Car crash on way to airport

Viewing this image you would not hold out much hope for its passengers. I wouldn't,either, had I not survived the crash. This was the vehicle in which my wife and I were going to the Bangalore airport to catch an early morning flight to Dubai/San Francisco. It happened near Bididi, nearly two hours after we had left Mysore, at the dead of night. Our Tata Sumo had a brush against a bitumen laden truck, taking a 'U' turn on a high-speed highway.
Pictures of the bitumen truck and the crashed Sumo were taken after they had brought them to Bididi police station from the accident site.
We were at the rear-seat, asleep.I didn't know what hit us, as I woke up to the crash; my wife had passed out on impact. Stranded on a highway in pitch darkness, I felt futile and helpless. For a few agonised minutes I believed it was all over, as my wife wouldn't respond to my frantic calls, and efforts to shake her awake.

It must have been minutes, but seemed an eternity, before she regained consciousness. She was dazed, and kept asking what had happened,and why;and where we were heading and what for. Whatever I told her didn't register, for she kept repeating the same questions,to a point when I lost patience. I found myself utterly at a loss as what to do next.

Our driver Mahadevan knew the drill. He informed his travel office in Mysore; called the police, and the ambulance service. Meanwhile a crowd gathered, even though it was past midnight. Feeling embarrassed, and somewhat irritated at our becoming a spectacle for curious passers-by, I gave vent to my frustration, asking the driver why he wouldn't try to stop a passing vehicle to take my wife to hospital,instead of wasting time answering silly questions from inquisitive onookers.

I didn't know at that time Mahadevan, hurt and bleeding from his right ear, was doing his best, unmindful of his injury. I learnt later that Mahadevan had a slashed ear. A few minutes later a policeman showed up on a bike, but there was no sign of ambulance.

Under stress I get clumsy at handling things, even a cell phone. I managed to call co-brother Raghu in Mysore. I had a credit card, but not much cash. He called his co-brother Narsimhan in Bangalore, who, with wife Gita, was the first to turn up at the hospital at the crack of dawn. Gita and Baby - my wife's sisters - stayed at the hospital bedside, all through. As it turned out, I didn't need cash. The ambulance ride was free; and I used credit card at the hospital.

Incidentally, it came as a relief to learn that the Karnataka government has a free ambulance service in place on the Mysore-Bangalore highway. So dire was its need for us that I would have readily paid a thousand rupees, if only I had the cash. It was,I believe, nearly half-hour ambulance ride to BGS Global hospital at Kengari. The approach road to an otherwise well-equipped hospital is bumpy, and bad for fracture cases. And the multi-speciality hospital, located close to the highway receives mainly accident victims. I see repair of potholed patch of road to the hospital as a medical priority.

Emergency service was prompt, and efficient. Dr Venkatesh who attended on my wife stitched up a nine-inch cut on her neck; had her right shoulder x-rayed for supected fracture; and kept up a conversation to calm our nerves. At my request he agreed to take a call from my anxious daughter-in-law, a doctor in the US.I found Dr Venkatesh a multi-tasker with reassuring way with words in dealing with patients - the kind,I believe, would be an assset in any medical emergency room. I wonder why a hospital that claims to have world-class infrastructure, including helipad for air ambulance, can't fix its bumpy driveway.
On our way back to Mysore, after a day in hospital,I stopped by to see, for the first time, our damaged vehicle. The scale of damage may spell death for others. But I associate life, my reality of it, with that mangled mess on wheels, if only because my wife and I are still alive to see the wreck. The image of the wrecked Sumo tells me that at times a split-second or sheer hair-breadth is all that is there between life and a pointless death.

Mangammal in Pollachi

My mother Managammal has moved to Pollachi. She plans to be there for the three months we - my wife and I - would be away from Mysore.

We are leaving for the US early Thursday, to spend time with our grandsons Sidharth and Nikhil in San Ramon, California. Moving establishment, even if it is for a few months, is always a hassle. While your daily routine gets upset, it becomes increasingly difficult for you to adjust to a changed environment as you get older. My mother is 90; underwent surgery for fractured leg; and she moves about with the help of a walker.

The house where my mother would spend the next few months has been rented out on compassionate grounds to our Pollachi neighbour Anusiya, who runs an informal school for the mentally challenged children. We had no intention of renting out our house to anyone; and I told Anusiya as much when she first approached us. It was only after seeing the schhol kids under Anusiya's care that my wife and I relented.
Our house, at the far end (painted green) and barely visible, is located in what is left of my grand-father Chakrapani Iyer's farmland. The houses in the foreground belong to Mangammal's sisters - Sambu and Sita. Having your sisters for next-door neighbours is a major consideration that prompted my mother's move to Pollachi. That she is in good company during our absence from Mysore is a comforting thought for us. What isn't so comforting is that all three sisters are ageing and ailing to varying degrees. But then, if they apply their mind to making the best of their situation, the Pollachi sisters can view their stay together as an opportunity to learn to be supportive of each other, focusing on their commonalities, rather than harping on petty differences. They can become a source of strength to each other.
My chittappa Padmanabhan is agile and active even at this age. He has always been there for us whenever we needed his help and support. For instance, we got Sun TV and phone connections for my mother's place with chittappa's help.

We had agreed to rent out our house to Anusiya on the understanding that my mother would have access to a portion of the house for a period of stay, whenever she needed it. She agreed to this arrangement because 1) Anusiya desperately needed additional space; and 2) we would not have rented the house on any other terms. We - Anusiya and I - worked out this mutually acceptable arrangement.
A class is in session at our place. This photo was taken after my mother moved in to occupy a room next to this class-room . Incidentally, the boy with his teacher, is Gogul. He was somewhat difficult to handle when he first came and we found him in a cry mode when I visited last some months back (click here to view earlier post).
Sangeetha, a teacher, stays here and uses this room after school hours. She now has my mother for company.
Chitra, a former and reliable maid of ours, has returned to the household to be a live-in help for my mother.

Muthusamy's Sathabhishekam

Muthusamy is a first-generation clan member who worked all his life and retired in Pollachi. He is 81,and is about to 'get married' to Swaranambal, all over again later this month. They call this marriage Sathabhishekam; it is to be performed by their children.
The long-wedded couple - Swaranambal and Muthusamy Iyer - ready for re-marriage.I took this photo specifically for this blog, when my wife and I visited them during our recent Pollachi trip.

To be entitled to re-weddding, you need to have been happily married for decades, till the husband attains the age of 60. Muthusamy said he didn't have it done at 60. Now that he is 80 plus his son Giri and his wife want to celebrate sathabhishekam . And Muthusamy and his wife are pleased to oblige them. For them it represents an occasion for a grand family re-union. The family priest was consulted and an auspicious date fixed - May 25. Formal invitation has been sent to relatives and friends.

Though he is elder to me by a decade, our relationship have all along been so friendly that I address him as Muthusamy, as I would any close friend. My earliest recollection of him is that of a tall, lanky young man on a bicycle, who visited my many uncles at our house. I was then a schoolboy in Coimbatore, and used to visit Pollachi to spend vacation at thatha Chakrapani's spacious cottage-like house, located at what was then the fringe of the Pollachi town on Coimbatore Road.

Muthusamy's father - Krishna Iyer - was my thatha Chakrapani's elder brother. Speaking of him Muthusamy mentioned that his father spent his retirement years in Tirupur with Venkatanna, Muthusamy's elder brother.

Incidentally, Venkatanna had been instrumental in initiating our matrimonial alliance. He was a neighbour of my wfie's Senu chittappa, a sub-registrar in Tirupur, in early 70s. It was through the good offices of the Tirupur neighbours that our horoscopes came to be exhanged between parents, and our wedding was made possible.

I must recall here a touching incident relating to Venkatanna, whose face I remember because of distinctive pock-marks left by a severe attack small-pox in his younger days. As newly marrieds, on our way from Coimbatore to New Delhi by train, we were pleasantly surprised to find Venkatanna at Tirupur railway station with a parcel of my favourite jelabi. We were touched by his gesture . Venkatanna , being so elderly, thought nothing of the trouble he had to take for such a brief meeting with us at a wayside railway station. The train halted barely for a few minutes at Tirupur.

My wife's Sulur cousins

My wife Subbu's Sulur cousins are a close-knit group; they belong to the third generation of the family of Lakshminarasimhan, her father's father. He was a revenue stamp vendor in Sulur. My wife's father Venkataraman was the eldest of the four Sulur sons. With four sisters, theirs was a large family.
After schooling and marriage the brothers and sisters drifted away from Sulur to places as far apart as Salem, Chennai, Dehradun and Jamshedpur. Their children, now married with grown up children of their own were losing touch with each other. And this was when my wife's cousin and Hyderabad-based Govindarajan organised Ramanavami celebrations last month at Sulur. It was a family reunion that revived decades' old memories and my wife returned from Sulur with resolve to stay in touch with her cousins.
She didn't expect to have another family re-union so soon after her Sulur visit, when we had a surprise meeting with some Sulur family members last week at Coimbatore. Those we met included my wife's two other cousins - Kunju and Vijaya. The occasion was Vijaya's son's poonal.

Rangarajan, Shekar and Raghu at the poonal of Vijaya's son. Raghu and his wife came from Chennai to conduct their nephew's poonal, held at Ayyappan Puja Sangam, Coimbatore. It was a community ceremony at which poonal was conducted for nearly 50 eligible boys by the local Shankara society.
The community hall was packed with relations and friends of families celebrating poonal. And the ceremony was conducted by priests engaged by Shankara Society. The society charged a modest Rs500 from each family; and besides conducting the ceremony they held a community feast for the participant families and their guests. For the purpose of economy and because of space constraint each family was requested not to invite more than 10 or 15 persons.
My wife and I were there, courtesy my niece Kalpana and her husband Muthuraman, whose son Mukesh had his poonal at the Ayyappan Samajam. And we were unaware of the thread ceremony of Vijaya's son, held at the same place, same time.
It was not until after the ceremony that Raghu and Shekar noticed me taking this picture. They were thrilled to meet my wife again, so soon after their Sulur family reunion. Raghu even complained that Subbu had failed to inform him about her Coimbatore visit when they met at Sulur.

But then he quickly realised that we could turn around and hold him guilty of having neglected to invite Subbu for their nephew's poonal. Raghu and his wife were the prime-movers at their nephew's poonal. The boy's mother relied on him to conduct the ritual; and Raghu, on his part, was glad to be of help to his Coimbatore cousin.

Vijaya (right) appears pleased at the way the proceedings went; and her sister Kunju (wearing a similar saree) stood up in excitement as she spotted my wife in the hall. My wife has little recollection of when ,and how long ago , they had met last.
Another person she met after decades , though both live in the same town (Mysore) was Bhavani. I am not sure of how they are related, but I have heard my wife referring to Bhavani's father who used to run a radio shop on Mysore's Sayyaji Road during the days before television. Radio Mani mama, as he was known in family circles, is no more. So is his radio shop.
Pattu sitti was perhaps the senior most member of the Sulur family to bless the poonal boy. Conspicuous by his absence was her son Govindarajan who hosted the Sulur Ramanavami celebrations.

He told me on phone that the Sulur family has been conducting the yearly festival at the local Ram temple for generations. And he wanted to hold the 60th year of the celebrations on a grander scale. Govindarajan made it a point to invite everyone associated with the Sulur family; and expressed , in passing, his hope that they would be liberal with donations. I couldn't make it to Sulur, and I don't know how much, if at all, my wife contributed.