An adventure on the lake

As I  have mentioned before in this blog, good friends are the best things that have happened to me. I don't have too many friends, but the ones I do have are truly solid friends and I consider myself fortunate in having them.

Romesh Mehta is one such old friend. We first met in Hyderabad in 1972, when as young Probationary Officers in the SBI, we attended a training programme in the Bank's Training Centre in Banjara Hills. I took an instant liking to him and from then on, we became the best of friends, sharing many adventures and experiences. We worked together in the Planning Department in the New Delhi Local Head Office of the Bank, and for quite some time I even stayed with him in his comfortable flat in Greater Kailash II. Then we were partners during the Bank's Lead Bank Programme in Garhwal (in today's Uttarakhand) and spent a lot of time together in Pauri. During a break in the work, we travelled down to Kerala, bringing my motorcycle along (by train) and went around many places in the state on it, before returning to Garhwal. It was a most enjoyable trip.

After the two of us got married, we both took up flats in Saket and were neighbours till Simmy and I took a transfer to Kerala. Though far away, we always kept in touch and made it a point to visit one another every now and then.

In December 2016 Romesh and his wife Shobha paid us a short visit. We went up to Mavady where Romesh had stayed many years back during our memorable motorcycle  trip and when Ammachi (my mother) was still alive.We also spent a day with my sister Laila in her beautiful house near the old ancestral Mavady tharawad. 

     On board the boat 

On returning to Kottayam, we then went to spend a day and night  at the Sailing Club in Kumarakom, where we had a minor adventure when we went boating in my speedboat Spirit of Meenachil. 

Romesh has described the incident very well on Facebook and it aroused considerable interest and concern among his friends. I think it would be best if I reproduce his writing verbatim:

“Being Religious”

Most of us believe in God but are not religious in its true sense. A boat ride on the speed boat driven by our friend Thomas Vallikappen on 3rd December 2016, has made me realize the power of a prayer or chanting of any mantra, as the invisible source of energy for human body and spirit.

Early morning on that day, Thomas (ex-SBI 1971 batch) took us out for a joy ride from the Kottayam Sailing Club in the Vembanad Lake in Kerala. While I sat in front in the 4-seater boat Spirit of Meenachil , our wives (Simmy and Shobha) sat on the seats behind. In a few seconds, the boat picked up speed and was cruising at around 20/25 kms an hour giving us a panoramic and awesome view of the vast, serene and still waters of the lake. Suddenly the steering lever of the engine gave way and the boat abruptly stopped midway, about 7/8 kms away from the boarding point. Thomas with help from Simmy, was able to re-fix the screw which had dislocated the lever. He restarted the engine and soon we were once again cruising at the old speed. But as ill luck would have it, the screw again got detached and the boat came to a sudden halt, this time midst a cesspool of weeds.

Thomas, as a natural reaction to his frustration blurted out “Oh S**t”.

A rope from a discarded fishing net had also got entangled in the propeller and therefore, he had no option but to jump into over 10 feet deep water, to cut the rope. He jumped in without a life jacket and after cutting the rope, swam on the left side to climb into the boat. But to our surprise and his own disbelief, he could not do so. He tried a few more times, even with our help, but all in vain. While my wife and I were at a loss to know what was happening, he told us that he will swim and drag the boat to the bank (bund) which was about 150 metres away.

Though Simmy helped in moving the boat with an oar, it was getting difficult to control the boat which kept going zigzag. After 20/30 minutes of strenuous effort by Thomas, the boat reached the bund and to our shock we realized that the height of the bund was beyond the reach of Thomas. We were also scared that if we pushed the boat too close to the bund, he may get squeezed in between the boat and the bund and hurt himself.

As we looked around, we noticed a small portion near the wall bereft of weeds, about 100 metres downstream. We started rowing the boat towards that point, making sure that there was sufficient space between the boat and the wall of the bund so that Thomas who was also swimming along was not hurt. As we reached that point, Thomas suddenly and loudly cried in pain uttering the words “Oh Jesus”. He shouted that something was sucking his leg. He was quick to realize that it was a suction pump (for pumping water from the lake into the paddy fields on the other side of the bund) and that his leg was getting sucked into the pipe. On the spur of the moment, the ladies shouted that I should push the oar against the wall of the bund and take the boat away from the point. To our relief, Thomas was also able to suddenly free his leg from the pressure of the suction pump.

Though there was a severe pain in his leg for some time, fortunately there was no serious damage. As he gained composure, he mustered the same old strength, grit and determination and made a valiant effort to push the right leg up on the side of the boat. This sight was a great relief for us and the three of us managed to pull him on to the boat, slowly but surely. This would not have been possible without his strong will power and God-sent energy. All of us were totally shaken and sat quietly in the boat for a few minutes to gain our breath. An SOS was sent to the Sailing Club and a rescue boat soon arrived.

Thomas, the jovial and fun loving person that he is, told us that he did not realize that he was not the young Thomas full of energy and strength and had actually aged. When I look back I find that two words can make such a difference in adversity-- “Oh S **t” or ‘Oh Jesus”. The first two suck you into a bottomless cesspool and the latter generates invisible energy in mind, body and spirit to come out of it. So whether it is “Oh God”, ‘Oh Jesus’ ‘Hey ram’ ‘Oh Allah’ or’ Wahe Guru’, or any other mantra, we should not forget that these are life giving recitations!

RCM

That was our little adventure, so vividly described by Romesh. We were able to get away without too much damage and enjoy the rest of the trip. Here are some more snaps of the trip.

Underneath the Mango Tree...

At the Sailing Club

At Mavady with my brother Babychan and his wife Rani

Shobha with my sister Laila

Shobha and Simmy in the boat

      

  

I do write occasionally and my articles have found their way into newspapers, magazines and tabloids. My friends and family members tell me that I write very well and that I should do so more often. Recently I met an old friend who casually asked me if I still write. I was quite surprised to hear him say that, because I didn't know that he was even aware that I ever wrote. It also set me thinking and I thought to myself  that I really ought to write more frequently.

The very next day I started writing something I had planned to write for a long time, about our misadventures in Paris with the female brigands. I sent it to the Hindu, and to my pleasant surprise, they published it within a week. To open the article, please click on the following link:

http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-openpage/a-parisian-experience-recalled/article9151601.ece

Delhi, Kalakhand and Corbett National Park

On our way from Delhi

In mid-November 2015, we had yet another get-together of the old college gang, first in Delhi and then in a wild, wonderful forest abode of a close friend of Shamsher's. This was practically right in the middle of the Corbett National Park and we spent 5 amazing days there, up on a small plateau overlooking the Ramganga river. The house itself reminded me of a ranch in the old wild west , except that it was in the middle of a semi-tropical forest, instead of the American plains.

Shamsher's friend runs an enormous establishment there, replete with horses, cattle, fowls, and a staff of some 35 men. The house has its own source of electricity and water and grows its own vegetables and cereals. It is almost inaccessible by motor transport and to reach it, one has to disembark at the roadhead about 2 km away in the forest, ride downhill on awaiting horses, ford the Ramganga, or get across on a tractor with an attached trailer. The surrounding jungle is teeming with wild animals of all kinds,including elephants and tigers and every morning, when we awoke, we could see tell-tale signs of elephants around the house, in the form of their droppings!

We went bathing in the river (with a faithful Samarpal Singh, our host's trusted aide, keeping a wary eye for crocodiles on the prowl), rode horses almost every morning, and also went on night safaris in the jeep.(The jeep, I must add, was assembled piece by piece on this side of the river) . The rest of the time was spent enjoying ourselves, eating, drinking (the house has a remarkably well-stocked bar!) and generally relaxing. It was with genuine regret that we finally left the place.

By jeep through the forest

Mounting the horses

Off we go

The return journey, with Chunnu

A wonderful Christmas and New Year

Christmas is something which both Simmy and I look forward to every year, because it's the only time when then entire family gets together. Our children Tonya and Unni, along with their spouses Jatin and Ankita and the grandchildren Nevan and now Theia, the newest addition to the family (Unni's daughter) were all here in Kottayam. It was wonderful having them all at home.

This year was quite unique, because after many years all of us managed to spend one day at Mavady, at the ancestral house, now renamed 'Vanilla County' and converted into a plantation homestay resort by my youngest brother Babychan, who as per tradition, inherits the family home. Vanilla County is doing exceedingly well in terms of occupancy and guests, and has truly found its niche on the international tourist map.  Babychan and his wife Rani are dedicated professionals in their field and we had the opportunity of watching them at work. It was quite an experience.

Jatin and Tonya with Nevan and Theia on a hammock in Mavady

Jatin entertains a delighted Theia on the hammock

Simmy with Theia at the 'padipura'

Nevan outside one of the tents

Nevan inside a tent

The front of the gracious old house

After spending a day at Mavady, we moved onto Edakkara, on the other side of the hill, where another brother George and his wife Pushpa live (my share of the property is also in Edakkara, adjacent to George's). George is a foodie and it was  a literal food fest in his house, the table groaning under the weight of all the delicacies. My nephew Mathen and his wife Anu from Goa were also there and the children went for jeep rides as well as a swim in Irukanni, a place which finds mention in another part of this blog. In the night we were entertained right royally by Mathen in his outhouse-cum-bar with a fabulous barbecue dinner. 

The Cup of Friendship

I have just got back from a short but unforgettable holiday at Marari with the old 'gang' from College consisting of Shamsher, Kala and Philip. We were of course accompanied by our wives.

Cheers to Friendship! With the Quaich presented by Dan O'Connor 

Relaxing at the Bar

The AGM, as we call it, has become an annual feature, hosted by Philip and Bina at their beautiful sea-side villa at Marari, bang on the beach. We spent 5 delightful days there, doing nothing but eat, drink, relax and chat. Bina's food as usual was heavenly and we were spoilt silly by the hosts and their very attentive staff, particularly Rajesh and Murugan who catered to every whim and fancy of ours.

Staying with Philip and Bina is quite an experience, somewhat akin to being guests of royalty. I have heard that in pre-independence days, in the princely states, like Jammu & Kashmir, the Durbar used to move from place to place, depending on the weather, and I suspect, the mood of the Maharaja. This is exactly what happens when Philip and Bina move to their beach house in Marari. An entire retinue of courtiers, from cooks and butlers to chauffeurs, boat-drivers and watchmen, move with them. Short of the royal standard being furled and unfurled, the protocols are very much like those followed when the Queen moves into Balmoral Castle from Buckingham Palace !
  
The highlight of the holiday was a luxurious cruise aboard Philip's yacht which took us all around the backwaters, and culminated in a grand biriyani lunch at the Kottayam Sailing Club at Kumarakom.

Full Steam Ahead!

I try my hand at piloting the yacht

Captain Nandita

Philip and Shamsher enjoying the ride

The one and only Arvind Kala

Bina on the phone

Chunnu and Simmy check out the plush interiors of the yacht

Relaxing at the Sailing Club in Kumarakom

Bina and Simmy on the verandah of the beach house

A view of the sea from the verandah

Another interesting feature of this year's  AGM was a Musical Night arranged by Philip as a surprise, when he roped in a talented young musician from Cochin called Charles Antony to entertain us with old English (as well as Hindi and Malayalam) songs popular with us while we were in college. Charles was wonderful; all of us felt twenty years younger and there was much whooping and dancing! Simmy especially, was in spectacular form, having had one too many brandies, and was unanimously voted '(wo)man of the evening'!

The Musical Night in progress

Trying our best to dance to the music !

A boisterous Kala during dinner 

We also put to good use Dan O'Connor's Quaich, the Scottish Cup of Friendship which he had presented to me when Simmy and I visited him in Scotland last year. The cup brought back nostalgic memories of college life and old friends, especially Pod.

My friend Pod

If someone were to ask me who was my dearest friend, I would unhesitatingly say, ‘Pod’. Pod was the pet name of Sonam Wangdi Tenzing whom I first met on 15^th July 1965, at the Assembly Hall of St.Stephen’s, Delhi, the college where we were both to spend five delightful years together. (The origin of his pet name is shrouded in the mists of Stephanian legends but has something to do with Hengist Pod, the maker of ‘square wheels’ from the popular comedy movie ‘Carry on Cleo’.)

On that day however, we were both scared freshers, terribly anxious about the ragging that we were facing.

‘Hi,’ I said nervously, stretching my hand out. ‘I’m Thomas Vallikappen from Kerala. Where are you from?’

‘Oh hello, I’m Sonam Tenzing from Sikkim,’ he replied, equally nervously, but shaking my hand vigorously. And that’s how the two of us, from the extremities of the sub-continent met that day. We were both doing History Honours and were delighted when we found ourselves allotted rooms in the same residential block, Allnutt South. He was in D-1, while I was in C-5. There were three other like-minded fellows, Shamsher Singh Ahlawat, Philip Mathew and Arvind Kala in the same block. We soon became bosom friends, sharing many escapades and adventures together, our friendship transcending college and working life and stretching well into our retirement. In fact we still remain the best of friends, getting together whenever we can. But of that, later. This is all about Pod…

The first few days of college life were miserable. There was heavy ragging and Pod and I would wait anxiously for classes to end, so that we could run away and take refuge with Pod’s elder brother who was then studying in another college, quite far from our campus. Frequently however, we were caught while returning at night, and then were even more mercilessly ragged by the seniors!  

Pod and I (as well as the rest of the gang) shared a lot of fun. Tutorials, scrambled eggs and toast at the café, taxi-rides to Sheila Theatre, Dara Singh movies at Amba followed by dinner at Tare-Pyare restaurant, cutting classes, the occasional Chinese dinner at Mikados, a cabaret show, heavy drinking sessions (mostly cheap rum), duck shoots and picnics on the Yamuna, treks in Himachal, raiding the fruit-walla’s shop,  and much later, in our MA days, parties with girls!  

After college, we went on our separate ways, but always stayed in touch. Pod went into the Administrative Service, Shamsher and I joined the SBI, Kala became a journalist, and Philip joined the Malayala Manorama, the newspaper owned by his family.

Soon after Simmy and I got married, Pod got to Delhi, where I was then posted. To our delight, he was appointed Sikkim’s Resident Representative in Delhi and moved into Sikkim House, the opulent. palace of the Chogyal, Maharaja Palden Thondup Namgyal, who by then had been deposed (and worse still, disgraced. It was a very shameful and vindictive act by Indira Gandhi which most of us, including Pod, found distasteful, but could do nothing about it).          

It was a golden period for newly-weds like us! Pod was a generous host and brimming with hospitality. We spent many week-ends at Sikkim House, in the Chogyal’s luxurious suite. Our daughter Tonya too had a lovely time there and Pod was very fond of her. She loved playing in the garden and lawns, swimming in the pool and being spoilt silly by Pod’s staff, including his secretary, Miss George, a Malayali lady.  Pod had an army of cooks, waiters, drivers and gardeners and truly lived like a king. One day, after a particularly hectic weekend there, I was in no mood to go to office. I rang up my boss from the bedside phone (sheer luxury in those days).

As soon as he heard my voice on a Monday morning, the boss knew what was coming. ‘Yes, Thomas,' he asked patiently, ' what’s your excuse this time?’

‘Sir,’ I told him quite truthfully, ‘I’m in a palace, sleeping in a Maharaja’s bed, there’s a swimming pool just outside the room and I just don’t feel like coming to office. May I take the day off?'

There was a slight pause, followed incredibly by a chuckle at the other end, and the boss said, ‘Acha baba, enjoy yourself. Take the day off, but don’t make it a habit.’ I often wonder what I would have done under such circumstances. Would I have been so sporting and magnanimous? Hats off to P.N. Bhat, my boss of those days.      

Pod had a fleet of cars at his disposal, including a Mercedes-Benz. He visited us frequently at our humble 2^nd floor flat in Saket. It was a treat to watch him arrive; the dapper Pod in a chauffeur-driven limousine! Our status went up considerably in the neighbourhood because of him.

After his stint in Delhi, Pod was sent to Sikkim, while I moved down south. We missed Pod and very soon after our transfer to Kerala, decided to visit him in Gangtok. Though Simmy was almost seven months pregnant then, she was adventurous enough to accompany me. As usual, Pod was the genial host and arranged comfortable accommodation for us at the PWD Guest House in Gangtok. We spent almost a week with him and enjoyed his lavish hospitality. At that time he was a comparatively junior officer, and must have had some difficulty in arranging the Guest House for us. Many years later, when he was Home Secretary of Sikkim he rang me up and said, ‘Tom, when are you coming to Sikkim next? No accommodation problems now. I’m Home Secretary, and jails come directly under me!’ Pod had a devastating sense of humour.        

With his son Kuncheok

With Sharda

With Karma and Kuncheok

Pod at home

A serious Pod

Pod’s next stint was in the north-eastern states, and we lost touch somewhat, though not fully. That’s when he got married to Sharda, a doctor from Nepal, whom we vaguely knew he was dating while in Delhi. When he returned to Sikkim a few years later, his rise in the bureaucracy was spectacular and before we knew it, he was occupying the top slot, that of Chief Secretary of Sikkim. It must have been a very fulfilling time for Pod's mother, a sprightly old lady, who, as I write this, is still going strong. Pod was the Chief Secretary, while the other son, Pod's elder brother (to whose room we used to run to escape ragging), was the Inspector-General of Police in Sikkim!

Though not an abrasive character, Pod was a principled man, scrupulously honest, and totally dedicated to his work. He soon fell foul of the politicians, particularly the then Chief Minister, and resigned in protest, though he retained the innocuous designation of ‘Adviser to the Govt. of Sikkim’ till the end. Around this time, we used to meet fairly frequently, in Delhi, and in Cochin, when he came to attend two of Philip’s children’s weddings. Each time he visited Kerala, he would insist on visiting Mavady, even if only for a few hours, because he loved the place.

Celebrating a birthday with his mother

Sharda and Pod

And then, on the 17^th of July 2007, I got the news of his death. He had had a massive heart attack and passed away in Gangtok. He was barely 60. We were all shattered. It was not possible for us to attend his funeral but we took the earliest opportunity and within a month, Simmy and I were in Gangtok to meet Sharda and the children. We spent two days with them.  While in Gangtok, Sharda and Kuncheok (Pod’s son) took us around all the places associated with him, and we even accompanied Kuncheok when he took Pod’s ashes to their final resting place near Changu Lake on the Gangtok-Nathu La road. My mind was at peace; I finally felt that I had done justice to the memory of my dearest friend.

With a Sikkim Police constable who escorted us

Simmy and I at Changu Lake 

A pensive Simmy with Pod's mortal remains

Pod's ultimate resting place

We pay our respects

A part of Changu Lake

Though Pod has gone, we still remain in touch with Sharda and the family. A few months after Pod’s death, we were so happy when Kuncheok and Karma (his daughter) paid us a visit in Kottayam.

We miss Pod very much; his sartorial elegance, his quiet companionship, and his boyish, guileless laughter. We miss him so much that we have a small shrine-like alcove in our room, above my computer table, containing his photographs. He is also the only person apart from immediate family members, who is included in our daily prayers. He must surely be enjoying Nirvana.                  

Pod's Corner at our house in Kottayam