THREE GIRLS SINGING IN THE TRAIN.

THREE GIRLS SINGING IN THE TRAIN

Three Girls Singing

The first privately owned Malayalam television channel Asianet is often regarded as the most popular television channel in terms of viewership not only in Kerala but also among the Malayalee expatriate population outside India.  In a way it connects the gargantuan populace of Malayalees all over the world by virtue of its programmes in a wide variety of genres including the much acclaimed music based shows. We all know that, the ‘Idea star singer’, a much successful musical talent reality contest is now one of the most popular shows of its kind in south India. However, my favourite programme in Asianet is ‘Hridayaragam’, a brilliant piece of musical work aims simply at the ecstasy of hearing ever green Malayalam film songs, through which you can also select a melody and send it as a dedication to your near and dear ones. While watching this programme, one can see the bulk of such dedications are from two prominent sections of scattered Malayalees who are working in arid lands of the Middle East or those who are exceptionally bored with the monotony of armed forces life. Since yours truly belongs to the second group, which always gets solace and gives solace by telling and thinking like, ‘ Aree   bhayya..,at least we are in India na...’ albeit it takes less hours to reach Kerala from Gulf countries than from the North-Eastern parts of India where one can find much concentration of our brothers in armed forces. I often watch this programme with a heart  brimming with enthusiasm and mixed emotions.

While talking about connecting the gazillion Malayalees to their home land, it comes to my mind a name that has now been a part of Malayali culture and a sweet nostalgia in the minds of Malayalees all over the world. As the longest daily running train in India which covers a distance of over 3000 kilometres one side and in all respect a sovereign socialist, secular, democratic, republican, superfast express of Indian railways, "Kerala Express" could narrate tales of torment and triumph that spans several volumes, if it had a mouth to speak and a hand to write.

For obvious reasons, long distance train journeys have not always been fascinating for me.  During my almost twenty years of Para Military service, I have travelled extensively around India and have been using the trains to traverse its vast expanse. I have had some interesting experiences as well and earned a few pals that figured to lasting friendships and a few, of course instant ones like the momentary intoxication of beer.

Yesterday while watching ‘Hridayaragam’ , it just came to my mind the reminiscences of a train journey I had from New Delhi to Trivandrum few years back. The journey will be remembered for its inimitable gaiety and the companionship provided by three beautiful young girls by virtue of their exquisite talents of singing. This post is dedicated to those cheery and chirpy girls who had taught us a few lessons about music in such a short period of time and also convinced us that if you are not dumb, you can sing. Yes. Each and every human being in the face of this planet can sing.

This time, through this post, I will try to connect these two diverse stuffs , the Music and the Train journey. Let us see how it goes.           

If you are a new comer at the New Delhi railway station at around 11 am any day, you will get hell bounded thinking that you are wandering around ‘Palayam market’ in Trivandrum or ‘Mitai Theruvu’ at Kozhikode and you may ask someone out of hallucination, where you will get some Puttu-kadala or Kappa-Meen curry. It’s during this time that the station would be high jacked by ubiquitous mallus thronging from all direction to a single platform for a few hours and the hard core Marathi Manoos, Bengali Bhadralok, Bihari Babus or what to say, the Haryanvi Jats would talk in Malayalam out of compulsion. It’s indeed a place outside Kerala, though for a few moments,  where mallus could speak their mother tongue without being ridiculed by a Hindi bhai, who would say, ’ Aaree Oyeee....phir shuru kar diya...ye kudu-kudu?’.  Apart from all, there would be no communists or congress, Hindus or Muslims or in that matter no Sukumarans or Nadesans. And yes, recently  I got a news that  our great saint, Maveli, frustrated with the political stunts in Kerala, got his flat booked nearby Pahad Gunj to see this peerless Mallu unison and harmony, though it cost him few  extra bucks as the house agent was a Tamiliyan staying somewhere near Mullaperiyar, as talk says.

On one such hot and sultry day, I reached the New Delhi Railway station to board the Kerala Express for my onward journey to Trivandrum. I had the comfort of having a 3^rd AC berth confirmed,  not an easy achievement for an armed force officer whose leaves are normally being sanctioned at the last moment due to “no apparent reason as such”. This time the odds were in my favour, thanks to the Special Protection Group and its veritable reputation, for that my ticket was confirmed in ‘headquarters quota’.

 Normally I would spend the two nights and almost three days of boring and strenuous journey in the confinement of my berth whereby reading and re-reading the bunch of magazines I’d stock from the station book stall with intermittent sleeps. I’ve never experienced any problems in taking long ‘naps’ in those cramped seats amidst noise of constant fidgeting of other passengers even on day time. To me these journeys are sometimes, excellent pad for sprawling my imaginations and taking a few important decisions.   

In came these three girls with a whole procession, probably their friends and relatives, to see them off. They all seemed to be very boisterous and were giving each other pleasant hugs and little kisses. The girls were much young and cheery.

When the train pulled out of the station, they settled in their seat opposite to me. In my customary serious outlook which I maintain during long train journeys, particularly when I was in the elite SPG lest I gave away my covert nature of my job, I glanced at them out of inquisitiveness and found all of them were beautiful and cool though. My analytical ability albeit with some difficulty selected the girl in red outfit as the most striking among them. 

It would probably take me few hours to analyze about their work and family details, I thought. May be I wouldn’t even in my whole journey of three days, by chance if they had been briefed by their relatives to avoid speaking to strangers. Either way, it won’t matter much for me.

The remaining two seats were occupied much ahead of us by an older Tamiliyan couple who were going to Coimbatore.    

After a while, I thought I may befriend the girls and start the confabulation, albeit with some reluctance due to apparent ignominy I may had to face if the girls opted otherwise. It’s my experience that once people sussed out who was in it for the longer haul, they starts talking and got into some interesting conversations till the end of the journey.

”Going to Trivandrum?”

I asked that universally accepted question to start any sort of  conversation.

My voice brought a sudden silence in the coupe.

“Yes” said the girl in red churidar.

“And you?”

“Yeah, me too”

I wondered if I would be able to take the conversation a bit longer, but somehow thought otherwise.

The train was speeding past ‘Mathura’.

 From their gestures and chat, these girls, I thought, are contrary to the usual guise of women I’ve seen elsewhere in my journeys. 

When the stupendous lunch I had at the Railway canteen and the hectic schedule of the past couple of days started besieging my head, I surrendered myself in my upper berth, stretched contentedly and soon fell into a much wanted slumber.

 A boisterous laugh followed by a stupendous clapping woke me up in between. The girls were poking and nudging each other while playing a much popular musical game in our part of the world, ‘Anthakshari’. Oh now they have started playing Anthakshari to banish the boredom, voila..., these girls are singing very well. I mentally appreciated their boldness in singing the songs in its required volume contrary to many girls who sings barely audible to themselves. May be they have some formal training, I thought.

The train, occasionally blowing its hooter, was now racing past the historic city of Gwalior. When the sound of music started spreading across the compartment, few from other coupe started joining us. By evening, when Kerala express was screeching past Jhansi, these girls wore an incarnation of Jhansi- ki- Rani (Ranees) as they were already in a conquering mood with several admirers around them. In the mean time our part of the compartment seemed pretty crowded though. Music session went late into the night as dark skies of Madhya Pradesh went past and we didn’t even notice, when the capital city of Bhopal arrived. 

 When the train was stopped at the next station, Itarsy at around 11.30pm, we call it a day and the audience dispersed to their places with a promise that they will meet again tomorrow. It was like a congregation of likeminded individuals with open mind assembled for a common cause of entertainment.  I slept well enough that night,  thanks  to the mesmerising effect of music and the Chicken Biriyani I had as dinner  started its soporific effect on me.  

Train was racing with the dark skies of Maharashtra the whole night.

All passengers, as usual were late in getting out of their quilt even as the shimmering orange rays of the rising sun to the east announced the formal start of second day of our journey. Many, like me were in fact woken up by the catering boy who came with breakfast. Our train was running through the baked lands of Andhra Pradesh and had just gone past Ballarsha.  

All the awkward, weary breakfast of Upma-Vada, had vanished and it was with a veritable enthusiasm that we assembled to start yet another session of ‘Anthakshari’.  Red churidar girl was the first to start with; it was a Tamil song, “Etho oru pattu, en kathil kelkum...”Few people soon walked into our coupe to turn it into a makeshift music theatre inundated with over enthusiastic audience.  We did not feel it as a disturbance but it was all about killing boredom by creating an ambience of musical bliss particularly when one among them, let us call her Miss. X, was singing extremely well. I was flabbergasted and was in fact craving for more melodious songs from her and she didn’t disappoint me as well. We were in fact enamoured of her sweet voice and exquisite musical talent.  

 Soon the girls had come up with an idea which was like a bolt from the blue sky to many of us.

 “Everyone present there should sing a song.”

Though the Idea seemed to become palatable to the crowd, very soon I found, few of them had furtively left the scene, leaving behind few die hard music fans. My being one among them, my analytical mind under the guise of being practical would ask me to mind my business leaving others to take such a huge risk of being either gobsmacked or disgraced by the audience. My being aware of my limitations, I displayed a paranoid revulsion to music, when my turn came. But these girls were the last ones to get distorted. With no other option to haggle over the meagre excuses, I was resigned to their adamant resolution.

To select a song from the gargantuan list of incredible songs in Malayalam, Tamil or Hindi, was as hard as selecting a gold ornament from Josco jewellers at Pattom. Relinquishing my inhibitions to the great energy these girls generated in me, I started singing my favourite song though I thought I have never had it easy when it comes to singing in front of others. Even more ominous was the presence of these girls who espouse music. An old Kishore Kumar hit, –Mere naina sawan badho- was what I finally decided to sing. And no sooner had I finished my song, than they appeared pleased with my effort. When it was done with, I saw few exclaimed faces which was an indication of me doing justice with what I did. One of the girls said, “Hey you can sing”, a statement that completely put me off balance. I thought my act of ostentation didn’t go futile.

The Tamil couple sang an old duet which was an incredible experience to our ears,  regardless of their different lingo.  Though the song was unheard before, I thought, this old couple is an epitome of love and affection even at that age. The rhythm of their song when harmonises with the clatter of the metallic rails,  was indeed mesmerising. My sincere regards to them. The arid land of Andhra was negotiated with pouring rain of music. At night when we returned to our berths we were already a peer group.

 Third and final day, our train had now reached the gods own country at about 8 in the morning. Palakkad, the granary of Kerala got its name from Pala, a beautiful tree with sweet scented flowers and Kadu (the forest). The district is, in fact, the gate way to Kerala for it longest mountain pass stretching over 40 kilometres on the foot of Western Ghats.  It’s always been an incredible experience to me to observe the lush greenery embellished by vast paddy fields, tall coconut trees swayed by the wind, shallow lagoons and huge lakes as the train whooshing past them by drowning myself in the comfort of window seat.  Entering Kerala has always been like a little drizzle pouring in gentle drops, with a splash of bracing breeze moistening my arid mind, giving rise to a huge urge to merge with nature by getting rid of these grudging comforts of a mechanical life. 

 Contrary to last morning, almost all the passengers were awake when the train entered Palghat. Sudden hullabaloo in the platform, the voice of hawkers calling,  “Dosa- muttaayyy, Parotta muttayy......and that typical...kappy kappy kappy,  in Mallu slang was like music to ears. Nammude  nadu. Oh how beautiful land...!

That day went without any music or exuberance as people were eager to get down at their respective stations.

One of the girls gets down at Thrissur and then starts that attrition of passengers. Few die hard music fans got down at Kochi. By the time the second girl gets down at Kottayam, the compartment was almost empty. In our roll, Miss P and myself were the only ones left as we were to the last station of Kerala express, Trivandrum. We were confabulating about few trivial issues and I for one am happy that we had a talk session on music too.

All the people, she said, those who are not unfortunately dumb on this beautiful planet can sing. And they all sing too in one way or other. She continued, “Those who says, I’ve never sang a song in my life, is in fact doing it often unknowingly.  Imagine you are in a bus stop with your friend, let us call him ‘Sanjay’, talking trivial things and suddenly his bus came and he boarded. Soon you remembered something and yelled at him from behind, ‘ Sanjaayyyyyy......call meee in the eveningggg.....’ . Now here you are simply elongating few alphabets with a rhythm..Ok. That’s all about singing.  Yes you do sing quite often.”

But, my dear friends I have to disappoint you by telling that you have to plough ahead quite a distance before you can develop as a professional singer. Few of our film stars like Amithabh Bacchan, Mammooty, and Suresh Gopi etc who are blessed with high and powerful voices can barely acknowledge singing if they asked to. But yet they sang some time or ever even in front of vast audience. So it’s all mental rather than physical. But the ability to sing with perfect ‘Shruthy or Key’ is an inborn talent like any other talents which makes few exceptional.

There are still few who can actually sing but do often shy away from it due to lack of self confidence. Singing is all about confidence than ability. Since singing and speaking are controlled by different sections of our brain, those who have speech difficulty or those who stutter can but sing beautifully.  

Now that you have successfully overcome your mental blockade, the things are getting easier for you. Iam by telling this not encouraging that you will become a Yesudas, Muhammad Rafi, Latha Mangeshkar or Chithra by practising music. They are of great voices. You have to understand that, Great voice and Good voice have its difference. They are rare and god gifted. 

It’s all about looking inside ourselves and identifies the hidden talents showered by the almighty on us, and also to ponder over the fact that, life is precious but fragile and during our limited stay on the face of this planet, we should try to explore our hitherto unknown talents whatever it may be.  

Thanks to those three god gifted girls who by virtue of their talents engrossed us, otherwise I would have passed the journey poignantly in my upper birth amidst the weariness and cramps of a long journey reluctantly sleeping for three days. I don’t know whether I would have any such boisterous journey in my life again and I’am not even sure I would conduct a journey to Delhi in any near future at all. But one thing is sure, that I won’t mind doing long journeys inside the compartment of a train in such an ambience....

P.S :-    Getting inspired by them, I once tried my hand at singing, in a Diwali function organised by R.A.F and made a mess of it....

Want to see...?    Ahem.....Please ensure that all privacy requirements are observed...!

P.P.S:- My fav songs in Malayalam:- Kudajadriyil kudikollum.., Kudajadriyil kudikollum..., Kudajadriyil kudikollum..(100 times), Poykayil kulirpoykayil, Azhake nin mizhineer, Anakha sankalpa gayike, Poomaname, Devanganangal Kaiyozhinja , Poovankuzhali penninundoru, etc etc etc...

In Hindi- Chand jaise mukhade pe, Mere Naina sawan badho, Oh sathi re there bina bhi kya, Madhuban kushbu detha hai, Kahan se aye badara, etc etc...

In Tamil:- Nilave vaa, Kannaei Kalaimane, Etho oru pattu etc ..

MASH ON MERCILESS

MASH ON MERCILESS

Khaleem Khan, father of Amjed Khan with his photo

(Sorry my brother Kishun Kujur. I couldn't get your photo.)

                                           
                                    My salute to both of you


I seek to espouse the title of this post, as a catchphrase which I’ve singled out intentionally while considering the perpetual cannibalistic approach of Maoists in abducting and killing innocent policemen in the line of duty.  Series of incidents occurred against the backdrop of escalating tensions in the states of Chhattisgarh and Odisha recently shows how Maoists ridiculing and desecrating the very essence of humanity by unleashing relentless brutality. The latest information is that an Asst sub inspector, Kruparam Majhi, of Odisha police has been shot dead soon after his abduction in Nuapada district of Odisha, yesterday. He was travelling in a motorbike when he was attacked and abducted by ten armed naxals in broad day light. His body was found in a nearby forest two hours later.

Sukhma collector Alex Paul Menon

Another high profile abduction of Sukhma collector Alex Paul Menon on April 21^st from Manjhipara village of Sukhma district, which set the whole country on tenterhooks for almost a fortnight, has ended on a happy note when he was released by Maoists on Thursday night.  As soon as news papers flashed this news,  we have heaved a sigh of relief and thanked the state government and all those who had worked for the safe release of the officer with much fervour. Villagers of Samathanapuram, a hamlet in Tirunelveli district, from where the collector hails, have burst into jubilation as the news spreaded among them. They burst crackers and distributed sweets out of boundless joy, which was telecasted live by hoards of media personnel who were present there since the abduction of collector. Once again the phrase, “All’s well that ends well”, got better of things.  

 

Far away in Chhattisgarh, meanwhile, impoverished populace of two small villages witnessed a saga of broken hearts and shattered aspirations when bodies of two young men, who had sacrificed their lives in the line of duty, were taken on their final journey. There weren't any media personnel or senior politicians. The bullet riddled bodies of Amjad khan of Nagari village in Chhattisgarh’s Dhamtari district and Kishun Kujur of Yashpur village were laid on rest amidst emotional scenes but not with much paraphernalia, albeit they too were associated with the same incident that happened at Manjhipara village twelve days ago. The only reason for this dichotomy is because, they were the body guards of the abducted collector, who were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred by heavily armed Maoists who came with a well planned strategy to kidnap the top official of the district under broad day light. Both were shot and killed instantly with brutal coarseness.  

Khan, a post graduate in history from Pune University was a bachelor, while Kujur is survived by his wife Seema and two small, four and one year old sons. Me being a serving government official, the code of conduct tagged with my job, restricting me from writing my soul out on this issue.

Here, I’ve no intention of arguing for the deceased policemen or their hapless family members who were deprived of their loved ones and bread bearers, but to look upon in a different perspective, the plight of few men who safeguard someone else’s life with their own.

Almost two decades ago, we all remember, in a reticent village approximately 30 miles away from Chennai, our beloved former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated while campaigning for a Lok Sabha candidate at an election rally at Sriperumbudur. He died instantly. Few meters away, Sub Inspector Pradeep Kumar Guptha of Delhi police had a little life left in him to ask what is more imperative for him than his own life. All those rescuers and party workers who responded to the initial disaster were screaming and thronging with a question that the whole nation asked amongst each other in the next few hours. ‘Is Rajivji safe? Is the leader safe...?’.

Mr. Guptha, while wilting away, taking his last breath asked the same question with a slight difference. ‘Is my boss safe...?’ Nobody answered him, as they were hysterically running towards an important life, much more precious than his own that of a policeman. I may thank those who didn’t care to answer him; otherwise he would have left this world with a grieving heart.

Life of a body guard is just about the willingness to make the supreme sacrifice for a person to whom he may not even remotely associated to. In a profession where the price for a mistake is always death, the job of a body guard is usually a thankless one. Kujur and Amjad did exactly what was expected of them to do as body guards of the collector. They committed themselves to it at the cost of their lives.

I will never either blame the collector nor will I accuse him squarely for this incident.  A dutiful district collector could not by any means confine himself in the comfort of his air conditioned office enjoying the panache of special privileges accorded to his job, but  has to reach the masses with the developmental activities the government entrusted to him for the welfare of the society. We should not vilify his intentions. Whereas it’s the government machinery including his own office as district magistrate has to decide the level of security he deserves according to threats from newer areas and in keeping view of the present threat perception. Sukhma, a place often frequented by me during my tenure in Dantewada district, is well known to me as a region where Maoists have a significant influence over the local populace. In a place widely accepted as a critically affected area, the decision to visit a remote village to attend a function which was highly publicised well in advance with a meager two armed guards in a motorcycle was indeed a high risk affair. As the bereaved wife of Kujur, poignantly said lateron while talking to media that, if the collector had carried more force, her husband could have been alive, is an indication as to how much the policemen and their family members are aware of contemporary security scenario of that place.  Maoists once again have exhibited their infamous modus operandi of attacking their enemy in sheer numbers and thereby managed to abduct the collector without much resistance from his bodyguards. Here, the most important concept of personal protection, "the element of surprise", was compromised to a larger extent. .  

 Any senior administrative officer, though grudgingly, has to take decisions at the spur of the moment by taking into consideration certain issues which are more prominent than his personal comforts.  They have to live by the fact and at times taking risks would become imperative.  But still, it is my personal opinion that, every individual should be aware of his threat perception and to a large extend is responsible for his own protection. By virtue of being a person who had almost eleven years of experience in the elite Special Protection Group (SPG) an agency responsible for the protection of the Prime Minister of India, I can categorically say that, if a subject intentionally deviates from the existing norms of security, then no one can save him. If you have a high threat perception, you have no choice but to abide by the well defined norms of security, which will eventually save you and your dear ones from being ravaged.

 Some news paper reports quoted Khaleem khan, father of deceased Amjad khan who said, “I don’t agree with what they (government) are doing. Naxals will keep up their pressure like this. They will kidnap more officials to make similar demands...”  After reading this, I thought, isn’t the same fact that the security experts and high profile media men came up with one unanimous conclusion at the end of several brain storming sessions conducted in their studios in the aftermath of this incident?  

No human life is less or more important than another. Let us not be casual over issues worth paying deep attention. Maoists are now on abduction spree. They are least bothered about human lives and ethics. They can go to any extent to achieve their targets. Abduction and merciless killing of unarmed policemen returning from leave or other official assignments have become a routine affair.  Intelligence reports suggested that, naxals have managed to consolidate their positions considerably during the suspension of the armed operations against them in the wake of recent kidnappings. It affected the intelligence gathering mechanism also. Maoist used this period to lay out a vast network of landmines which will be used extensively against the Central Paramilitary Forces in those naxal infested areas. Means more lives of security force members.  All senior public servants should understand the grievousness of the situation and should ensure adequate security measures while venture out to unknown places where naxalites have stupendous hold.  Basically you need to understand that your stupidity may result in you having to spend days in their captivity and more over in releasing hardcore militants who were captured by brave policemen by putting their lives on tenterhook. Now here it becomes pertinent to say that, there is only a hairline difference between ridiculousness and courageousness. Nobody should ever have to flaunt their chivalry at the cost of someone else’s life.  

  

 Reports also suggested that, naxals managed to recruit new cadres and procure more arms and ammunition in an effort to strengthen their establishments, particularly in the states of Chhattisgarh and Odisha during this period. It is definitely a galling setback for the Central Para military Forces. In the wake of these events, abduction of Sukhma collector seemed to be a game plan of Maoist well orchestrated at the cost of the lives of police men. The more prevalent questions are, when will Maoist’s atrocity and bloodbath end? When will they come to the main stream politics and join the government in resurrecting the impoverished tribal populace in the far flung hinterlands of India? Their merciless attacks and cold blooded murders are rising day by day. It seems that they have as much penchant for police blood as do wolves for sheep’s. Now it’s the time for the government to initiate concerted and stringent military action against the Maoists thereby finding a perennial solution to this problem once and for all. A soft approach on these brutal killers will do nothing to mar their intrinsic image of cannibals that seemed to engulf them.

The motto should be, ...``MASH ON MERCILESS``

P.S:- Being an Ex- SPG officer served in that elite organization for almost eleven years, I will always be proud to say, 
" Why you wanna try to get us down, when even bullets couldn't do...." 

JAI HIND.........JAI BHARAT MATA...!

WORK IS WORSHIP

WORK IS WORSHIP

"This picture, I've got from the facebook yesterday. Looking at it, I thought of writing someting as a comment. And Lo..., the comment has turned out to be a short story, rather a mini story which I've then posted there. I thought of posting it here too...  ...Any ways...here it goes..."

Muttering curses over the recent boom in Shopping arcades, I glanced through the glass window of my own small grocery shop at the market road and found that the old lady is yet again missing today. She has now been missing for almost a week...I thought. The lamp post, under which she used to lay out her paltry collection of vegetables on sale for almost a year, gave a melancholic look.

Sitting under it, she never yelled at anyone to attract attention. Very few people would turn up to the effort of buying vegetables from her as the stocks would not suffice to make a ‘Sambar’ or ‘Aviyal’ for an average family.  The question of how much a profit did she makes at the end of the day often surprise me. But then, soon I found she had a regular customer though. A rich man who comes at 12 noon sharp in a bright red luxury car with tainted windows to buy whatever vegetable was left unsold.   Every day the car would screech to a halt in front of her and then comes out a hand as the front window rolled down automatically, would collect vegetables, exchange money and took off again. She would then pack up the utensils and vanish from the scene in a hurry. None of my customer had any connections with her and thus the old woman ever remained as a mystery for me.

Chandrika, another old lady who have not yet enticed by the high –tech shopping malls and thus remained as a steadfast customer of me just came inside with a small list. Reaching for the list and still gazing down the lamp post I asked her,  “Amma...do you know that lady who used to sit there with some vegetables? ...She is missing for few days...what happened, Eh..?

Staring down the lamp post, she released a long sigh. “She is no more now...my son...She died a peaceful death last week while sleeping.”  Paused for a while, she looked at me and asked sceptically, “You don’t know her...? That contractor Sahadevan...you know...he is her son... Poor lady,  she struggled a lot with a vegetable shop at her native village to bring up her children. All are well off now at various places. But till last breath, she won’t compromise herself. She came to this town last year when Sahadevan built a new house in the town square."

After closing the shop bit early in the evening, I went to the house of Sahadevan to pay my condolences as he was my friend too. There I could see on the front wall of the veranda, a wood engraved huge portrait of that old lady with a caption inscribed below...

“My Mother... Who taught me to live Ethically and Morally... Who taught me the value of Own hard earned money...Who taught me..., Work is Worship.”

 While pressing the calling bell, I saw towards my left in the corner of the patio, one ' bright red luxury car' with tainted windows.