Every day should be Mothers’ Day and Fathers’ Day. This Mothers’ Day (May 11), I started to pen some thoughts regarding my parents (Dr. Vasant R. and Mrs. Uma Koppikar), but life intruded and I did not complete my piece to honor them. One awful summer in 1978, we were devastated by my father’s fatal heart attack on July 2. Within a couple of months (Sept. 3) my mother lost her brave fight against leukemia. Doubly mourning, numb with shock, we could barely function. All 5 sisters (I am the second) consoled each other, drew strength from our spouses, and managed to live through bereavement. Sadly, the third of the daughters, Padmini Rao, succumbed to multiple myeloma in Sept. 2006. This article is dedicated to her memory, with thanks to her husband, B. Udayanand Rao for being such a dedicated care-giver.

In the preface to “Manache Shloka” (24 Feb. 2000), His Holiness Sadyojat Shankarashram Swamiji writes “Our Parama Guru, Swami Anandashram used to speak of three Shankars in our community. They were Justice K. Shankarnarayan Rao, HSR (H Shankar Rau) and A.V. Shankar Rao.” I am proud to call the first-named Shankar my maternal grandfather. He bequeathed to us a precious legacy of caring and sharing which we hope to pass on to future generations. My parents were karma-yogis and are my role models. They touched many lives and helped make this world a better place. Even after 30 years, people remember my parents and speak respectfully of them. They express gratitude for their kindnesses: e.g., being surrogate parents to homesick young brides, assisting families over rough patches, lending a helping hand in financial crises, and simply being there when needed. All this was done quietly, unobtrusively, and with no strings attached. We grew up surrounded by warmth and affection, compassion for the less fortunate, and kindness and consideration for all. Our household was the opposite of the “himTee” (miserly, penny-pinching) reputation attached to Koppikars.  Indeed my parents were generous almost to a fault. Hardly a day went by when they were no guests. Doors were open and no alms-seekers were turned away. Midway between Mumbai/Pune and southern destinations such as Shirali, Mangalore, Bangalore, travelers would halt in Belgaum and were treated as part of the family. If there were people travelling with no stops, my mother brought tiffin carriers full of home-made food to them. Rather than purchasing a railway platform ticket each time, she would buy a season pass for convenience. On the off chance that someone may come in on a late bus etc., extra food was put aside. She followed the tradition of her parents’ home (nicknamed “Liberty Hall”) where many young men from smaller places lived to complete their education, and generosity was the byword. My paternal grandparents also created a haven. A well-known ophthalmic surgeon, Dr. Ramdas Koppikar was also a reputed dentist, and patented and manufactured affordable medicines.

My parents’ house was “KuLaar” (Parents’ place) for everybody, regardless of gender or age. Entire families would come over if one person had eye surgery. My father was the official opthalmologist to our revered Swamijis. Rich and poor alike were treated with equal care. Patients with modest incomes sometimes voluntarily paid in kind. He was one of the few to treat inmates of the missionary leper colony. He set up one of the first eye banks in that part of the world and participated in the Lions Club, cooperating in vaccination drives, fundraisers, eyeglasses for the needy, etc. Even after death he kept on giving the gift of sight via organ donation. His corneas have been successfully implanted in 2 individuals.

My mother was his partner in all ways, from helping him at his clinic to working side-by-side for deserving causes. She taught Hindi to poor children, found homes for neglected kids, helped unwed mothers, and volunteered for the Red Cross. Many a bride was given a mangal-sutra and a sari for her wedding if the parents could not afford these marriage must-haves. It was a warm and jolly household, filled with laughter, brimming with art projects in various stages of completion, observation of festivals, etc. Along with good food and fragrant filter coffee, classical music and dancing, books in various languages, Winsor and Newton paints, easels, beads, embroidery hoops and colorful yarns were part and parcel of our lives. Encouraging our hobbies, tolerant and non-judgmental, forgiving our childish transgressions, my mother let each of us pursue our interests in our own fashion with no pressures. She was ahead of her time and was a true feminist. The best advice she gave us was that we should be self-sufficient, see the bright side of everything, that every individual has something they excel at and can share, and that we should walk in another’s shoes before criticizing.

We grew up believing that beauty is skin-deep and actions speak louder than words. “Handsome is as handsome does” is a motto we still strive to live by. Though he brought us up with firm discipline, my father advised us not to take ourselves too seriously and find humor in everyday situations. “Even if everyone around you is goofing off, do your work diligently and do the right thing. Remember good actions as well as bad ones have consequences, so behave accordingly.” We got an education for life, one which no school or university can ever offer. They taught us by example as well as precept. I can never forget how, even during her terminal illness, my mother treated the visiting Ranisahebs of Kurundwad and Sawantwadi with the same courtesy as the humble “bhaajiwalis” (vegetable sellers) whose produce she bought. Nor can I forget how, on the heels of my marriage expenses, my father emptied out his savings account so I could join my husband in the U.S. after the rupee was devalued and my own tiny savings as a college lecturer got swallowed up. These were lessons in grace under fire.

My father was born in Karwar. Educated in Karwar, Dharwar, Mumbai and London, he got married to K[undapur] Uma Rao. After a distinguished career in the Indian Army Medical Corps, he worked for the government touring seven districts with a mobile unit. He settled down in Belgaum and made a name for himself in his profession as well as social work. Born in Shimoga, brought up in Bangalore, my mother married at the tender age of 14. She was yanked away from her loving home and parents (K. Shakarrnarayan and Mrs. K. Shyambhavi Rao). The sheltered teenage bride had to cope with the vagaries of being an Army wife. Together my parents accomplished the tough job of bringing up 5 daughters, educating them, finding husbands for each and marrying them off. My father used to joke that they only got the “Pancha kanya” portion of the traditional marriage blessing and ignored the “Ashta-putra” part! (After a Hindu wedding, the priest blesses the newlyweds and prays that they will have healthy kids: 8 sons and 5 daughters and have a happy married life) Though they had no sons, they gained 5 great sons-in-law. Today, scattered over 3 continents, they have 9 accomplished grandchildren and 6 great-grandchildren.

My second son (Dr. Samir Bangalore) met and married a brilliant corporate lawyer, Sheila, granddaughter of my father’s friend and fellow ophthalmic surgeon, Dr. (M.) Ramanath Bhandari. Among all the eligible matches, he chose this gem of a young woman to join our family. What an amazing coincidence!

I thank God for this and all His Blessings. If we can pass on even a minuscule portion of the values they brought us up with, we will truly honor the memory of my parents. May their souls rest in peace!

On our trip to Chennai last month, M and my mother both wanted to go saree shopping. They conspired on the research and identified the store to visit. And believe it or not, they planned it for the same evening we arrive in Chennai. I softly recommended shopping at the end of the trip. My argument: “you won’t have to carry the sarees around for the entire trip” did not go far. “We will just put the sarees in the car, which will be with us the entire trip,” was the quick rebuttal.

I resigned and enthusiastically went along. … and I survived. And you will too!

Here are Ten Survival Tips!
And pics from our shopping extravaganza at Nalli’s (Nalli Chinnasami Chetty), Chennai. Apparently THE place for sarees! Don’t fret, all the cabbies know the place!

1. When your hear the first hint of going saree shopping, be enthusiastic and jump to it!
   Elephants and wives have great memories in this regard. She will remember if you try to dodge your way out. Eventually she will get her way, so might as well go along and get it over.
2. Plan! Plan! Plan! Who? What? How much?
   Talk to her and identify who the sarees are for. What event are they for? What general color (s)? This may all change once you get to the store, but get her to start thinking. It will save a lot of time and indecision later.

   In Nalli’s for eg. they have four (or five) levels of sales areas with different pricing and styles. They must have about 25 sales folks on each floor. As soon as we approach a counter, the salesman would bring out and unfurl 20 – 40 sarees in a matter of seconds. Completely overwhelming! Even her head will be spinning. My mother’s vast experience in saree shopping was apparent. She quickly honed in on a style and selected her picks within an hour. Poor M was still darting from counter to counter, and floor to floor, in a daze!




3. Get a Price Estimate!
   Then add 50 – 100 % and consider yourself lucky. You didn’t think this was going to be cheap, did ya?
4. Plan at least half a day.
   Anything less and you are only asking for a grumpy shopper. And you will have to do it all over again. Don’t try to plan any activities after the shopping. You will be exhausted!

   But you will be surprised at the energy reserves women have, when it comes to saree shopping. This same girl who wilts in 10 seconds in a camera store, can shop sarees for days!



5. Take a Pill for a Headache – before you go!
   The wide array of bright colors, and the faint aroma of new fabric will overwhelm your senses. And constantly having to make comparisons is sure to induce a migraine. Remember to take your favorite pill for headaches – before you head out.
6. Go on a Full Stomach.
   I get cranky when hungry; and it shows in my demeanour. And she will interpret it to mean you are being skittish on accompanying here and spending money. So eat well before you go.



7. Don’t say, “OMG! That much for a piece of cloth?”
   No, my friend. You will look cheap AND you will be ridiculed in front of all relatives – for evah! Remember the elephantine memory. Some things are never uttered in this temple.

   And one more thing my friend, there is no such thing as an ugly saree. At least not that we guys can tell. She may point to some as hideous, and you should simply agree!



8. Helpful phrases:
   That is a beautiful color!
   Look at the delicate embroidery!
   Yes, it is expensive, but definitely worth it for you!
   I think everyone will love this saree of yours!
   Memorize a long list of such phrases and you will be a chum.
9. Buy Lungis for yourself!
   They are cheap. I splurged on two! Not that I wear them, but at least I got something. At Nalli’s the most expensive lungi was about 125 rupees. What asymmetry! How come they don’t have Kanjeevaram silk lungis with elaborate gold “jaari?”
10. Carry a Credit Card.
    Yes! you could get a back ache carrying that much cash! And bring out the card in a flash! No hesitation here. And smile widely the entire time you see the bill and sign for it. Don’t even think of that nice D-SLR you could have purchased for that money.
11. Bonus! Be thankful the day is over.
    At the end of the extravaganza offer to carry the heavy saree bags and remember to say: “What a great day! We should do this again!” (just kidding!)

So go ahead! Smile, go saree shopping and splurge!

And what a great occasion for a family reunion! For four days we reveled in family panchadika (chit-chat), gorged on a wide variety of indian dishes (no dish was repeated over four days!) and the reception had a teeth chattering, gut expanding array of 28 desserts!

Of course, on returning to gray skies and cafeteria goop we are clinically depressed. I want my masala dosa and south indian kaapi for breakfast!

So, here are a few pics.

During one of the pre-wedding services, the women in the house are getting ready to bless the bride. The priests says: ashta putra sowbhagyavati bhava and translates it: May you be a blessed mother of eight children. My cousin sister lets out a hearty laugh!


During the actual blessing!

During the Raas garba on the night before the wedding, the couple are treated to dance performances. Then everyone joins in and the dancing went on till the early hours of the morning.

During the wedding services, the couple search for a ring in a pot of colored water! Apparently whoever finds the ring, dominates the relationship. Well, the priest had put two rings and each found one!

At the end of the service, after satisfying everyone with photographs, the bride steps out of the mantap.

A few years ago, I visited Kumta and got a tour of the school. I was thrilled to see an institution bearing my grandfather’s name. My joy multiplied on seeing needy students grateful for the basic services offered there. That was a turning moment in my life – a call to action, to serve this area, the students and the school!

Now every time I visit India, I make a beeline to Kumta, stay at a cousin’s house and work with the school management on improving facilities and educational opportunities for locals. And there is so much need. Everything from scholarships for needy students, to tutoring, to books for the library and developing new courses. And even when I am in Boston, I am constantly working with the management and my extended family, trying to develop consensus on new projects. And what a satisfying mission it is.

The question I ask myself is:
With all my education, training and skills, how do I help improve educational opportunities in Kumta, and ultimately the standard of living of the locals?

In future posts I will share some of the work that we have done over the last few years. And when I recount the challenges, you will realize it is not as simple as donating a few old computers.

These are pictures I took at the school on my first visit there in 2004, with my older archaic Olympus point and shoot.

and many more were sitting at the edge of the quadrangle, oblivious to the goings on in the auditorium. And a well used school bell!

Shoes and sandals are left outside classrooms.

The spectacular view looking out from the top of the school! Yes, it is on top of a hill and in the distance I could catch a glimmer of the Arabian Sea.

And the view out front from street level!

My father had his heart surgery in Nov and has recovered amazingly well. Days after his chest was flayed open to replace his aortic valve, he was up in his hospital bed solving Sudoku puzzles. My brother had made large grids and copied puzzles from the web and newspaper – a binder full. Nurses were impressed and wanted to learn too. But with tubes sticking out of him he couldn't speak much. So he had the rules taped to the front of the binder, which he would pass around.

As I had heard of this, one of the things I took for him was a Sudoku book. Soon after we arrived at my brothers in Blackpool, I gave him the book and went to sleep. A few hours later when we came down for breakfast, he surprised me:

Papa: I am nearly done with the book.
Me: You solved all the puzzles in a few hours?
Papa: No, I started on the toughest one and am making progress. What's the point of solving the remaining easy and moderate puzzles!

His logic was irrefutable. When I expressed an interest in learning, he handed me the binder with rules taped on the front. Inside were all the puzzles he had solved, including ones from a national tournament. I started with a couple of the easy ones. By the end of the week, I could take on the moderate ones. After a few years perhaps, the challenging ones.

While his mind is as sharp as ever, age seems to be taking its toll on his physical body. The skinny frame is well hidden under layers of clothing. We bought some wrist weights (3 lbs each) and I showed him a few arm exercises to help him start to build muscle and gain strength. He walks back and forth in the driveway for 30 minutes each day. I think he is going to be fine in Mumbai where the weather is moderate and he has his circle of friends on Colaba Causeway. You may spot him there solving or teaching others Sudoku. Stop and visit, you may learn something. I still am learning … and will for ever!

Thank you all for your wishes.

My cousin brother is a bhat-maam (priest) in the small konkan town of Honavar, 15 miles south of Kumta. His parents had insisted he get a college degree – so after his BA in Economics he still decided to follow their priestly traditions. They live in spartan accommodations beside the temple. I have fond memories of visiting them during my school summer vacations. Every morning we herded cows to a distant pasture. There we would bathe in a local stream! O, what joys for a city brat. Now I only visit during my India trips and don't herd cows. Can't forget my roots, which need constant nourishing!

His daughter, Dhanya is the cutest girl I have seen. Here I had to interrupt her doodling on the kitchen floor. The beam of light is from a makeshift skylight. A couple of terracotta tiles in the roof are replaced with a sheet of glass. Wisps of smoke are from the burning wood embers used for cooking. They have a gas cooking range, but my aunt grew up using a wood fire and rarely uses the range. The old-style door has a sliding latch and the open pantry is lined with steel dabbas.

What do you need to be happy? You'd be right if you guessed – a divine daughter and a row of mithai-filled dabbas! I am currently batting zero for a million!

In the fourth floor restaurant, lunch is served on a clean banana leaf, and waiters in the traditional garb of a dhoti, kurta and topi, decorate the leaf with a dazzling array of multicoloured vegeterian dishes. The scallion, a few sprigs of methi (fenugreek), roasted papad, orange coloured spicy garlic and onion chutney, a tomato cucumber raita; lentil cucumber pachhadi, spicy brinjal (eggplant) curry, a greens dish and another lentil curry. Phew! Home made yogurt (or curd) is set and served in an earthern cup (see top right of pic). Fluffy rotis come straight from the outdoor cooking area (see next pic). I cautiously apply the butter, tear off a piece of the roti and use it to scoop each dish in turn. Finger licking yummy! As we finished each roti or curry, servers magically appeared with more of what we just finished. There was also a glass of buttermilk spiced with crushed ginger, chopped peppers, curry leaves and hing. After a few rounds I can barely chew a morsel, and as waiters lined up to serve more, I had to cover my leaf with my hands and insist on not being served any more. Of course, they also had rice and Kolambo, which I just could not partake of. Then they bring out the best … fruit salad with mango ice-cream! However full I am, I can always eat dessert!

All this for Rs 100. Yes, its about 2 US dollars!!! (That is how much a cup of coffee alone will cost you at one of those Western-styled Coffee shops in Bangalore or Mumbai).

We were so full, we could barely walk down the stairs and … *don't roll your eyes* we actually took a room at the hotel for a two hour nap. After freshening up and a nice cup of 'Kapi' we continued on our bangalore city tour (pics in next post)

At three such stations workers continually kneaded, rolled and roasted the bread on the pan over a charcoal hearth. The roti stays soft when roasted on the pan alone; if it is flipped over the open hearth, it roasts to a nice crisp. They serve both varieties.

Full Disclosure: Our relative owns the restaurant and I did not have to pay for lunch!

When daylight streaked the sky, the train had stopped at Ratnagiri. There this couple boarded, with an unusually large retinue to see them off. As the train raced towards Goa, I chatted with the guy. Generally I asked, and he answered. I wanted to know where all, and what they were gonna be doing in Panji, in detail! He seemed evasive and I kept probing. Finally he relented under by barrage, giggled, and confessed they were on their honeymoon to Goa! Aaarghh!!! I couldn't stop laughing.

Later, as she dosed off on his lap, I thought they struck a cute pose.

As she dreamt of a beautiful life ahead, he seemed preoccupied! With what, I wondered!
Cropped from a different photo.

Here are a few pictures of cousins and aunts making “Mando.” Its a simple maida atta (all purpose flour dough), rolled thin, quick fried and sprinkled with confectionary sugar. Fold when very warm and it hardens to a crisp.

I like to reach in and pick the Mando when it is still warm and starting to harden. A few slaps on the wrist are definitely worth it. Yumm!