The Hindu Business Line : Going back to one’s roots

Sharjah Ganesh is in Mumbai for a week and has been updating us at home of the life styles of the mixed Indian population there. Tapping at a mosquito feeding on his right arm, he says, “The place is clean. There are no mosquitoes. We live in air-conditioned homes, air-conditioned cars, and air-conditioned offices. You turn wet with sweat if you spend two minutes in the open air. And who wants open air when air-conditioned air is Centre Fresh,” he adds.

The place in the deserts of Arabia will have its own metro rail and Sharjah Ganesh is sure it will be built earlier than in Mumbai or Bangalore. “I don’t know how they decide these things there. But once they decide, work meets time and output schedules. The shops have every Indian vegetable and snack like murukku, cheedai and thattai and they are never stale like in Mumbai,” he added as we chatted in a half-empty Virar-bound local on a Sunday.

For three years now, he has been working in Dubai and Sharjah and is the first from our family to ride for two hours the skies to the desert kingdom. In the late 50s, his father had boarded a crowded, unreserved train from Villupuram to the then Calcutta to earn a few rupees.

And much, much into the past one can trace the grandparents from Ashramam village, five minutes from Suchindram in the then Travancore-Cochin. We share the shrivelled, left-over roots at Ashramam village. But the man has not changed; every year he changes his sacred thread, chirps daily prayers to Lord Hanuman and Goddess Kali, and still rushes to the TV to wah-wah his favourite Saurav dada and his offside strokes at every cricket match.

“But I have not been watching cricket since the World Cup in West Indies…,” and got stuck in mid-air as Saurav dada reluctantly kissed farewell to a ball from Anderson. The ball happily passed deep mid-off and rolled over the boundary ropes. One has to suffer a lot watching TV cricket: there are the comments of the public at home and the bak-bak (inane nonsense) of politician-cricketer Gavaskar, Ravi Shastri and Ian Chappell; only Nasser Hussain makes sense sticking to the proceedings on the grounds and has no private agenda.

Ganesh set down his tour schedule: a visit to Siddhi Vinayak temple at Dadar, a look-in at Matunga, a Volvo-ride to Shirdi Saibaba to sign the muster. On Monday, we went to Siddhi Vinayak temple where they scan the coconuts and flowers offered by the public to keep the Lord cheerful; it is something like tipping a government employee. There was no Sanjay Dutt or Amitabh Bachchan; only a few human beings were on show.

One could almost hear Lord Ganesh murmur, “When Amitabh or Sanjay comes, the public forgets me and that is irritating. The police protects me and my devotees think I offer free insurance cover to them.” And then there is the custom of whispering one’s wishes into the ears of the Holy Rat (or is it a bandicoot), the Indian-made, non-polluting vehicle of Lord Ganesh. “Please wish for the family,” Rama had told me and one said something about going free to Australia to watch the Australia-India Tests early next year.

“Please appreciate my problem. The other day Sehwag asked for the same favour as he wants to be back in the Test team and I try my best to serve people on a first-cum-first (FCFS) basis. That rule does not always work.

“For quite some time, a leading chemist has been requesting me to boost his pharma business and if I agree it will mean spreading diseases in my own city. That will be most unfair when thousands are sending in their requisitions for good health. I have passed on the files with my markings to my Boss,” said the Holy Rat.

On Tuesday, we went to Matunga, where old Tamil and Malayali men and women relish their oldness. We had our filter coffee at Sharada Lunch Home (which has lost much of its flavour) and spoke Tamil to the old mamis manning Giri Trading Agency opposite the aged Matunga Post Office.

Giri’s calling card prides in being the “Retail chain for all divine needs” with the administrative office located at Mylapore; it has outlets in Goregaon (Mumbai), Dombivili (Old and New), Nerul (Navi Mumbai), Mylapore, Nanganallur, Adyar, Coimbatore, Secunderabad, Kanchipuram and Madurai.

For some time, one has been trying to trace the first families from Kerala who made it to the Gulf to form the initial Indian, tricolour wave. Firm dates are hard to come by as the urgency to earn a few dirhams and fill a few empty stomachs did away with noting down details.

Long before Sharjah Ganesh made it to the Gulf, it was Krishna Mani from Poonjaparambu Mathom in the village of Mooattupuzha in Kerala who went to the Gulf around 1953 at the age of 16. In those times of typewriters and shorthand notebooks, Krishna Mani learnt the skill of banging on the typewriter (one and the only machine which has helped feed thousands of Tamils and Malayalis), came to Mumbai, fell for a Christian nurse, married her without informing the public at Poonjaparambu Mathom and crossed over to the Great Gulf. Every year he would send dirham money orders to keep alive 10 brothers and sisters. Four of his brothers tagged along to the Gulf after passing (or is it failing) Class 10.

On a visit to Mumbai, he presented one a packet of Camel cigarettes and a bottle of Black Dog whisky to top my esteem chart. He never lost his Malayalithwam (the Malayali essence, whatever that be) Rama says and loved Kerala more than Gulf. When he grew old, he went back to Poonjaparambu Mathom to die where he was born.

P. Devarajan

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