, some place called FabIndia. The prices were high, by Indian standards, but the quality was really good.
I, too, got most of my kurta pyjamas from there. For my more traditional Kerala gold braided jubba and mundu (dhoti), I went to Mahim, where I found a Malayali shop and bought them there. Unfortunately, as it was a Mumbai holiday, I could not get the exactly correct shoulder throw scarf, so I took another one as a stopper as I had to have one for the wedding in Kottayam a couple of days later.Maybe on my next visit I will get myself the correct one.
People have asked what is meant by the shoulder throw scarf.
In fact, in common day usage, this is just a towel. The farmer used to throw a towel over his shoulder when going out to work, so as to wipe the sweat from his brow. The more expensive throws have developed out of this very natural custom followed by most Malayalis.
The two photos show a traditional and a conventional ME in November 2009!
Some, however, expressed surprise when I was walking around with a thin towel as a shoulder throw on days when I was wearing trousers.
Is it only those in mundus who are allowed to wipe the sweat from their brow?
I do not know why people find it difficult to extrapolate the concepts!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
An obsession?
My last few entries on this blog have focused on FOOD! (Sambar, Chicken Biriyani,...)
Is this becoming an obsession?
On Friday, my doctor rang to discuss my health.
I quckly handed the phone over to Annikki, who looks after all our dietary issues, as she controls the kitchen. I knew that the bulk of the discussion would centre around my eating, and I detest listening to such advice.
Sure enough, the doctor was emphatic, in that she said I would have to be largely vegetarian in future, and of course, control my intake of sugar (gulab jamuns, barfis, chocolates, Annikki's delicious cakes, etc.).
I promptly went out and bought all the fruits and vegeatbles that I like. Of course, I do like my protein intake as meat, but given a choice, I would certainly prefer to get it through a spicey Indian vegetarian diet.
All the more reason to speed up the process of starting the South Indian Vegetarian Restaurant in Oulu - but the masala dosais, the bondas, vadas, vegetarian samosas, will not be appreciated because of the amount of deep frying involved!
I do accept health is one's Number 1 concern, and I am willing to subject myself to a regimen of control, so long as my taste buds are kept fresh and alive. And that, to me, means plenty of spices!
Now that my diet is in the hands of my wife, let us see how it proceeds. My soon-to-be-doctor dear daughter, Joanna, will be here in a couple of weeks, and I am sure I will also be tropedoed by her once she sees my medical test results.
Am expecting to be shell-shocked into submission soon, but I do hope the outcome is a leaner fitter old man! :-)
Is this becoming an obsession?
On Friday, my doctor rang to discuss my health.
I quckly handed the phone over to Annikki, who looks after all our dietary issues, as she controls the kitchen. I knew that the bulk of the discussion would centre around my eating, and I detest listening to such advice.
Sure enough, the doctor was emphatic, in that she said I would have to be largely vegetarian in future, and of course, control my intake of sugar (gulab jamuns, barfis, chocolates, Annikki's delicious cakes, etc.).
I promptly went out and bought all the fruits and vegeatbles that I like. Of course, I do like my protein intake as meat, but given a choice, I would certainly prefer to get it through a spicey Indian vegetarian diet.
All the more reason to speed up the process of starting the South Indian Vegetarian Restaurant in Oulu - but the masala dosais, the bondas, vadas, vegetarian samosas, will not be appreciated because of the amount of deep frying involved!
I do accept health is one's Number 1 concern, and I am willing to subject myself to a regimen of control, so long as my taste buds are kept fresh and alive. And that, to me, means plenty of spices!
Now that my diet is in the hands of my wife, let us see how it proceeds. My soon-to-be-doctor dear daughter, Joanna, will be here in a couple of weeks, and I am sure I will also be tropedoed by her once she sees my medical test results.
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| From Jacob's Blog |
1967: Annikki & me
1984: Annikki and me |
 |
| From Jacob's Blog |
2009: Annikki and me
Am expecting to be shell-shocked into submission soon, but I do hope the outcome is a leaner fitter old man! :-)
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Biriyani, King of Indian Dishes, in Oulu?
Of late, I have been concentrating on Indian cuisine, as I am greatly missing the India delicacies I enjoyed while on our Bharat Darshan. (I ampaying the price for my indulgence, but, considering it is once in ten years, it was worth it!
At the recent wedding in Kottayam which Annikki and I had the good fortune to attend, biriyani was served to the 6000 guests by India's most renowned biriyani maker. We were seated in tables of 8, and the piping hot biriyani serving plates, reflecting exactly how biriyani shoud be prepared and served, turned up simultaneously at the 800 tables in the Malayala Manorama compound.
There was not a single complaint, as even the vegetarian biriyani served up was of a class that was unmatched.
Rajen, my cousin, son of the illustrious Kerala Cookery expert, the late Mrs. K. M. Mathew, told me that some weeks before the event they had a dry run so as to see the quality of the biriyani. It had been a disaster as everything was wrong. The poor expert was chided. So he made the biriyani for the wedding day with a vengence to overcome his poor showing earlier.
Biriyani is a very specific dish. Although it may vary a little based on the locality, the aroma and the presentation will always be similar.
Here is a typical recipe to produce a biriyani (modified from Mrs. K. M. Mathew's book Modern Kerala Dishes published in 19779 - First Edition):
The picture depicts the importance of keeping the meat at the botton and putting a layer of rice, pouring the gravy and adding the rest of the rice is crucial. The result is a strata of beautiful colours of rice from aan almost white and beautiful gold at the top to a lovely golden brown at the bottom. Around the saffron you will see a lovely tinge of golden red. The garnishing with burnt onions and sultanas is usually accompanied by a hard boiled egg, whole or sliced.
When I lived in Bangalore, I used to attend the weddings of many of my Muslim friends. Always, the key of the wedding lunch or dinner was the biriyani, usually mutton, not chicken. The quality of this was outstanding. My dear friend and former partner, the late Mir Hafeez Hussain, son of the late Justice Mir Iqbal Hussan (famous when he headed the Devraj Urs Commission), used to take me to meet the special cooks who were called to make the biriyani. I used to enjoy watching them make such huge quantities, never sacrificing the quality. It was they that explained to me the secret of making an outstanding biriyani!
It is said the success of the marriage hinged on the quality of the biriyani served to the guests!
Recently, I ordered biriyani in an Indian Restaurant in Oulu. They served me a pot which was covered with fresh vegetables. I could not see what I thought would be the beautiful colours of the rice. There was no traditional smell of biriyani anywhere near my table! When I cut into the dish, what I got was a terrible mish mash of curry and rice hash. Certainly not a biriyani, but a goulash. Definitely not worth the € 14 they charged for the dish! Although they had obtained most of the spices, the preparation was certainly not a biriyani.
It would be better to take this off the menu if they are unable to prepare a genuine biriyani, as the colour layering of the rice from top to bottom and the wonderful aromatic smell of the saffron is the absolute essential of a biriyani.
Being the King of all Indian dishes, without the saffron and cashewnuts sprinkled on the top of the golden yellow rice, and visible, it cannot to be in one's faintest dreams, considered to be a biriyani.
At the recent wedding in Kottayam which Annikki and I had the good fortune to attend, biriyani was served to the 6000 guests by India's most renowned biriyani maker. We were seated in tables of 8, and the piping hot biriyani serving plates, reflecting exactly how biriyani shoud be prepared and served, turned up simultaneously at the 800 tables in the Malayala Manorama compound.
There was not a single complaint, as even the vegetarian biriyani served up was of a class that was unmatched.
Rajen, my cousin, son of the illustrious Kerala Cookery expert, the late Mrs. K. M. Mathew, told me that some weeks before the event they had a dry run so as to see the quality of the biriyani. It had been a disaster as everything was wrong. The poor expert was chided. So he made the biriyani for the wedding day with a vengence to overcome his poor showing earlier.
Biriyani is a very specific dish. Although it may vary a little based on the locality, the aroma and the presentation will always be similar.
Here is a typical recipe to produce a biriyani (modified from Mrs. K. M. Mathew's book Modern Kerala Dishes published in 19779 - First Edition):
Chicken Birityani
Ingredients:
Method:
- Biriyani rice 6 cups level
- 2 medium tender chicken 1 kg
- Sultanas 1/ cup
Carrots and beans diced into 5 cm cubes and half cooked
Dalda and Ghee in equal proportion (or pure ghee) 1 and half cups
- Onions sliced thin and long 1/4 kg (3 cups)'
- Cloves 18
Cinnamon 6 pieces
Cardamoms 12
- Dry chillis ground 3/4 tablespoon
Coriander paste 1 tablespoon
Garlic paste 1 dessertspoon
Ginger paste 1 dessertspoon
Tumeric paste 1/2 tablespoon
- Tomatoes (medium) 3
- Curd 1 cup
- Salt to taste
- Coconut paste 3 dessertspoons
Cashewnut paste 1 dessertspoon
Green chillis 4
Mint leaves 3/4 cup
Coriander leaves 1/4 cup
Lime juice 1 dessertspoon
- Saffron Few strands
Cashewnuts Handful
Sultanas Handful
Burnt onion strips
- Kurma
Lightly fry sultanas in 1 and a quarter cups of ghee and remove. Add sliced onion and when it turns brown saute the spices. Saute the masala pastes adding one by one and then the tomatoes. Add the chicken cut into pieces and fry for a few minutes. Mix in the curd and the salt. Cook the kurma with the pan covered. When the meat is nearly done add the coconut paste mixed in half a cup of water followed by the rest of the ingredients in the ninth item. The kurma is ready when the meat is well-cooked and the gravy is about 2 cups.
- Rice
Parboil the rice in salted boiling water, drain and spread in a flat tray. Mix the sultanas, carrots and beans in the rice.
- Final preparation
Spread the meat from the kurma in an aluminium pan. Spread a layer of rice over it and pour the gravy. Cover with the remaining rice. Sprinkle the saffron, the cashew nuts and the browned onions on the top. Spread a wet cloth over the rice. Cover the pan and bake for an hour at 250 degrees Centigrade or place hot coal over and under the pan and keep for half an hour. The rice should not get too dry while final cooking.
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| From Jacob's Blog |
The picture depicts the importance of keeping the meat at the botton and putting a layer of rice, pouring the gravy and adding the rest of the rice is crucial. The result is a strata of beautiful colours of rice from aan almost white and beautiful gold at the top to a lovely golden brown at the bottom. Around the saffron you will see a lovely tinge of golden red. The garnishing with burnt onions and sultanas is usually accompanied by a hard boiled egg, whole or sliced.
When I lived in Bangalore, I used to attend the weddings of many of my Muslim friends. Always, the key of the wedding lunch or dinner was the biriyani, usually mutton, not chicken. The quality of this was outstanding. My dear friend and former partner, the late Mir Hafeez Hussain, son of the late Justice Mir Iqbal Hussan (famous when he headed the Devraj Urs Commission), used to take me to meet the special cooks who were called to make the biriyani. I used to enjoy watching them make such huge quantities, never sacrificing the quality. It was they that explained to me the secret of making an outstanding biriyani!
It is said the success of the marriage hinged on the quality of the biriyani served to the guests!
Recently, I ordered biriyani in an Indian Restaurant in Oulu. They served me a pot which was covered with fresh vegetables. I could not see what I thought would be the beautiful colours of the rice. There was no traditional smell of biriyani anywhere near my table! When I cut into the dish, what I got was a terrible mish mash of curry and rice hash. Certainly not a biriyani, but a goulash. Definitely not worth the € 14 they charged for the dish! Although they had obtained most of the spices, the preparation was certainly not a biriyani.
It would be better to take this off the menu if they are unable to prepare a genuine biriyani, as the colour layering of the rice from top to bottom and the wonderful aromatic smell of the saffron is the absolute essential of a biriyani.
Being the King of all Indian dishes, without the saffron and cashewnuts sprinkled on the top of the golden yellow rice, and visible, it cannot to be in one's faintest dreams, considered to be a biriyani.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Annikki is getting aggressive
No, no marital problems.
It is just that Annikki loves snow (but hates the cold), just like a little child and she is happily playing in the garden making all sorts of things with snow.
She is also taking pictures and blogging them in her own blog called "Mobile Snowman"
This year she started with two creations and it has now become three.
She also created caves for lights and now she has bucket like snow receptacles on her Great Wall of Vesaisentie where she has her snow lights.
All she is hoping and praying for is that the snow weather lasts till the grandchildren arrive.
Can snow last till then?
Well it can. I remember one of her funniest and most endearing snowmen!
I went to bed on April 2nd 2006 at about 11 pm. The garden was full of snow.
I woke up at my usual time, of around 4 am. As I looked out of the kitchen window, I burst out laughing. There was an enormous snowman, holding a placard, wishing me a "Happy Birthday".
Can you wonder why we have been happily married for 43 years?
Snow can last well into April. And snowman snow is certainly available so late into year. Annikki is hoping the grandchildren can enjoy that part of the Finnish winter when they reach here at the end of this month!
It is just that Annikki loves snow (but hates the cold), just like a little child and she is happily playing in the garden making all sorts of things with snow.
She is also taking pictures and blogging them in her own blog called "Mobile Snowman"
This year she started with two creations and it has now become three.
She also created caves for lights and now she has bucket like snow receptacles on her Great Wall of Vesaisentie where she has her snow lights.
All she is hoping and praying for is that the snow weather lasts till the grandchildren arrive.
Can snow last till then?
Well it can. I remember one of her funniest and most endearing snowmen!
I went to bed on April 2nd 2006 at about 11 pm. The garden was full of snow.
I woke up at my usual time, of around 4 am. As I looked out of the kitchen window, I burst out laughing. There was an enormous snowman, holding a placard, wishing me a "Happy Birthday".
 |
| From Mobile Snowman / Liikkuva Lumiukko |
Can you wonder why we have been happily married for 43 years?
Snow can last well into April. And snowman snow is certainly available so late into year. Annikki is hoping the grandchildren can enjoy that part of the Finnish winter when they reach here at the end of this month!
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