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Cobra in car doesn’t shake golfer
Dec 30, 2008
Back in the WWII days, the land where Hindusthan Aircraft now stands was the roughland, the boonies of Bangalore. In those early days, it was not so much an aerodrome as it was an aircraft repair and servicing center for Allied aircraft. The land next to the large Belandoor Lake was barren and swampy but made for the quiet abode of a host of centuries-old feral creatures. One crit that was practically all over the place was the snake. The Walchand group that set up the aviation ‘factory’, right from the bhoomi-puja had the delicate task of keeping their family bay. The farming community in the area revered the creatures, particularly the majestic King Cobra. The factory management, while respecting the sentiments of the community, had also the daunting task of ensuring workers’ safety and maintaining productivity. It was quite a challenge, as there were thousands of creepy-crawlies in every conceivable crevice and corner … and in the distant horizon the danger of an attack by Japanese war planes was real.
Despite the flattening of the land for the enterprise, quite a few slithery customers managed to survive the assault and return to reclaim their home. They made periodic appearances in the most unlikely places in the factory much to the consternation of the workers. Toilets, hangars, inside airplane cockpits, everywhere. Once, when the American aviation engineer Mr. Yankovitch’s car wouldn’t start, he opened the bonnet to investigate. What do you think he saw? A cobra draped on the engine block – greasy, black and angry.
The locals considered it a bad omen to kill the snakes. Instead, it was the practice to have them captured and let loose far from the factory.
The ace at this job was the thin wiry head of the factory’s security, the legendary Sriramulu. When a cobra was spotted, workers rushed to him. Sriramulu would merrily go about the job of nabbing the slippery customer from its difficult to reach hiding places. ‘Any hole, I pull him out. When snake do hissa! I do thissa!’ he’d famously say, waving his palm like a cobra and then with lightning speed pinning or yanking out the snake.
An advocate of live and let live, Sriramulu frequently spoke of snakes and their value in agriculture for maintaining eco-balance. It kept rat and other farm pests in check. ‘Snakes no trouble,’ he’d add philosophically in Telugu, ‘It only people that are danger. People danger to snakes. They kill snakes and occupy their home.’
These words heard in early childhood came to mind when recently a golfer unwittingly carried away a cobra in his golf bag. It happened as the late afternoon sun disappeared behind the trees on the 18th. The golfer sliced his third shot. The ball skidded into the woods, into the thick growth and fallen leaves. Caddie and master left the golf bag in the rough, and went searching for the ball – a task not made easy with the rapidly enveloping darkness. It was apparently at that time a wayward cobra sneaked into the unattended bag. From there it was whisked away to town in the golfer’s car.
On Monday morning, when the bushy-tailed and bright-eyed golfer was about to slide into the driver’s seat, something inside the car made him stop in his tracks. It was a sound, like air escaping a balloon. When he peered in through the half-open door, he noticed a cobra, with raised hood. Coiled around the steering column, the cornered and frightened animal eyed him. Then seeing no harm in the offing, it calmly and coldly stared at the golfer. ‘First, you guys bung an aircraft repair shop on our abode, then a golf course. Now you’ve carried me off into this strange place, without food or any sustenance,’ it seemed to say, one creature addressing another, ‘Dude, is there no end to your hostile take-over bids?’
The shaken golfer took a while to regain composure. He calmly shut the door, bounded up the steps into the house, and grabbed the land-line. The forest department acted promptly. The cobra was bagged and later released in a wooded area on the outskirts of the city. The exercise was carried out efficiently and smoothly in a manner that old Sriramulu would have readily and heartily approved. ‘When snake do hissa in the car!’ one can hear him say, ‘I am glad you do decent thing like thissa!”
Memories Of Xmas Past
Dec 25, 2008
It was probably because we were the tallest kids in class that we were picked to play the three Magi, and, the girl Ruksana to do Mary. At the rehearsals, the teacher-pianist had a tough time getting us fidgety lot into harmony. It was no easy task. At the very first rehearsal, Abbas’ squirmy tiny frog leapt out of his shorts, and landed on Fiona, the angel. Much screeching and bedlam followed. A wooden ruler used as baton to conduct the choral singing, was used to scoop the crit out of the room, and bring order.
On the big day, we were in full make-up - heavily rouged, powdered, darkened eyes, wearing flowing robes, elaborate shimmering dresses and paper crowns, ready to go stage when one of the Magi needed to go the bathroom. 'Not now!' hissed a stern voice from the side, with the ruler in air. When the music began, two of the Kings walked regally and one, well, wobbled, with the gifts. More singing. Then the curtains came down to thunderous applause.
About a year later, two of the Magi, 'Mary', and I met regularly under the tamarind tree to chin wag or play Monkey-up-the-Tree. Joining us after choir practice was the Anglo-Indian Nipper, 'Joseph'. He’d join us, imitating the music teacher, in falsetto, singing Rudolph the red-nose reindeer. Between peels of laughter, we’d join in and sing other carols. Somewhere along the line, we got the idea to emulate the elders who went house to house singing carols.
On our very first visit, we had an unexpected bonus. After we belted out, 'Joy to the world', a kindly old grey-haired lady came up to the gate and said, in some bewilderment, 'Isn't this rather early for Christmas carols, dear? Why, it's only November!' Then shining the torch on our faces, paused and smiled, 'Never mind! You sing like angels, in harmony too. Here you go,' and pressed 25 paise coins into our palms. 'Thank you, Aunty,' we cried and sang, 'We wish you a Merry Xmas, and a happy New Year'.
Elated with the success, we dashed off to the nearby Crown Café, to devour a 25-paise bowl of strawberry ice-cream. Thinking about those innocent days, I wonder about the rest of the carol singers. Wherever you are, Abbas, Ruksana, Mathew and Nipper, greetings from the 'tall, skinny Hindu guy from the house with tamarind trees'.
Always a Winner
Dec.03, 2008
It was the start of the highly anticipated, and much hyped, glamour track event of the annual school sports - the 100-metres final. It was to take place in the far corner of the sports field. Smartly dressed staff and students, and parents who could manage to take time off from work or home, had gathered there. Most parents sat in the sprawling shade of the shamiana, fanning themselves with the program flyer. Then the marquee event of the annual sports was about to start. Almost immediately a great hush fell over the ground. The sprinters in the six lanes crouched, muscles taut, perspiration on brow, waiting to synchronize their forward thrust with the starter’s gun. The hot ‘favorite’ for the race was the head-boy. A six-footer popular both on and off the sports field
Now as the afternoon sun came blazing down on the ground, students in house colours, who had been flitting in and out of the white-chalk marked sports ground, paused and waited with bated breath. The stern principal, sitting grandly in a blazer and tie, spotted the head-boy’s mother making her way towards the pavilion. Thanking her for taking time off for the sports, the principal whispered to her, ‘Would you please give out the first prize to the winner of the 100’s?’ The unsuspecting mother graciously accepted the honour – not for a minute knowing the surprise planned.
Just then the starter’s gun resonated in the far corner of the ground. Crows leapt out of treetops. With a kick, the runners sped down the marked tracks, pumping arms and legs in a flurry of aesthetical grace and awesome force. Screams, boisterous cheering from the sidelines rent the air. Seconds later, in a dramatic, thrilling finish, the head-boy was beaten by a whisker, by his junior.
As an upshot the head-boy’s mother put the gold medal around the neck of the smiling winner on the victory stand and congratulated him, and then smiled at the runner-up with ‘Hi, son. You did a great job!’
Remembering the Bangalore school event of that distant day, some 15 years ago, the head-boy, now a techie in San Francisco, says, 'I remember the winner clearly - very good looking, always smiling, great all rounder, exceedingly affable, the guy who pipped me at the winning post. Always a winner, that Sandeep Unnikrishnan.'
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